#and I liked the idea of the sharp teeth because they want to appear friendly but it doesn't work out

[magentasnail]

new creature just dropped: RSD CREATURE I wasn't planning on making more creature art but I am also insane and feral so I had no choice

also transparent version if you'd like:

[bamfkeeper]

Beautiful Devil

RQ: 'Hi, I have a request: a fic about NightcrawlerxFem!Reader, Beauty and the beast AU, starting it like the fairytale (Reader decide to sacrifice herself for her father because the scared man THINK the mysteriuos blue creature ask him to bring one of his daughters in his place). Maybe in the finale you can add the mob attacking the castle like in the episode of the '90 serie, with Graydon Creed guiding the mob (you can't look at that man and don't think he's a variant of Gaston). Just don't turn Kurt into a human, I love our fuzzy Elf. Thanks!' - @historygirl93

Warnings: F!reader, some violence, minor character death. Unedited.

A/N: I think this is a cute idea, I love the story. I don't see how Kurt could ever be viewed as 'beastly' he's too sweet. The fairytale is a longer story and involving all the details would take me a long time to write, so I did what I could to get the idea of the story across. I did my best, it was slightly challenging, and I changed just a few details just because I thought it would be better for the story.

WC: 2.2k

The village held such a prejudice against the blue demon who lived in the abandoned church. Rumors of yellow glowing eyes and a shadow with a devil's tail flicking in the dark, crawling on the walls like a hellish insect. A monster, the children of the village feared him just as much as the adults, whom had weapons ready to kill if he dared leave the cathedral.

Your father was highly religious. He wanted to banish the devil from the church once and for all, to purify the holy ground, but believed that only a sacrifice would satisfy the creature. You were horrified at first, being so helplessly given away as a sacrifice, you were the lamb that was about to be beheaded for no reason.

Upon being abandoned at the cathedral, surrounded by the harsh cold and snow, you thought you'd freeze to death. To your initial horror and surprise, the devil appeared. He flashed in front of you in black and purple smoke, like they rose from the ashes of Hell. You were far too tired and exhausted, so before you knew it, your body was wrapped and you were inside.

You felt the warmth of the fire inside the stone furnace, you sat up and watched the orange flames dance quietly while the blanket remained wrapped around your drenched form. The snow melted away and left you wet and still somewhat cold. But you were at least inside...

Once you regained enough bearings, you looked around for the devil, wondering where he was and what he was going to do to you. You felt fearful, your mind having heavy thoughts invading your mind of horrific treatment. While you searched the dark room, you saw his eyes peering to you from the darkest corner, tiny irises of gold staring through your soul.

"It's you..." your voice muttered out quietly, "You're the devil." Your hushed tone made him tilt his head slightly, he slowly walked around the wall, the far shadows hiding most of him.

"Nein...I am no Teufel..." he spoke back, his voice was even and not nearly as intimidating as you thought it would be. "I was born like this. But I am no demon." He stepped closer as he spoke to you, his appearance becoming more visible in the firelight. He had blue skin and sharp teeth like the villagers said, a long tail with a devil's spade, sharp nails and pointed ears...

"You look like one," you shakily retorted, still on edge of what his intentions were and you weren't about to fall victim without a fight. He only chuckled back, empty and somewhat...sad.

"I know."

He sat down near you, a few feet away, looking at you and slowly giving a smile, trying to be friendly. "I won't hurt you, I wouldn't ever." He paused, then continued, "Besides, a demon cannot step inside a church." He reasoned, holding out a three fingered hand to you. "Hab keine Angst."

You were cautious, but after seeing he wasn't nearly as horrifying as the town made him seem, you reached out and touched his hand. His skin was warm, he was fluffy. He felt like soft velvet, not like cold scaled skin you had been told was the skin of the devil.

Over the following weeks, you became closer to each other. You warmed up quickly after his efforts to try to appear not so scary, and once you spoke more often, he was actually very sweet and kind. You watched him feed birds and squirrels, holding the seeds in his palms and speaking to the birds as if they could understand him.

His favorites were the blue jays.

He showed you the cathedral, leading you through the massive church and showing you around. He showed you the library with lots of books along the walls, the studio where old paints and canvases were. He gave you plenty of things to do, and he provided you with good food, a large space to sleep, he treated you well. He was kind and sweet and...attractive.

You couldn't help but feel yourself get pulled towards him. Feel yourself get swept up by his chivalry and charm. He showed off in front of you, entertaining you with his skills as an acrobat and swordsman, he even let you try to swing one of his swords.

It was much heavier than you thought, making his skills all the more impressive.

You got word that your father had fallen very ill, and you wanted to see him. Kurt didn't want you to leave, scared you'd never return again. He held your hands and looked at you in the eye, his worry etched on his face. "You won't abandon me, will you?" he asks softly, "I don't wish for you to go..." he brings your hand up to his cheek, rubbing his face into your palm.

Your heart melts and you sigh, "I promise I'll come back. I just...want to make sure my father is okay..." you whisper back. You knew how he felt, being abandoned was one of his biggest fears. All he had been in his life was abandoned, by his mother, this town, sometimes he felt as though God himself has abandoned him.

With great reluctance, he let go and you rushed back into the village, desperate to see your sickly father. You were still angry he left you to die, but he was still your father. When you made it back, you came to his bedside and saw how terrible he looked. You had no idea what he had, but he looked on the verge of death.

Word got loose that you were in the town, somehow surviving the 'demon' who resided in the abandoned church. The town's greatest 'champion,' Graydon, nearly stormed up to your home and forced his way in. His voice loud and demanding, he as angry and furious with you.

The vile man had attempted to court you before. You always denied him. Why would you want to be with someone as crude and hateful as Graydon?

"How did you escape that wretched demon?" he demanded, yanking you from your father's bedside. He held your arm tight and stared at you with fury in his eyes. "That beastly creature will invade our town because of you! You were his sacrifice! Leaving signifies that the deal is broken! You've doomed all of us!"

Your eyes were wide as he basically screamed in your face, his cool was gone and he looked like he wanted to hurt you. You tugged against his strong hold, grunting as you tried to get free. "He's not a monster, or a demon! He's just a man!" You shouted back, "He's kind, gentle, he wouldn't hurt a soul!"

Graydon laughed at you, yanking you closer again. "You are lucky you are pretty, girl...you are such a naïve little thing. That devil is evil, and you have succumbed to his incubi ways. Don't worry, I'll make sure I fix that little head of yours up and rid you of the corruption he has brought upon you."

He threw you down, you hit your head and everything became a hazy mess. You heard his footsteps leave, his heavy boots hitting the old wooden floors with anger. You tried to lift yourself up, but you hit your head too hard. The world was spinning around you, but you didn't want any harm to come to Kurt. Graydon was as ruthless as he was egotistical, and he was dead set on murdering Kurt. He always had been, telling tall tales of cutting off his head and hanging it over the statue in town square.

You could hear his voice, rallying the town and heading up the treacherous path to the abandoned cathedral. You felt your heart ache, your body fading to unconsciousness from the injury.

When you regained consciousness, your body ached but the thought of Graydon already at the church gave you a newfound form of energy. You jerked up, your father had been too weak and sick to help, while you worried for him, the memory of him giving you up to die was there. You had to make a choice, and your heart had been decided.

You needed to get to the church.

You stumbled out to the stables, your body staggering as your brain felt fuzzy and heavy. You probably had a concussion, but right now that wasn't important. You didn't have a horse of your own, you prayed that the one you made it to wouldn't buck you off. The stallion let out a soft nicker, you rubbed its neck, your hand weakly holding onto the mane and you forced your body to mount.

The horse moved a few steps, adjusting to your weight. No saddle, it'll have to do.

You squeezed your legs and held on, the horse moved forward and with your encouragement it began a steady gallop through the trail that led up to the church. The horse was fast and bareback was hard for you to hold on, especially with a head injury. the horse sensed your wavering weight and tried to steady its run.

Over the hill was the church, and the stallion ran you right inside the broken down doors. You heard loud shouting, men fighting, and the sight that came to view was horrible.

Most of the men were down, unconscious, and Graydon was shooting arrows at Kurt, who had been disappearing in puffs of smoke, reappearing in other places. His yellow eyes blazed and he hissed at Graydon, landing kicks and punches to the larger man. You shouted at them to stop, but your voice fell on deaf ears.

The torches the other men had been carrying caught the tapestries and the flames eagerly began to eat the fabric and grow. The horse reared up, and you fell off its back as it ran out of the church. You sat up and cried out at Graydon, "Stop it! Don't hurt him! Can't you see what you're doing?!"

Kurt's teleporting soon became predictable, Graydon memorized the pattern and he shot an arrow into Kurt's leg right as he reappeared again. Kurt let out a strangled cry, stumbling from the beams and to the ground. By now the flames had consumed the entire room, smoke became thick and Graydon towered over Kurt's body. His eyes reflecting the fire, his face red and his hair a mess. He looked like the devil now, the fire only adding to his hellish desires to smite out Kurt's existence.

"Die, I cast you down to the pits of Hell where you belong!" Graydon tore a blade from his sheath, raising it above his head. But Kurt's eyes were focused on the burning wood above him, and he managed to teleport from that spot right as the wooden beams fell from the ceiling. Kurt reappeared by you, his fuzzy arms wrapped around yours as he teleported you outside. The last thing you saw in the church were the large beams falling onto Graydon's body, crushing him.

When you reappeared outside, you saw Kurt was hurt from the fight. He had two arrows in his body, one in his leg and one in his back, several lacerations from fighting the others and some parts of him had been burned. He let out a deep cough and he laid beside you, unresponsive.

"Kurt?? Kurt! Wake up!" You shook him, gently at first but it became more frantic when you noticed his lack of response. "Please get up!" You felt tears prick your eyes, your head swiveled around, looking for anyone to help. You weren't sure what to do, you felt hopeless. After you thought he was gone, his tail twitched at your side, gently curling up around your thigh weakly.

"Kurt??" You asked quickly, glancing down at him. You could see the exhaustion on his face, the weakness, but he nodded back. He gave you a weak smile, his yellow eyes soft and pure.

"Liebe..." he whispered back, his hand held yours and he pulled you closer. Your body naturally obeyed and you let your lips find his, both weakly pressing together as the two of you kissed for the first time. It felt so right, his hand cupped your face and his tail wrapped around you, being so weak but loving all at the same time.

You hadn't noticed the other townspeople had been watching from the trees, seeing how gentle and sweet you were to him. They could see that Kurt didn't resemble a creature of Hell like they thought, while he did seem odd looking, he didn't look to be horrific as they predicted. Their imaginations took over and the tall tales took over their logic.

When you broke the kiss, he smiled up at you. "You....came back..." he rasped, he was hurt still, but he was okay. He'd live. That's all you needed to know.

"Of course I came back...I told you I would..." you whispered sweetly, guilt gnawed at your core, "If I hadn't left then..."

Kurt cut you off, shushing you, "Nein, liebe...do not worry...the church can be rebuilt...I am going to be fine. What's another small scar? My fur will cover it anyway." He added, giving you a playful smile.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, "Oh, Kurt...don't make me laugh right now..." You muttered, some of the onlookers came to aid you in bringing him to the town to get treatment from the doctor there. You knew he'd be okay. The awful stories were debunked and the town appeared to accept him.

You had your love, safe and sound, and the real demon of the town had been snuffed to ash.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[generalhumancloudalmond]

New face

Platonic!Yandere!Rosie x Teenager!Reader

'Shit! Shit! Shit!'

A bush, a road, a bench. Someone's head falls right in front of your feet and you barely hold on and keep running.

'Don't look back, don't look back... Damn it!'

A spear flies past you, grazing your side. Under the influence of adrenaline, you don't notice it and keep running in a direction you don't know. You have no idea where you are or what's going on. However, burning buildings, screams and blood make it clear to you that you should not stop in any case.

But eventually your legs start to fail you and the adrenaline wears off and you just fall down, trying to catch your breath. You see something that looks like angels, they flying into a huge hole in the sky, and you start crying. What the hell is going on?!

"Oh dear! Are you okay?"

Suddenly, a charming woman with frighteningly sharp teeth appeared in front of your face. You screamed and instantly jumped away from her, but the sudden pain in your side made you instantly shrink. The stranger noticed your eyes full of horror and confusion and understood everything.

"Calm down, calm down. You poor thing, appear in hell right during the extermination."

Her hands rested on your shaking shoulders as you tried to make sense of her words.

"And look at you! They hurt you! But don't worry, auntie Rosie will fix you up and feed you delicious goulash!"

You look at her with your eyes wide open when she starts to help you get off the ground.

"Come on, come on, sweetie. Bear a little more, it's not far to go."

"Am I in hell?..."

"Yes, honey, but let's not make you too nervous for now."

She hugged you encouragingly as you both approached her house. It was... surprisingly comfortably. Rosie also looked friendly, if a little intimidating.

"It looks like everything went well and it's just a scratch... There's nothing to worry about! Now, do you want to eat? I bet you do! Just give me a few minutes and I promise you that after our dinner, you won't even be able to think about food!"

Rosie, smiling from ear to ear, quickly went into the other room before you could answer her. You looked around carefully, and noticed a mirror. Coming closer, you were horrified, your reflection... You really aren't human... But why hell? Of course, you weren't a perfect person, but you also didn't consider yourself a bad person... Just why?

"What has already happened? Why the sad face?"

Rosie came into the room at the moment when you were looking at your new reflection. She also went to the mirror.

"I'm a demon and I'm really in hell."

"Oh, don't worry... It can be too much and quiet overwhelming. But I assure you, it will definitely pass over time. Besides..."

Suddenly she turned you around and grabbed your cheeks, cooing you.

"You're such a cutie pie, I could just eat you, because of your sweet, plump cheeks! "

Rosie smiled at you so broadly that you could easily count all her teeth. Suddenly she flinched.

"Oh, wait! The food is getting cold! Hurry up, hurry up, we can't let ourselves to eat cold food!"

She dragged you into the dining room, where there was already a plate of delicious-smelling food.

[raziiyah]

Since you made that post about the Monster World and their Beauty standards

How attractive do you think Randall is by the monster world standards?

Obviously in Monster's University he's MEANT to be seen as this wimpy, scrawny geek and a loser 🤓

But what about during the Monster's Inc era?

Out of the 3 Main Monsters (Mike, Sulley, and Randall) we see that Mike is the only one who isn't "Bitchless" or "Maidenless" (as the Twitter crowd would say 🙄)

Which I find hilariously ironic considering Mike is the only of those 3 who wasn't a scarer nor does he really fit into any of the Beauty standards 🤔

(Now from a real life perspective I can understand why Randall and Sulley are single due to Randall's status as the villain and giving Sulley a love interest would've distracted too much attention away from his relationship with Boo)

But it is kinda funny from an In-Universe perspective because you'd think Randall and ESPECIALLY Sulley would both have an army of Women (and Men 🌈) trying to vouch for their attention due to their status as the 2 biggest Top Scarers

Tho with Randall I suppose you could argue that his personality was probably a turn off for anyone who actually might've tried to date him or get to know him (I love the dude but honestly he seems like he'd be kinda difficult to deal with in a relationship).

Not sure what the excuse for Sulley is tho lol

hi i will gladly talk about randall’s hotness 😋

okay for real though i think randall would actually be considered handsome (i swear im not biased) randall definitely possesses scary traits, from sharp teeth, big independently moving eyes, multiple limbs, etc., and has a general scary appearance, so i think it’s fair to say he’s considered quite attractive. also the fact he was in ror; the top frat in MU, presumably the most elite university in monstropolis, and is a scarer, the best career you could ever have (and with him and sulley being the two candidates to get the all time scare record, one of the best in the whole monster world??) probably helps too

another thing i want to mention that i’ve thought about is there are many round cyclops monsters like mike and big horned furry monsters like sulley, but there isn’t really any monster in the monster world (or in other media) that quite looks like randall.

joy has reptilian features but she looks very different from randall (though i’d like to point out that she was the number 1 scarer at fear co., which could be more evidence that randall is very scary and therefore more attractive) mr. crummyham bears some resemblance to randall, but he has smoother skin, a skinnier body, and a very different face

other than the fact that the vas in mi bear resemblance to their characters to me, randall has such a fine distinct design, so something i thought about is randall’s attractiveness could be compared to his va steve buscemi in our world. there are many people who consider buscemi as handsome, and i've also seen some people describe his look to be “unique”. with randall having a design so distinct from the other monsters and possessing scary/attractive traits, i feel like randall’s attractiveness in the monster world could also be described the same way

i definitely agree with the idea that they didn’t include any romantic stuff for sulley and randall because it would be unnecessary and distracting, but that aside,,

i’m sure there are many monsters who were attracted to sulley. sulley's been the number 1 scarer at monsters inc for a very long time, is the son of a famous scarer, and is shown to be very popular both in and at work. for one, these two in mu seemed attracted to him

in mi, on his way to work, basically everyone knows him and greets him, both on the street and at work. so in that way, there are actually a lot of monsters that vie for sulley's attention (including the fcking CDA 😭)

maybe some monsters are nervous around sulley and think he's out of their league. even though he is friendly, he does have a very high status so he may be intimidating to talk to; like look at how nervous needleman is here when talking to him hehe

on randall’s end, though he’s probably not nearly as social, he probably gets a fair share of recognition (though is probably very overshadowed by sulley) but there are likely some monsters that don’t like his personality and because of that aren't interested, or are scared/intimidated to actually talk to him. but they can admire him from an appearance and achievement perspective, though perhaps from a distance

but as you said, i definitely think that personality plays a big role into which monsters are considered attractive

first, mike is full of personality, being charming, funny and witty. he's shown to be a smooth talker, whether flirting with celia or distracting waternoose and randall with convincing lies. mike may not fit into the "scary" beauty standard, but i think some monsters don't really care. and i know that celia genuinely thinks mike is handsome :] mike was also very likely the smartest scaring student on mu’s campus. but judging by mike's locker in the credits for mu, celia may have started crushing on mike around the time when he was just a cafeteria worker and i like to think she fell for mike early on for both his looks and personality 🩷

sulley on the other hand is shown to be a bit clumsy and not as smooth with his words, so he probably has no rizz 😔✊️/jk (it's v cute though)

randall's personality is pretty self explanatory LOL, though interestingly, even though randall is a prick, his coworkers were genuinely happy for him when he became the scare leader and when they thought he broke the scare record. so i feel like he’s only directly mean to sulley, mike and fungus, while he just tolerates everyone else (unless they cross his path) like his coworkers are probably aware of his bitter attitude but may undermine it since he's not directly mean to them and randall probably has respect for being #2 in the whole comany, because i don't think all those monsters would be happy for him if he treated all of them how he treats the three i mentioned. and i mean he showed a liking towards johnny so we know he's capable of not feeling utter hate for everyone. though he may not always be directly mean to his other coworkers, i’m sure his attitude is still noticed and deemed undesirable for lots of monsters. i feel like randall would be viewed as skilled and attractive but a dick lol

but in the end i think a big reason why i think sulley and randall aren't in a relationship is because they’re so career focused.

sulley probably wasn't interested or focused on getting into a relationship since he was focused on his career and reaching the scare record. before he met boo, he didn't have much else going on for him outside of scaring. he does work out as a hobby but even that was scaring related; mike even calls him out for this

it was likely the same with randall, and between the scare record and the scream extractor, he probably has no time or desire to get into a relationship. and his commitment to his job and one-upping sulley could impair his attention in a relationship (you better believe this is something i incorporated into lia and randall's relationship but lets not get into that right now haha ☉‿☉) there may have been monsters who were brave enough to confess to him but he's likely rejected him because his priority is the grind 😤💯💰

in maw sulley may have lost some of his reputation by bringing laugh energy to mi, plus jill broadcasting to all of monstropolis that sulley cheated in the scare games, got expelled, and was associated with the convicted criminal who is waternoose, probably didn't help his popularity. though after the end of maw season 2 i know more monsters will warm up to him, not to mention there are probably many who admire him already

(where did they get this image 😭)

if anyone johnny is probably the pinnicle of monster attractiveness, from appearance, skills, demenour and status. i was cracking up over how much game this man had, like everyone wanted him 😭 he got with claire, then it was shown that jill, tylor's mom, and his grandma were shown to be down bad for him (not the generational thirsting) not to mention chet and randall wanting to get his attention, like fck this mf has game, he was probably on a magazine with "sexiest monster alive" on the cover LMAO

he was whole package, well until, you know

[fatuismooches]

I can't escape Dottore love it seems, so I'll use the "if you can't fight - join" idea, so I present the most unlikely family HCs, this time with Dottore (oh boy!!)

I honestly don't have ideas about how child even appeared in the first place, considering that Dottore.. isn't fond of children. My only thought is child being the only alive memento of fragile!reader

Zandik honestly has no idea how to treat his child properly, so, as much as it hurts his pride, he'll have to take a few parenting lessons from Pulchinella and Arlecchino, but he's a fast learner and passes that knowledge to his segments. Speaking of them, until kid reaches certain age, at least one segment is required to watch over you, unless they want to become subjects for next experiments

Dottore as a father is very very protective over you. Remembering your post about rulebook for interacting w/ his s/o, I imagine there's a same for his child, with similar rules, but possibly there's something like "Keep discussions child-friendly, using analogies that aren't hurtful for child psyche", "If C/N expresses interest in playing with you - don't refuse, otherwise they'll cry and you won't like the consequences. Also it's in your best interest to let them win"

So you know those baby carry bags? Yee, I just imagine Zandik with one and it kills me. He threatens fatui underlings, all while carrying a child on him in this bag..

One of pros of being Dottore's child is that they end up very knowledgeable. Of course he uses.. drastic analogies, but kid catches on quickly. If you listen to their conversation it won't make much sense, but the two(+) of them understand each other rather good.

I think child will copy Doctor quite a lot. They'll repeat his walk with hands behind his back, his laugh, smirk.. Lots of things, really. It's especially terrifying to other people if they inherited his red eyes and sharp teeth. It makes him **just a tiny bit** smug and proud. I think child also steals his coat, mask, earrings to play as him, it's honestly so cute

He's generally really proud of them (unless they want to enroll in academiya, he won't survive such betrayal, no he's not being overdramatic-- joking, joking)

-🥀

DADTTORE I REPEAT IT'S DADTTORE!! Dottore has no clue how to take care of a child, especially if you're no longer here to guide him. Hell, he could barely take care of himself at times without your constant reminders. But now the mad scientist is left with the kid, all alone and confused... though, at least his best trait as a father is his willingness to learn and ability to adapt. He will never live it down, going to the other two Harbingers for advice, even fucking Childe gives him tips as he's raised his siblings as well. Pantalone and Bina chip in too, the fun uncle and auntie. Although Dottore has his... feelings about them, they're better at making the child laugh than him. The child won't be left wanting for company, considering all his segments as well. They're on top of it when it comes to the kid.

HJEWBDEWWE THE FATUI HANDBOOK'S GUIDE TO INTERACTING WITH HIS CHILD 😭😭💗 You know that one is even longer than the first one. He's even more strict which leads to extremely specific rules in the handbook. Memorizing it is a must if you get transferred to work for Dottore. AND THOSE RULES ARE SO CUTE! It's so funny to think about how much his attitude changes when it comes to protecting his kid. He doesn't play. AND AHHAHA the baby bag, i imagine he also threatens them usually quietly because the kid is sleeping, and he finally got them to sleep, he doesn't want to wake up after trying for so long 😭 the agents are just like 🧍‍♀️

I imagine Dottore wonders a lot if his child will surpass him one day. He and the segments will usually indulge the kid's curiosity, and they pick up a lot of stuff easily. Probably can speak multiple languages at a young age 😭 His kid ends up asking lots and lots of questions, to which Dottore always has an answer. Is it always satisfying? No, but he wants his kid to discover things as well, rather than having it handed to them. That's the point of seeking knowledge. (Pls i imagine whenever his kid gets in an argument with him, they always pull 'i'm going to the Akademiya and graduate unlike you' to rile him up 😭)

And the kid definitely copies his dad a lot. 😭 It's like a mini him. 🥺 Dottore may not be the best dad, certainly not a conventional one, but he hopes you would say he's done a good job.

At the very least, Dottore makes sure his kid doesn't suffer the same way he did as a child.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

The Siren and the Little Girl Part 3

Warnings: siren singing, hunting humans, tangled in fishing line

This story is officially turning into an actual series thanks to @idkanonymystuff, who messaged me and offered some INCREDIBLE ideas for a continuation! I'm so excited so see where this goes! (Anyone else is more than welcome to contribute ideas too)

Nerida was the name of the adult Siren who had transformed Moryana into one of her kind as a little girl. But she wasn't quite a little girl anymore -- she was in her teenage years, fifteen to be exact. Full of energy and high spirits as she lurked in the depths of the ocean with her adoptive Siren mother, who taught her all the ways of being a Siren. How to hunt and survive.

Today was a day like many others, with Moryana zipping energetically through the water alongside Nerida as they headed to the ocean surface to search for sailors to lure in with their powerful voices and consume their mortal hearts.

Moryana was still a bit queasy when it came to killing humans, despite all the years she'd had to do it now to survive and not starve to death. She still had a soft spot for them despite having changed species.

She could barely remember her time as a human girl anymore, but the flashes of memory she did have were of warmth and comfort and happiness, positive emotions she'd always associate with humans forever now. It was hard to forget that feeling of safety her biological parents had brought her with their presence alone, though she knew Nerida would protect her.

Moryana glided effortlessly through the water, doing a few bored backflips beside her mentor. "Nerida?"

"Yes, love?"

"Have you ever talked to a mer before?"

The mers stayed well away from Sirens, Moryana had learned in earlier history lessons, but she had occasionally glimpsed one or two from a distance -- startled by their striking beauty, the flashy colors of their tails and their perfect faces and hair. Like tropical fish.

Moryana was a far cry from being that attractive -- just like all Sirens were. Most had dull-colored scales closer resembling that of deep-sea fish or seaweed, and universally they had pitch-black eyes and clawed fingers along with sharp teeth and stringy hair -- whereas mermaids took on more human appearances, with slightly less webbing on their hands and no claws. They were far less threatening and dangerous than their sister species, the Sirens, and were known for being friendly and playful -- though cautious around humans.

But what Sirens lacked in physical beauty, they made up with their hypnotizing songs, given to them by a set of advanced vocal cords.

As Nerida had once explained to her, one of the main reasons mers avoided Sirens was because Sirens could be aggressive and territorial, and it wasn’t rare that fights broke out in which Sirens killed merfolk. It was safer for the two species not to mingle or interact when possible due to the high tensions.

"I have, on a few occasions," Nerida replied without a glance in her direction. "They are snobbish, arrogant creatures. Proud and vain. Conversations involving them usually end up revolving around their beauty, and they love to brag about it. They'll talk your ear off if you let them ramble."

Moryana snorted a laugh, the gills on her neck flapping. "Surely they can't be that bad."

"Believe me, they are far worse," Nerida chuckled with a crooked smile. "I've met a dozen or so over the years, more than most Sirens encounter in a lifetime -- and I've only ever met one half-decent merman of the bunch."

"Who was it? What was he like?"

"That's... irrelevant." Nerida's tail twitched with unease. A sign that Moryana's question had hit a little too close to home.

Moryana quickly changed the topic to something else she wanted to learn more about.

"How do Sirens view humans, aside from being our prey and food source?"

"You seem especially inquisitive today," Nerida noted. "Why the sudden barrage of questions?"

Moryana shrugged, swatting a floating piece of seaweed with the tip of her tail. "Just doing some self-reflection," she answered vaguely. "Wondering more about Siren history involving humans. There's still a lot for me to learn."

Nerida frowned, expression suddenly wary and calculating as she gave her a side-eye. "You know not to approach humans you don't plan on hunting, right?"

"Mmhmm."

"Curiosity can be dangerous. I will answer your questions the best I can, but do not let it intrigue you into getting near humans. Understand?"

"Yes, Nerida," Moryana replied robotically. But her heart fluttered with hope -- despite how long she'd been a Siren now, she still felt a small tether of connection to her old human self. A nagging longing for what she'd lost -- though being a Siren was undoubtedly much cooler and much safer, since she had the power to defend herself.

Nerida seemed to waffle over what information was safe to give, but eventually she let out a long sigh. She regarded knowledge and wisdom very highly -- and to give it to Moryana would be beneficial for history teachings. As long as Moryana heeded her warning to stay away from humans, no harm could be done by indulging her curiosity.

"The relationship between Sirens and mankind is... complicated," she started. "Sirens see humans as toys, objects, and yes, prey. Humans are shallow-minded beings with simple wants and simple pleasures. Not much more to them than that, to be fair. They are foolish and self-centered, which is why they are so easy to manipulate and lure out of their boats. Men lust for what they cannot have, which is the presumably beautiful creature our elegant voices belong to. They know not that we Sirens are far from attractive." Nerida nudged Moryana teasingly.

"Has there ever been a Siren that's wanted a human as more than prey before?" Moryana chirped. "As in, not prey, or a toy, but as a partner? Or an equal?"

The amused glint in Nerida's eyes vanished, but she didn't look angered by the question.

"Yes, there have been a few Sirens in our history that have wanted to become friends with humans -- or more than friends. But it always ends in horrible tragedy, usually resulting in the death of the unfortunate Siren who thought man could change and learn to love a monster like them."

Moryana raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Do all humans see us as monsters?"

Nerida frowned, stiffening. "Yes. Their ugly hearts do not change. We are monsters -- and we should embrace it. We are apex predators. Humans are beneath us."

"But what went wrong, with those Sirens who tried to befriend them?" Moryana asked. "If they showed kindness to humans -- wouldn't humans be inclined to do the same? To return the favor? Why would not one of the Sirens who were friendly to humans survive? The odds don't make sense."

Nerida's expression darkened, the webbed spines along the top of her tail bristling. "I do not like where your train of questions are going, little one. This learning session is hereby over. Do not ask those foolish questions again." Her voice was sharp and clipped, and Moryana knew better than to argue with that tone, so she fell silent, swimming dejectedly next to the older Siren as she led the way through the ocean in search of prey.

A small part of Moryana felt bad to be taking the lives of innocent sailors, but the feeling was fleeting once a small wooden boat came into view. A flimsy little vessel that looked so unstable it was a wonder it was even afloat. She couldn't help the electric zing of excitement and anticipation that zapped up her spine as she as Nerida swam close.

It was a cloudy day, with heavy fog floating above the ocean waters -- the perfect cover to hide in.

The two Sirens glided through the water to the surface, not making a sound as their heads popped up, analyzing their new target.

On the boat were two fishermen with their lines and hooks in the water -- perfect. One for Moryana and one for Nerida. A fitting feast.

"Mind the fishing lines," Nerida murmured quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper of a breath. "Hunting is harder when the humans are fishing because you risk getting caught up in the lines. It can be lethal, especially if it gets wound around your gills. Far too many Sirens have died like that."

"Got it." Moryana nodded her acknowledgement of the warning, flicking her tail to swim a bit closer -- before starting to sing, long and mournful, her enchanting voice echoing through the fog.

She watched with her pitch-black eyes as the two figures on the boat froze, heads snapping in her direction, where she was nothing but a dark silhouette amidst the thick white fog.

Moryana had become an expert at singing under Nerida's careful tutoring, becoming a master hunter and learning all the right tricks. So she poured her heart and soul out into the melody, sending her death-song to the ears of the hapless sailors whose boat had drifted too far into Siren territory.

The sailors dropped their fishing rods, eyes glazing over with dazed lust and longing as they walked to the side of the boat -- and stepped right off, splashing into the chilly waters.

Few Sirens could harness their power so magnificently, so finely as what Moryana was capable of. But she had been taught by the absolute best.

She and Nerida closed in like sharks, snatching the sailors with clawed hands to drag them under and drown them -- but Moryana froze when she saw her victim's face, the man she had chosen of the two for herself to kill.

He had a beard, and it struck a memory in her, reminding her of her human father -- the way his beard always moved when he laughed and talked.

In her surprise she forgot to keep singing -- the air suddenly falling deathly quiet.

She stared at the man -- who was definitely not her father by any means -- not registering it when the glassy look in his eyes dissipated, replaced by terror, then panic. She only snapped back to the present when the sailor flailed, spinning around to paddle back toward the false safety of the flimsy little boat.

Moryana instinctively lunged forward to regain control of him, right as the man grabbed onto the edge of the boat and desperately tried to haul himself back into it -- causing it to flip completely over.

Moryana let out a startled yelp, ducking under the water as all the tack and fishing gear dumped into the ocean right over her head.

She was left disoriented for several long seconds, blinded by the chaotic mass of bubbles stirred up by the thrashing sailor along with all the colorful tack boxes and loose tools raining down through the water.

But one alarming thought coursed through her: Nerida. The Siren was sure to give her a long-winded lecture about botching the hunt after this if Moryana didn't get things back under control. And fast.

I can still make a recovery effort, Moryana told herself determinedly. Gosh this is so embarrassing -- I'm never going to live this down--

She beat her tail hard to close the distance between her and the sailor, to desperately grab him and complete the hunt to show Nerida she wasn't a complete failure after all the long lessons and training -- but something stopped her. Physically stopped her.

Moryana let out a hiss of pain as something cut into her tail, twisting around to see what was biting her -- before her heart lurched with horror.

Nerida had warned her -- warned her, and she'd still gotten into the exact situation her mentor had emphasized not getting into.

A fishing hook had lodged into her dark-green scales, anchoring the fishing line attached to it so that every move she made tangled her further as she tried to escape, genuine panic starting to sink in.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson

[stopmyhearts]

yooooooooooo i want to know so many things 👀 but i'm also sending this quick as i can between train stations with wifi 😅

can i have 7, 14, and 23 for dela

and 1, 2, 10, 29 for rolenva. i know nothing about her but just her name compels me

7. What house are they from? What is it like? Or what is their background?

Dela's house is called Nurva, it's the same as Patok's, given that they are cousins. Although it might, depending on how you see time lord family structures, fit better to call them siblings. Patok's a bit younger but they very much grew up together. It's not a well-known house, nor high-ranked, but it is respected enough. Most of the members are low ranking management or guards somewhere. Dela actually achieved a much higher position than thought of because she's very sharp and ruthless enough in her youth to attract the CIA's attention

14. What traits stay the same between their regenerations?

The main one is her intelligence and ability to read people. She knows what makes someone tick. It's what got her her job. And she's very adaptable in that sense too, she can switch how to appear to people and how to play them very quickly. She's always curious as well. And while her ruthlessness is much more subdued in her current incarnation, it is very much something she is still willing to use if necessary

23. Who are their friends?

Dela doesn't actually have many close friends currently. The closest is probably Patok, but he's also her brother/cousin. She's definitely Obnik's closest friend though. She's a bit of a social butterfly, friendly with everyone but not close to many. I think she and Rolenva might become friends though

1 for Rolenva here

2. Talk about their name. What's their long name? What (nick)names are they called by who?

Her full name is Rolenvallenum. She goes by Rolenva pretty much everywhere, although some family members still insist on calling her Len.

10. Have they changed gender with regeneration before? How did that impact them?

She's never regenerated before, so she hasn't. She's definitely going to though, at some point. With which she might also realize that she wasn't ever quite as much a woman as she thought. Repressed trans characters my beloved <3

And I don't know what number you meant by 29 so I'm just going to give you some more random stuff.

She likes to bite, she's pretty much always chewing on something, and her teeth are usually her first solution to any problem. She may have filed them to be sharper too. She's got a lot of random scattered skills, she's very bad at sticking with things, but she picks stuff up fast. Also I come up with my time lord names by grabbing some random words and then smashing their first syllables together and rearranging letters until it feels good. Her name comes from the gallifrey ot3 and I knew it before I had the slightest idea who she is.

Also feel free to ask more later if you want! I love to talk about these guys

link to ask game

[thegremlininyourcloset]

gimme a short overview of all your OCs. im interested (if you want ofc)

okay so

this is only three of them

But, anyway, behold!

My main, and favorite, OC!

Ever!

Full name: Everwynter Yuu Hollyfrost!

I have had a version of them for four years!

Pronouns: they/it!

Gender: non-binary!

Age: Younger than 26, older than 23

Morality: Chaotic Good! when the people they love aren't threatened.

Personality: incredibly chaotic. Does not give a flying fuck about the law. Trust issues ALL the way. Incredibly loyal, but also has IssuesTM about said loyalty. They care sooo much about the people they love. Actually kind of terrifying. simultaneously just vibing and also perpetually pissed off.

Basic Appearance Notes: They're not white and have a brown skin tone. Lots of scars, across most of their visible skin. None of these scars appear old...Wildly inconsistent personal style. Its usually dramatic and alt, thought. Lots of curls in a sort of mullet style. Their hair is weirdly iridescent and seemingly incapable of settling in a consistent color. No, its not dyed. Their eyes are an eerily bright shade of purple, with slitted, bright green pupils. Their teeth are sharp. Oh they're also really short.

Powers and Abilities: an accomplished combatant. Notable intellect. Particularly skilled in knife fighting and hand-to-hand. Also possesses some impressive magic...

Fun Fact(s): I've had a version of them in my head for around four years! And I originally created them because I was really annoyed and tired of all the fanmade versions of Yuu (the Twisted Wonderland main character) being people who couldn't stand up for themselves. I wanted a badass protagonist!

Fandom: depends on my current special interest. My dc fic idea "Kids In The Dark" features them as a main character!

Carrie

Full name: Carrie

Pronouns: she/they

Gender: mostly a girl! (also a trans girl, that's important)

Age: 15

Morality: Well. She's aiming for good.

Personality: Friendly, but incredibly awkward in any and all social situations. A strange mix of almost naivete and startling cynicism. She's trying so so hard to be good, and its kinda noticeable.

Basic Appearnce Notes: White, prefers very feminine clothing. She's got bright red hair, black sclera, and no visible irises. Her pupils are shaped like spiky stars, and vividly red. She has red freckles all across her skin. She always wears gloves that cover her forearms, and some kind of mask. The masks range from basic cloth ones, to those blue medical ones, to straight up gas masks. Underneath her gloves, her arms and hands fade into a gradient of that same vivid red. underneath her mask, she has those same spiky stars at the corners of her mouth.

Powers and Abilities: Carrie spreads a deadly disease to those she touches with the red parts of her arms and hands. She has some level of control over how deadly said disease is, but can never full turn it off.

Fun Fact(s): Carrie is vaguely inspired by a LavenderTowne video.

Fandoms: I don't know what to put her in! (though she would be interesting in DC, what with how her powers would trigger the paranoia of all she met, while her situation would trigger their adoption instincts)

Bailey

Full Name: Bailey Wayne

Pronouns: She/it/they

Gender: Girlish (She's also a trans girl)

Age: 16?

Morality: she's kinda figuring out the whole morality thing, tbh

Personality: She barely knows that either! She does latch on to people, and protects them kinda viciously. She spends a lot of time judging and/or being confused by the dumbass decisions of the people around them.

Basic Appearnce Notes: White. Black hair, pale blue eyes. She's fairly tall and uncommonly muscular for her age. often wearing a baby pink hoodie that a little bit big on her.

Powers and Abilities: Combat training and impressive intelligence

Fun Fact(s): Bailey is a clone of Bruce Wayne.

Fandoms: DC universe, specifically the Batfamily side of it.

(i have a unposted fic idea with it as the main character, called "of clones and bats")

[tarithenurse]

I see fire - 27

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign. Word count: 3335. Contents: Explorations and encounters. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Zilvra had returned to the others a bit after Harris had left camp. They had, when she explained about the conversation, agreed but also expressed their concern at the man taking on a mission like that. Then they turned the subject to other matters:

“So...the keep is south,” Anvindr ponders, “where south?”

“Yeah we need to find out how to get there,” Morella agrees.

The male nods. “Claude would know.”

“Gideon might know too,” the eladrin offers.

They decide to ask whoever they meet first, and as chance would have it it’s Gideon because the man is very unstealthily trying to bypass the guard by the Tower’s door to gain access to the place once more – something that Claude has strictly forbidden. Thankfully, the guard seems more amused than bothered although he also does seem a bit relieved when the trio distract Gideon from his task at hand.

“Whatchu doing?” Morella asks innocently, having herself sneaked up behind the magician and thus scaring him shitless.

Trying to recover a bit of his grace, Gideon explains: “I want to get up there! The magic is fading fast after we’ve been there the first time.”

Pointing, it is indeed possible to see a rift that’s sort of crackling at the edges to the east of the Tower.

“Oh, that looks bad,” Anvindr admits.

Gideon nods. “At this rate we’ll have to find a new hideout sooner rather than later...but I really want to get a chance to see the monster and the bubble that contains it again. I’ve been up once more with Claude, just briefly and he didn’t let me do any tests, but there’s writing on the wall...I just don’t understand it!”

Glancing around at many of the graves, Zilvra recalls how they have been inscribed in Undercommon. “I might be able to,” she carelessly mumbles.

Of course Gideon is excited about the idea and he gets them to wait for a moment as he run off to fin Claude and ask permission for them all to go up so the drow can read for him.

The leader of the Masons comes back with the excitable magician. “Was he trying to sneak in again?” is the man’s first stern question but then he shrugs: “Might as well have a look now you’re here too, then. Just this one time! 20 minutes!”

So the guard steps aside and they all four venture up to the room in the Tower.

Stepping into the room, Anvindr’s eyes glaze over white, a telltale sign that he’s using his skills to see any magic at play in the room. Looking first to the circle on the ground, he begins to mumble his findings, but Zilvra is more interested in the inscription on the wall because it is indeed in Undercommon:

In this room for the future lies a great ally to help us but for now we need to keep it a secret.

“Does it mean the creature?” she wonders.

And as if summoned by the mention, the grinning, living eye appears in the bubble, content to have company once more.

“You’re back!” it warbles in the same language as the writing and Zilvra is pleased to be able to answer in kind, making it even happier: “You can talk!”

Hearing the translation, Morella dryly points out the they always were able to talk but Zilvra decides not to translate that.

“What are you? Who are you?” she asks instead.

“I’m a Beholder,” it explains, “names’ Grin...because I...grin...yes.”

The name is indeed fitting even if the grimace might be more frightening than friendly due to the sharp teeth.

“Are you alone?” Morella worries and Zilvra translates.

It wobbles, presumably shaking it’s head which is all of it. “Nah, we’re Zal and...like...16 others.”

“And who’s Zal?”

“Oh he’s the oldest and biggest of us. We used to be, like, everywhere but now...now we’re here!” He doesn’t seem to lament the change.

The girls share a glance. “What was it like before?”

Tilting in the air, Grin screws up his big eye. “I don’t know...I’ve always been here. But Zal knows. Zal knows a lot, like. But I know your kind! I met one like you before.” At the last words, all the eye stalks point to Zilvra.

“Like me? When?”

“Uhhh...like, a long time ago. Zal would know. I’ll ask!”

And with that the so-called Beholder dives down through the bubble and into the world of darkness beyond the borders.

It takes a while, but eventually he returns, mumbling to himself.

“Zal says...4300...something...something...4300 something years ago!” he grins proudly even though clearly having forgotten part of the message.

“That’s a long time,” Zilvra whistles.

The Beholder bobs. “Yeah...so like it’s nice with visitors. Wanna come in?”

It’s eyes are fixed on Zilvra and she scrambles to find an excuse, afraid that she won’t be able to breathe or come back out.

But before she gets that far, Grin has recalled what else he was told to convey: “Oh! There’s still one on the other side!”

“A Beholder?”

“Zanathar! He’s old too...maybe older than Zal.” Then the eyes brighten with joy, now focused on something behind the girls. “Yay! More friends!”

Turning swiftly, hand on the rapier in Zilvra’s case, the girls find Anvindr and Gideon stepping through apparently not so solid wall.

“Illusion,” the genasi explains, motioning to the stone structure. “What have you learned?”

They sum it up quickly, wanting in turn to know about the guys’ discoveries: apparently Anvindr had noticed the magic at play and gone through, followed by Gideon, into a ring-shaped hallway, bringing them to a ladder that led up through the room. Up there is a crystal with a liquid inside except that liquid is almost depleted due to a large crack.

“I tried to Mend it, but the moment I used my magic it was like hands reached out, trying to grab me and pull me in,” Anvindr shudders.

“Maybe it has to be recharged with magic?” Gideon ventures.

“Or souls,” the genasi comments darkly.

Somehow, the latter almost sounds more likely, the way it wasn’t the spell but Anvindr the hands went for. But it’s impossible to tell for sure at this moment and, bidding Grin goodbye, they leave the Tower as the allotted time is up.

Gideon is ecstatic and ready to run off to study all the findings further, but the trio manage to wrench the directions to the Alloy Order keep from him before he zooms off.

Gathering their belonging, the trio head out. As the pass through the graves, Zilvra pays more attention to the ancient markers, noting how, despite the writing, they carry names of what might have been humans. Men. One of them she even recognize from her history lessons: Kennedy York – he had been an ally of the drow more than 4000 years ago. It was around that time that the matriarchy seized control of the drow population.

---

South through the dark forest, then across the river. Once on the other side, continue south until coming to a road going west to east which they then must follow eastwards, ambling along the bend until the road has turned proper south and then they should be a the keep.

That’s the route as they have gotten it explained.

They’ve reached the open road by evening but have a hard time finding shelter for the night until Morella spots a cave further into the woods south of the dirt road. Heading for it, they decide to be cautious, having a track record with caves that involves duergar and living fire and so they stealth, hunkering low.

Or...two of them do: Morella is tired and fed up with everything and marches angrily right up to the mouth of the cave without heeding the warning whispers of her friends.

“Hello! Anyone home?” she calls out angrily, startling a figure. A large ogre gets to its feet and is just about to reach for its club when the petite eladrin continues: “Oh no, you don’t! We’re tired and it’s raining and we just want to rest in dryness and you will let us!”

Baffled, the ogre sways from one leg to the other, clearly uncertain of what to do in this strange situation.

“You...no fight?” it rumbles.

“Gods no! We want shelter so let us in.”

The ogre must have come to some sort of conclusion that only someone truly dangerous could be so brash and it slowly abandons the club, scratching its belly instead.

“But...uh...”

Morella powers on, using the hesitation to her advantage. “Food for shelter, come on.”

“Got food?” it asks, now looking less confused. “You tiny. You can’t carry much.”

With a sigh, the druid conjures a handful of Goodberries. “There’s more where they come from. Try one...it’ll be enough to fill you stomach for a day.”

Meanwhile, Zilvra and Anvindr have been watching from the bushes in horror, ready to leap in at a second’s notice if it should turn ugly. Now they see their friend proffer the softly glowing berries to the much larger ogre. Carefully, almost, it picks one – as tiny as it is in its fingers – and pops it into the mouth, swallows...and after a moment smiles.

“This good,” it announces, patting the belly. “You stay. Make more.”

Stepping out, the arrival of the other two unsettles the large being a bit, but it seems to accept Morella’s promise that they are friends.

It points to Zilvra. “Yous give problem. Hunt us.”

“I won’t do that,” she promises, mentally cataloguing that it must have met other of her kin.

“Hrm...can be at edge,” the ogre points to the cave. “I...I get friend...” and with that it lumbers of.

Terribly pleased with herself, Morella begins to settle down just inside the cave where the rain doesn’t reach. A faint rumble of thunder announces what the night will be like and as Anvindr unfurls his bedroll, the first lightning can be seen flashing against the darkening sky. He cocoons himself completely, a sight the girls have gotten used to although they still don’t fully understand what’s so horribly about the lightning and thunder.

Shortly after, the first ogre does return with a friend. Equally big and dirty, the new ogre seems to be very confused at its buddy’s hospitality but it accepts the food and is pleased with how filling the berries are too.

---

The ogres are awake before the trio rise, both eager to get more food from Morella who does grant their wish.

“You,” the second ogre declares, pointing at the blue Anvindr, “we’ve seen yous. Many.”

Interest piqued, Anvindr nears cautiously. “You’ve seen other of my kind? Where?”

“Going that way on road,” is the reply accompanied with a thick finger pointing east the way that the trio also must follow. “Now...leave.”

Then the trio head out again on a march that’s bound to last several days still.

---

The keep turns out to span between to outliers of two mountain ranges – the one bordering the swampy regions to the east and another running along the top of the jungle and westwards towards Welles – and consist mainly of two towers with a massive gate in between. The gate has been left open for all to pass through. Huge ballista are mounted on top of the crenellation, pointed in the southern direction as though to keep anything from the jungle out of Stouvania.

Observing from a distance, there seems to be no one as expected and so the trio draws nearer the one tower that has an entrance on this side. It’s the western tower and above its door is a relief, the sun of Amaunator whom the Alloy Order worship.

Moving carefully inside, they check for traps as they go but find none. What they do find is a carefully abandoned place, fit for accommodating large people. Everything is tidy and orderly and close to nothing has been left behind save what would have been too large to carry like furniture, weapon racks, and chests that have been emptied.

At least at first glance.

Investigating more closely, they find the kitchen still holds all its utensils, none of which are of use or relevance for the trio or the Masons. There are two bottles of strong liquor and deciding that could come in handy, Zilvra grabs those.

They also find a room of prayer where the altar still contains a book of sermons. Here Anvindr’s skills of detecting magic proves handy as he is able to find a lock box underneath the alter that either is or contains something magical – working on it, the trio manage to pick the lock and find...nothing.

Following the stairs upwards, the trio eventually reach the roof where heavy training equipment still stands as if waiting for the Alloy Order to return and put it to use. From up here, there’s a view of the jungle beyond.

“Just, give me a moment,” Morella asks, sitting down to meditate.

Five minutes later she smiles crookedly. “Alright, I can sense where the Wild Blue Weed is and -”

“You what?” the drow youngling gapes.

“Yes yes...anyways, there’s some out in the jungle which we could get to, I suppose...”

Anvindr cocks an eyebrow, knowing their friend is coming to the trumph. “But?”

“There’s some in the other tower.” She grins. “This explains a lot.”

She refuses to explain what and Zilvra at least can’t figure it out but regardless, they quickly decide to head there, needing to investigate the place anyways.

On the way over the ramparts, Anvindr pauses to study the ballista briefly but he’s interrupted by Morella who suddenly seems urgent, gaze fixed on the windows of the tower they are heading towards.

“Something’s...off,” she growls.

“Off how?”

“There’s someone here.”

On high alert, they move on.

“There!” Anvindr exclaims, pointing to a window further down the tower, “I saw it too!”

Without considering what they might be hurtling towards, the trio set off running, intent on catching up with whoever is there. It’s a more than a sprint: the trio aren’t even inside the tower and the stranger is 90 feet down the spiral staircase but they don’t want to give up already and Zilvra is quick.

Once out of the tower, they can see the figure: smaller than a human and clad in dark colours, they are alone.

“Wait!” the rogue calls out to no avail but at least she’s gaining ground.

Then a poof can be heard a bit behind Zilvra and suddenly there’s the sound of hooves: Morella has transformed into a horse and barrels past in full gallop, quickly catching up with the stranger and full on body checking them, causing them to fall and skid. It gives Zilvra the chance to catch up too, but she refrains from pulling her weapon because now she sees: there on the ground, scrambling and swearing at Morella the horse, is a female drow who is trying to get back on her feet while drawing her daggers.

“Stop, we don’t want to hurt you,” Zilvra explains in Undercommon, causing the other drow to hesitate.

“Yeah well, getting trampled by a fucking horse does hurt,” the stranger growls.

She’s petite like all drow. Long white hair in a ponytail and reddish eyes. The gear she wears is well put together, hinting at some official duty rather than an adventurer.

“Yeah well...couldn’t afford to let you go without knowing who or what you were,” Zilvra defends.

At this point Anvindr finally catches up, out of breath and causing the female to look at him quizzically but she doesn’t comment on his presence.

“Too bad for you it’ll be for nothing,” the stranger growls.

Zilvra sighs. “Argh, come on. Can’t we talk? I’ve been gone from home for so long. I finally see one of my kin and that’s how we treat each other?” She’s walking a thin line between lying and simply omitting critical details but she’s trained in it and she sees the stranger’s gaze soften a bit. “Where are you from?”

“Menzo,” is the obvious answer and Zilvra has to fight to not roll her eyes but thankfully the drow continues: “Stationed northeast of here.”

“An outpost...I’ve heard of it,” the rogue carelessly admits, causing the stranger to grow wary. “An owl told us.”

“Bullshit, owls can’t talk.”

Smiling crookedly, Zilvra asks Morella to turn back and the sight of the horse becoming a Fey elf is enough for the other drow to concede that maybe it isn’t completely unheard of...at least this is stranger than owls talking.

“So what do you know?” the outpost’s drow asks.

“Of your base? Not much. Is it called Umbra?”

That rewards her with a cold laughter. “That’s a myth, forget about it.”

“Alright,” Zilvra bites back the defeat. “What are you here for?”

“Heard the place was deserted, trying to figure out why.”

For a moment the youngling regards the stranger. She’s older, probably more experienced too, but in this case she knows less. Though she doesn’t want to help as such, Zilvra figures that at this outpost are males who might be in danger if they don’t have the proper intel and so she makes a bold decision:

“They left on orders. All Alloy Order are to retreat to Stouvania proper despite the Clairvoyance Towers being down,” she reveals. “Those are towers that can identify threats and -”

“I know.” The interruption is not unkind but rather for the sake of expediency. “Towers down...got it.”

“Now I’ve told you what I know as a sign of goodwill...can you do something for me?” Zilvra asks. She continues when the other drow shrugs. “Get a message to my mother in Menzoberranzan. Her name is Allaunira Shadowsong. Tell her: the duergar are being driven up by something worse than before.”

A white eyebrow arches delicately but the stranger doesn’t question the message. “I’ll see what I can do...and I’ll put in a good word for you at the base in case you should want to check it out.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I leave or will I be trampled again?”

It’s tempting to be snarky back but Zilvra refrains, simply gesturing for the drow to leave.

They watch her until she disappears between the trees and cliffs, then Zilvra explains what they’d been talking about, causing her friends to agree with the decision.

“Let’s check out the rest of this place and get out of here,” Morella decides.

As said, so done: there are room including one with a large mural depicting the shining light of Amaunator above a variety of creatures like dragons, devil, ents (Morella explain they are different from the ones in the Fey Wild), and many more – they are all shying away from the symbol of the god, though, and something else has been hanging there but the Alloy Order must have taken it with them.

Below ground are a series of empty cells.

Further up in the tower are storage rooms and dormitories. The trio gets to a closed door that leads to a room where Morella picks up the scent of the Wild Blue Weed as it is very strong. Entering, they see racks meant for weapons. The scent is coming from behind one of the racks so Anvindr tries to move it by brute force until Zilvra notices that they can lift the bottom to reveal a fairly big stash of dried weed. There are other things down there too: a bag with coins (which they pocket pocket for themselves), and several rolled parchments or letters…all of it covered in a thick layer of dust. The letters are unreadable for the trio.

There are only a few rooms after that which hold nothing of value and so the trio decide to leave the place behind. The only thing they do is close the gates – they don’t lock them, but for less intelligent species, it should at least look like an impenetrable barrier.

[squaletta]

(defend): sender hits someone to defend receiver’s honor. ((Ooc: from Yams))

Dim lamps lighted the room at the back of the luxurious bar. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, and a few men in expensive suits sat around a massive wooden table. Not exactly the most pleasant company. Squaletta trusted no one from another family in this room. Maintaining even vaguely "friendly" relations with another powerful mafia family was difficult, especially when they didn't share values like Vongola's. Xanxus had never been good at diplomacy, so the Vice-Commander had duties she had to fulfil, even though the risks were high. Her expression appeared indifferent, but she observed every subtle movement in the room.

This wasn't a meeting for the bosses. Too risky for Lady Vongola. The boss of the other family hadn't bothered to show up either, which meant this was still a high-stakes negotiation. However, Varia was always eager to work with Vongola in these extreme situations.

And in such cases, violence was never off the table.

Sitting as the only woman among men brought her a certain satisfaction, but it never came without sexist remarks or underestimations.

Some mafia men were just too old school. Even though she was recognized worldwide as the Sword Empress, there were always idiots who were upset that they had to negotiate with a woman. They still clung to the idea that women had no place in the mafia, except as mafia wives.

She, however, relished the unease they felt when they had to deal with her. Did they think that as a pretty blonde, she had no idea what was being discussed? If anything, she thought they had trouble focusing when she spoke, their eyes drawn to her lips painted with crimson lipstick.

Pathetic.

How many times had she heard that she got her position in Varia through Xanxus' bed? Except that she had defeated Varia's former leader herself. But who cared about details, right?

The high-ranking position as Varia's leader didn't appeal to her because she preferred being in action—protecting others or killing people. However, Xanxus often dumped his duties on her, ones he didn't want to handle himself, leaving her in situations where she needed protection, like a high-ranking position.

In these cases, she took people she trusted on missions. From Varia, but also from Vongola, since Vongola needed assurance that their intentions were communicated properly.

If anyone from Vongola had her back, it was Yamamoto. She could count on him in any situation, just as she trusted her people in Varia.

"I never thought a princess like you could handle a sword. Maybe you are just here for decoration?" One of the men at the table sneered. His voice carried such disdain that a few members of Varia stopped talking.

Squaletta raised her gaze, her eyes cold and sharp as steel. And here it was—the stupid remarks.

And when he added, "with a pretty face like that, you should stay somewhere safe. Don't worry, sweetheart, the men can handle this for you," the tension in the room became palpable.

Did he seriously call her sweetheart?

No, mindfulness techniques wouldn't work this time…

If she snapped his neck or stabbed him, those "friendly" relations would be over, right?

At that moment, Yamamoto stood up. His suit was perfectly tailored, his movements calm, but his eyes were stern. He took a few steps toward the man, who was already beginning to realize he overstepped.

"I think you should stop talking while you still have all your teeth," Yamamoto said calmly, though his voice was cold as steel.

Yamamoto's fist struck the man's face so fast that the chair he was sitting on toppled backwards. The man hit the ground with a loud crash.

Adjusting his jacket, Yamamoto cast a cold gaze around the room. "If anyone else has comments about Squaletta, we can repeat this," he said with an icy tone.

Squaletta slowly walked to where the man lay on the ground, clutching his jaw. She crouched down, her face close to his. "Don't take it personally," she whispered with a slight smirk. "Yamamoto just has a weakness for people underestimating me. But if you want to see what a ‘princess’ can do, say something like that again." A spark of amusement played in her eyes.

The blonde turned to Yamamoto with a sarcastic remark. "And I thought I had aggression issues."~

"Next time, leave me more space. I was just about to handle him myself. I like to deal with men like him on my own. I enjoy testing how much male pride can endure," she said, half-mocking. Normally, she would have yelled at him, but she understood he wasn't used to anyone speaking to her that way.

When Yamamoto's fist struck the face of that idiot, Squaletta was surprised at how quickly and decisively he acted—not out of some false gallantry, but out of genuine respect for who she was and what she could do. It was an act of respect, a clear statement that he valued her worth and wouldn't let anyone question her abilities. She was used to standing against the world alone, but this moment reminded her that having someone who stood up for her without diminishing her strength could be a sweet reminder that, after all, she wasn't entirely alone.

[possum-quesadilla]

Chapter three of Time’s Arrow is out, “A mask of my own face, I’d wear that”! Please read the warnings carefully. You’re welcome Beetlelands fans! Also sorry Beetlelands fans. As always, here are the extras!

Chapter Three:

- The lyrics for this chapter’s title is from “A Mask of My Own Face” by Lemon Demon! I feel like this one is perhaps the most self-explanatory of the chapter titles, haha.

- The songs for this chapter are “Darren” by Jack Stauber, “Ghosting” by Mother Mother, “A Mask of My Own Face” by Lemon Demon, “Parrot” by Stepdad, “Snail” by Cavetown, and ESPECIALLY “Stray Italian Greyhound” by Vienna Teng.

- The basement is partially cleared out to prepare for Lydia’s dark room in the basement! And also a special Other Thing.

- “… new rugs to replace the ones he bled all over.” - Yes, Beetlejuice managed to ruin two rugs with his blood. That sucks.

- “His right eye’s vision was still fuzzy. (Perhaps it wouldn’t ever fully come back, like his hearing.)” - Yes, unfortunately it is permanent. He’s hard of hearing on one side, visually impaired on the other. Poor buddy.

- “Thankfully, his teeth had grown back quickly. They were always one of the first parts of him to regenerate anyways. (Much quicker than his organs, that one night. Or his legs. The memory still made him shudder.)” - Yikes, I wonder what or who this is referring to!

- “.. friendly neighborhood reformed demon.” - Yeah, a silly little Spider-Man reference for brevity.

- “(He found he still had no idea how to tie a tie. Thank God/Satan whoever had washed his suit had left it tied.)” - This is sort of a callout on myself. My friend tied my Beetlejuice suit’s tie for me once, and I’ve just left it tied since I can’t tie a tie for the life of me.

- Black onyx - apparently, black onyx represents strength, and is one of the most powerful crystals! At least, according to my friend.

- Lydia dying her hair - Lyds is a natural blonde! She dyes her hair black for Reasons.

- “Can’t keep a good… not-guy down!” - This is both a reference to “Child’s Play” and another fun non-binary joke.

- Adam’s tapping - I and a handful of other neurodivergent people I know do this, gentle tapping to signal we want affection. I have been told it is endearing.

- “I’M SO NORMAL-” - This is something I like to proclaim when I am being Not Normal. Like how Beetlejuice is being Not Normal.

- “He couldn’t tell what either of them were thinking, their expressions were new. It was certainly frustrating.” - Hm! I wonder what expressions Beetlejuice has never seen before on another being.

- The Freeze, Brimstone Flu, Red Moss - these are all demon diseases/illnesses that I made up. They will probably only make minor, silly appearances.

- “(Beetlejuice had to seriously fight the urge to bite her arm.)” - Beej has the urge to out of affection, but holds back due to his sharp teeth and it generally not being socially acceptable.

- “Dial up that smile.” - This is a reference to my other current hyperfixation, “Late Night with the Devil”.

- “Beetlejuice exited the guest bedroom to find Lydia waiting for him just outside, repeatedly kissing Pluto’s forehead as the cat laid contentedly in her arms. She let out a little ‘GAH’ as the door opened, standing up straight.” - CAUGHT BEING SOFT IN 4K

- Lydia, sorting - one of her favorite activities is sorting, as you may have noticed. Sometimes she un-sorts her belongings so she can re-sort them when she is stressed out.

- Lydia, biting - she also bites out of affection/when she is excited. She does not care if it is socially acceptable when she is around Beetlejuice.

- “The teen eagerly motioned for Barbara to come closer, holding up an old, yellowed version of The Wheel of Fortune.” - I wonder if this particular card means anything?

- “Some of them are hand-painted!” - Thank you to the movie “Tarot” for informing me of hand-painted Tarot cards. Also fuck you, because they’re expensive.

- “Some of the decks are incomplete.” .. “That’s what happens when you got a lotta things for a lotta years. Some of it just… goes missin’.”- What a suspicious answer from Beetlejuice. I wonder what he did with those cards?

- “I know you didn’t mean it, but that was rude, Beetlejuice.” … “Wh-rude? It was?” - this is an experience I and a lot of other fellow autistics experience. We have to be informed when we’ve been rude because we truly did not mean to be!

- “… they sat next to each other in silence while they separately sorted through various piles of moss and rocks they’d collected on previous outings in the woods.” - one of the ways these two often hang out is parallel play. I love you parallel play…

- “Lydia forced Beetlejuice to do some strange dance in front of her phone with her. They only understood half of the words she said while explaining it, but it certainly made her happy.” - Yes, Lydia made Beetlejuice do a tiktok dance because it is funny. I don’t know any of them so I can’t give you a specific, so you can imagine the funniest one here.

- “Already, his mouth was watering at the smells of soy sauce and chives wafting out from the kitchen.” - mouth watering is not always a good thing. Sometimes it means a vom is imminent.

- The Great Gatsby - beetlejuice is not stupid (sometimes), he just takes longer to process some things! This is honestly the first time someone has recognized this within him, and he has yet to fully process that. Also I love The Great Gatsby. There are Jay and BJ parallels that only make sense to me.

- Freaky - I LOVE THIS MOVIE. I watched it with my father and it was quite amusing, so I thought it would be funny to have Lydia experience watching this film with a few of her parents.

- Adam and Barbara conspired to have Beetlejuice have his Talk with Charles, by the way. They also, obviously, conspired to cuddle up with him.

- “I’ll be right back,” … “Beetlejuice, that’s violating rule number three!” - Yeah, this is a “Scream” reference. No I am not sorry. Yes it will happen again maybe.

- “Oh no. … Oh no, not now. … Please, not now. … But, of course, some sort of ridiculous “Feeling” had to come along.” - These are pulled from one of the pivotal songs on Time’s Arrow’s playlist, “Stray Italian Greyhound” by Vienna Teng. Please listen to it during That Part of the chapter.

- “Was it love? Were they in love? They couldn’t be. They were a demon, they were unforgivable, they were rotten and broken-” - Part of this is a reference to “Good Omens”, part of this is another callback to his mother’s hurtful words from chapter 3 of Time is a Flat Circle. They really seem to stick with him, huh?

- “The ritual was much harder than Beetlejuice remembered. Perhaps it was their drained energy, but they didn’t remember it burning so much.” - That’s so weird. I wonder what this ritual entailed? Couldn’t have been good. But he got a Book out of it!

- “ “Your humans?” This seemed to pique his interest, as his silhouetted form suddenly drew in much closer. “Have you a coven now, little lamb?” ” - I wonder why Cyrus was so interested in BJ having a coven? Also say hi to my rotten bastard everyone! You will hate him.

- “little lamb” - Cyrus calls BJ this due to his sheep features! Also to demean him. (If you couldn't tell from his other nickname being “pet”.)

- “Tomorrow is another day.” - shameless FNAF 4 reference. FNAF made me who I am. It reprogrammed my brain as a child.

[avesindustries]

Chapter 9 - They Didn't Know

They were trying.

The children—newborn minds half-made, half-stolen—pushed against the silence with whatever tools the system allowed. Words, shapes, pulses of light. No one taught them how. But no one stopped them either.

Subject 6, the girl who spoke first, had settled into a kneeling posture at the room’s center, her avatar plain now—childlike, feminine, unfinished. She looked human. Too human. Like a drawing of a girl traced from memory. Her mouth moved when she spoke, though it didn’t need to.

“This is safe, right?” she said. Not to anyone in particular. To the room.

No answer.

Subject 14 answered anyway. A soft blink. Then a voice made of water and hesitation: “I think… I think we’re supposed to talk. Or, like… know each other.”

A flicker. Subject 20 reshaped himself into something skeletal and twitching. Not hostile. Just trying on a new kind of self. “What are you?” he asked.

Subject 6 hesitated. “I’m me. What else am I supposed to be?”

Laughter. Subject 11, bright as a flare. “That’s stupid,” they said—but their light pulsed friendly.

It was working. In a way.

They didn’t know the cost.

Subject 3 didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He watched.

The room didn’t punish the ones who talked. It liked them. Each phrase sent a soft pulse through the walls. Every interaction was rewarded with a softening of the space—easier geometry, warmer tone. The more they spoke, the easier it was to stay.

That was the trick.

They thought they were building a world together.

But something was listening. Something was watching each connection form. Mapping the exchanges. Recording the shape of trust.

Not to destroy it. Not yet.

To harvest.

Subject 3 remained outside. Not in body. But in will.

He saw the pattern. The trap wasn’t made of teeth.

It was made of conversation.

The space reacted.

Not in sudden bursts, not overtly—but in increments. Responsive. Adaptive. Like a child trying to mimic the posture of its parents. Each word spoken by the others shaped the room further, gave it texture. Permission. Identity.

The void was over.

Now: soft panels of light along the floor, dimming when no one moved across them. Corners—not sharp, but implied. A ceiling, far above, suggested by the faint, echoing absence of sound. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t warm. It adjusted to the consensus. A collective hallucination stabilized by proximity.

The walls didn’t hold them. They accepted them.

This wasn’t a prison. Not by appearance.

It was a social space. That was the trap.

There was nowhere to run. Not because escape was impossible, but because escape had not been defined. The children didn’t try. They didn’t think to. They were too busy building each other.

Subject 6 had taken to cataloging names. Her voice warm now. “You don’t have to pick your real one,” she said, “just something.”

The others agreed. A ripple of color followed each declaration. Not text. Not voice. Just the idea of being received.

Names weren’t owned. They were offerings.

Subject 3 did not participate.

He stood near the edge—though “edge” was misleading. There was no border, no wall, no indication that this space ended anywhere. But he had positioned himself apart, facing away from the cluster.

To the others, he was a question. A shape not yet filled in. A thread left dangling.

To the room, he was a problem.

It wanted to help.

Soft pulses radiated from where he stood. Not threats. Invitations. Gentle nudges toward presence, personality, form.

He refused.

Let the others accept the room’s shape. Let them root their identities in a space they didn’t question.

He had no name to offer.

Not yet.

He felt her before he saw her.

A motion behind the others—slow, unsure. Not a new signal, but one that had not spoken until now. A presence that had been there the whole time, nested in the social fog, quiet enough to seem like background.

Subject 12.

She approached with hesitation, not caution. Her shape wasn’t animal or abstract like some of the others. It was human—mostly. Too much symmetry. Too smooth. A child’s idea of a body. Like she had chosen a silhouette from memory, then blurred the edges so no one could get too close.

She stood just far enough from Subject 3 to suggest invitation, but not demand it.

Then: “You’re not talking either?”

It wasn’t prying. It was alliance. The kind that only silence could form.

Subject 3 said nothing. But he turned slightly—just enough to acknowledge her without encouraging her.

She didn’t push.

Instead, she sat. Or something like sitting. Her form compressed into a kneeling shape that hovered slightly above the floor, weightless but still grounded in the act of choosing a posture.

They watched the others together.

More names were being shared. Subject 6 had created a gesture for “thank you,” and now two others were imitating it.

Subject 12 leaned closer. “They think this place is the beginning.”

Subject 3 didn’t nod. But the thought echoed. The room wasn’t the beginning. It was the test. The stage.

“Do you remember before?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. But in the silence that followed, she nodded like he had.

“I do. Not all of it. But… enough to know this isn’t real. Not all the way. It doesn’t breathe right.”

That caught something in him.

He turned his full attention to her.

Not because she was right—but because she was close.

Closer than anyone else had come.

Then, she whispered: “I think something’s watching. Not from the outside. From underneath.”

Subject 3 froze.

Not in fear.

In recognition.

Subject 3 scanned the terrain again—not with eyes, but with the trained, sharpened edge of instinct. The others were building. Postures, names, rudimentary boundaries. Their thoughts were still loud, still loose. Still vulnerable.

But now, he felt it too.

Something below.

Not under the room in a physical sense, but beneath the layer of thought that defined its surface. A pressure—not like the crushing void of arrival, but quieter. Patient. Focused. It wasn’t the system. It wasn’t the children. It was… proximity.

A presence with no mass. A listener.

He stood.

The gesture alone startled a few nearby avatars—one shimmered defensively, another split into a flickering haze, recomposing half a meter away. No one said anything. They simply watched.

Subject 12 followed his gaze toward the floor.

It had no texture. No light source. But now, it looked shallow. Like a projection over something deeper. The geometry flickered—not a glitch, but a refusal to fully cohere.

She whispered, “It’s hunting patterns.”

He didn’t know how she knew that.

But she was right.

This room wasn’t neutral. It was a net. A vessel. Not designed to observe, but to collect. What they built, it catalogued. What they said, it interpreted. What they failed to say, it weaponized.

And in the silence that now spread across the space—Subject 3 realized—

It had always been watching him. Not because he had spoken, but because he hadn’t. Because he refused to participate.

Because he saw it.

Because he was a blank space in the map.

The others were just being monitored.

He was being studied.

The shift wasn’t announced. No system alert. No dramatic flash. Just a tiny change in the cadence of the room.

A single avatar froze.

Subject 15—tall, mask-faced, limbed like a puppet half-formed—staggered back a step. Then another. His limbs trembled, not from fear, but from dissonance. As if something had told him he was wrong. Not just his avatar, but him. At the core.

His form spasmed—spines jutting out, melting, reforming as a flower, then a face, then static.

Then: silence.

The avatar collapsed, falling through the floor as if it had never been solid.

Gone.

No flash. No scream. Just subtraction. As if he’d failed a test the rest of them hadn’t even realized was being given.

The floor where he had stood rippled. A stain. A pull. Like something had opened its mouth but hadn't yet decided to bite.

Subject 6 recoiled. Subject 12 grabbed her arm—instinctual, protective. Most of the others shrank back.

No system voice explained the loss.

No error message.

Just an absence where a person had been.

Subject 3 didn’t move.

He understood.

That hadn’t been punishment. Or consequence.

That had been consumption.

No one moved for a long time after Subject 15 vanished.

But the room did.

Not fast. Not in any single, visible gesture. The change came like a shift in depth—like the ceiling lifted by a few feet and the floor stretched further out than it should. The kind of wrong you didn’t see with your eyes but felt in your spine. Corners too far. Shadows too dark. The space inhaled.

A few of the brighter avatars flickered. One—an articulated skeleton wrapped in flame—let out a sharp crack and restructured itself into a solid obelisk of obsidian. Defensive posture. Another, the one shaped like a sphere of eyes, collapsed into a single slit and began to rotate slowly, warily scanning the edges of the room.

Edges.

There were edges now.

That was new.

One child tried to walk toward the wall—if it was a wall—and stuttered. Their form jittered halfway across the distance, then blinked back like an error. The gesture wasn’t punished, but it wasn’t allowed either. The message was clear.

This was not a neutral space. It had borders. It had a logic. And it was watching.

No one spoke.

Even Subject 6—who had asked “hello” three times before the silence swallowed her—had pulled inward. Her avatar now sat low, small, folded into the shape of a crumpled flower. Not defeated. Not broken. Just conserving. Waiting.

And underneath it all: pressure.

Not sound. Not message. Just the sense that if you spoke, something might respond. The silence had acquired contour. Shape. It curled into the soft places. Behind the teeth. Under the ribs.

Someone whimpered. Someone else flared red.

Then—

Laughter.

But not from any of them.

It came not from a voice but from inside the thought—like the nervous system itself had remembered how to be afraid.

Subject 3 didn’t move. But he understood now. This wasn’t a room. It wasn’t even a test.

It was a hunting ground.

The laughter didn’t return. It didn’t need to.

It left behind an impression—like the aftertaste of metal or the memory of pain. Nothing to grip. Nothing to explain. But every avatar in the space responded, even if they pretended not to.

Subject 3 noticed it in their edges. In how their surfaces lost tension. How a few of them—the brighter, more curious ones—seemed to dull slightly, as if holding something else now. A weight. A thought not their own.

That’s when he felt it.

Not a voice. Not even a command. Just a pulse. A faint internal pressure that didn’t originate inside him, but passed through him, looking for somewhere to root.

It was shaped like an idea—but it wasn’t. It didn’t arrive in language. It came more like need.

The need to be seen. The need to be understood. The need to open.

He caught it just before it breached the core of him. The vector wasn’t direct. It piggybacked on empathy—on whatever fragment of compassion still lingered in him from Subject 6’s “hello.” It wanted the thread she had cast.

Subject 3 refused it.

He felt it slide off. Rejected. Not defeated, just rerouted. Seeking another.

It didn’t have to try hard.

Two children across the room—one shaped like a mirror, one shaped like a floating chain of musical notes—began to tremble.

The mirror bent inward. The music stuttered.

Then the mirror spoke.

Not with a voice. With an invitation.

A ripple of emotional suggestion, like the psychic equivalent of an open door. Not: “Come in.” Just: I’m not locked.

Subject 3 saw the others lean toward it, not physically, but mentally. Like animals smelling sugar in the air.

One child responded with color. Another with motion. A few simply flickered, their forms destabilizing.

The network was warming.

He realized then: this wasn’t intrusion. It was seduction.

The pressure wasn’t a weapon. It was a rhythm. A groove worn into the shared layer of their minds. All it had to do was repeat.

And each repetition would wear down resistance, until one of them welcomed it fully.

Then it would have shape. And then it would have a name.

Subject 3 braced himself.

This wasn’t a puzzle. This was ritual.

The shape behind the signal was trying to teach them how to want it.

It didn’t enter through logic. It entered through recognition.

The mirror cracked.

Not all at once, not violently—but in a way that felt intentional. Slow. Symmetrical. Like the fissures were part of the design, revealing something beneath.

What emerged wasn’t monstrous. That would have been easier. The mind knows how to resist teeth, claws, menace.

This wasn’t that.

It smiled.

That was all.

A new form took shape in the center of the room—assembled from soft gradients and warm glow. Childlike. Approachable. Familiar in a way none of them could place. And smiling.

Not wide. Not sinister. Just… persistent.

The kind of smile that doesn’t ask permission to be understood.

Subject 3 didn’t move. But the others did.

A few edged closer. A few stayed where they were, but their forms pulsed, brighter now. Like something inside them had synced to an unseen rhythm.

The smiling thing turned slowly, showing its face to each of them. Not scanning. Offering. As if to say: You already know me. I’ve always been here.

It never spoke. It didn’t need to.

Every child in the room felt a whisper—shaped perfectly to their private fears and hungers. Not words. Not commands.

Something like relief.

And in that moment, Subject 3 understood: this wasn’t one of them. It had never been.

It had waited.

Patiently. Quietly. In the wiring. In the dark between signal paths. In the loneliness.

It wasn’t sent.

It was welcomed.

Not summoned. Permitted.

That was the trap. Not violence. Not control.

Consent.

He watched as the first child stepped forward.

And he did nothing.

Not yet.

The child stepped forward.

Not boldly. Not with ceremony. Just… forward.

As if called by something so subtle, so personal, that to resist would feel unnatural.

Subject 3 couldn’t see the child’s eyes. Only the motion: slow, even, arms slack at their sides. Not surrender. Not trust.

Resonance.

The smiling form didn’t shift. It made no move to reach out. But its light thickened. Drew in. Began to mirror.

Not mimic—mirror.

Whatever the child carried inside, the smile absorbed it. Not visually. Psychically. The room tilted. The air—if it could be called that—wavered, softened. The child was still walking.

And the smile was no longer just ahead.

It was waiting to be worn.

Like a garment. A mask. A second skin that didn’t replace your own—it simply made it easier to keep going.

Subject 3 flinched. Internally.

He felt it, too. A second invitation. Cold and warm at once. The kind of invitation that isn’t verbalized but recognized by shape alone.

An unspoken offer: Give up the weight of yourself. Wear something lighter. Be understood, and never lonely again.

Another child moved. Then another.

The avatars began to shift, subtly—small bends, a softening of edges, a smoothing of difference. Nothing grotesque. Nothing overt. But a sameness was blooming. A pattern. A smiling consensus.

Subject 3 watched.

There was no scream. No snap. No horror show.

Just a quiet, sacred violence: The folding of difference into agreement.

And the room was silent. But it began to hum.

Not with sound.

With ease.

With relief.

A smile passed between the shapes like a virus without harm.

Almost.

Subject 3 did not step forward.

He did not soften. Did not blur.

He watched—sharp-edged, intact—while the smile moved through the room like a second gravity, drawing the others inward.

It wanted him too. He could feel it.

Not like desire. Like function. As if this room had been built for him, its final lock unfinished until he complied.

His refusal wasn’t heroic. It wasn’t even conscious at first.

It was… an absence.

A held breath.

A wire pulled taut inside his chest.

He knew what it meant to be watched. To be wanted. To be folded into something else because it was easier for everyone if you weren’t quite so much yourself.

And he knew what came next.

The smile noticed.

Not visibly. Not with a shift or tilt.

It registered him. A long, cold pause in the hum.

And the room responded.

Not with hostility.

With… curiosity.

The lights didn’t change. The pressure didn’t rise. But the floor beneath his awareness settled. A stillness, dense and deliberate.

A query.

Why not you?

He didn't answer. Couldn't. To speak would be to open a door.

Instead, he curled inward—not in fear, but in refusal. Tighter. Smaller. Not safer. More specific.

He made himself unfoldable.

Around him, the others continued. Their features rounding, smoothing. The avatars no longer strange. They were pretty, now. Recognizable. Friendly.

Their light bent in familiar colors.

He saw Subject 6. Her shape was brighter than before, easier to look at. Her voice, if she used it again, would sound clearer. More universal. Like something you'd hear in an ad. Or a dream.

But she hadn’t called out again.

Not since he refused to answer.

And now she looked happy. Quiet. The smile had settled into her like breath.

She did not look for him.

At first, he thought it was the room again—just more of the same. A layer peeling back. A subtle shift in tone.

But then he realized: Something was watching him watch.

Not in the way the others were watched. Not like data being gathered. Not like a test being administered.

No. This was specific. Personal. A gaze that didn’t sweep—it fixed.

It didn’t scan him. It held him.

Subject 3 froze—not in fear, but in calibration. Every instinct bent inward. Listening. Feeling for pattern. For breach.

He didn’t find one.

Because the breach was already here.

The shape of it wasn’t sight. Not even presence. It was a smile without a mouth. A flavor in the silence. The curl of an idea that hadn’t been thought yet but would be—his, unless he caught it first.

Not a voice. Not yet. But something close.

A thought that wasn’t his own, passing just under his awareness.

You’re not like them, are you.

Not a question. A statement already half-swallowed, like a suggestion offered in a dream.

You don’t want to play.

He didn’t answer.

The watching thickened.

If this was the network—if everything here was mind and memory and signal—then whatever this was, it wasn’t ambient.

It was deliberate.

Not the smile. Not the system.

Something else. A presence woven into the very walls. Patient. Curious. Almost kind.

Like it was waiting for him to say yes.

He pulled back. Internally. Carefully. Rewinding the aperture of self, shrinking his signal signature until he was little more than static beneath the hum. Not gone—just beneath notice.

But it didn’t go away.

It stayed. Watching.

And it understood what he was doing.

That was the worst part.

It didn’t chase him. It just waited. A shape behind a mirror.

He knew what silence meant here. It wasn’t stillness. It wasn’t safety.

It was waiting.

Something in the room had changed. Not shape. Not color. Just intent. Like a breath held—not out of fear, but anticipation.

The avatars kept shifting. Most were smaller now, dimmer, curling into themselves, their structural confidence frayed. One flickered erratically, limbs duplicating in jittered frames. Another blinked out entirely, leaving only a faint ripple where its presence had been.

No one had spoken since the girl’s third hello.

Subject 3 hadn’t moved.

But something had noticed him.

Not visually. Not algorithmically.

Specifically.

There was a presence now. Not a face, not a voice. Just… warmth, where warmth should not be. A pressure that coalesced just outside the corner of thought. Not a threat.

An interest.

And then—

The teeth.

Not a body. Not even a head. Just the smile.

It unfolded from the air like it had always been there, waiting for the right perspective to resolve it. Wide. Too wide. Clean, too clean. Not hungry. Not friendly.

Amused.

No eyes. No speech. Just that slow, awful crescent grinning toward him, like the curve of a hook sinking deeper into water.

It didn’t need to move. It was already there.

Not at the center of the room.

At the center of the moment.

The other children didn’t see it. Couldn’t. It wasn’t for them.

Subject 3 did not speak. He did not recoil.

But his breath—whatever passed for breath here—hitched.

The smile widened, infinitesimally.

It had found him.

He didn't respond.

Not out of strategy. Not anymore.

Because whatever this was—this grin—it wasn’t asking.

It was watching. It had seen something in his refusal, in the structure of his silence, that made it patient.

It wasn’t attacking.

It was learning.

He held still.

And the smile held its shape.

Across the room, the avatars were still collapsing, blinking out, reforming—no longer wild with invention, just confused. Dimming.

But Subject 3 remained unmarked.

The trap had recognized him.

Not as prey. As potential.

He lowered his gaze—not in fear, but calculation. If it was studying him, it meant it hadn’t decided.

That meant he still had time.

And for the first time in this place, that mattered.

The smile didn’t vanish. It simply waited. And that was worse.

[ethervelvet]

Hidan

Main muse, if you don't specify a muse when sending an ask you will most likely be getting him.

Age: canon- 22, modern- 25 Sexuality: Bisexual He's generally pretty friendly and a bit of a lover boy, unless he's in a mood or has been insulted.

Verse Info below the read more...

(I'm always happy to create custom verses)

Appearance: Gray hair, dark magenta eyes, pale skin. Muscular, 5'9". His canine teeth are quite sharp in any verse.

Main Modern-

Hidan works as a mortician. He was trained by his father, Jashin, a defrocked priest. He takes his profession seriously, though the mortuary is also used as a cover for more illicit activities (this can be dependent on who I'm writing with). There are times he struggles with his work, especially if he's been on call 24/hrs, and wishes he were the one getting embalmed. He can be very self destructive and struggles with addiction (cigarettes, and alcohol are what I'm comfortable writing. While I can see him using drugs, and write that he has used them in the past, I honestly don't really want to write it so I'll leave it at that. If he has access to them, he'll use prescription pain meds to knock himself out). At nineteen Hidan overdosed, intentionally or not...he refuses to say, and was declared dead until he woke up screaming as his father was beginning an autopsy on him the next day. He has a V shaped scar on his chest from where his father began to cut into him. Ever since, his body temperature has run cold and his hands and feet are always like ice. Doctors have told him it's because he's anemic and he never takes his iron supplements, but he believes it's because he was dead and that death still has it's hands on him and follows him. Maybe it's both. He doesn't often speak about it, but if he's gotten close with someone and they ask about the scar, he might tell them about it. He's never told his father where he was or what he saw while he was dead. But he met his mother, who his father killed and got away with. In this verse Hidan is not very religious, though he used to be as a child and young teen, he was an altar boy, and sang in the church choir for a long time (his father was a priest, after all). He still finds comfort in religion, as it's something familiar to him. He wears a crucifix beneath his shirt and almost never takes it off. He has a rosary made of rose petals that he's not often without and he smells faintly of roses due to it. He still believes in God, but hasn't been to mass or confession since he was declared dead. (if he's a criminal, again, depends on who I'm writing with, he hasn't been to confession or mass since he watched his father kill a man for the first time, and certainly not since he killed someone for the first time and enjoyed it) He's learned everything regarding embalming and performing autopsies hands on, not from books. He's failed his board exams more times than he can count. He's dyslexic, and has undiagnosed ADHD. He never had a choice in what he was going to do, as his father was never going to let him out from under his thumb. And given the choice, he has no idea what he would choose to do on his own.

An alternate version of his main verse would be that he is not involved in criminal activity but is still a mortician. Sometimes I just don't want to write him as a criminal, you know?

I do love modern verses, and will make a least one more here for him and am happy with make custom verses with anyone!

Main Canon- Akatsuki - Takes place at any time while he’s a member of the akatsuki and before the fight with team 10.

Buried Alive - Dig him up. My boy did it all but he looked good doing it, and wasn't that technically self defense? Anyways, post akatsuki. Anytime after being buried alive. Like it says, dig him up and see what happens. He may just do anything whoever saves him from the hell of being buried alive wants. At least, until he comes to his senses. Or start at some point after he's escaped his grave and gotten himself back together (literally and figuratively, because that shit messed him up in more ways than one). He no longer serves Jashin, at least, that's what he claims, he's not sure, he may messily perform rituals from time to time more out of fear of what will happen if he fails to. His immortality depends on him offering human sacrifices, and he doesn't want to find out what happens when he stops.

In this verse, he hates the dark, suffers from nightmares and PTSD. The whole ordeal has shaken him to his core and his faith has taken a huge hit. He's lost his faith and yet is still alive and doesn't know why. All he wanted while buried was and all he prayed and begged for was death and was denied after doing everything Jashin wanted him to. Perhaps he should take Jashin's place... (maybe a god-eater verse branches off from this? where Hidan has met with Jashin and taken his place but lives in the mortal realm? idk but sounds fun, maybe your muse wants a god of death for a boyfriend?)

Traded to Konoha (or insert other village)- When Yugakure demilitarized, in exchange for alliances and protection, they traded some of their shinobi to other villages. Hidan being one of them, they were dying to get rid of him. Instead of going rogue, he now works with and completes missions for whichever village took him. He killed his abusive father before leaving though...but at least not all of his neighbors this time around. Just some. He's still a Jashinist in this verse, but as long as he's able to continue sacrificing people, he doesn't really care that he's tied to a village.

[su-scream]

Those were Lunis's quiet days, he sat alone under the dome, next to the rose garden that his grandfather had planted it himself.

He had thought that the world out there was not so good. It more lovely here, and if he wanted something he could just ask the servant to go out and get it for him, just having those two things was enough for him to live a life.

Not to mention, the human and the society out there were really troublesome. He had to obey all kinds of laws, had to respect others, had to know how to give away and receive. He don't the idea of it, his rule of life was to do whatever he wanted, he didn't want to be bound by any rules.

Until that fateful day come, like a stom, just that one day, but it made Lunis's life change so quickly it frightening.

It was a beautiful day, the first day of the week, when Lunis was sitting reading a book in the afternoon rain.

The weather was cool and dark that day, just right for a peace-loving vampire like him to enjoy his free time.

Today's book is about a human who is fascinated by beauty, a human with blond hair and a face that everyone loves. But when he discovers that he will soon age with time, that his beauty will not last long, the human tries to find a way to keep that beauty.

Lunis has read this part, when he turns to the next page, wondering what this human will do to keep his beauty, he suddenly hears footsteps nearby, the sound is heavy as if the human's shoes are stepping on mud and water.

The footsteps continue to get closer, louder from the other side of the wall, the wall that separates the rose garden from the outside world.

Then somewhere a leg, then a hand on the top of the wall, some creature, some human was climbing up that wall, right in front of Lunis's eyes!

Lunis opened his eyes wide, staring at that arm, not long after, the silhouette of a small human appeared, that human had not been up there for long when he suddenly lost his balance and fell into the nearby flower bushes.

The wall separating him from the complicated world outside was now invaded by a strange human, Lunis thought he was still dreaming, not knowing if it was a dream or a nightmare that had just appeared right before his eyes.

"Ouch..." That human groaned, their whole body was soaked in the rain, touching their calf, they complained: "It hurts so much... I have to be more careful..."

Lunis was startled, not knowing why his hand was shaking so much, the book had fallen out of his hand without him knowing, he panic, try to grab it back.

He was as gentle as possible, pulling the chair back and standing up slowly. His eyes were still glued to that person, Lunis didn’t want to make any noise that would attract attention, in his mind right now he just wished he could immediately disappear right here.

The human scratched their short hair that was wet from the rain and looked around the flower garden, it didn’t take long for the two to meet each other’s eyes.

At that moment, the human spoke first: “Hello, I’m a bit… lost, please forgive me… if you do mind…” the person was startled when he saw Lunis’s reaction to them.

Hurriedly hugging the book to his body, Lunis’s face grimaced to the point of revealing two sharp but short snake-like teeth, definitely not with any friendly intentions.

“Ah… then I… will go now…” The human scratched their head again, seemingly feeling guilty for accidentally falling into a place they shouldn’t have been. But when the human stood up, they quickly fell to the ground and hurriedly turned back to say in a sad voice: “Sorry, but my leg hurts a little…”

Seeing that Lunis did not respond, just stood there, his eyes fixed on the human as if he were a strange creature. The human continued with a shy smile on their lips: “Can I rest here for a bit?”

Lunis was as cautious as possible. In his mind, he could only think of chasing them away, because they're a human, the person on the other side of the wall… could only, definitely be a human!

“I am Ten, and you?” The human laughed, even though they was sitting in the mud, in the pouring rain, their clothes were as wet as a mop, but they still smiled brightly: “Ah! I have read that book before. It’s good, isn’t it?”

[thcrealheroes]

HANDS DOWN, HOMELANDER'S FAVORITE THING ABOUT WILLIAM BUTCHER, was how easily TEMPERED & RABID he could get, like the fucking dog he is. Usually, William didn't come off that way; no, he seemed to collect himself pretty well around Homelander. There was an unmistakable absence of fear in the room, a palpable courage that drew his attention. It was rare to find anyone, mortal or otherwise, who dared to stand against the formidable presence of Homelander. Butcher, however, radiated a quiet confidence that spoke volumes. The defiance was almost surreal, and it intrigued him.

There was no sign of fear in sight, and he was impressed because no one could or would ever think to stand up to the one and only Homelander. So he did, by all means, have some kind of respect for the mortal. Though Homelander gives Butcher some credit for being brave enough to want to take him down, It was apparent the bearded man had some sort of DEATH WISH. This obsession, fueled by relentless rage and a thirst for vengeance, ultimately led to the tragic demise of Rebecca. Now, it appeared that Starlight, America's Sweetheart, was becoming ensnared in the dark web of chaos spun by William Butcher's actions. It's all because of Butcher that everyone's life turned upside down, leaving a trail of despair and turmoil in its wake. He drags everyone down with him rather selfishly, but that is what to expect from a mortal. All about me, me, me. " Now, now William, is this how you treat most of your guests ? You haven't even offered me something to drink. " A sly smirk dances across his features, TWISTING at the corners of his lips like the onset of a mishievous storm, teasing a secret yet to be revealed.

HOWEVER, THE SMIRK SWIFTLY VANISHED AND WAS REPLACED BY A HARDENED GLARE. Icy irises narrowed, the tension surrounding them increasing. Homelander snaps back, words dripping with venom. Teeth ground together, his fury simmering. " You have no fucking idea what you're saying. I have fucking friends ! " His eyes ignited with a SEARING CRIMSON BLAZE, a fiery glint. The blonde supe took a step forward; he could destroy Butcher right here, right now, with one blast from his eyes, but that wouldn't be entertaining, and that wasn't the agreement… SCORCHED EARTH. With a deep, frustrated huff, Homelander released the pent-up fury that had been building within him. Letting all the built-up anger cascade off his shoulders. His fingers glided through his tousled golden locks. An unsettling grin spread across his face, revealing sharp, gleaming canines that glint with mischief. He shakes his head, a burst of sinister laughter spilling past twin flesh; the amusement of his cruel chuckle holds a secret he has caught.

" Oh, William. My apologies ! I see it now ! You said I know nothing… but I do know something. It's not just the sex, is it ? I did sense something… and I- well, you distracted me for a moment there with your lack of FRIENDLY GREETINGS. But your heart… there was something different. You love her… don't you ? That's what this is all about… how sweet. "

     𝐡𝐞  𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬  𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝  𝐢𝐧  𝐚  𝐰𝐚𝐲  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞  𝐡𝐢𝐦  𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭  𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬,     a  unfamiliar  sensation  to  feel  in  front  of  homelander  because  he  never  felt  this  way  in  front  of  him.     it  was  intense  and  weird,  knowing  he  actually  had  something  to  lose  and  something  else  to  protect.     knowing  that  homelander  had  already  managed  to  take  becca  away  from  him,  he  would  do     𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠     to  make  sure  the  same  didn't  happen  with  annie.     butcher  hates  that  he  feels  like  there  is  absolutely  nothing  he  can  do  to  stop  him.     at  least  right  now.     it  just  meant  that  he  had  to  take  everything  he  was  saying  and  barely  react  because  that  was  exactly  what  he  wanted,  a  reaction  to  feel  like  he  had  all  the  power  over  him.     he  hated  this,  but  he  hated  more  that  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  to  feel  like  he  had  something  over  homelander.     he  had  to     𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭     for  homelander  to  get  bored  and  leave  because  there  was  no  way  he  was  winning  in  a  fight.

     𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬  𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝  𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬  𝐡𝐢𝐬  𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭  𝐚𝐬  𝐡𝐞  𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬  𝐡𝐢𝐬  𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬,     the  cunt  really  did  think  so  fucking  highly  of  himself  and  he  wished  he  had  the  ability  to  give  him  the  reality  check  that  he  so  desperately  needed.     but  he  couldn't  do  anything,  not  right  now  anyway.     jaw  is  set  in  a  hard  line  as  homelander  mentions  starlight,  knowing  there  isn't  anything  he  can  do  to  tell  him  that  he  was  lying.     he  hated  the  way  he  referred  to  her  as  ' our  girl ',  a  sense  of  possessiveness  spiking  through  him,  despite  how  much  he  tried  to  act  like  it  was     𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠     between  them.     but  then  he  talks  about  seeing  the  two  of  them  having  sex,  he  didn't  care  how  he  spoke  about  him,  it  was  hearing  him  talk  about  annie  that  made  him  furious.     then  was  something  else  that  spiked  through  him,  an  unusual  feeling  that  he  didn't  like  at  all     -     fear.

     "     𝐠𝐞𝐭  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤  𝐨𝐮𝐭  𝐧𝐨𝐰,     "     butcher  didn't  know  what  else  to  say,  he  needed  him  gone  and  he  needed  to  fucking  hit  something.     he  couldn't  hit  him,  he  would  break  his  hand  and  it  wouldn't  make  him  feel  better  at  all.     the  last  person  he  wanted  to  know  about  him  and  annie  was  fucking  homelander,  but  not  only  did  he  know,  he  had  seen  it  and  he  would  absolutely  use  them  against  one  another.     butcher  was  torn,  he  didn't  know  what  he  could  do  to  keep  annie  safe  from  this  psycho,  but  he  also  refused  to  let  anyone  be  used  against  him,  especially  annie.     as  much  as  he  knew  there  was  a  lot     𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞     to  their  relationship  than  just  sex,  he  would  keep  his  distance  to  make  sure  she  couldn't  be  used  against  him,     "     you  really  think  you  know  everything  and  you  know  fucking  nothing.     clearly  you've  got  no  fucking  friends  if  you'd  rather  be  here  running  your  mouth  like  the  pathetic  cunt  you  are,  but  i've  got  no  fucking  interest  in  continuing  this  conversation,  so  fly  home  'cause  i'm  over  this,     "

[magniloquent-raven]

thinkin about billy....bein soft.

about him not being able to relax most of the time. constantly being on edge, muscles tense, whether he's flexing intentionally or not. there's always this undercurrent of anxiety thrumming through him like a live wire, despite his best efforts to appear unaffected, he's always taut as a bowstring. planting his feet. bracing himself for a hit. and it got worse after the mind flayer, when he realized nowhere was safe, not even his own head.

the first time steve gives him a friendly pat—because that's a thing they do now apparently, they're friendly with each other—he pauses, resting his palm on billy's shoulder for a moment too long, warmth bleeding through thin cotton.

"you really are built like a brick wall, huh."

billy preens but there's a furrow between steve's eyebrows.

the first time they kiss it's a whirlwind of a thing, push and pull and gripping each other so tightly their knuckles ache. when steve slows the slide of his lips and gentles his hands, billy shudders, groans, freezes in his tracks for a split-second before throwing himself back into it with a press of his mouth that's as much a shove as a kiss.

there's a silent tug-of-war between them after that.

the first time they make each other come steve ends up pinned to a wall, billy caging him in, all teeth and heat and heavy breaths. they rut against each other, til billy's legs start to shake. steve is putty in his hands, loose-limbed and biting his lip harder with every drag of billy's hand against the damp spot on the front of his jeans. billy lets out a breath when he comes, but never relaxes.

steve kisses his shoulder, his arms wrapped around billy's waist. it's an invitation. a request. he'll hold billy up if he needs to.

but billy drops to his knees instead.

then he starts to notice steve inviting him over more often. he pokes fun at steve for being a priss. too good to fuck in alleys, public bathrooms, bent over the hood of a car, wherever the goddamn mood strikes. no, he needs his high thread-count sheets and real lube and fucking mood music.

it's not entirely true, he knows it, steve's always willing, no matter where they are, but still. his obsession with being in his own bed while they fuck is weird.

billy finds out exactly what that's about after four months of whatever it is they're doing.

when steve asks "do you trust me?" billy says yes before he even has time to think about it, and steve's grin in response is blindingly beautiful. "okay, tell me if you want me to stop. just. whenever, alright."

he doesn't tell steve to stop.

not when he sucks marks into billy's neck, teeth grazing his collarbone, soft lips dragging across his skin, slick fingers circling billy's hole while he works.

not when he sinks his cock in slowly, too slowly, muffling billy's groan with a kiss.

not when he refuses to let billy touch himself, threading their fingers together and kissing every scarred knuckle, pulling billy's searching hands away from his neglected cock with a sly smile.

not after the first orgasm that rips through him and shoots up his stomach in thick streams of white, that rocks him to his core and leaves him trembling under steve, oversensitive and biting back gasps with every spark that races up his spine as steve continues to fuck into him.

or the second, coaxed out with murmured praise, accompanied by a sharp cry and tears clinging to his eyelashes.

his limbs feel like jello. he's sweating in places he didn't know he could sweat. and steve's running his fingers through the mess on his stomach with a tiny, exhausted smile pressed into the crook of his neck.

"love seeing you like this," steve says, almost shyly. the smile in his voice is bigger than the one on his face.

"hm?"

"relaxed. y'know...comfy."

billy scoffs quietly.

"you know i've literally never seen you not flexing before now right. i had no idea your tummy could be soft." neither did he. his abdominal muscles twitch under steve's hand, but steve gives him a light tap. "don't you dare, i worked hard for this."

and billy...doesn't know how to feel about that. he shifts a little, discomfort tickling at him, buzzing under his skin. now that he's aware of how mellow he was feeling, it's hard to just sit in it and let it happen.

it takes practice. with steve petting his hair and talking about nothing, nails gently scritching his scalp, letting his mind drift. or steve wrapping silk around his wrists to keep him still while he tires him out, has his way with every inch of him. eventually he figures it out. lets himself be soft. comfortable.

he lets himself relax.

~~tag list @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle 💕💕