#usually only reds have spines/frills covering their entire back

[sonicasura]

TFP: Magnified Disaster

I figured why not add some extra info for the MAG Optimus idea in this post. The other two will be planned out further if anyone asks. Before you delve in, here's a fair warning. Expect elements like body horror and some dark stuff as most of canon is getting thrown out the window or twisted. There will be references to Backrooms, SCP and obviously Madness Combat. Let's begin, shall we?

Let's start off OP's form before and after acquiring the Matrix of Leadership. This is gonna be written closely to how Ratchet will write it.

Orion Pax

A living mesh between Cybertronian metal and a strange organic clay like material. Orion Pax's size had doubled to a frightening 35 ft while his frame grown thicker. Exhibits heightened aggression and bouts of feral behavior. Under observation for potential negative or unstable mutations.

-Denta is replaced by long organic razor sharp teeth. These fangs have the purpose of tearing into a victim's frame to reach the fragile protoform underneath. Scrapes are dangerous due to infection from potential hazardous bacteria.

-Right arm enveloped in crimson muscle like hide with three pale spikes jutting from the shoulder. Servos now wield large pale claws, right servo's claws are twice the size of the left. Possible different purposes between both sets?

-Back, upper frame(chest), and sides of legs are covered in similar red hide like material. A long spindly tail ending in a harden bone axe head. Extra bulk for durability and strength combined with a way to maintain offensive balance.

-Retractable bone like spines protruding around the finials and lengthen when mask is on. These act similar to the frills on a Satellizer(Cybertronian equivalent of a frilled lizard). Might be for intimidation or a distraction.

Optimus Prime

Due to the rapid deterioration of his system functions, the only way to save Orion was to install the Matrix inside him. The blasted device had stabilize his CNA but further his mutation. It seems the Matrix of Leadership saw possible usage in my friend's tragedy. Luckily Orion or Optimus kept himself mostly intact. Aggression is exchanged for feral regression under enough negative stimuli. These reversions can last up to a solar cycle maximum. Changes caused by the Matrix of Leadership:

-Size increase by 10 ft and frame compacted to a more firm leaner type. Possibly for increased bursts of speed from the two rows of exhaust pipes now protruding down the spine. Favor for offense and agility?

-Pedes shift to digitigrade and are closer to a Predacon's. Is the data from previous Primes affecting Optimus' biology to fit personal preference? Requires further observation.

-Light blue streaks manifest on the red organic hide. Seems to be measuring his intake as it's dulls if Optimus is low on Energon. Although it glows very bright whenever a build up of energy occurs.

-Claws and fangs now secrete a paralytic substance capable of immobilizing a bot for 15 minutes. Wearable guards implemented to prevent accidental poisoning. It's like the Matrix of Leadership wants a ultimate lifeform than a Prime.

-Optimus remembers his past and retains Orion's personality as his mutation blocked out any emotion or memory alterations. The fact the Matrix attempted to erase his entire identity has garner major concern from me. What madness is the council up to?

*Behavior exhibited during feral reversion:

-Inability to speak and communicates through various animalistic vocalizations like growls, chirps, or chittering. Usage of Morse code and sign language to circumvent these issues.

-Preference for walking on all fours with standing on two pedes usually being an intimidation tactic.

-Exhibits extreme aggression to those who aren't me or been marked by him. I.e scent marking by rubbing his frame against another to scratches and bite marks.

-Calm music, reading, or my presence(I refuse to call myself his 'handler' after discovering those files) helps hasten recovery to sanity. -Ratchet

What I mean by handler is how OP escaped. The programming, 'Handler Protocol', forced onto the MAG states that he must have a handler to control and reign him in. Said bot must have a level of qualification in order to consider a candidate with Orion going in forced stasis until he chooses one. The thing is they weren't specific on who can qualify and the MAG took advantage of this loophole by designating the only person he could trust but also has enough credentials: Ratchet.

It's how our dear medic found Orion after work in a backalley wearing a gruesome impromptu paint job. The heightened aggression took over and he slaughter every one of his tormentors until he got to Ratchet. However Orion's mutation prove to be unstable that the MAG would die without something strong enough to correct those errors. The only way to save him leads to Ratchet stealing the Matrix of Leadership despite the massive risks should he get caught.

Yep. OP is essentially a slave designed berserker thanks to his MAG status. Should Ratchet die then someone else has to take the role of handler or else the poor bot will be put into stasis until the Handler Protocol can be undone. Despite this, he finds ways to live with it. Personality wise, OP here is similar to his Skybound iteration with some G1 mixed in. A gentle giant who openly jokes around amongst close friends sometimes yet tends to be quite cautious of his surroundings and a bit awkward around new people.

His alt mode been greatly affected by this new biology. When he transforms, Optimus will always manifest a trailer hitched to his Peterbilt disguise. This 'trailer' is most of his organic matter specifically arm and tail mimicking said attachment. You can't tell from the outside as the interior reflects the true horror.

Compare it to SCP-002 Living Room and the Door Entity from the Backrooms. A fleshy room like mass that molds itself by Optimus' desire. If he doesn't manifest the trailer than the organic side will be fully exposed mostly in the form of 5 tendrils equipped with bony claw like stingers.

Truckers regard him as an eldritch tale since few seen him climb cliffs using those tendrils while in alt mode. Charms had been made but none are exactly right as no one can get close enough for accurate colors and depictions. Whether people believe the story or not is unknown.

Back on track, MAGs display insane pain tolerance to the point being shot in the head is a minor annoyance. They also tend to manifest an unique ability from magnification. In Orion/Optimus' case, rapid regeneration.

Blaster fire is the equivalent of a peashooter to him. This has lead to heavy artillery like armor piercers or explosives being a requirement for Decepticons against Optimus. Worst damage ever done to him was from fighting Trypticon.

Optimus had to completely regenerate his right arm, half his tail, exhaust pipes, and whatever injuries the massive Decepticon had cause before he offline them. A process which took almost two weeks due to an Energon shortage. Optimus doesn't need much of said fuel unlike other bots so he gave up his rations despite the injury.

Many protocols were put in place whenever the MAG comes into battle. No targeting close allies especially those he considers his bitlets like Bumblebee with him present. Proof being the massive gash on Megatron's chest plate which couldn't be fully repaired due to close proximity to his spark chamber. This is after he rendered Bumblebee mute.

Vehicons are too stay away as they'll be completely useless even with the cannon fodder rule. Only 'actual' Decepticons like Starscream, Breakdown, etc can fight him. Not following orders led to fighting Optimus becoming an effective punishment as no one comes out unscathed. Shockwave and the Predacons are brought in earlier than canon to combat the MAG.

Now you are probably thinking that OP is powerful enough to lead the Autobots to victory. Well no. Far from it as the faction is very very different. There is no overarching leader due to Optimus being unable to lead. His MAG status already makes him a bad choice as he could potentially harm everyone who hasn't been marked via a feral reversion.

Another reason is that he's techno organic due to said mutation. Good chunk of Autobots saw him as a freak and will refuse to listen. Thus the faction is more like an organization split into many smaller groups. Wreckers, Science division, Weapons division, Rescue Bots etc.

Finally Optimus doesn't believe he should lead at all. The Matrix of Leadership was stolen, not given to him. It been used for his preservation than lead others who need guidance. Optimus hides his appearance under a cloak while an actual Prime shouldn't hide from their own people.

These changes greatly impacted the war. Megatron started the war due to Orion Pax's disappearance. He doesn't know Orion and Optimus are the same person until the Orion Pax incident. Megatron does know that whoever took the archivist been involved with the Council thanks to Soundwave. Orion/Optimus is still the smoking gun but for a different reason.

Cybertron doesn't go completely dark. Some land is still habitable while others were too hazardous or dead due to things like chemical warfare. However these remaining zones are constantly fought over that it's become a war of attrition than just civil.

Anyone who was friends with Optimus were often ostracized by organic hating Autobots. Said companions to the MAG are more like a tight knit family and absolutely hate how their friend is treated. Fights often broke out because someone was being a dick to the gentle giant. Heatwave and Cliffjumper are tied in that department.

Team Prime were to sent to Earth for the purpose of sheltering refugees. Fowler becomes their liaison as the bots have to earn their keep by handling any Decepticons who come and stay outta sight. Cliffjumper doesn't die since the team never split up for long nor too far.

Optimus technically meets the Jasper Trio first. He tends to be more active at night so Ratchet often sends him out to exercise that extra energy. No one wants to be bowled over by a 45 ft Cybertronian with late night zoomies.

Jack, Miko and Raf are already friends who were out on a camping trip in the woods alongside June. You can say they strayed off a bit far from the campsite for a cryptid hunt. The three did find their cryptid, Optimus, and ran back in terror while the bot just wandered off. Ratchet definitely wasn't happy to learn about this incident once the kids join the team later.

Like with Bumblebee, he treats Raf, Miko, and Jack as his bitlets. Gently carrying them by the scruff so they don't get into trouble or show a lot of affection i.e nuzzling. Cody gets the same treatment later when he visits. For the Rescue Bots, Optimus didn't know they were alive and been greatly worried.

Their mission on Griffin Rock is more familial in reasoning than just duty and Team Prime are aware of the group. Optimus often visits to see how everyone is doing or a break from the stress on the mainland. Cody spends time with him for the latter as his family is usually too busy to be around the young boy.

Morroco is lucky the MAG wasn't there on Griffin Rock during those times. Optimus definitely went berserk when Megatron pulled the Dark Energon stunt with Raf. The Nemesis became a prowling ground of terror for awhile to put it simply. Orion Pax incident is just full on feral Optimus as the Matrix held onto his rational mind. Not smart to have a confused predator on your ship Buckethead.

If MAG!Optimus ever met his canon TFP counterpart or other canon iterations then the whiplash will be immense. That's all I have for now! Until next time folks, I will see you later. Transform and Roll Out!

Before I go, enjoy this little song that came to mind when writing: Fight the Fade's Monster.

[rain-world-creatures]

Lizard #42: a pink lizard with many long, pink-tipped frills covering its back in six horizontal lines and some very short, blobby, pink-tipped frills clustered near the end of its tail!

[thebountyfucker]

The Two Princes - Royal AU

NSFW - 18+ ONLY

Embo x F!Reader x Cad Bane

Tags: sex party, public sex, double penetration, threesome, blowjob, handjob, overstimulation, maybe ooc but this is an AU so I don't care lol

CW: mentions of drugs, prostitution, power imbalance (the reader is a hired attendant, and both Embo and Cad are princes. Reader is not a part of either of their domains, so they have no control over her. However, I did want to include it just in case)

Here's a link to my masterpost and to the application for my taglist!

“So explain to me again what is going on?”

“There’s nothing else to say.” Your boss replied as he sorted through his collection of datapads, his fingers flicking through the stack until he found the right one. He pulled it out and thrust it in your direction. “Ya gotta sign it.”

“Sign… what?” You took the datapad into your hands and powered it on. A file appeared, one that was rather lengthy and full of legal words that you couldn’t, for the life of you, understand. You parsed through the paragraphs of Aurebesh, before pausing and glancing up. “Is this an NDA?”

“Yep.” Your boss was quick to reply, turning his stout body from you to search around his office for something else. You uneasily returned your attention to the swirling legalese, and faltered. Your boss noticed your hesitancy, and sighed. “I can tell you this - it’s the royal folk. One of them is planning some shindig, and needs you and the girls to help take care of them.”

“Is it… safe?”

“You tell me. You know them royal folk better than I do.”

You wouldn’t exactly say you knew them; one one-night stand with Prince Cad hardly seemed to count, in your opinion. Though, if this party was hosted by a royal, there was a good chance that you’d get to see him again. He’d protect you if things went wrong, right? You stared down at the datapad, and your boss huffed impatiently.

“Look, sign it or don’t. I need to know who to staff now. They aren’t the patient type.”

“Alright, alright.” You scribbled your signature down on the line and your boss snatched the datapad from your hand. He tossed it aside and waddled around from the other side of the desk, gesturing with two fingers for you to follow him.

“You and the others will caravan to The Veil, where you’ll meet the employer. Remember, none of what happens tonight can be talked about, or we’ll be sued to shit. You understand?” You nodded again at this, the uneasy sensation rising in your stomach once more. Your boss glanced over his shoulder at you, and scoffed. “They ain’t gonna eat you! Relax!”

“Easy for you, perhaps.” You muttered under your breath as you both slipped into the meeting room. About fifteen young women - your coworkers - were waiting in the room. Most seemed just as confused as you were.

“The employer has everything you’ll need. Don’t let them talk you into doing anything that isn’t in your job description, okay? You’re attendants, not whores.” Your boss drawled as he crossed his arms over his chest. The last line, specifically, caught your attention. You’re attendants, not whores. What about this job warranted that comment? He had to know more than he was letting on, and this bothered you. You supposed he, likely, had to sign a similar NDA, but at the same time, you hated going into jobs blind. Things were more likely to go wrong this way… and the royals weren’t the type you wanted to disappoint. “Get your asses moving. He’s waiting on you.”

-

The Veil was unlike anything you had ever seen before - it was a meeting hall affiliated with Azvergin Hotel - a high-end joint for billionaires and royals alike. This meeting hall was just as high-class, with high ceilings and sculpted arches and hand-carved crown moulding. Columns lined the grand hall, holding the heavy mosaic ceilings from toppling to the floor. Famous artwork was displayed along the walls. You were so caught in how awe-inspiring this hall was, you hardly noticed the room was empty. There were no tables or chairs to be seen - something you expected for a function fit for royalty.

“This way.” The grounds-keeper spoke, pulling your attention from the details of the room; it was then that you finally noticed how quiet everything was. You turned towards the groundskeeper, watching as they turned down a long hallway. You jogged after them, your coworkers following closely behind.

“Where is everything?” You asked, and the groundskeeper glanced over their shoulder at you.

“Downstairs.”

“Right…”

They turned to the left and knocked on a door; a small peephole opened, and someone from within called out.

“Who are these ladies?”

“Attendants.” The groundskeeper explained. “The prince sent for them.”

The peephole closed, and the door opened instead. The guard gestured for you to enter, which you did; you slowly descended down the flight of stairs, noting that the lighting had dimmed and that low, sultry music was playing over hidden speakers. You turned to look at your girls, the pieces of this puzzle slowly forming in your head; it wasn’t until the door opened that things finally started making sense.

The room was much smaller than the grand hall above, without the frills and displays of wealth. It was hard to tell what colors the walls and floors were, given how dark the room was compared to the hall above. Plush chairs, chaises, and even beds were dotted around the room. Men and women were already wandering around, dressed in lingerie or kink apparel. They glanced at you and your party, but didn’t say anything.

Against the wall closest to the entrance of the room was a table covered in sex toys, condoms, lube, and little flags of various colors.

You understood the NDA now; this was not your typical job. No… this was a sex party. You had been hired, by one of the royals, to attend to them while they’re likely doing dope and fucking the brains out of prostitutes. Great. This would be fun.

A door to the left of the room opened up, and out stepped Prince Embo, the tall, broad chested Kyuzan prince. He wore a loosely tied satin robe, which exposed his defined chest; tattooed across his exposed skin were dark green, blocky symbols. You could make out the facsimile of a sun printed along his collarbone, though no other shapes made sense to you. Your gaze trailed down his chest and abdomen, before noting the loose tie which held his robe shut. You wondered if he was wearing anything underneath it…

Embo cleared his throat, and you startled, your gaze ripped from the knot of his closure. Your gaze flicked up to his face, before you remember that he was royalty and some royals found eye contact with subordinates to be threatening; you briefly met his gaze, noting the amusement in his face, before you cast your gaze to the floor.

“What is this?” He inquired, looking you all over; he waded through the crowd, looking over each and every one of you personally. His hand ghosted across the back of your neck, sending shivers straight down your spine. “My attendants, yes? Come. I have uniforms for you.”

You tentatively followed him into the room he had just exited from. He started rifling through a box, paying no mind as the sixteen of you gathered around you.

“What will be our role here tonight, your majesty?”

“Attendants. As is your job title.” He answered bluntly as he pulled out enough uniforms and set them aside. “You do not have to do what you are not trained for. Just offer drinks and take care of my guests.”

“I… well… okay.” You nodded as you grabbed one of the dresses - they were short, but not too revealing. Guests would definitely be able to tell the difference between you and the entertainment, even in the dim light. You held it up to you, noting that the prince was watching you. His gaze held interest, but no ill intent; you weren’t sure why, but your stomach somersaulted and your heart skipped a beat.

“Is that a problem, miss?”

“No, your majesty.” You replied, and he stood to his full height, towering over you in a way not many others could. This, embarrassingly, sent spikes of pleasure to your cunt. If he was this tall, you knew he had a huge cock to match.

“Good. My guests shall be arriving any time now. Do not keep us waiting too long.”

He ducked out of the room, giving you ample room and privacy to change. You slipped out of your work uniform and pulled on the given dress; it was red in color, and made of silk. It clung to your body, accentuating your curves; there was something about this dress that made you feel so pretty. Most other uniforms you were given were unflattering at best and purposely ugly at the best. You appreciated the prince’s good tastes.

The others gossiped about the situation you all were in as you pulled on your shoes. You weren’t much for gossip usually, but you understood how odd this situation was.

“So the rumors of the Prince are true!”

“Who knew that a royal could have such a ravenous appetite!”

“Of course he would! Those types always get what they want.”

You chuckled as your mind wandered to your night with Cad. They weren’t entirely wrong; royals were just as fickle and just as horny as everyone else. But you couldn’t imagine Cad throwing such a party. Hell, you couldn’t even imagine him attending such a circus! Prince Embo surely was something else...

You made sure your shoes were on tightly, and slipped out the door. You wanted to get a feel for the place before the chaos began. You took note of the supplies on the table near the door, and of the bar you had somehow missed. So far, there was nothing illegal, but you weren’t certain it would stay that way.

The main floor was still only populated by prostitutes at this point, despite the Prince’s warning that guests would soon be arriving. Some were fixing their hair or make-up, and some were chatting it up with anyone around. Missing, however, was the Prince. You tried to find his towering frame in the crowd, but that was easier said than done.

A hand slid across your back to your shoulders, and you jumped in surprise. You turned, noting Prince Embo staring back at you. You lowered your gaze respectfully, and he responded by wheeling you around to face him, and gripping your chin in his free hand.

“I think I would like for you to be my personal attendant tonight.” He purred, tipping your head back so he could look at you better. His glowing gold eyes searched your soul, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip in response. “Pretty thing. It is too bad you are not one of my entertainers tonight.”

His presence was engulfing, and your heart skipped a beat. His thumb brushed over your lips, and you had to stop yourself from parting your lips and accepting it into your mouth. Mindlessly, you edged closer, and the hand on your shoulder slid downward….

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A familiar voice drawled and you winced; of all the people that could have walked through the door at this time, it had to be Cad. The only royal who actively had a past with you, and the one you figured wouldn’t dare be seen at such a function. You turned away from Embo’s grasp, glancing over at an amused Cad. “Didn’t expect t’ see ya here.”

“I only hire the best.” Embo explained, sauntering over to his chair, which overlooked the rest of the room.

“Yeah. De best.” Cad smirked. There was no malice in his tone; rather, you figured this was his attempt at teasing. “Dat’s de one dat spilled wine all over yer mother’s dress."

Blood rushed to your face, and you were thankful that the lights are so dim; you had just barely forgotten about that whole mess, and now Cad had to bring it back up - to the Queen’s own son, nonetheless! You wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die.

Your self-pitying was cut short by a loud laugh from Embo; at first, you were glad that he wasn’t upset by this information. But then, you realized that he was likely laughing at you. Your mood soured, and you crossed your arms over your chest in a pout.

“So that was you? Oh, my mother raved about you for days after that.” Embo leaned back on his little throne, spreading out like he owned the place. Maybe he did.

“I… what?” You dropped your arms, confused.

“You gave her an excuse to change out of that gods-awful dress my father bought her. She wanted to hire you to ruin whatever gifts he gave her, but we had to talk her out of it.”

“Shouldn’t have.” Cad chuckled. “It would be the best job she’d ever have in her miserable little peasant life.”

“Hey now.” You frowned. “We talked about this.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Cad waved you off as he drew closer. “You wouldn’t happen t’ be available tonight?”

“She is an attendant, Cad. And mine for the night.”

“Figures. You always bag de good ones.” Cad shook his head as he stood; he looked you up and down with a licentious smirk. “I’ll see you ‘round, den.”

“Of course.”

You watched Cad retreat to settle in a nearby chair. One of the prostitutes - a handsome man - approached, sitting on the arm of the chair. Well… at least Cad was there in case things got out of hand.

Embo called to you, and you turned toward him; he gestured with his two fingers, watching with an intensity as you approached. You bowed your head when you reached the foot of his chair, and he tsked.

“None of that.” He told you. “There is no need for pleasantries here. Now… fetch me a drink.”

-

You had never been around so much sex in your entire life. Everywhere you turned, there was someone giving someone else head, or someone riding someone else’s dick. The room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, of gagging, of slicked up cunts… and the moans… oh the moans!

You edged around one of the beds -where a princess was getting gangbanged by a group of various alien men- carrying the tray of goodies to your prince. Embo was leaned back in his chair, looking surprisingly bored even as two ladies fondled his cock. You leaned down to hand him his drink, which he accepted with a grunt.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying this, my Prince.”

He just shrugged nonchalantly as he sipped at his drink. “I am not feeling particularly inspired.”

With a wave of the hand, he dismissed the two ladies, and closed his robe up. You set your tray down and knelt before him. He carded a hand through your hair, muttering something in his mother tongue. “Is there anything I can do to make this a better experience?”

He glanced over at you, his gaze lazily trailing down your form; something - which you figured was lust- sparked in his golden eyes, but he was not quick to act on his feelings. He gestured with his free hand, and you offered him some sort of smokable, which you figured was not smart given his need for a breathing mask. He lit it and slumped back in his chair.

“No. Stay your course, kamour.”

“Are you sure, my Prince? I… am offering to help you. You hired me to help, right?” You inquired, reaching out to touch his hand. He glanced over at you, and you wondered how much convincing it would take him before he realized you were serious. Not much, it turned out.

“I am no monster. Say the word and I will let you go.”

“Of course.” You settled between his parted legs, your soft hands slowly sliding up his naked thighs. What was it your boss said? Oh, that you were attendants and not whores. Well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.

Your hands swept under his satin robe, parting it open to reveal his large cock. You wrapped your hand around the base of it, and slowly worked your way up his length. He was already hard from the ministrations of the prostitutes, the head of his cock flushed a deep and needy green. You leaned forward, gathering spit in your mouth before drooling it out onto his cock; you locked gazes with him as you spread your saliva down and around his shaft.

“Now, dat ain’t fair.” Cad’s voice startled you from your task, and you turned to spy him sitting on the arm of an unused chair. He was completely naked, with his arms crossed over his chest. “You said she was an attendant.”

“I did not lie. She is attending.” Embo put his mask back into place, and ran his hand through your hair. “She is doing her duty.”

“Yeah, well, I want in on dis.”

“That is up to her.”

You hardly even had to think - you reached for Cad, wrapping your hand around his slick, hard cock. You gave him a pump, and Cad hissed through gritted teeth in response. You gestured for him to move closer, and he did; the princes met gazes but said nothing to each other as you reached the other hand out to stroke Embo’s cock.

You stroked them both at the same time, reveling in the hisses and grunts trickling from their mouths. The way their cocks pulsed in your hands was enough to make your pussy tingle, and arousal slowly built within you. There was something depraved about this - about a lowly attendant pleasuring two powerful princes in the midst of a sex party - but the depravity only added to your pleasure. You could hardly stop yourself from grinding your needy cunt against the heel of your own foot.

“Enough of dis pussy-footin’. Are ya gonna suck me off or what?” Cad drawled, as impatient as ever; you quirked a brow as you leaned forward to give him a long, wet lick. He growled in response, his hands threading in your hair. “Come on, doll… don’t be teasin’ me now.”

“You forget that you weren’t the first man I was pleasing.” You replied, your voice wavering. You weren’t sure it was a good idea to talk back to him, especially in this position. Though, you supposed, you held the power when you held his cock. Any wayward comment and you were in a prime position to bite him. You figured he wouldn’t risk it.

Cad scoffed and you leaned away to wrap your lips around the head of Embo’s cock. He chuckled and leaned back.

“She is not lying.”

“You shut up.” Cad muttered as he pressed a hand to the back of your head, almost as if he was trying to guide you. You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest.

It went like this for a while - you’d take one into your mouth, bobbing and sucking like a good little whore, before pulling away to take the other one. You felt oddly powerful knowing you had the ability to bring these two princes to their knees with only a touch. You reveled in this power for as long as you could before Embo lifted you up and sat you on his lap. He pulled you close to his chest, purring.

“I am going in you.” He told you, giving you ample time to back out of it. When you didn’t protest, he lifted you as though you weighed nothing, and turned you to face Cad. He guided you onto his cock, and you winced as the head slipped into your drooling cunt. You hadn’t realized that he was quite this large. He gripped your hips, controlling how slowly you eased down onto him so you didn’t hurt yourself.

Cad waited until you were ready before offering his cock to your mouth once more. You parted your lips, your eyes half-lidded and darkened with lust, and he chuckled.

“Are ya cock-dumb already, doll?” He reached out to tangle his hand in your hair. “Are our cocks just dat good?”

You nodded in response to this, greedily latching around his cock and sucking hard. He let out a hiss and tugged at your hair, spurning you to start bobbing up and down his length. At the same time, you had fully engulfed Embo, sheathing his cock deep within you. Your whine was lost amongst the sloppy slurps of Cad’s cock easing in and out of your wet mouth.

Embo slowly, gingerly, eased in and out of you, taking care not to hurt you in the process. Every time he pulled his cock half out of you, you took Cad’s cock to the hilt with a gag. Every time Embo bottomed out within you, you pulled away to breathe. It was tough to find the right rhythm at first, but when you did, the pleasure was all-encompassing. Your head was spinning, arousal burning deep within the well of your stomach; your eyes rolled back and your hands went to your breasts, squeezing so tightly you were sure they’d bruise.

“Think she could take us both in there?” Cad asked, and your mind wandered at the prospect. You imagined the sensation of their cocks filling up your cunt, stretching you out in a way you’ve never felt before. The idea was fascinating, and a bit frightening. You didn’t realize that you were drooling around Cad’s cock until your spit splattered on your thigh.

Embo leaned you back against his chest, a finger probing at your cock-stuffed pussy. He slipped it inside, and your eyes went wide; Cad’s cock slipped from your mouth as the air vacated your lungs. You quivered against Embo, a pathetic little whimper escaping your lips.

“No… not unless you intend to split her in half.”

“Shame.” Cad shook his head; he pondered for a minute, before tipping your chin up. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

As if you had other plans. Embo rested his head against you shoulder, purring softly. “I would like to see your pretty face, kamour.”

“Alright.” You turned around, facing the prince; you couldn’t tell for sure, but you guessed he was smiling behind that mask of his. His large hand cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his warmth.

“Beautiful.” He slowly rocked his hips up into you again, and you whimpered. “A beautiful, sex drunk whore. You like my cock, hm?”

“Yes.” You breathed, matching his thrusts by rolling your hips; his finger slipped out of your cunt, and instead stroked your swollen, trembling clit. A fire built in your stomach, and your vision went blurry. Your orgasm was within reach! You gasped out his name, your voice strained yet velveteen. Embo’s eyes brightened at this, and he reached up to wrap a steady hand around your neck.

“Say it again. Say my name again.” He commanded, his voice husky with his own desire. You whimpered.

“Embo….”

“Again!” He rubbed at your clit faster, slamming up into you with a ferocity you had never felt before. You could hardly find the strength within you, but you couldn’t displease him.

“Embo!” You cried out, your entire body quivering as the fire of orgasm consumed you. Your head danced in the clouds as your body went limp and useless against him. He held you close, his hands dancing over your form.

“Shit, did I miss out on all de fun?”

You lifted your head and glanced over your shoulder to spy Cad with his hands on his hips. You shook your head, your tongue weighing like lead in your mouth. You gestured for him to draw closer, which he did, and you gave his now condom-clad cock a stroke.

“I do think she can take more.” Embo hummed, his hand rubbing at your thigh. You nodded in agreement at this, and Cad leaned down to nip at your neck.

“Good. Do you still want to take de both of us?”

“Yes!” You chirped, and Cad chuckled.

“So eager.” Cad maneuvered you into Embo’s chest, giving him better access to your ass. Cad lubed you up with a bottle he had grabbed from somewhere, and gently eased into you. A strangled cry escaped from somewhere within you as Cad brushed against the thin, sensitive wall separating his cock from Embo’s. You could hardly keep yourself upright, the sensations quickly overwhelming you; Embo had to keep you from falling completely limp onto his chest.

“Easy now. This is not too much for you, is it?”

You shook your head at this. “N-no.”

“‘Course it ain’t.” Cad yanked on your hair, pulling your head back enough so you could look him in the eyes. He smirked, and then sheathed himself within you. You let out a cry, and his smirk deepened into a depraved smile. “Yer a good lil’ doll. You can handle us.”

“Yes! Yes!” You whined in agreement as they both slowly rocked into you. Every inch of you was set ablaze as they took turns massaging that oh-so-sensitive wall. Cad released your hair, his hand instead sliding down to roll your nipple between two of his fingers. His other hand gripped at your hip, keeping you steady. Embo’s hand returned to your clit, pinching and rolling the overstimulated bud around until you were panting and pleading for release. Your admissions only made them hasten their paces, and soon, they were both slamming into you. Your head lolled back on your useless neck, resting squarely on Cad’s chest; your legs quivered and jerked as you chased after your second orgasm. Hands wandered, acquainting themselves with every aspect of your body; this only added fuel to the fire which threatened to consume you once more.

With only a few more thrusts, you came undone. Your vision went white as you rode waves of pure bliss, only faintly aware of how erratic their paces had become. It wasn’t until Cad lurched forward and bit you that you were pulled from your euphoria.

His fangs pierced your skin, surely drawing blood; his orgasm, contained by the condom, manifested in quick, jerky motions up into you. Slowly, he eased out of you, lapping up any blood that had trickled from the wound.

Embo found his pleasure not long after that, shooting his cum deep within you; the searing heat of his seed was unexpected, but wasn’t unpleasant. You were almost certain that if he hadn’t been wearing his mask, he probably would have bit you too. He, unlike Cad, didn’t ease out of you. He let you decide what it was you wanted to do, even if it meant keeping his soft cock in you until he hardened up again. You did, however, ease off of him to sit on his lap.

“Dat was good, doll. I might need t’ keep ya around.”

“Yes, well, you may have competition.” He leaned toward you, humming. “Though, I suppose it would be your choice.”

“Who says I have to choose?” You managed, your voice sultry. They cast glances at each other, and Cad shrugged.

“‘Spose that could work.”

Taglist!: @sat-nam-saint @that-clone-wars-girl

You leaned back into the warm chest of one of your Princes. Huh. You liked the sound of that. Who would have thought that someone like you could pull two Princes!

-

[smutbymia]

Hi Mia!!! Can I request Haechan as a “thot” and somehow he ends up finally being able to sleep with his crush who is a virgin? Thank you😂❤️

I mean... hell yes except Haechan isn’t just a fuck boy, he’s also the best friend of your brother Jeno. This doesn’t make him want to fuck you any less, just makes him hesitate for a bit but let’s be real... there’s no way he could ever resist the opportunity to be the first person to corrupt your innocence. Even if he knows your brother is sound asleep in the next room over.

Haechan had seemingly slept his way through a good portion of the freshman class of your college yet it didn’t stop girls from falling at his feet whenever he paid them even the smallest bit of attention. He only slept with each conquest once & some couldn’t handle the heartbreak while others knew exactly what they were signing up for when they spent a night with him.

Most girls would spend their weekends party hopping in hopes of running into him for the once in a lifetime opportunity to fuck him yet here he was at the early hour of 9pm at your front door with your older brother Jeno hunched over his shoulder.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be at your place but usually your brother did his very best to ensure that you never crossed paths, usually inviting his friend in after you had gone to bed or while you were at work.

You stood in front of the door shivering in your white frilly nightgown, suddenly feeling self conscious of its thin material, before speaking. “Wha- what’s going on? Is he okay?” you asked as you stared wide eyed at your brother who seemed to be losing consciousness. You had seen him drunk before but never in this state.

“He broke up with Grace again and I couldn’t get him to slow down with the drinks,” he said as your brother moaned beside him.

“I’ll get him to bed and make sure he’s okay,” said Haechan with Jeno still leaning over his shoulder as he made his way into your home before heading upstairs towards his friends room. “I’ll get him some water,” you offered as you spun on your heels to head to the kitchen.

You filled up two cups for both boys and headed up the stairs. As you rounded the corner at the very top you collided directly into Haechan who had just made his way out of Jenos room. Both cups slipped from your grasp as the contents of one emptied themselves onto your nightgown. The other cup had tumbled to the ground, soaking the floor around you.

In a panic, you stepped back and covered your body but found yourself losing your footing as you slipped in the water around you, nearly tumbling back first in the direction of the stairs. You let out a shriek. In a flash, you were engulfed in a pair of strong arms. Haechan had caught you just in time but now you were pressed against him as you shivered at the sensation of the icy water on your skin.

Apologies spilled from your mouth over and over again. “Oh my godness, I’m so sorry. I got water all over you. I’ll get you a towel and clean this up,” you began. Haechans shirt clung to his toned stomach and water droplets stained the legs of his pants. Your eyes lingered before swallowing and meeting his gaze. “Please, just wait in my room. Don’t stand here in this puddle. You’ll freeze,” you urged. Haechan still hadn’t said anything but ducked away into your room as you ordered.

You cursed under your breath at your clumsiness as you cleaned up the mess on the floor before grabbing a towel and heading into your room to meet Haechan. He had stripped off his shirt and was sitting there in the dark, apart from the moonlight that spilled through your windows.

“H-here you go,” you muttered as you handed him the towel and attempted to avert his gaze. He sat there frozen as his eyes scanned up and down your body, not even reaching out to grab the towel from you. “What’s wrong?” you asked, following his gaze as you looked down at your body. Your white nightgown was now completely transparent. The fabric clung to your breasts as your nipples poked through. The lacy and embarrassingly modest undies you wore were also soaked, not leaving much to the imagination. You may as well have been naked.

The way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. He sat there with lust filled eyes, parted lips, and a visible lump rising in his pants. He followed your gaze towards his erection and groaned before squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry...” he muttered. You crossed the room and put the towel on the bed next to him. When he opened his eyes again you were standing directly in front of him facing away.

“Haechan, help me out of this,” you stuttered. He was both flustered and shocked at the proximity of your body. “W-what?” he asked.

“Please. I’m freezing. Help me take it off,” you stammered with a little more confidence in your voice this time. “Y/N, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to-” he began before you cut him off.

“Haechannie,” you cooed. You felt him suck in a quick breath as the pet name slipped from your lips. “You’ve already seen everything. I’m ashamed so please just help me get this off so I can change,” you said in a shaky voice.

He rose up off of the bed behind you and you felt his hands meet your skin. He started by undoing each of the buttons that ran down your spine. “How could you ever be ashamed of a body like this,” he asked you as he slipped the straps over your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. “It’s just not... sexy,” you answered.

“I mean, you saw for yourself...” he trailed off. “Saw what?” you asked as you stepped out of the dress, leaving yourself topless and covering your chest.

“Not to be vulgar but my dick is super hard right now which is why I should probably get going,” he said as he turned away from you to give you privacy. He was patting himself down with the towel now. You blushed at his confession and felt that familiar feeling of arousal course through your center. You squeezed your thighs together as you gripped your chest a little harder, savouring the feeling without Haechan noticing. “C-can you show me?” you asked. He immediately froze again.

“Y/N — I know you’re a virgin. Your brother reminds me almost every day. You don’t want your first time to be with a guy like me,” he said as his voice turned somber at the ending of his sentence. You were sure that your entire face had gone red by now.

“I don’t want to be a virgin anymore. I was going to get it over with soon anyway. Please Haechannie,” you nearly begged. “I know you’ll take good care of me like you’ve done tonight,” you cooed as you stepped towards him, wrapping your arms around him from behind. You pressed your body to his and leaned your head against his back. His breath hitched as you lowered your hands towards the waistband of his jeans fiddling with the zipper. Soon his erection sprang free as you reached down to palm him through his boxers. He let out a moan, being more vocal than you expected.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he asked. “Am I- am I doing a good job?” You asked him. “Yes, baby girl you are,” he said in a near whisper. Your heart skipped a beat at the nickname. Soon enough he had layed you down gently on the bed, separating your legs as he sat between them. He hovered over your body to capture your mouth in a kiss. He gave you soft wet pecks before slipping his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss. He alternated between trailing licks and kisses along your jaw and down your neck until he reached your chest. Your body tensed up.

“I’m going to take care of you. You don’t have to worry. I’ll make you feel good okay?” he said, locking his gaze with yours. You nodded and he landed another soft peck on your lips in response before moving back down to your chest where he captured a nipple between his lips slowly circling it with his tongue and sucking on the delicate flesh. Your body arched up up off the bed in response to the intense feeling you had never encountered before and you let out a loud moan. Haechans hand flew to cover your mouth.

“Keep quiet for me, baby. Your brother will kill us both if he wakes up,” he reminded you. He kept his hand over your mouth as he worked at the other nipple, letting you moan against his palm — drowning out the noise. As he trailed lower down your body, leaving kisses down your stomach, he paused at your underwear, tracing the frills with his fingers.

“These make you look so sweet and innocent, but you’re a dirty girl aren’t you?” he asked as he planted a kiss over your clit through the fabric. You let out a soft gasp before he pressed his thumb to you, drawing circles around your bud. You whimpered under his touch as he watched you intently, savouring the sight of his best friends innocent sister coming undone in front of him. “Pretty girl...” he cooed as the pleasure continue to build in your pelvis. Soon you were writhing under his touch before he stopped to strip you of the undies, ducking his head between your legs.

You moaned loudly again, ignoring his orders from earlier as he licked up and down your slit allowing his tongue to explore every fold and inch of your pussy. He sucked your clit into his mouth as you approached your first ever orgasm. “Oh- oh my goodness Haechan,” you stammered as your hands flew into his hair. “What-what is this feeling?” you asked. He released your swollen clit from his mouth to continue drawing circles around it and leaning in to kiss you. “You taste so sweet,” he said as he licked at the juices you left on his lips. His speed increased as he rubbed vigorously at your clit. He covered his mouth with yours as shockwaves rippled through your body sending you over the edge. You moaned into his mouth as you reached your orgasm, collapsing into the bed.

“Good girl,” he said, planting kisses across your face as you panted underneath him trying to catch your breath. “You did so well,” he cooed as he rubbed against your cheek, zipping his pants back up.

“Wait, you still haven’t fucked me yet,” you said, voice dripping with honey as you pouted up at him. “You promised,” you pleaded. Haechan groaned as he leaned back down to kiss you, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

“You’re going to be the death of me. I’m trying to be good here but you’re really making it hard for me,” he said in between kisses. You reached down to unzip has jeans as you gripped him through his boxers, jerking him slowly. He whimpered under your touch as curses spilled from his mouth.

“I want to feel you inside of me,” you cooed. It was all it took for him to stand up off the bed and strip down completely. He grabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans and rolled it onto his erection before positioning himself back between your legs. He held himself firmly in his hands as you watched him jerk himself off a few times in amazement. He watched your face as you gazed down at his hands pumping over his cock, biting down on his lip. He tapped the tip over your clit before rubbing it in slow circles and slipping a finger inside of you to prep you. Within minutes you were dripping wet and ready for him.

“Are you going to take my whole dick like a good girl?” he asked you as he lifted your legs up, bending you at the knee as he positioned himself at your entrance. You bit your lip before nodding and responding with an enthusiastic “of course!”. He smiled down at you as he slowly inserted himself into your hole inch by inch. The discomfort was bareable as you focused on the pleasure.

“Shit you’re so tight,” he groaned as he stopped to regain his composure. You watched as sweat trickled down his chest as he finally got his entire length into you. He gazed down at you and planted a kiss on your lips before he began thrusting in and out. Your moans filled the room as he slowly fucked you senseless. He maintained the pace for what felt like an eternity, not wanting to rush either of you over the edge and slowly building up your orgasms. When either of you got too worked up he slowed his pace again. Soon you were both writhing in ecstasy desperate to cum. He palmed your breasts in his hands as you shut your eyes, head in the pillows, nearly motionless, whimpering as he buried himself into you over and over again. Your body shuddered as your orgasm reached you. Your insides pulsated over Haechans cock, milking it. He groaned as his thrusts became more frantic. “Ah, you’re so tight for me... going to cum,” he said as your name spilled from his lips over and over again. You felt his warmth spill into the condom before he removed himself from you and tied it up to discard later.

Soon, he was laying on your bed as you tucked yourself into his chest drawing circles over his skin as he played with your hair, every now and then, lifting your head to plant kisses all over your face. “Yeah, your brother is definitely going to kill me. It’ll be worth it though.”

[noblecrumpet-dorkvision]

Fantastic Flora/Fauna for D&D

D&D games don’t have nearly enough mundane fantasy creatures. Everything needs to either be useful or dangerous for people to care about it! To remedy this, I've created a bunch of fantasy creatures and plants that sprinkle into your campaign to create amazing and slightly alien environments. 

These are inspired by settings like Pandora in Avatar, or the world of the Dark Crystal, where everything seems to teem with movement and sound and luminescence. Most of these creatures and plants are almost entirely harmless but can make a setting unique by inserting just one or two into your world.

Feel free to steal these or let them inspire you to create your own wacky or weird minor plants and animals.

Fantasy Fauna

Balloonfrogs: These frogs inflate pouches in their bodies with air, making themselves rather buoyant. They then leap from trees and spread their large webbed legs and toes to glide through the air. They usually come in bright colors to look like other poisonous frogs, but are actually harmless. Their ability to quickly escape danger is their primary means of avoiding predation.

Cave Barnacle: Cave barnacles can be found in neglected dungeons filled with moisture. They resemble regular barnacles in most ways; clinging to walls and ceilings protected with a hard shell 1-2 inches in diameter. This shell is wider than it is tall and spirals inward towards a central node covered in a hard membrane. The barnacles feed on many things that are considered poisonous or toxic to other creatures. When such a substance floats nearby, they open up their central node and unfurl a frilled fan that twitches in the air to gather the nutrients. Wary adventurers know when cave barnacles are waving their fan it means something dangerous could be in the air. The barnacle’s fan is rather beautiful and comes in bright colors often not visible in the darkness of its home. Some varieties of cave barnacle have a glowing fan.

Floraflies: These insects have many wings and false wings that give them the appearance of a large orchid or other such showy and colorful flower. While at rest, it is nearly indistinguishable from a flower but its true nature can be determined with careful inspection or knowledge of the true flower it mimics. There are many different types of floraflies, each looking like a different flower. Some use their feature to hide from predators while others use it to hide and wait for a pollinating bug to come by. Such floraflies will ambush their prey this way and lay their eggs in them; a gruesome tactic for such a beautiful creature.

Ganglers: These creatures look like large long-leg spiders, but with only three limbs protruding from their fist-sized body. With their legs, they are about 3 feet in diameter when viewed from above. They can climb some sheer walls, but are clumsy and have a hard time on ceilings. Their uneven number of limbs makes them move awkwardly as they scramble away from predators. Despite their slightly scary appearance, they are herbivores and only feed on plants that are common underground and in swamps. They are easily startled by light and will scuttle away from torches or magical light that finds its way into their habitat. The creatures are far from solitary and often gather in colonies ranging from 20 to 100 creatures.

Giant Glow Worm: Like a regular glow worm, these creatures create strands of sticky silk covered in glowing beads of saliva to entrance and ensnare prey. These worms can grow up to one foot in length compared to their smaller counterparts. They feed on Tiny creatures like bats and birds that they catch on their strands, in addition to insects. If a Small or larger creature is caught on a strand, it will usually snap and just stick to the creature causing a mild annoyance. Even if the strand doesn’t break, the worm will know if a creature is too big for it to eat by the vibrations on the silk, and will stay put if it’s too large.

Lightsteel Mites: These insects are very tiny, enough to drift through the air on the slightest breeze. They cling to dungeon and cave walls and eat dust particles. They are a relatively unassuming creature until they come into contact with metals. The mites produce a natural light when touched by a conductor. This light comes in a variety of colors but tends to be one color in particular regions. The mites are only really noticeable when they gather in large colonies and drift onto creatures to feast on the dust covering them. Creatures wearing armor or wielding unsheathed weapons while covered in large numbers of lightsteel mites shed dim light in a 10-foot radius. Trying to wipe away the mites squishes them and spreads their light-shedding blood over the surface they were on. This doesn’t put out the light. The only sure way to get them off and prevent their light is by washing them off with water.

Magma Slug: This 8-10 inch creature looks like a sea slug glowing orange like a candle. It has red frilly feelers going down its back that seem to sway back and forth as it creeps its way along. It can cling to sheer surfaces unless they are slippery with liquid like water or oil. The slug eats iron that it heats up within its body, giving off its orange glow. When frightened, it expels the smelted contents of its stomach quickly, leaving a small red-hot ingot of steel behind. While its predators go after the glowing iron waste, it crawls away, no longer glowing until it eats more iron to digest. The slug dwells in subterranean areas and can survive in an around volcanoes. The creature is immune to fire damage and touching one deals 1 fire damage with each round of contact. Magma slugs do not gather in large groups unless it has no natural predators nearby. Salamanders and other fire creatures prefer their taste.

Marble Glob: These 2-foot diameter oozes look like they are made of polished marble with shifting veins of color including black, white, gray, red, or gray-green depending on its diet. That diet consists of stone and minerals that it breaks down with its unique acid. This acid does not harm organic material, but it is so weak that the glob has little use for industrious creatures. It takes days to eat through even an inch of stone. The glob is harmless and slow-moving, but many of them beneath a foundation can serve a threat to its structure.

Mortar Worm: A mortar worm is an 8-inch long worm only an inch in diameter. It isn’t a particularly remarkable creature, only colored in russet brown. However, it creates spectacular designs. The mortar worm feeds on stone and excretes a natural mortar as waste. As it travels along cavern and dungeon walls, floors, and ceilings, it creates tunnels and ribs in the stone. With enough worms and enough time, the area can take on the porous looking texture of sponge or dried coral, despite actually being made of natural cement.

Prismapods: These creatures look like enlarged pill bugs, about one foot in length. They have the distinctive feature of changing the color of the exoskeleton on their back to match their surroundings. When frightened or when trying to attract a mate, the isopods instead create vibrant colors that alternate down their back segments like a rainbow. These colors glow, producing dim light out to a mere 5 feet. Prismapods live in woodlands in and around fallen trees; the bigger the better. They eat the wood as it decays, leaving trails in the wood that look like they could have been caused by worms.

Skyswimmer Eels: Often found in jungles with moist and warm climates, skyswimmer eels look like flat wavy ribbons undulating up and down as they fly through the trees below the canopy. They range from white to pale blue in color and can reach up to 10 feet long. Their main body is about 4 inches wide and 1 inch high, with the rest of their apparent form comprised of 2 fins that span their body’s length, each extending out to 10 inches. At rest, they cling to trees with their bodies spiraling down the trunk’s length. Some varieties can change color to blend in with trees and leaves, and others have spined rays on their fins. Jungle denizens hunt these beautiful creatures and adorn their clothes with their colorful fins. Other cultures consider the creatures sacred and consider slaying them taboo.

Sleep Geckos: This tiny pink and purple gecko’s skin is poisonous to smaller predators, but to humanoids it is not potent enough to cause harm. However, the poison is a mild anesthetic for them, and can cause mild numbness and drowsiness in Small or Medium creatures. Those that are aware of these properties can gain advantage on Wisdom (Medicine) checks to treat painful wounds. Those who come into contact with the poison must make a DC 11 Constitution saving throw or gain disadvantage on Wisdom (Perception) checks for 10 minutes. Tiny or smaller creatures that fail this saving throw instead take 2d4 poison damage and fall unconscious for 1 hour.

Spectral Terrazoa: This creature looks like a translucent, glowing hydrozoa about the size of one’s fist that roams dark wilderness regions rather than the water. Although called spectral, the terrazoa are quite corporeal albeit ghostly-looking. The creature feeds on airborne nutrients spread by other plants, using its thin tendrils to draw them into its mouth. Spectral terrazoa gather in clusters wherever the air is dense with pollen or fertile scents, slowly climbing trees and boulders to get the best position. They do have a poisonous sting, so they are not entirely harmless, but it only deals 1 poison damage to creatures that touch it. Spectral terrazoa shed dim light out to 10 feet.

Starbugs: These beetles create globes of saliva that they fill with air, then they seal them off and get carried away by the slightest breeze. Starbugs are far from subtle. They can also glow like a firefly. This gives off some heat and lets their saliva-sphere float with a bit of control. The light fills the globe like a lantern, making it seem like a will-o-the-wisp from afar. These creatures inhabit dusky swamps and use their odd form of locomotion to find suitable mates and avoid waterborne predators in the swampy waters where they lay eggs.

Tile Scuttler: Tile scuttlers are land-dwelling crustaceans or possibly insects that dig beneath tiles and stones in subterranean dungeons, hiding beneath them much like a hermit crab hides in a discarded shell. Tile scuttlers can get fairly large, about 5-6 feet in width and length but only about 2 feet tall. They have many powerful legs to hold up the stone that rests on its back, and usually the weight of a Medium creature that stands upon it. Their claws and mouth are too small to do significant damage, using them to feed on insects, small particles, or even tiny vermin. The scuttlers can feel creatures approaching using tremorsense, out to about 15 feet. It tries to hide form larger creatures, but if someone steps on it the scuttler will lift it up and try to move away. In moist places with lots of nutrients, a whole colony can gather in a dungeon’s room, causing an unsettling but usually harmless encounter for adventurers.

Fantasy Flora

Brushgrass: Brushgrass looks like natural grass with frilled tips that grow up to 4 feet in height. They have a peculiar tendency to be attracted to movement and will brush up onto creatures moving near it. Some believe it is to help spread their seeds or to pick up pollen from passing creatures. It is otherwise harmless.

Coilies: This plant looks like a simple, albeit large, teal fern that curls up when creatures come within 5 feet of them. They stay coiled for about 30 minutes, making it easy to tell if a creature has passed by recently.

Dancing Lilies: These white flowers dangle from thin vines that hang from tall trees. Their petals are narrow then fan outward and flop under their weight. The lilies compress their vines to rise and fall to catch sun peeking through the canopy, which often gives them the appearance of dancing.

Dice Plant: The dice plant is an unassuming leafy weed that creates a large, translucent blue seed pod filled largely with air and large loose seeds. When creatures come close to it, the plant shakes to rattle the pod to scare them away, making a sound like dice being shaken in a cup. The plant is otherwise unremarkable.

Fairy Nest: This large flower is about 6 inches in diameter and has yellow or white petals with dark speckles. Its unusual feature is the translucent bright vermilion spheres at the center of the flower that it holds like a cup. These spheres are as small as beads and resemble caviar. The flower is named for these “fairy eggs,” despite the fact that no known fey actually lays eggs. The spheres contain seeds, and creatures that eat them are sure to spread them somewhere. The spheres are rubbery and both taste and smell awful. Strangely enough, orc and half-orc pallets actually enjoy the stuff.

Filigree Plant: The filigree plant has evolved to look like stone, steel, or precious metals despite being as soft and delicate as a regular flowers and leaves. They do so mainly to avoid notice by herbivores that wish to end their long lives. They tend to thrive in man-made dungeons where they simply look like a part of the architecture. When they need to spread seeds, they produce brightly colored fruit that eventually drops to the ground to be eaten by creatures. The fruit is not poisonous and is considered a rare delicacy, so adventurers that find a piece of floral masonry sprouting fruit would best grab it and sell it to the local fruit merchant.

Fountain Coral: This coral has evolved to survive on coasts and strangely above the water. Although made of a colony of hundreds of smaller yellow and pink creatures, its main structure looks like a cluster of seven or so 3-4 foot tubes standing vertically out of the water. As long as it rises out from a reliable source of water filled with nutrients, it can survive by drawing the water up through its tubed form and squirting it out the top of its tube. This method of feeding gives the fountain coral its name. Some are constantly spitting water, while others do so intermittently. Dead fountain coral no longer does squirts water and turns white and hard as stone. Some intelligent creatures use dead fountain coral as natural tubing over short distances.

Rolling Mossball: This creature ranges from 3 to 6 inches in diameter and is made of soft green scraggly plantlife. The mossball’s main form of locomotion is rolling by spinning a water-filled plant organ in the center of its form. It tumbles along the ground, seeking puddles or other bodies of water to rest in or deposit seeds. It is easily startled and its first instinct is to flee. Dead mossballs turn brown and dry out, and are often picked up by gusts of wind.

Shy Ladies: These large plants have giant, 4-foot petals that come in reds, pinks, and violets. When a creature comes within 20 feet of the plant, it curls up its petals into a 4-foot tall, half-foot thin green-white column curving under its own weight. Fey creatures seem to be able to not cause shy ladies to hide their petals, so sprites and other small fey tend to hide their treasures within their petals.

Windstrands: This plant is a vine with red arrowhead-shaped leaves that are always twisted and wavy. Windstrands grow on trees and boulders in hilly or mountainous regions where it can get lots of wind at its height. Without sensing any wind, its seeds simply refuse to grow. The reason for this is how it spreads its seeds: the vine grows several maroon pods that burst in autumn. Inside the pod is a thin, 2-foot long black strand with white puffs at regular intervals. The puffs are like dandelion seeds and separate from the strand when caught by a strong enough wind. Then they float away to grow elsewhere. When the season is right, these puffed strands can be seen waving off of the vines while more white puffs linger in the winds like cherry blossoms.

[notbang]

R/N - #11

halloween prompt meme | read on ao3

It takes him a second to recognise her beneath the wig, but he should have guessed, really. Who else would rent a costume that takes up approximately one third of the office space with its multiple layers of petticoats?

He waits until Paula peels away from her side in the direction of the bathroom, his nostrils flaring at the probably health-code-violating screen of dry ice he has to push through in order to reach where she’s leaning against a column, eyes glued to her period-anachronous phone.

“Figures you’d be involved in this productivity suck somehow,” he says as he sidles up to her, hands stuffed in his pockets in a way he likes to think exudes nonchalance.

Rebecca regards him, unimpressed, over the top of the screen. He’s not sure if it’s the light reflecting from her phone, or her makeup, or both, but she’s even paler than usual; glowing alabaster amongst the dimly lit cubicles.  

Her answering laugh is entirely mocking. “I see your invite failed to get lost in the mail. Kudos on the costume, though—rich white dude is about the most repulsive thing I can think of.”

He gives a pointed once-over to her dress—a complex concoction of white frills and lace—and feels his lips curl back in a smirk. “Almost as terrifying as the prospect of eternal matrimony,” he agrees. “Once again, my deepest condolences, by the way.”

Any chance she has at supplying some kind of rejoinder in retort is squashed by the approach of a waiter—exactly how much money had Darryl spent on this thing, anyway?—with a round mop of black hair that looks like it escaped from a disco in the mid 70s, brandishing a tray boasting an array of dips and elaborately carved carrot sticks.

Rebecca frowns, apparently already somehow acquainted with the server. “Marty?”

“Rebecca B! This is where you work? How about that! Sweet digs. Sweet digs indeed.” The disco flunkey’s eyes light up when they roam across to Nathaniel. “And aren’t you two a fright for sore eyes? A perfectly spooky bride and groom! Yeah, that gaudy ring really finishes the look. That’s gotta be from that pawn shop over on East Cameron—they sell the weirdest old junk there. Something borrowed, something boo, am I right?”

The blossoming red blush breaks out across Rebecca’s chest like bright, blotchy watercolour beneath her skin.

“It’s not—we’re not…” she begins, face scrunching. “This is not—he’s not even wearing a costume!”

Nathaniel, amused enough at her discomfort that his disdain for the entire scenario is secondary, catches the eye of the source of her distress over her shoulder, shaking his head minutely to confirm the absurdity of the assumption.

He can’t help himself, though—his palm finds the small of her back of its own accord. Rebecca’s eyes, if possible, bug even wider as he tugs her towards him. “It never feels like a costume when it’s as real as what we have, though, does it, Muffin?”

Marty lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “Right on—I hear you, buddy. Hope you two enjoy the… patê,” he adds, indicating the tray of dips before disappearing with a playful shimmy.

Barking out a polite laugh at the eye roll-inducing pun, Nathaniel shepherds a still spluttering Rebecca into the break room—currently empty, ostensibly in favour of the makeshift dance floor forming over by the elevator—before promptly dropping his hand away from her back as if badly burned.

“Muffin?!” she seethes as as she whirls to face him, giving him an incredulous shove before batting haphazardly at his chest with her tiny, ineffectual fists.

“It only seemed apropos,” he drawls, lazily, “given how many of them you eat.”

“You…” she growls, then shakes herself, her train of thought seemingly lost to her irritation. “Why are you even here? I thought you couldn’t be within a ten mile radius of candy without your teeth literally falling out.”

“Ha ha,” he says with exaggerated sarcasm. “As distasteful as this entire embarrassing excuse of party is, it is a company event. It’d be unseemly of me not to at least make an appearance.”

“Couldn’t resist ruining everyone’s fun, more like it. God, it’s like everything is some kind of masturbatory performance with you, isn’t it?”

Her ample bosom, amplified by the cut of her gown and in considerable clear and present danger of spilling over and out entirely, rises and falls with the uneven rhythm of her steadily mounting frustration.

Not that he’s looking, or anything. Just that it’s making some kind of point of filling up his field of vision.

“Please,” he sneers, looking down the ridge of his nose and being careful to focus on her splotchy face rather than directly below it as he gestures out towards the bullpen. “Are you telling me you didn’t choose that costume as some sort of dry run for your impending nuptials to the flip flop? I bet you’ve been parading around in that dress all evening, flashing that ring at anyone that so much as glances in your direction. Congratulations, by the way—purple is his colour. Really makes that pawn shop gemstone pop when it’s curled around your fiancé’s spandex covered bicep.”

“There was a slight miscommunication on which Phantom he was dressing up as, okay,” Rebecca snaps. “And I’m not bothered by it, because it’s a charming anecdote that I’m going to tell all the Jewish-Filipino babies we’re going to have every year on Halloween.”

He forces out a sardonic laugh. “Well, have fun with that. Remind me again—why is this a Halloween party?”

“It’s Halloween in September,” she says, incomprehensibly defensive, the no duh implicit in her voice. She crosses her arms, and it does nothing to coax her heaving cleavage back into its confines. “It’s like Christmas in July, except for Halloween. Darryl’s a big fan of mixing things up, unlike you—we get it, dude! You like burgundy ties!”

Just as a riposte is forming on the tip of his tongue, Jim—an eyesore in bright red pleather if one ever existed—barrels through the break room with a drunk and disorderly, vampire-fang-bearing Tim hot on his heels, forcing Nathaniel to sidestep abruptly out of their path. The issue with that is, he fails to notice until he hears the resulting sharp intake of breath, is that it has him pressing Rebecca into the corner of the bench in front of the tinsel-adorned coffee maker.

The smart thing to do would be to step away. The dangerous thing—the stupidest decision possible, really—would be to stand his ground. To loom and crowd her further.

God, it’s like the idiocy of this place is seeping into him via osmosis.

Rebecca gulps, untamed breasts brushing distractingly against his sternum, and casts a frenzied glance out into the party proper, making sure no one is watching them through the slats.

A little light headed but ultimately spurred on by her fluster, Nathaniel straightens his spine and dips his head, voice tipping low to tease. “It still makes sense, you know. The costume choice. After all, your life is basically a soap opera. And nobody can blame you for wanting to hide that—” He nods towards the photocopier, where Josh is otherwise occupied with his attempts to get a Jenga game going with several desks’ worth of highlighters. “—away behind a mask.”

“Yeah, well,” she sputters, “it’s lucky that he got the costume wrong. Because his left is actually his best angle. Yeah. So you’d be missing out, otherwise. And you’re, like, so incredibly wrong. I don’t want to hide his face. I love that face. It’s my favourite face.” He doesn’t miss the way her gaze flits down to his lips, and his tongue darts out to wet it on autopilot. “I wanna rub my face all over his face, all the time.”

He leans in further, and he can’t be imagining it—the way her breath falters, and her eyelids start to flutter as his breath fans out across her face with deliberation. “Uh-huh.”

Interesting, he thinks, filing away the visible pluck of the cords in her neck as she swallows, as if in slow motion, to revisit later.

As if compelled by some inexplicable urge and drunk off finally, finally feeling like he has the upper hand, he tilts minutely, mouth moving towards grazing the shell of her ear. “I know it’ll be tempting, when you’re lying in bed tonight, trying to get the image of your mediocre choice of a life partner squeezed into a morph suit the colour of Barney dinosaur out of your head. But do me a favour, Rebecca, hmm? Try not to—” He pauses dramatically for effect. “—think of me.”

He can tell by the way her eyes widen with surprise for a split second only to scrunch in confusion that she’s caught the reference. Finally, he thinks as his pulse thrums through him with intense satisfaction: a use for having to spend hours inside a stuffy theatre box with an aunt that always smelled too strongly of peppermint oil.

A moment later and Rebecca’s spring-loaded, shoving him aside to make her escape. Just before she melts back into the throng of partygoers, though, she turns, left hand curling around the edge of the wooden partition, ring glinting red beneath the disco lights; the only time all night she’s managed not making it look embarrassingly staged.

“In your dreams,” she tells him, deadly serious, then hikes up her voluminous skirts and stomps off in flurry of frilly white lace and bouncing black-brown synthetic curls.

[themyriadmen]

21:13

“Well, aren’t you a stubborn one.” The voice was… detached, the faintest notes of amusement just barely audible beneath the polite disinterest. Idithal turned in place, looking for its source - and taking in his surroundings as he did. A posh sitting room greeted him, the decor tastefully extravagant, all done up in deep, bloody scarlets and burnished gold. Sin’dorei colors, though of darker shades than the heraldry he was used to. He wondered if it were a deliberate choice of style, or if the room was simply dulled with age. A coat of dust covered every surface he could spy, cobwebs hung limp in high corners and between furniture that was beginning to tatter and fray.

It took an embarrassingly long time to realize that the world was in a fidelity he did not recognize. More vibrant, sharper, but oddly muted. Walls did not allow his sight through, but stood immutable with their aged filigree and chipping paint. This was, a distant, academic part of him realized, how others must see. How he had once done, before he had consumed a demon and become who he now was. Not that he could remember anything from before.

In fact, he could not remember coming in to this room, or the home that presumably housed it. He had been… Had been… 

Crumbling architecture, broken tombstones, candles burnt down to the quick, chains made of old, blackened iron. They burn as they are wound around him - the metal frigid cold against his skin. She is a shadow in a corner of the room, imposingly tall and in a frilled dress more suited for a ball than a mausoleum. Firelight dances in her eyes, flashes across pointed teeth when she apologizes and promises him it will hurt.

He looked down at his arms, bare and scarred, sickly light spilling through rends in his flesh. The weight of iron pulled at their every movement, but he could not see the chains.

“Fear not, your shackles still remain.” That voice again, closer - by the fire. Had it been lit a moment ago? “Forgive me that I found them a touch unsightly, and so elected not to see them.”

There was a plush sofa that he did not remember seeing as he spun, and a man sat in it that he most certainly would have remembered. He was an elf - sin’dorei, to match the room, with eyes that glow a dull, lifeless blue beneath a head of neatly coiffed hair. His face had the usual noble bearing of his kind, and his lips were pulled into a recreation of a smile that was just slightly off from perfect.

“Please, sit. You have come all this way to see me, I would be remiss if I did not offer you at least some comfort as reward.” Idithal blinked, and between the fluttering of his lids another sofa had spontaneously come into existence beside the stranger’s. He stood still, and invisible hands gripped him by the shackles he could no longer see and dragged him to the seat.

“Wonderful,” said his host, that same, emotionless smile not so much as twitching.

He made to stand, but leaden weight forced him back into the cushion. “Who are you? Where are we?”

“I believe you know the answer to at least one of those questions.”

The world tinges red, the chains tightens around him until they bite into his skin and his blood is lost in the haze of anima. It screams from him, torn from his soul and drawn out through his throat in tormented cries.

“Remember, boy,” she says, claw-tipped fingers outstretched towards him as he writhes. “Remember, and repent.”

“Revendreth,” he mumbled, phantom pains echoing through him and causing him to grimace. “I went to… To find out who…”

The stranger across from lifted a hand and gave a small, sarcastic wave. “Hello, me,” he said, voice filled with false cheer. “I had hoped never for us to meet, but as I said. You are frustratingly tenacious when you wish to be - not that I ought to have been surprised.”

“I don’t understand,” was the first thing Idithal could think to say, and his… twin? Doppelganger? Psychotic break? The other guy gave a mirthless chuckle.

“Not precisely quick on the uptake, though I believe that to be more of a fault of environment than intrinsic flaw. You tend to rely upon others to do the thinking for you.” The other hummed, the hand that had waved now drumming across the arm of his chair. A leg lifted to cross over his knee, and his head tilted in consideration. “Entertaining, certainly, though I must admit to a hint of frustration. I was always rather self reliant, whereas you tend to fall apart without guidance - no offence intended.”

“Fuck you,” he growled, and the ghost of a rattle sounded out as he attempted again to leap from his seat - again without success. “Tell me what’s going on!”

His answer was that same, damnable smile, as though it had been chiseled into his other’s face. “Ah, there is the temper. Naughty naughty, brother, dear - do you mind that I call you brother? I find it helps to keep things a mite less confusing.”

Idithal’s chair hopped with the force of his next attempted escape. It righted itself immediately after.

“Now,” the other continued, as if he was not the subject of a murderous glare, “I am sure you were expecting some… tragic play in three parts that would sum up your backstory - or, better yet -”

Idithal blinked, and the posh sitting room had been replaced by the demon-infested ruins of the Vault of the Wardens. He was no longer sitting, but stood up within one of the crystalline prisons, frozen but aware, staring out at the other-him on the other side of the cell.

“- something more akin to this, yes? Perhaps with the demon you had subjugated in place of me, exuding its malevolence into you, giving you an excuse for the evils that you commit?”

Another blink and he was back in the chair. A tremble passed through him.

“I wish that I could regret informing you that such is not the case. The simple truth is that there is no jailer, not any longer. The act we undertook, taking the essence of the Legion within ourselves, warring with it to come out the victor, was above all else a matter of will. A pity for the departed, then, that will happens to be a thing which I have in abundance. I subjugated the demon in whole, took its essence within myself and became it. I won the war.”

Idithal’s jaw worked for a moment as he attempted to find the words. “Then what is this? Why are… How am I here?”

“A miscalculation on my part,” his other shrugged. “Or, perhaps, finding myself unused to our newfound ability. You know well by now that the demon consumed specialized in withdrawing and storing the souls of others. Due to my unfamiliarity, I managed to slip myself into the bounds of that metaphysical cage, leaving my body temporarily without… agency, shall we say. You were a sort of autonomous response, the simplest, most basic parts of me taking hold so that I was not some empty husk upon the floor. I had, in fact, been near to wresting control of myself back when the Illidari threatened to kill us, but then…”

The silence was leading, and Idithal’s voice was small when he answered it. “Vylen.”

“Just so. I found myself intrigued by her intervention, by what use she might have had for you. I contented myself to sit back,” he waved a hand at the room they were in, “and watch events unfold, with the knowledge that I might intervene should the need ever arise. And, in truth, it never did. My experimental interest became more of an… existential one, I suppose you might call it. I came to wonder how you might grow, with the seeds of me in you, sewn in some foreign soil. It has been a treat, watching you become an arguably better person than I had ever pretended to be, when I came from a loving home and family, and you were birthed in a camp full of demonic betrayers. Not to mention that, through you, I have been able to experience my revenge far greater than I had ever dared to hope.”

Idithal’s head spun. His entire life was just… a fluke? A game? A story, to stave off the boredom of the man he had once been?

“Your revenge? I don’t… I don’t understand, any of this.”

The other’s legs uncrossed, then came together again - the opposite leg now on top. “I should, I suppose, start at the beginning. Allow you a bit of the catharsis you sought in that fool plan of yours -”

He has screamed and screamed and screamed until his throat has torn to pieces and there is not enough of him left to rebuild it.

“- if only to prevent it from ruining my fun. We were born with what our dear sister once described as a remarkable capacity for apathy. In truth, a mind healer likely would have done us some good in our formative years - especially after father’s passing, but mother was a proud sort who refused to admit that anything might be wrong in her baby boy’s head. She coddled, and I loved her for it, but one cannot help but wonder how they might have turned out in different circumstances. Well…” 

He trailed off, sending Idithal a look that sent shivers down his spine.

“One who did not have the particular opportunity that you have afforded me might wonder, I suppose. I digress - as you have experienced for yourself, it is intensely simple for us to assign no value to life. Conversely, for those few we do manage to care for, the depth of our esteem for them is… worrying, in a certain capacity. A thing which you have also found out. Tell me, which hurts worse? The scar she left, or the intangible ache of betraying your friend?”

His expression shifted for the first time, to one of honest, open curiosity.

“I had never been able to manage friends, you see. My family - my loved ones, were all that I required. To bother with those of lesser value seemed too inefficient for me, but I watched you try it. You cared for - care for? - that Light totem far less than you do dearest Vylen, but even that is more than I am familiar with.”

“Isilliya,” was all he could bring himself to say. “Her name is Isilliya. Not ‘Light totem.’”

His other waved away the correction. “Yes, yes, as you say. Mn. Carrying on - to me, my mother and sister were as Vylen is to you. They were the ones I loved. The only ones. Naught else in all the worlds and all the realms mattered. I used that, to keep them safe. Used how little value I saw in others to place value upon myself. I learned to spy, to stalk, to kill - and I charged good gold for all of it.”

“It wasn’t enough,” Idithal murmured. He wasn’t an idiot, he could see what was coming.

His other’s face froze, became as blank as a statue’s. “It was not. War has a habit of spilling over, of claiming lives uninvolved in it. I lost them both in the Second War, in a clash between the Horde and Alliance. Tell me - in what you imagined to have been a threat against your love, you tore to pieces a friendship you had actually valued, and visited great harm upon a person you had found the capacity to admire.”

Idithal’s head fell, shoulders slumped in shame.

“Tell me, knowing you would do such a thing to a ‘friend,’” the other continued, “how do you think I reacted to the loss of those I loved? What would I have done to those I assigned the same importance as the dirt beneath my shoes?”

“You killed them.”

It was, after all, what he would have done.

“In droves,” the other agreed, that stony visage cracking to show just a hint of maddened glee beneath. “Any I could find bearing those standards. Any who called themselves soldiers in that damned war. All were complicit. When the dead marched upon Quel’thalas, I stood aside, because it was right. It was just, that innocents suffer and die as my family had, meaninglessly, mercilessly. When the Sunwell fell and the quel’dorei withered, I drank a toast. When the Dark Portal sparked to life and armies marched upon it, I stood within their ranks and planted knives in their backs.”

The madness began to creep into his voice, a sort of keening, hysteric pitch.

“I sabotaged garrisons. I slit the throats of scouts and messengers. I bled them for every step they took against the Legion, against Illidan… and when I had weakened. When I could no longer hide amongst them, or steal enough to sustain myself, I turned to him. Gave myself freely to his cause, because it brought him into contest with those I would see destroyed. It did not matter that we might fail. That my death was likely. So long as we hurt them. So long as they paid in blood and souls for every victory against us. So long as a score of them fell for every one of ours…”

“Why didn’t you come back?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Why did you let me… Live?”

“Curiosity, at first, as I said,” the other shrugged, dragged back from his manic and melancholic edge. “While I had my goal in mind, my vengeance left to take, you were being directed in ways that satisfied that goal. Vylen wielded you rather expertly, and I found myself enjoying the life she found for us. It was… nice, I believe is the proper word, to have others to work with. Educating, to see how your sense of self formed around them. In time, I found myself loathe to part you from the one you had come to love so fiercely, knowing as I do the pain of that loss. I am a monster, brother dear, but I do frown upon hypocrites.”

“So, that’s… That’s it? You just… You think I’m entertaining?”

“You?” The other scoffed. “Heavens, no. You are rather a disappointment. All of my worst traits, and a refusal to acknowledge them. Even now, you crossed over into death and subjected yourself to torture in effort to find someone else to blame for your actions. You came here expecting to find a demon, a dragon to slay, some dark spectre tugging at your thoughts and directing your ill intent. Well, surprise,” he smiled that old, fake smile. “I have done no such thing. Your failures are all your own.”

Idithal felt suddenly nauseous, and a chain snaked its way up his chest to cinch around his throat.

“Not on this carpet,” the other warned. “Mother loved it. Where was I - ah. No, it is not you I find entertaining, it is your life. Had I retaken the reigns of my being, there is every likelihood I would not have survived the tribulations you bumbled your way through. Would not have had dearest Vylen there, holding my hand, keeping me safe from my own inadequacy. No, I would have fallen - perhaps at the Temple, perhaps before, and none would have mourned my passing. You, though… You lived where I would have not, and because of that I have seen so many wondrous things. Countrysides burning in felfire as the Horde and Alliance failed against the Legion. Watched their own paranoid, greedy idiocy then see them taking up broken arms against each other once more. Through your eyes I saw Teldrassil burn. I saw you turn your blades against men and women who thought you their comrade. I watched an Old God’s dreams call them like lambs to the slaughter. I watched the dead rise and turn their cities into charnel houses. I watched them scramble and flail as their leaders were whisked away into a shattered sky.”

As he spoke he had risen from his chair and crossed to Idithal’s. His twin leaned down, a hand placed upon each of the sofa’s arms, and bore his crazed eyes into Idi’s own.

“Through you, I have witnessed my enemies suffer beyond even my darkest imaginings, and I will not stand for your foolishness interrupting my fun. You will leave me, never again to return. You will fix your mistakes, grovel and plea to be taken back into their arms, because they have the strength to survive within the eye of the storm, and I would see it rage around them. You will be better, because I demand it.”

The other abruptly rose and took a step back. He lifted one leg, pressed the sole of a polished boot against Idithal’s chest.

“Goodbye, brother, dear,” the smile was back as the leg pushed out, knocking Idithal back in his chair. “Pray we do not meet again.”

Idi tipped backwards in his seat, and when his back struck the ground he found himself lying on the floor of a crypt, weeping blood and tears, his own breath choking in his lungs.

“I warned you that it would hurt,” said Inquisitor Anasthia, as she floated above his broken form.

[runin-reads]

❛ under my umbrella ❜

— tendou x reader oneshot

W/C: 1.5 k

TAG(S): @mushfairy​ since this is a collab with her!

SYNOPSIS: “So what do you say, Sa-to-ri? You up for the challenge?

“You’re on”, he replies with a grin.

In which you jokingly challenge Tendou to perform in the up-coming talent show. You don’t think he’s actually going to do it, and Tendou is hell bent on proving you wrong. 

Inspired by this song and performance

Breathe, you’ve got this.

Tendou is out backstage, waiting his turn to perform for the long-anticipated talent show. The other dancers, both male and female, are waiting alongside him, waiting with bated breath. The vocalists, the bands, and the stand-up comedians have already performed. There’s only one more performance from the martial arts committee to really get the adrenaline pumping within the audience. After they finish, Tendou and the rest of the Miyagi City Dance Crew would debut to the awaiting crowd. 

He catches your eye from a gap between the curtains from where you’ve just been seated at the front row, and he thinks he’s not doing a bad job at facing your challenge.

“And up next, it’s the Miyagi city dance crew, dancing to singing in the rain by Gene Kelly,” the announcer declares. 

Make the audience yours. Dance as if you own the stage and the complete attention of the people watching you.

There was a silence… and then the curtains were drawn. 

There he is, Tendou Satori in the flesh, wearing a pinstripe suit and a smart, wide brimmed hat. The music playing was cheerful and vintage, the smooth, velvety vocals echoing through the stage as he skipped about with a spring in his step and hand on his hat. He knows this is just the beginning. He does a good job at spinning around and tapping his feet, putting on a show for all eyes to see. Underneath his hat, his eyes are shining. Underneath the grip of his hand, is an umbrella.

The music changes. It changes into a steady beat led by percussion that duels with breath-taking vocals, as lights flash and fellow dancers in black bodysuits come on stage from the sides. The song that’s playing now is Umbrella by Rihanna, and when Tendou comes out from behind a wall of umbrellas --that are held courtesy of his teammates-- his suit is off, he has the same umbrella in hand, and on his body? A fucking leather bodysuit that ends mid-thigh.

He looks like a hired dancer for a private show. Along his shoulders are thin leather straps attached to an equally as black tank top, leading down to shiny shorts that streamline his body and draws attention to his actions in a way that the old volleyball uniform fails to do; tight enough to showcase his figure, not enough to restrict movement. There are frills along the hem of the shorts that put emphasis on his legs, the same legs that are covered in fishnets that lead down to black ankle boots. The lingering stares he earns makes him feel like a palace courtesan from a time long gone, but that doesn’t matter right now.

Make the audience yours. 

Tendou repeats the words in his head, and does exactly that.

The crowd is already cheering, high-pitched whistles and excited whoops that get drowned out by the music. Tendou starts strutting to the beat and steps into a new persona. Tonight he isn’t the ex- middle blocker of one of the best volleyball teams of the nation; he's just Tendou Satori, a red-haired dancer tasked with making the entire venue fall to their knees. 

With the electrifying music that’s just the right blend of passion and longing, he turns his body into a weapon of well-practiced moves, a weapon of seduction set to kill. He doesn’t have time to contemplate the wide-eyes of his friends, or the way his movement made your jaw drop -- because whatever it is you’re feeling at the moment, he doesn’t think it’s disgust.

Instead, he throws himself into his dancing, as if he was part of the dance club he teamed up with, as if he was born to move for his lover, for you and only you. His legs strut to the music and his hips move like even Shakira can’t match his tempo. He’s constantly on the move, dropping down to run a hand up his leg, throwing his head back and moving his torso to do a complete body roll that’s directed towards flushed faces and parted mouths. He’s spinning the umbrella between nimble fingers, and holding that same umbrella between his legs as he sways his body to the beat.

He falls deeper into the mania of the performance. He dances in sync with the rest of the crew. The flashing lights and the roaring crowds become a blur once he really gets into it; it’s as if he’s in his world, it’s as if the only spotlight is on him and you and whatever lies in between. Tendou wants to cross that distance, and so he does. 

“You can run into my arms

it’s okay don’t be alarmed

come into me…”

Rihanna sings with a voice that’s straight from the heart, and as if on cue he cat-walks to the edge of the stage where you’re sitting close-by, he does so with his head thrown back and his glistening neck on display. His arms are wide open as if sending an invitation:

Are you really that unaffected? Why don’t we find out, he seems to say, even with his mouth shut and in the form of a tantalizing grin. 

He doesn’t look for an answer to this question. Rather, he drops to the ground, onto his back, and arches his back upwards in order to feel the burn of leather across his ribs. His eyes flit to your face, he sees the stiffness in your jaw, sees your knuckles clutching onto the armrests for dear life, sees your usual icy eyes and is faced with nothing but fire. He doesn’t glance at your face again, he lets you burn. He slinks back into the formation, and continues his performance. In the background, Rihanna continues her heartfelt singing:

“So gon' and let the rain pour

I'll be all you need and more…”

Following the bellowing voice, the dance becomes more intense and all of a sudden there’s water pouring down, supplied from the special effects team. Tendou uses the water to his advantage, splashing it forward using his hand, slicking his hair back with the streams running down his body. 

He ends the routine with a forward flip onto his back that quite literally knocks the breath out of him and the people watching. There’s a definite roar as the audience responds, people screaming names, shouting their disbelief and throwing out compliments like it’s going out of style. He sits up as blasts of confetti are falling through the air, streams and whirlwinds of different colors obscuring his vision, yet the only color he can focus on is the red of your cheeks and your smile which may as well be a whole fucking rainbow on it’s own.

That’s enough, Tendou thinks. You’re all I needed to see.

Now that the performance is done with, there’s only one thing left to do:

He takes the umbrella that was lying on the floor, he opens it and holds it up his head. With a low bow to the audience, he links arms with his brothers and sisters in arms, and they saunter off of the stage. He feels eyes on the back of his neck and down the curve of his spine. Paired with the sweat on his back and water running down, it feels like he’s become one with the sky and rain. He sends one last lingering look towards you, and with a jerk of his head he manages to convey one simple message:

Meet me outside, I got something to say to you, and because the two of you are in sync, always will be and always have been, that’s exactly what you do. You meet him outside with butterflies in your stomach and your heart on your sleeve. When you finally spot him standing in a warm coat, comfy sweatpants and the same umbrella he used to perform in his hand. You move to make way towards him, only for Tendou to spot you first.

“Hey! So how was my performance, hm? Did ya like it? Did I blow your mind outta the water like I said I would?” he asks excitedly, and you watch with amusement as he waves wildly before making his way towards you. 

“I did this for you, ya know. Now do me a favor and can you actually get to the part where you praise me?” The look on his face as he says this is proud, yet underneath you can see a genuine desire to hear your thoughts and words of affirmation.

“You did fucking great, Sato-kun. You fucking killed it and I doubt there’s anyone out there that thinks otherwise.”  You say this with as much adoration as you can, and you stuff your hands in your pockets as he beams at the use of his nickname. 

The two of you start walking home side-by-side, the sound of his voice being enough to drown out the rain. At some point, the rain gets heavier and Tendou’s only response is to use one arm to press you flush against his side. I could stay forver like this, you think, with a warm hand on your shoulder and a familiar face still buzzing with excitement paired with an umbrella overhead to keep you dry from the rain. In the background you hear thunder and you flinch, only for Tendou to lay a hand on your head to tuck you near his chest. From this up-close, you can hear his heartbeat grow steady. From this up-close, you can hear a familiar tune being sang:

“You can stand under my umbrella-ella-ella, eh, eh, eh. Under my umbrella-ella-ella, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh-eh…”

A/N: what do you guys think? I spent a long time on this, so feedback is greatly appreciated. Let me know your thoughts on this, and what I can do to improve. Take care everyone!

- Trish

[skekiss]

for anyone interested here’s the first little (unfinished) opening segment of the first chapter of a wip fanfic. warning: many skeksis under the cut

'Another! ANOTHER! Tell me another one!'

The Emperor roared. Raucous laughter followed, echoed in the near empty open chamber of the high banqueting hall. Cruel and mocking, wicked pleasure rang off the stony tarnished walls, over and over, filling the candlelit chasm with a cacophony of snarling, snapping, cawing, clawing. Barking, biting, sneering. The Skeksis Lords were gathered together at their long table, settling into their spaces, ready to dine. 

It was SkekLi at the Emperor's ear during the starting course, the Satirist reciting a story of his own imaginings, peppered with mention of the Emperor's impressive eternal rule, he wielded his long, scaly arms, with grand and sweeping gestures, ruffled sleeves dragged through cold and acrid soup. The beady, gleaming eyes of the Emperor, far too enraptured to notice his meal had been soiled. As SkekLi, the Satirist, graciously appealed to SkekSo's dark and wicked sense of humour, and to his ego, in unrivalled manner. Silver tongued and skillful, SkekLi had taken it upon himself as the entertainment of tonight’s dinner. 

Clawed fists curled tightly, they beat their bony knuckles against the table, as the Skeksis erupted in a bout of cackles again at SkekLi's woven tale. Silverware trembled, liquid sloshed and spattered from their metal goblets. Those seated closest to the Emperor, and to SkekLi, erupted into another violent chorus of sniggers and howls. The Ritual Master, the Treasurer, the Scroll-Keeper, the Ornamentalist, the General -- even the Gourmand, all crowing and screeching, flailing and falling into one another. 

SkekKa's maroon eyes narrowed enviously. From his seat at the very far end of the banquet, he just wasn't in on the joke. Unable to hear the story over the excitement of the others, he was left only to his imaginings of what could possibly be this funny. To make matters worse, with all of the rumbling, the stomping and stamping surrounding the Emperor, SkekKa's goblet tipped over and flooded his plate, it bled into his viscous soup and rolled with a clink, clink, clink onto to the floor. He groaned. He was thirsty and famished. His skull ached from the racket, his belly bloated by hunger, his throat hoarse with thirst. 

Unlike the other Skeksis at the table, pouring their soup down into their gullets, overspill running from their open snapping maws staining their collars, gowns and furs, SkekKa at the very end of the table would now instead have to wait for mains to be served, stomach whining. He sighed, glared, shifted with impatience and irritability. After all, it wasn't just his seat at the table nor his lack of food that segregated him from the other Lords at the banquet. 

SkekKa, though taller and spine straighter than the other Skeksis, and appearing stern and somewhat respectable at a glance, he had been unable to hide his frailty, nor his glaring differences from the rest. And so, SkekKa was often ignored or avoided, as though his difference was some disease they could catch, as though his weakness contagious, the other Skeksis refused to to take their chances with him. Often left to his own devices, his own sole company.

SkekKa wasn’t diseased, though he was very thin and with very little strength in his spiny limbs, he avoided violence and conflict, much to the disgust and shame of the other Lords, whenever he was cornered and confronted.

He equally just wasn't as crass, his voice carried a quieter, gentler tone -- of which the others loathed and mocked with much delight. SkekKa had soon realised he made a far better listener, only by staying so quiet and withdrawing from conversation, his presence became less and less noticeable amongst the noisy, obscene Skeksis. Unable to compete with them, SkekKa was often forgotten.

Even his dress was muted, compared to the others. He carried less layers, due to struggling under the weight of the cloaks, ruffled, metals and jewels. SkekKa donned only rags, having scavenged for scraps, discarded materials from the Ornamentalist’s extensive dresser. Though this was not so much by choice of his, that didn't matter at all to the other Skeksis, they found his ravaged appearance to be insulting to their fine, ornate species. 

Then, impossible for SkekKa to change, was his shuffling gait. Having to walk with a cane ever since the early days hadn't helped in his appeal - - as he suffered not through gnarly injury or battle or any other bold and bloody claim - - his cane he’d carved for himself was just to steady and ease his awkward limp of which he’d been borne with. A weakness the Skeksis found entirely insufferable.

They called him soft, a runt, among other far worse things. ‘I’m not quite certain you’re even really a Skeksis!’ SkekTek had claimed once, when examining SkekKa’s withered leg and chuckling coldly. Others too, considered this. It was only SkekKa that doubted the Scientist’s credibility. 

SkekKa eyed the cavernous corridor that led down to the kitchens anticipating the next round of food, his belly cramping with insatiable hunger. Usually the Emperor would have barked for the next course by now, but so engaged were they all with SkekLi’s jokes, SkekSo had yet to call for more. Again SkekKa stared down the length of the table, hungry, thirsty and furiously jealous.

Between SkekKa and thoroughly entertained gathering, there were a few Skeksis that appeared to be skipping tonight’s mealtime, he noted, from the spaces left, their silver plates shining and empty. The Scientist, for one, was thankfully absent, most likely tinkering down in the bowels of the Castle with his metals, his potions, his flurry of frightened caged creatures. SkekNa would be down in the kitchen threatening his slaves, and SkekSa’s seat was always empty. She preferred the salted wind and sea to the confines of their Castle keep. So, where was the…

‘Hmmmmmmmmmm?’

The Chamberlain.

His whine, high and tuneless split the laughter, as SkekSil shuffled into the hall dragging all of his layers and layers of crimson, of black, frills, ruffs, almost suffocatingly covered and crippled by the mass of them. Silence, finally, descended upon the banquet at his entrance.

‘Ugh,’ the Emperor grunted, ‘that noise.’ 

The other Skeksis too looked towards him with disdain, but the Chamberlain didn’t respond nor appear to even care for their unpleasant reactions, his simper steadfast, bowing his head -- the slightest shift before the Emperor -- he ambled towards a seat for himself at the table, the seat that was spare next to SkekKa.

‘Many missing. Wonder where SkekUng might be,’ the Chamberlain said, sliding in next to SkekKa and somewhat pushing him aside. SkekKa then realised, SkekUng too had not yet made an appearance, his great hulking form and bellowing voice was not present at all in the chamber.

‘Very curious,’ the Chamberlain continued. 

SkekKa hadn’t thought much of it -- and rarely ever was he included in gossip, save for what he overheard. Left out, outcast, SkekKa knew very little of the happenings in the castle, much unlike the Chamberlain, who made sure to make such things his business, as was his nature. 

‘I hear SkekUng has found breakthrough with making a beast.’

‘A beast?’ SkekKa’s muddy red eyes flitted to SkekSil for the first time.

‘Hmmmmmm.’ The Chamberlain nodded fervently as he whined.

‘A beast? What for?’

‘MORE!’ Cried the Emperor. This time, it wasn’t for another of SkekLi’s stories, but for food. ‘Bring me my main course!’ Main course, main course, main course, came the giggling chants of the other Lords.

‘SkekSil --’ SkekKa pressed, but the Chamberlain’s attention was drawn to the cavern at the sound of their chanting, the clunking of metal on stone. A deliberate, slow dragging sound, closer and closer. Thurump - thurump - thurump.

Finally, SkekNa, the Slave-master, appeared at the mouth with his hoard, dragging his many gelfling along in tow, linked by chain, they stumbled, single file, slumped, sweaty and tired, each carrying a bowl, a plate or cloche, covering all manner of cooked foods to the table. A Skeksis of little words, his features severe, his expression solely unforgiving.

Exhausted from the torturous heat of the kitchens, the gelfling train couldn’t keep time with their master. SkekNa hissed at them loudly, mouth wide and baring all of his teeth, snapping viciously at another who squeaked at his rage. With all their flinching and dodging, the last in the long line of gelfling fell to his face. Everyone laughed, save for SkekSil and SkekKa -- watching as the captured creatures, small and fuzzy like soot, bounced from their crashing container and scattered the floor. The Chamberlain’s gaze followed one, right out the door and away.

SkekLi’s evening entertainment had meant the Skeksis were in an unusually good mood and so even when faced with the wastefulness of the fallen gelfling they barked with malicious laughter. Even SkekNa, who had screamed murderously at his gelfling slave’s mistake, snorted at it struggling back to its feet. Yanking the chains again roughly so that all of them were jerked around, whiplashed and desperate not to lose their footing.

The gelfling male was emaciated and could barely stand, breathing hard. His sunken cheeks and frightened, dark and wild eyes were ringed by deep shadow. His features mostly hidden behind ratty dark hair, uneveningly hacked at. His pale flesh spattered with shining scars. He was trembling, arms wrapped at his waist, bare arms bandaged from his hands to his elbows, crusted with old, brown blood, and blossoming with bright red anew. Burns.

‘I… I’m sorry, m’Lord,’ the gelfling bowed low as he could, smarting and panting.

‘Silence!’ Hissed SkekNa.

‘Oh, you are forgiven.’ The Emperor said, his cold eyes glinting in the flickering candle-light.

The gelfling bowed again, brought to tears. ‘My Lord.’

‘Take that one down to SkekTek.’ The Emperor pointed viciously, an order to SkekNa.‘See that this one’s ailments are seen to.’ A joke of his own, the Skeksis cackled again, clutching their sides and clawing the table.

The gelfing’s eyes grew wide as the Slave-master swept towards him, unhooking him from the link of his kind.

‘No -- wait -- I --’

SkekNa dragged the gelfling viciously by the chain. 

‘It won’t happen again I --’

Taking a clawful of the gelfling’s tattered hair, SkekNa heaved him across the stone. The other slaves looked on with fear as their master separated himself from them, unfastening their metal leash from his belt, forcibly pulling their fallen comrade from the hall. Nails scraped and the gelfling cried out in pain, choking and spluttering still that he was sorry -- it won’t happen again -- drowned out by the jeering and cheering of the Skeksis, tongues lolling and clapping and peeling with laughter.

‘That it won’t!’ The Emperor roared. ‘Now let’s eat!’

[hamletstudy]

[1/100] - // 7.18.19 // death’s head hawkmoth 

So I’ve been kind of emotional as of late. I was jarred into remembering about the ghost of the knight that guarded Jenna Heap’s bedroom after seeing a photoset with a description that listed various ways how ghosts could exist or reasons why they would linger: and that those paired with strong emotions never did fade away. For some reason, this triggered the floodgates: and I found myself weeping over a knight whose name I can’t even remember. I just know that he was fond of silly jokes, and often made terrible puns. He presided over the princess’ bedroom as he had for all of the other princesses before her, and when the castle was being overcome with dark magic thanks to Simon, her brother gone rogue: he made a spirited (spirited!) attempt to defend her. There’s something about that sweet wholesomeness in a paternal figure that really made me bawl, especially when he’s clumsy about it and sometimes taken for granted when Jenna is in a snit.

I keep hearing the whip poor will birds. The tiger lilies that’d been shorn and placed into a glass to dry out and die have long been disposed of, mulched back into the earth, maybe- buried like compost in little piles in the rich loam. They call in a peculiar sort of way, against the other bright birdsong that lights up in early morning and continues until late evening, when the sun falls from the skies: a repeated end noise that makes it sound as if they’re speaking to you. 

I haven’t heard, or seen any black birds: crows, ravens, red winged black birds, and I’m worried that the mortal offense of the SUV nearly running them over made them a little more cold, indifferent: I hadn’t had any of them call at my usual alarm hours. I can understand. Or perhaps it’s just that I’m growing up- after all, a coming of age, a loosening of the bonds of childhood: plunged into new plumages and new eras coming alighting down on feathers not so glossily inky.

I’ve been watching a lot of Dr. Mike reacts to medical dramas as of late- I think it’s just that weird, parasocial coziness of having someone more informed than I am explain as we go along, a sort of false learning that I nod and smile at while idly digitally collaging in the background. Speaking of digital collaging, I forgot how soothing that is for me. It’s the perfect way to go about it. The internet has limitless resources, all of the ways to edit it you could want- without any of the mess of glue, shakily trimmed edges from damaged hands, and no worrying about the bulk or tearing if you choose to arrange them in a particular way.

I’ve been feeling isolated. I feel like I know some things approximately, and not very many concretely. The sheer variation of plants around here is comforting, in a distracting sort of way: but the birds are beginning to haunt me. They’re there when I wake up, jarred from sleep- they’re there when I’m trying to go to bed. They’re always there. The greenery seems so far apart from me: almost too exhausted to take in the variation. It all seems like so much work. 

It feels like I’m perpetually exhausted. My body seems to want eight hours of its own accord, regardless of the timespan that this falls into. I’m sick of being eaten alive in my own house. The walls are infested with biting bugs: my shoulders and back are livid and red, and I’ve expressed pus from several of them, including on my face and fingers myself. Blood spattering down my face has become almost commonplace.

My hair is a lot more biddable when it’s not being run through the daily stress of being washed three times with enough shampoo to drown a rat in. I’ve killed one black spider that was already curled up and twitching after I trod on a curtain, and one fly that took entirely too long to die. I’m a terrible shot with a towel. I like running my hands through my bangs. The way that it looks as if I’ve a particularly short, boyish cut is really pleasing. I think the bang running is a self soothing habit borne of nervousness, though. Sometimes I pull at my hair in frustration. It’s annoying to try to sleep with it all bundled up into a bun, but even in the cooler depths of the basement- which due to the odd placement of a hilly slope, is really the ground floor, it’s hot as hell. And giant mosquitos live down there. Alongside the black widow colony that set up residence and that I spotted first, as well as swaying, white thick strands of webbing that had gotten all tangled up and coarse.

Found a book that I forgot that I had lent, that I had owned. The sparkly triangles on the cover are soothing. The heft of the book, the cut of the pages. The softness of its supine spine. I cried when I realized it was a book about a woman in my shoes, who had chosen to be furiously happy in spite of her circumstances. Perhaps to spite them. I could only bring myself to read a single chapter. She’s high energy: a lot to process. Even in text I’m an introvert, worn out and exhausted by interactions, even of the parasocial kind.

I tested all of the toilets in the house when we first moved, and ranked them in order of how likely I thought that I might break them, hilariously. The one assigned to me is the one that I thought worked the best, even if it’s cold: and positioned weirdly, it’s tiny, everything lined up: window, you, mirror. You watch others watching yourself, blinds a thin separation. It’s kind of hilarious in a metaphorical sort of way.

I took a bath for the first time in maybe a year, maybe more- and it felt like a religious experience. I wept at being held. I wept at the sensation of being loved, of something that I longed for and missed and hadn’t had the time or chance to in so long. My body hurt, less. I could forget myself, suspended tenderly in the suds. I cried. I stayed in the bath until it ran cold, and pulled myself out hesitantly, gingerly. I wanted to stay. I stayed for the better part of two hours, wrinkling all over. I cried until I couldn’t tell where I ended and started.

The cold winds in combination with the random mechanical sounds and various airplanes flying overhead, with a wet edge to the air can make night seem particularly foreboding. I’m cranky. I’ve been a lot more on emotional tenterhooks as of late. I’ve found myself living according to waiting around for others, on their whims- and I don’t like that. It’s something that I need to address again. It’s the malaise of not having a concrete, solo project to pour all of my attention into.

I swing between wild extremes. If I was an astrologist in any earnest capacity, I would blame it on my gemini moon and libra aspect to my sun sign. Because I don’t believe in astrology, and at most think it’s an amusing short hand to quickly communicate with others about ourselves that at best: has social value, rather than scientific, I chalk it up to a lack of structure and order in my routine, all over the place eating and times, weirdly bunched up water intake, and being sweaty and hormone fluctuations and blood loss out the wazoo.

There was still beach sand inside of my pen, when I took a closer look at it, after a moment of startled fear and confusion as to why the texture was so different on it. Summer draws ever closer to an end and it paralyzes me. I’m horrified by the passage of time, and this time, that deep dread and anxiety about it started as early as the very first week of July. I really hope that this doesn’t start becoming a trend. It strikes me that it probably won’t have the opportunity to, considering the odd placement of summer in the higher echelons of education. 

Going into a new city, dealing with new circumstances and faces and navigating it all pretty much after being tossed into the deep end- terrifying. Being stranded in the concrete jungle without a scrap of greenery, other than the tall pink tree in whose bowers I saw a peregrine falcon slaughter a pigeon and rip it to shreds one summer? Terrible. But then, even now- the nature here drives me to distraction. I can’t really enjoy it. I wonder what part of me lost the ability to do that, to sit simply in the world and let it wash over me in deep, abiding comfort.

The cold grayness of the city is depressing, the soot and grime of it settles into your bones and after awhile even the warmth of summer, or the rattling heater can’t make me feel any better about the black, sooty snow churned into a slushy slurry beneath your feet. And the stairs! It’s just the shift of newness. It’s not entirely unknown grounds. It’s a place I know well by night and summer and the neon, shifting quality of holidays. Not so much in its every day to day. But I think it’ll be alright. Its always been the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home city, throughout all of my turmoil brewing years.

I think a part of it is deep grief that’s been stirred up again by contact I didn’t expect. I think a part of it is the sharp hurt at realizing that my importance in others’ lives is not the same as theirs in mind. I know logically, that just calls for a readjustment, a tuning in dialing: but having the curtain pulled back on it aches all of the same. The things we do for the people we love, not knowing if they love us in the same ways, in the ways that matter.

I haven’t been able to bring my pen down onto the paper. I finger the frilled edge from where I ripped pages out, scoring down with a pair of splayed open scissors, I smell the perfume, heady and rosy and floral, and sweet, so sweet- mellowing out the sharp printer’s ink, still a cloud that gets thrown up, a scent of beauty and warm summer beach sand, eating melted icecreams and lying in white, clean sheets snuggled against the blue silky pillowcases that I love so much- and I can’t bring myself to mar it. I don’t know what to do with it. I want to make a safe space, a familiar place: a private sanctum before, to have a place to retreat to, a concept of safety, a place to head back to when I am unsure and lost and questioning, but I can’t bring myself to. A part of me wonders if it is because I am punishing myself for all of the things I cannot bring myself to do, out of that paralyzing fear of indecision, and learned helplessness.

It’s something that bites at me constantly: where do I stand in others’ eyes? Sometimes it surprises me, the unwavering support revealed in a pithy, half of a joke remark. Sometimes it punches the air out of my lungs, a twisting hurt at realization: and smothering it underneath, because no one told you to feel like that. No one ever said that they felt like that. You had just assumed, and sometimes- your assumptions are wrong. Sometimes you are wrong. You walk around with grief in your eyes, tangled in your hair, hands shaking from holding all of it, dripping from the corner of your mouth like the spit and snot and tears that cut tracks down your face: like the baying hounds fighting over territory two doors down.

But whose fault is it, really? You’re the one who put it there.

I read something that struck home. It isn’t naive to expect people to appreciate your love. It was an empty, generic platitude, and yet somehow it was as comforting to see as being wrapped up in my favourite blanket and eating my favourite chocolate cake. I know that I eat to self soothe. I know that it’s a problem. These days, my hands are gnawed down bloodily raw, I am anxious, trembling, walking through my days with generalized anxiety and fear and wanting to cry. I find myself crying at little to no provocation. I feel like a vessel of water filled to the brim: the top bulging with surface tension. One drop and I rupture, I shatter- the elasticity only goes so far. I spilleth over.

I’ve been listening to a lot of country music. I’ve been listening to a lot of indie pop music. I’ve been listening to a lot of Russian pop music, because I was trying to find a ringtone for Sascha’s father in the thing I’m writing with my friend. I found myself crying, shoulders heaving, shoulders trembling over an Ed Sheeran song, of all things: at the idea of being able to put it all on someone else, put it into their hands, let go of that weight and be held for a little while, just to be taken care of. I feel as if that’s what I truly want, underneath all the hysteria and the raw, rough edges: to be loved, and to love in turn. Sometimes I run across songs that chafe at me: make me feel seen, exposed, a throbbing wound barely held back by the lightest layer of skin, the blood flushing the surface: that you aren’t alright. And I don’t think that I am alright.

I find myself crying myself to sleep these days. It makes me sad in an abstract sort of way, for myself, for the fact that I am crying. The winds remind me of when I was a child, and spoke to the wind: fully believing that it was a man, it was named Zephyr, that he pushed and carried my tiny body down the windy round about, that he made tiny cyclones and leaf circulations where I waved twigs at: the sensation of being held and caressed by the wind, hair gently tousled and pried loose. It feels as if a little part of my past has come back to haunt me. I feel as if I am a dwelling of ghosts. I feel as if I am a collection of all that has happened to me, rather than what I have done. I question what exactly I have done.

It’s bizarre what changing the quality of light will do to you: the sky seems flat and gray, and the world similarly dulled and muted for it: the skies are yellow. The umbrella is a stark, sharp red: the extended wood light overtop, weathered, cracked, grey. I want to take a power washer to it.

I want to write a book some day. Who doesn’t? Why? I promised the woman who kept me writing, inspired me to continue to- she said that she expected, in the easily gracious way of absolute faith, to see a dedication in the front cover’s page to her. I don’t know what I want to write about. I don’t know. I sit here for hours sometimes, paralyzed by indecision, unable to make a choice: unable to commit to even the most meaningless of things. Paper or pen. Fridge or room temperature. This identical pen, or the other? Phone or computer? What to hold in my pockets? What to eat?

I feel like I’m slipping into bad habits. Last summer I starved myself thinner. People noticed, complimented me: told me to keep up the good work. I’ve put all of it back on and then some, and I’m disgusted at being recognized. There is an ache in wanting to be seen, and the revulsion in that actually transpiring. It is central to the experience of womanhood. This summer I find myself indulging in comfort foods at hours when the night haunts me: oven soft chocolate chunk cookies, pizza folded over on itself, chocolate cake with creamy frosting, burgers with red onions that make my mouth smart and hurt but God, they’re good. I’ve been drinking a lot of water. I’ve been taking my iron pills. I’ve been trying to see if I have been getting enough sleep. Learning to be gentle with myself is a process.

I’m a woman now, not a girl. No longer the feral wild child, haunting the clover fields and picking through for red budding gowns, laughing with delight at monarchs high up in the sky: symbolic for a livening of the senses, a quickening of breath: the heart thrumming and racing with enthusiasm at learning that the wonders captured on the glossy ink page were real, and here in this life too: but a tired eyed, hollowed out woman. A woman who can’t find solace in the outdoors, who shies from the biting insects, who expresses pus and dribbles blood, spurting out onto mirrors, so tired. I have lines from frowning, now. I have lines carved in lightly where my eyebrows scrunch and furrow. I wear my unhappiness writ across my face, even when I don’t want to be. The monarchs haven’t come this year. They haven’t in many.

The first anniversary of the worst day of my life harkens: and I dread it. Immediately after is one of the most hysterical belated birthday gifts possible, a little nod of absurdism from the universe. Emotional whiplash. It’ll be a year soon. A year into the unknown, stumbling forwards into the future: time doesn’t wait for anyone, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop: even as we crawl forwards, haul ourselves on worn down fingernails. And wasn’t it good? Wasn’t there good in it, after all? Even if you didn’t know to anticipate it? Didn’t know what to look forward to?

I’m a very tired young woman, who has been harangued by death all of my life. I think that I’ll live a little longer, as far as the odds go. Someday I will love the things that I love again. For now: I cry when it washes over me, and try to hold onto the idea that it’ll be alright.

[runin-reads]

❛ under my umbrella ❜

— tendou x reader oneshot

W/C: 1.5 k

SYNOPSIS: “So what do you say, Sa-to-ri? You up for the challenge?

“You’re on”, he replies with a grin.

In which you jokingly challenge Tendou to perform in the up-coming talent show. You don’t think he’s actually going to do it, and Tendou is hell bent on proving you wrong.

Inspired by this song and performance

Breathe, you’ve got this.

Tendou is out backstage, waiting his turn to perform for the long-anticipated talent show. The other dancers, both male and female, are waiting alongside him, waiting with bated breath. The vocalists, the bands, and the stand-up comedians have already performed. There’s only one more performance from the martial arts committee to really get the adrenaline pumping within the audience. After they finish, Tendou and the rest of the Miyagi City Dance Crew would debut to the awaiting crowd.

He catches your eye from a gap between the curtains from where you’ve just been seated at the front row, and he thinks he’s not doing a bad job at facing your challenge.

“And up next, it’s the Miyagi city dance crew, dancing to singing in the rain by Gene Kelly,” the announcer declares.

Make the audience yours. Dance as if you own the stage and the complete attention of the people watching you.

There was a silence… and then the curtains were drawn.

There he is, Tendou Satori in the flesh, wearing a pinstripe suit and a smart, wide brimmed hat. The music playing was cheerful and vintage, the smooth, velvety vocals echoing through the stage as he skipped about with a spring in his step and hand on his hat. He knows this is just the beginning. He does a good job at spinning around and tapping his feet, putting on a show for all eyes to see. Underneath his hat, his eyes are shining. Underneath the grip of his hand, is an umbrella.

The music changes. It changes into a steady beat led by percussion that duels with breath-taking vocals, as lights flash and fellow dancers in black bodysuits come on stage from the sides. The song that’s playing now is Umbrella by Rihanna, and when Tendou comes out from behind a wall of umbrellas –that are held courtesy of his teammates– his suit is off, he has the same umbrella in hand, and on his body? A fucking leather bodysuit that ends mid-thigh.

He looks like a hired dancer for a private show. Along his shoulders are thin leather straps attached to an equally as black tank top, leading down to shiny shorts that streamline his body and draws attention to his actions in a way that the old volleyball uniform fails to do; tight enough to showcase his figure, not enough to restrict movement. There are frills along the hem of the shorts that put emphasis on his legs, the same legs that are covered in fishnets that lead down to black ankle boots. The lingering stares he earns makes him feel like a palace courtesan from a time long gone, but that doesn’t matter right now.

Make the audience yours.

Tendou repeats the words in his head, and does exactly that.

The crowd is already cheering, high-pitched whistles and excited whoops that get drowned out by the music. Tendou starts strutting to the beat and steps into a new persona. Tonight he isn’t the ex- middle blocker of one of the best volleyball teams of the nation; he’s just Tendou Satori, a red-haired dancer tasked with making the entire venue fall to their knees.

With the electrifying music that’s just the right blend of passion and longing, he turns his body into a weapon of well-practiced moves, a weapon of seduction set to kill. He doesn’t have time to contemplate the wide-eyes of his friends, or the way his movement made your jaw drop – because whatever it is you’re feeling at the moment, he doesn’t think it’s disgust.

Instead, he throws himself into his dancing, as if he was part of the dance club he teamed up with, as if he was born to move for his lover, for you and only you. His legs strut to the music and his hips move like even Shakira can’t match his tempo. He’s constantly on the move, dropping down to run a hand up his leg, throwing his head back and moving his torso to do a complete body roll that’s directed towards flushed faces and parted mouths. He’s spinning the umbrella between nimble fingers, and holding that same umbrella between his legs as he sways his body to the beat.

He falls deeper into the mania of the performance. He dances in sync with the rest of the crew. The flashing lights and the roaring crowds become a blur once he really gets into it; it’s as if he’s in his world, it’s as if the only spotlight is on him and you and whatever lies in between. Tendou wants to cross that distance, and so he does.

“You can run into my arms

it’s okay don’t be alarmed

come into me…”

Rihanna sings with a voice that’s straight from the heart, and as if on cue he cat-walks to the edge of the stage where you’re sitting close-by, he does so with his head thrown back and his glistening neck on display. His arms are wide open as if sending an invitation:

Are you really that unaffected? Why don’t we find out, he seems to say, even with his mouth shut and in the form of a tantalizing grin.

He doesn’t look for an answer to this question. Rather, he drops to the ground, onto his back, and arches his back upwards in order to feel the burn of leather across his ribs. His eyes flit to your face, he sees the stiffness in your jaw, sees your knuckles clutching onto the armrests for dear life, sees your usual icy eyes and is faced with nothing but fire. He doesn’t glance at your face again, he lets you burn. He slinks back into the formation, and continues his performance. In the background, Rihanna continues her heartfelt singing:

“So gon’ and let the rain pour

I’ll be all you need and more…”

Following the bellowing voice, the dance becomes more intense and all of a sudden there’s water pouring down, courtesy of the special effects team. Tendou uses the water to his advantage, splashing it forward using his hand, slicking his hair back with the streams running down his body.

He ends the routine with a forward flip onto his back that quite literally knocks the breath out of him and the people watching. There’s a definite roar as the audience responds, people screaming names, shouting their disbelief and throwing out compliments like it’s going out of style. He sits up as blasts of confetti are falling through the air, streams and whirlwinds of different colors obscuring his vision, yet the only color he can focus on is the red of your cheeks and your smile which may as well be a whole fucking rainbow on it’s own.

That’s enough, Tendou thinks. You’re all I needed to see.

Now that the performance is done with, there’s only one thing left to do:

He takes the umbrella that was lying on the floor, he opens it and holds it up his head. With a low bow to the audience, he links arms with his brothers and sisters in arms, and they saunter off of the stage. He feels eyes on the back of his neck and down the curve of his spine. Paired with the sweat on his back and water running down, it feels like he’s become one with the sky and rain. He sends one last lingering look towards you, and with a jerk of his head he manages to convey one simple message:

Meet me outside, I got something to say to you, and because the two of you are in sync, always will be and always have been, that’s exactly what you do. You meet him outside with butterflies in your stomach and your heart on your sleeve. When you finally spot him standing in a warm coat, comfy sweatpants and the same umbrella he used to perform in his hand. You move to make way towards him, only for Tendou to spot you first.

“Hey! So how was my performance, hm? Did ya like it? Did I blow your mind outta the water like I said I would?” he asks excitedly, and you watch with amusement as he waves wildly before making his way towards you.

“I did this for you, ya know. Now do me a favor and can you actually get to the part where you praise me?” The look on his face as he says this is proud, yet underneath you can see a genuine desire to hear your thoughts and words of affirmation.

“You did fucking great, Sato-kun. You fucking killed it and I doubt there’s anyone out there that thinks otherwise.”  You say this with as much adoration as you can, and you stuff your hands in your pockets as he beams at the use of his nickname.

The two of you start walking home side-by-side, the sound of his voice being enough to drown out the rain. At some point, the rain gets heavier and Tendou’s only response is to use one arm to press you flush against his side. I could stay forver like this, you think, with a warm hand on your shoulder and a familiar face still buzzing with excitement paired with an umbrella overhead to keep you dry from the rain. In the background you hear thunder and you flinch, only for Tendou to lay a hand on your head to tuck you near his chest. From this up-close, you can hear his heartbeat grow steady. From this up-close, you can hear a familiar tune being sang:

“You can stand under my umbrella-ella-ella, eh, eh, eh. Under my umbrella-ella-ella, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh-eh…”

A/N: I’ve decided to post this again since the first time didn’t too well at all. This is the second time I’ve posted this collab with my lovely mutual, mush, and I really want for this to get feedback so I can improve! Tell me your thoughts.