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thelampisaflashlight · 1 year

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I Am All Eyes

[Hoping to escape his past and begin anew, a young man takes a chance on an AD in the local newspaper, only to find he has, perhaps, bitten off far more than he can chew. A reintroduction to my OC, Quincy, and how he came to be the abbey's librarian. This fic will consolidate the events of the first two original ficlets I did with Quincy and diverge from the original plot from here. Not suitable for younger audiences.] Below the cut.

For what it's worth, if Quincy had to choose how he was going to die, death by satanic cult is a vastly cooler way to go out than he would have personally imagined for himself.

Kneeling at the base of some... big titty goat person -pretending not to see how worn the bronze in that particular area is- surrounded by a circle of cloaked figures that look like they walked off of the set of some old school horror flick, Quincy's mind, of course, drifts to the worst case scenario.

A million thoughts send his head spinning; When he'll die, and by what means, and one thought that he refuses to acknowledge, because-

"It's like that one scene from that music video I saw yesterday-"

Yeah, nope.

Not the time to be thinking about hockey bukkake.

He pinches his eyes shut and tries to focus on the present.

He hears the click of boots on the black marble beneath him.

He's fucked.

He's so fucked.

Everything he's ever done leading up to this, to the moment he said screw it and shook off the mounting anxiety in his chest and pushed open those ornate wooden doors to take shelter from the coming rain he'd sealed his fate.

He shouldn't have come here to begin with.

He shouldn't have called to arrange an interview with some... some shady lady who called herself something as weird as Sister Imperator.

Why'd he think it was a good idea to respond to an AD in the newspaper anyway??

Who even reads the paper anymore?!

Quincy.

Quincy reads the paper -for the crossword puzzles and the horoscopes, and to groan at this one columnist who always has the shittiest takes in the opinions section- because he's a giant nerd.

...and because he has a friendly competition going with the old man who runs the newspaper stand across from his apartment.

Point is-

He just wanted a job in his field, okay?

He spent years studying to become a librarian, but he’s been stuck working at a dive bar since before he could even drink himself, and he’s kind of tired of coming home smelling like spilled beer and vape smoke -the ban on “electric cigarettes” indoors hadn’t quite hit his area yet, and Quincy was sick of having to smell the pungent aroma of cereal scented clouds of vapor.

All that money wasted on getting a higher education, and he’s somehow still stupid enough to stumble upon a cult in broad daylight and embarrass himself in the process no less!

Lord, he wants to cry.

He must look so pathetic down on his knees, because one of the hooded figures offers-

A tissue?

Quincy sniffles.

“First day jitters, huh?” Another says, taking a packet of little bear shaped cookies from their pocket and pressing it into his palm, “Don’t worry, you’ve got this!”

What?

“It’s a lot to take in, huh?”

“I thought-” Quincy looks up at them confused, “-what is this place? I-I was called to… for a…”

He digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out the newspaper clipping, “A-A woman called, S-Sister Impera… Impera…”

“Oh, hey! Someone actually took the job offer! Fucking finally…” someone sighs, placing a hand on their chest, “I’m getting tired of trying to organize that place myself…”

“I… Huh.”

Huh.

With one stiff pull, Quincy is back on his feet, a bit wobbly, but, at least he’s standing.

He feels like a newborn deer surrounded by… surprisingly nice wolves.

“What… what is this place exactly? The AD said it was… um… a-an abbey? A church thing, so… and, and what is that?”

He eyes the statue again, face warming as he takes in the carefully crafted areolas....

What?

They’re massive and very aesthetically pleasing to look at!

“Oh, that’s Baphomet!”

“Bapha-who-ha?”

“Baphomet, he represents the balance between opposites, although, I think the Papa Emeritus that commissioned it just really liked the idea of having a statue with big ol’ boobs in the foyer to be honest…”

Quincy bites his lip.

Ah.

“It used to have a huge schlong, too, but I think they had to remove it back in the 60’s? 70’s? So it would be less, uhh, sinister?”

Quincy opens his mouth, and physically has to stop himself from asking what they mean by “sinister”, instead asking, “W-Where is Sister Imperator… So I can speak with her?”

“Her office is on the third floor, last door at the end of the hall.”

“Third floor, gotcha. And the elevator is…?”

“Out of order until they get the stains off the wood paneling.” the figure who explained the statue says, “However, there are stairs at the end of the hall that will take you up to the second floor, then you just have to head down to the end of THAT hall and take the left up another staircase and, boom, you’re there.”

“That’s a lot of stairs.”

Despite this, at no point does Quincy have the thought that he could just leave now.

Just, not show up to the interview.

For all his earlier hesitance and regret... he just keeps walking.

As he passes door after door, pausing briefly to admire the architecture -the woodwork is gorgeous to say the least- and breathe in the age of the building itself…

No, that thought doesn’t occur to him until he’s actually sitting in the interview, with an older woman in a modest black dress and a tight bun that makes Quincy’s head hurt imagining the pull of it as if it were tearing at his own scalp.

Sister Imperator.

She’s… a lot more intimidating in person than she sounded like she would be on the phone.

She'd sounded rather jovial and kind during their initial conversation, but now, Quincy isn't so sure.

He blames it on nerves.

She adjusts her reading glasses and sets his paperwork down.

“Well, you certainly have the necessary qualifications for the job, although, I do have to wonder… you’re leaving a job you’ve had for nearly a decade now for one that pays…” she folds her hands on top of the desk between them, “I have to ask, what made you answer our advertisement, Mr. Byrne?”

“I attended university with this specific line of work in mind.” Quincy replies, sitting up straight, “A-Although I’ve been working as a bartender for some time now, and I would be making more if I continued to do so… I decided some time ago that I needed a career change.”

“Any particular reason for that that you would be willing to share?”

Quincy shakes his head, “It’s… a personal matter, and won’t have any bearing on my performance.”

“I see.” she looks back down at his paperwork, “Right then, just a couple more questions.”

Quincy nods.

“Full disclosure before we begin, as you’ve probably already guessed based on aesthetics alone… we are a religious organization, no less legitimate than, say, the catholic church, but not quite so… Mn, prominent.” she says, clearly choosing her words carefully, “Will this be an issue for you, Mr. Byrne? We can assure you, that you needn’t subscribe to our views in order to work in our library, it is merely a matter of comfort for yourself, and to avoid the possibility of you treating our clergy discriminatorily. You may also choose not to answer.”

“I’m not particularly religious.” he replies, “I was raised Christian, but I suppose these days I would be considered an apostate? Yes.”

“And as far as your views on our religion thus far?”

“I will admit I was… taken aback… by what I saw in the foyer, but I have no ill feelings towards the people here.” he thinks back to the kindness he was shown earlier despite his obvious apprehension and doubt, “They, your clergy, have been… nice.”

“That is good to hear.” she says, smiling, though Quincy could have sworn he caught a glimpse of something… dark in her gaze before he spoke.

“Onto the next question: We have several semi-permanent residents here, so it is likely that you will be encountering them quite often-”

The rest of the interview goes…

It goes fine.

Quincy doesn’t have an expectations, but when Imperator quietly leans back in her chair, he thinks he definitely didn’t-

“Can you start tomorrow?”

“Y-Yes, but, don’t you have other applicants to-”

She shakes her head, “You’re the only one who replied, and I think it would be ridiculous to let you go.”

He swallows, “So then… I got the job?”

“Yes.”

Quincy visibly relaxes.

“How about a tour of the building?”

“And this is the dining hall.” Brother Elijah -the figure who had given him the bear cookies earlier, now dressed in a much less ominous, but still quite formal looking cassock- says, gesturing through the open doors to a surprisingly quaint looking dining room, “If you bring food with you, you can eat it here on your break, or you can take it outside and eat in the courtyard, that’s what a lot of us do when it’s nice outsi- Are you quite alright, Mr. Byrne?”

“This place is… way bigger than I expected.” Quincy breathes, “How are you not tired?”

Brother Elijah sets his hands on his hips, looking confident, “I can run the length of this building three times over in twenty minutes or so.”

“I timed it once out of curiosity!”

“I’m… whoo…” Quincy sits down on a nearby bench, Brother Elijah stands beside him, hands behind his back, “I don’t know when I got so out of shape.”

“Ehn, it happens. Once you hit thirty-five or so-”

Quincy coughs, “I’m twenty-seven.”

Brother Elijah’s eyebrows hit the ceiling, “Really?”

“I don’t know whether or not I should be offended, how old are you that you think thirty-five is old anyway?”

“Forty-eight. I’ll be forty-nine in August.”

Quincy makes a face.

“No…”

“Yes, actually!”

“You look younger than me!”

“I have a great skin care routine.” He shrugs, “I think it’s probably because I still have my hair intact, no gray hairs either… Ah, apologies…”

Quincy runs a hand through his hair, through the white patch in the front, “Ehn, I like my hair.”

An awkward silence fills the space between them.

“Um… Do you… Do you like working here, Brother Elijah?” Quincy asks when he’s finally feeling less winded.

The older man nods, “I’ve been here for quite some time now, and I don’t feel I’ll be leaving anytime soon. I have friends here, and, well, it’s certainly an interesting place to live.”

“You live here, too?”

“Many of us do.” he says, looking a little somber, “Some people come to us because they have nowhere else to go, and others, like myself, simply wanted a fresh start… If I might pry a little, could I ask you something?”

“Mn.” Quincy nods, “Go ahead.”

“Are you at all superstitious, Mr. Byrne?”

“Like, do I believe in ghosts and the supernatural? Or… like fortunes and such?” Quincy asks, crossing his legs, “I’ll admit I enjoy reading my horoscope in the paper now and then, but, well, I’ve never really put much stock in the paranormal.”

“I see.” the man smiles, unlike the sister’s smile, it seems wholly genuine and kind, “And what is your star sign?”

“Capricorn.”

“Ah, yes, the sea goat. An interesting one that, being an earth based sign, yet being depicted by a creature you’d sooner see in the water than on land.” He chuckles, “And what did the paper tell you today?”

“I think it was, ‘Something you lost will be returned to you.’, though it hasn’t happened yet, so…” Quincy shrugs, “Though, I don’t recall anything I could have lost either.”

“Is there anything you were hoping to have given back to you?”

“Nothing immediately comes to mind, no.” He says, standing up slowly, “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Your star sign?”

“I am a leo, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Quincy hums, “I think your fortune for today was 'A new business venture will yield unexpected results’ or something like that… It’s all a bit silly, huh?”

“Indeed it is.” he laughs, then pauses, holding up a hand, “Listen.”

The sounds of a bell tolling echoes through the halls.

It chimes once.

Twice.

And then a third and finally time.

“3 o'clock on the dot.”

“It’s that late already?” Quincy blinks, “It feels like I only just got here…”

“Do you have somewhere else to be at the moment?”

“No, not really, I, uh, I worked closing at my old job last night.” he explains, “It’s been a while since I’ve really been up and at 'em at this time.”

“Ah, I see. We can finish up the tour when you return tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I look forward to it.”

Despite parting ways with Brother Elijah, Quincy finds himself lingering outside of the abbey, waiting for his ride to show up.

He hadn’t wanted to drive all the way out here in his own car… at least not yet, for a variety of reason, but mostly because he hadn’t wanted her to see him leave, to question where he was going or, worse yet, follow him there.

It would be easier to cuts ties with her, with the rest of them, too, if he could just… disappear.

Truth be told, he’d had to stop himself from asking Brother Elijah how one might go about moving into a place like the abbey.

He’s certain if he asked, he might be understanding of his circumstances, but Quincy…

He’d rather not get into all of that on the first day.

“Just… see if you like it, and go from there.” he tells himself, closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale, “Just gotta wait it out.”

Checking his phone for the first time in hours, Quincy feels the tension build behind his brow as he sees how many missed calls he has, how many texts…

At some point, he’ll have to decide whether to just block them all or change his number.

Turning off his phone, Quincy sits down on the steps and waits.

It’s oddly peaceful out here, and the air feels crisp and clean.

It’s… it’s nice.

Watching the grass roll on a nearby hill, he can’t help but think…

“Shawn would have liked it here.”

He’s glad when the rain picks back up before the car arrives.

The abbey’s library is absolutely stunning.

He’d said as much when Brother Elijah brought him there after his interview, and, even now, nearly a month into his work, Quincy finds it just as magnificent and fantastical as the first time.

However…

“20 down, 6 letters, an old English word for church…”

Although Quincy loves the library, it’s not the most lively place.

Clergy come and go, and some linger to study books about this or that, Quincy isn’t sure what the primary focus of their research is, but much of it involves skimming through heavy resource books that are all written in some archaic language he cannot begin to understand.

Thankfully, the spines are labeled in English, or, at the very least, Latin.

A bell tolls, signifying midday, and the assembled clergy begin closing their books, setting them off to the side, shuffling their notes and gathering their belongings to leave.

Quincy nods to them as they depart, and receives small waves and warm smiles in response.

The siblings are always very respectful and polite, to the extent that it makes him a little nervous.

Despite having left the faith years ago, Quincy had grown up Christian, and is still struggling to unlearn the more “us or them” teachings his church had beaten into his head as a child and young teenager.

It is not an easy thing to do, and his mind often swirls with negative thoughts and feelings that he tries not to let color his opinions of the people around him, but he has to try.

Quincy stretches, then stands slowly, rolling up his sleeves.

“Right, let’s get to it…”

Tidying up the library requires Quincy’s full attention, having not fully acquainted himself with the layout, he can easily sort the books themselves by their DDCs but…

“Why are none of these shelves labeled??”

“Mn, I believe it’s because the late Papa Emeritus III found the placards too plain, and thought that they ‘detracted from the aesthetics’…” Brother Elijah had told him during lunch one afternoon, “Which is… funny, considering I do not think he spent much time actually in the library… at least not to utilize the resources there.”

“What was he doing then??” Quincy had questioned, “Just sitting about?”

“Ah, no…” Brother Elijah trailed off, “Well, kind of. He was fond of… roleplay so to speak.”

Quincy is still not entirely sure what he meant by that.

What kind of so-called “roleplay” could you even do in a library??

He’d tried to ask Brother Elijah exactly that, but the older man waved him off, saying it was better if he didn’t know.

The same day, whilst cleaning, Quincy found a desk towards the back of the library, out of view, with… decidedly nail shaped indentations on the surface, as if someone had been gripping it tightly.

He’s still not sure what to do with this information, nor certain how or why he thinks it’s connected to the dead guy’s… roleplay.

Returning to the present, Quincy finds himself on the second floor, a single book remaining in his hands; It’s old and worn, and the sticker label marking where it belongs has long since faded beyond his ability to read.

He flips it open, examining cover to cover trying to find some marker or indication of where it belongs, but everything written inside -and indeed it is written, handwritten in a brownish ink- is in an illegible cursive scrawl.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he accidentally snatched up one of the siblings’ notebooks, but the book was simply too old for that to be the case.

The paper, the bindings…

It’s a very old tome indeed.

Another bell tolls.

“I’ll figure this out later.” he tells himself, descending the staircase and depositing the book at the front desk beside his crossword puzzle, grabbing his bag and departing from the library… only to find the hallways packed with clergy members and much chatter.

Quincy hops to see over the crowd, but he can barely see passed the wall of people.

“What’s going on?” he asks, tapping the shoulder of a nearby sibling.

“The ghouls have returned!” they announce excitedly, “They’re finally back!”

“The what now?”

“The ghouls!”

Quincy blinks, “That… clears up absolutely nothing.”

“The ghouls are high ranking members of the church.” a now familiar voice explains, “They’re essentially celebrities here.”

Quincy tilts his head up in the crowd, making eye contact with Brother Elijah.

“So they’re kind of like… the 'popular kids’ here then?”

Brother Elijah chuckles, “Mn, not quite. They do have a rather large following, but that’s only natural, they are musicians after all, and everyone gets at least a little excited to see their favorite ones.”

Quincy hops to see over the crowd again, catching a glimpse of… well, more tops of heads, and one face towering above the assembled clergy.

He makes the briefest of eye contact with the man; He’s tall and lean, with a narrow face and long brown hair that looks oh so soft, and when he locks eyes with Quincy, it may be his imagination, but there’s the slightest hint of…

…Anger?

Quincy shivers, grateful, suddenly, for the wall of people between them.

He’s certain the other had scowled upon seeing him.

It could just be nerves, or his mind playing tricks on him and seeing hostility where there is none, but he doesn’t try to jump up to confirm either theory.

“Are you alright?” Brother Elijah asks, peering down at him worriedly.

“Ah, just… wondering when the crowd will clear up.” he says, waving off the other’s concerns, “I wanted to go eat my lunch.”

“If you say so.” he hums, “Here, I’ll clear a path. Stick close.”

With that, Brother Elijah begins pushing his way through the crowd, and Quincy grabs the band around his cassock to keep them tethered together so he doesn’t get lost.

It doesn’t take long before they’ve popped free into the main corridor, taking the opposite path from the… the ghouls?

“W-Why are they called ghouls?” Quincy asks, letting go of Brother Elijah’s belt, “Is that, like, a status thing?”

“In a sense, yes.” he says, smoothing his uniform, “It’s hard to explain, and I’m not entirely sure how much I can tell you about that, honestly.”

“It’s another one of those, 'You have to be in the know.’ kind of deals, yeah?”

He nods.

“It’s better if, for now, you just make yourself aware of their presence and avoid them when you can.” he goes on to say, “They’re not bad people, nor particularly dangerous, but they can be a bit… much.”

“You forget I used to work in a bar, Brother.” Quincy points out, “I’ve likely dealt with similar or even worse.”

“Still… I think it would be better if you didn’t involve yourself with them more than you have to.” the other states, his brow furrowed.

He seems genuinely worried about the idea of him interacting with the ghouls, but that just makes Quincy… curious.

However.

“Mn, I probably won’t see them, so it’s fine.” he says, “One of them, the really tall one, he gave me an odd look and, frankly, I don’t want to find out what it means..."

“Ahh, that would be Mountain… He’s a fairly easygoing person, but he can be rather… abrasive at first.”

“His name is… Mountain?”

“Yes. Actually, all of them have sort of-" Brother Elijah searches for the right word to use, "-nicknames?”

“I se-” Quincy’s stomach growls loudly, cutting himself off.

Brother Elijah smiles.

“Come now, let’s get some food in you.”

Returning to the library after lunch -mostly simple, easy to eat snacks like fruit or cheese for Quincy, and a sandwich from the kitchen for Brother Elijah- Quincy settles back behind the front desk, pulling out the book from earlier and tries to glean any new information from it that he can.

The letters seem to swirl on the pages nonsensically at first, but the longer he focuses on them, the more recognizable the shapes become.

He can tell which are meant to be lowercase 'q’s, 'p’s, 'g’s, and 'y’s now at the very least.

But none of the words are familiar to him.

He sets the book down again, taking out his crossword again.

“13 across, 7 letters, a rumbling during a storm…”

“Thunder.” a low voice booms, “…do you always do puzzles while working?”

Quincy startles, almost falling out of his chair, but a long arm reaches across the desk, grabbing the back of it.

"Ah."

Quincy's eyes widen.

"You should be more careful."

It's... it's the man from before.

It's Mountain.

"I-I'm sorry-"

“You need not apologize to me.” the tall man sighs, “But, really, you should pay more attention to your surroundings, how could you not hear me come in?”

Quincy squirms in his seat, he feels like a little kid caught doing something wrong.

“I… I was distracted.”

“Yes, by your puzzle.” he states coolly, gesturing at the paper, now spread out across the floor behind the desk, dropped in his fright.

“I’m sorry.” he apologizes again, “I-I… were you trying to get my attention? I’m sorry…”

Mountain frowns, righting the chair and pulling Quincy back towards the desk in one fluid motion.

Why is he so strong??

Why is he so… fucking tall??

Quincy gulps.

“I just wanted to say hello, but you seemed to be off in your own little world, so I thought I might snap you back to reality before someone more important found you goofing off on the job.” he chastises, clicking his teeth for emphasis, “You haven’t been here nearly long enough to get away with this sort of thing, so you have to be careful, yes?”

Quincy nods quickly, “Yes, Sir.”

Mountain’s face contorts more, if possible, becoming even more annoyed.

“Don’t call me 'sir’.”

“What… what should I call you then?” he asks, side-eyeing the massive hand still latched to the back of the chair.

“Mountain.”

“Mountain… I’m…”

“Quincy Byrne.” Mountain drawls, tilting his nametag upwards with a single, large finger from his free hand, “I want us to be friends, so, be careful not to get yourself into trouble, alright?”

Friends?

He-

With that, Mountain releases him, standing to his full height, and ascends the stairs to the second floor, leaving Quincy to babble uselessly.

“What.”

What was that?!

Despite Mountain having righted his chair before leaving him, Quincy still bails out onto the floor with a loud crash.

“Ow…”

“…Are you alright?” Mountain calls from the upstairs railing.

“Y-Yeah, I’m great.”

Quincy sits on the floor for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

What even…

Grabbing his paper from the floor, Quincy goes to stand, bumping his head on the underside of the desk.

Thud.

A loud sigh echoes through the silence of the library.

Oi.

“Be quiet down there, some of us are actually trying to get work done.”

Quincy bristles, “I-”

“Shhhh-”

Did he just shush him???

Ugh…

Quincy picks up his chair and sits back down, about to toss his paper in the bin, when…

“Oh, 20 down…”

“Cirice.” Mountain says from somewhere above, “And do learn to read in your head.”

Quincy bites his tongue to keep from screaming.

#lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #mountain ghoul #sister imperator #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #ghost band oc #the sleep with dewdrop route is a joke but if people choose it I will write it lmao #quincy adventures

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topazshadowwolf · 2 years

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GoopTales: Part 13

Don't call Nightmare Noot or he will take you on a field trip.

Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13(you are here)

AO3: Ch 1 (1-4), Ch 2 (4-8), Ch 3 (9-12)

---

Nightmare stared up at the ceiling, unable to get himself to sleep. The boys were cuddled into the nest of blankets and pillows he had built for them. Lyra was sleeping on the sofa in her own set of pajamas. As for Nightmare, he was in the recliner and in his own black flannel pajamas that she had felt “compelled” to buy for him.

At this point, it was apparent he wouldn’t get any sleep. So he looked at the time.

0400

Well, there was no sense in just lying on the recliner, staring at the ceiling. His mind was swimming with too many thoughts for sleep, not that Nightmare needed it now. He can go days without sleep without feeling tired or having ill effects. Carefully he climbed off the recliner, knowing full well that putting the leg rest down would cause a loud sound that would wake everyone. In the darkness of the room, he melded into the shadows and made a silent exit.

First, he stopped off at his room to change clothes. Once dressed, he went to his office to get some work done, but he couldn’t even focus on that.

What if there was no cure?

He may have to raise his henchmen….

Nightmare could handle immature adults, but can he raise four tiny baby bones?

Will they be the same as he knew them?

Will their old memories return as they get older, and how will they react to those?

0435

Sci’s AU is an hour faster, but he didn’t plan to pick him up this early. But then, he couldn’t wait that much longer.

After writing a quick note that he placed in the kitchen, Nightmare left to pick up the young scientist. It will be good for him to face matters that science can not explain. Exiting his portal, he looked around the lab. He saw the Sans in question sitting at a desk, slumped over some papers. The soft snoring made the guardian chuckle softly.

“Ah, it seems sleep has finally caught up with you,” He mused in a soft tone as he walked closer. Looking over Sci’s shoulder, he read over the notes. All were about the mice and the orange substance. Speaking of the mice….

He saw several cages with mice and looked in at them. After a moment, he spotted the ones marked with a purple spot so Sci could easily find them. … Nightmare did not know enough about these mice to understand what to look for.

“mmm…,” Sci started to sit up and stretch.

“Good morning, friend,” Nightmare said smugly as he looked down at the young scientist.

“oh! uh, nightmare, i wasn’t expecting you this early… heh… you wouldn’t happen to be reconsidering what you said yesterday?” Sci chuckled nervously.

“Hmmm… Sci, what did you call me again?” Nightmare feigned thoughtfulness as he tapped his chin.

“n-nightmare?” Sci was trying to play innocent.

“No… it was not that. What to try again?” Nightmare grinned.

“look, nightmare, i’m useful for you here, and you know it. so, please… let me just keep doing my research,” Sci said as he turned back to his notes.

“Now, if I did that, you would not learn your lesson, and you may dare to call me that nickname again. Besides, I am positive that this experience would be good for you,” Nightmare chided playfully before curling a tendril around the scientist. “Come along, little lab rat, time for you to learn something new outside of these walls.”

“i rather like my four walls, thank you,” Sci protested, but Nightmare ignored him.

He opened and walked through the portal to the AU in question. On the outside, nothing looked out of place with this AU. The odd spark of magic in the air set it apart from the rest of them to the dark skeleton. Magic was usual in all AUs, but the magic was heavier, darker, and more tangible this time. Nightmare could almost taste it in the air. Amusing. Though magic is not his domain, so he gained no benefit.

“Well, my friend,” Nightmare said as he set the scientist beside him. “Tell me, what are your first impressions.”

“well, it’s the underground. ruins, to be exact,” Sci said as he adjusted his glasses.

“True, go on,” Nightmare mused.

Sci sighed and looked around more. “seems no different than any other ruins.”

“Close your eyes, Sci,” Nightmare instructed, “You are a scientist. Use your other senses.”

“right, right…,” Sci closed his eye sockets and put his hands in his lab coat. After a moment, he hummed, “smells like spices… like nutmeg and cinnamon? the ruins are usually described as musty.”

“Good, what else….” Nightmare inquired.

“sounds… too quiet… but that could just be the nature of the ruins? it’s not as populated,” Sci said as he opened his sockets and looked up at Nightmare.

“Hmmm, yes, but that is indeed a good thing to keep in mind, correct?” Nightmare questioned.

“... is this how you train your boys? you’re not thinking of replacing them with me, are you?” Sci questioned.

“Nonsense, lab rat, you are more useful to me in your maze of machines and facts. I am just teaching you an important lesson,” Nightmare chuckled. “Besides, these are skills the boys picked up on their own. Now, close your eyes again. Take in that smell and sound and how the air feels, and then tell me how you feel.”

“how i feel? …as in emotionally? that’s subjective,” He said with a frown, but Nightmare gestured for him to go on. Rolling his eyelights, Sci did as asked. There was a pause as Sci frowned. “it’s… odd… i feel unwelcomed?”

“Oh?” Nightmare mused.

“it’s like… when you walk up to some coworkers who were talking but become oddly silent and short with you,” Sci frowned. “you just get the feeling they don’t want you there.”

“Good, for this is as you should feel. To magic like what is in this AU, you are indeed unwelcomed. This magic thrives in being unexplainable, in its own enigma. Someone like you reveals it for what it really is, and that weakens it. So, Sci, stay close and observant. You will learn something more as you do. Do you now understand why I wanted you to come?”

“yeah…,” Sci replied.

---

#Gooptales #Nightmare!sans #Lyra!Toriel #Balance!Toriel #Sci!Sans #Noot is worried #Noot also doesn't like being called Noot #Hello Sci #Hope on the magic school bus #time to see a whole new AU

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soapkaars · 1 year

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So, yesterday I made a poll before going to bed and, while it isn’t done yet, consensus seems to be to draw more obscure Lorre characters.

Of course, Lorre being a somewhat obscure actor, what would make an obscure Lorre character? Well, M, The Man Who Knew too Much, the Maltese Falcon, Arsenic and Old Lace can be taken off the list because they're somewhat known in the mainstream. They're also usually the films that draw people into the Lorre fandom! The Secret Agent, Mad Love, Crime and Punishment, The Stranger on the Third Floor, and Der Verlorene also fall off, because I’ve often seen these being discussed in books about cinema, cinematic history, and classic directors. Crime and Punishment and Mad Love even feature in a '50 films you should see before you die' compilation that I have lying around somewhere! I was an Adventuress, The Boogieman will get you, You'll Find Out, the Raven, Comedy of Terrors seem to be pretty popular in fandom circles (especially where Lorre films intersect with other fandoms - like Vincent Price, Bela Lugosi, and Boris Karloff)

So I decided to focus on the films that aren’t as discussed, either in mainstream or in fandom or in film critic circles, featuring characters who seemed to cash in on Lorre's breakout film noir character: Joel Cairo. Or, as @angelamontoo once jokingly called them: 'Coel Jairo'. But I like them because they are different enough from Joel to be stand on their own, and the films they featured in are strange or interesting enough also to make fun analyses of.

First up: Kismet, the gardener studying for his civics exam and doubling as a cool knife thrower for his side gig. I like him a lot. I remember waiting for days to torrent My Favourite Brunette, and having to watch it as a thumbnail because it was the only version I could download. I was so entranced by Kismet. I loved how the film changed in tone whenever he came around - he strengthened Bob Hope's comedy by playing his menace straight and I've always had a soft heart for the 'extremely capable henchman' trope. Bob Hope's character is also hilariously unnerved by him, and one of my favourite scenes is when he tries to throw a knife at him, and Kismet just catches it, barely changing his expression. I also love how sick Kismet is getting of Ronnie Jackson's amateurishness and can barely conceal his glee when he gets to kill him.

Next up: Gino from The Chase. I like this film. I know it's a bit of a messy film, and I once turned it off when it turned out the whole scene in Cuba was hallucinated, but when I rewatched it and watched it all the way through, it really grew on me. There’s something intriguing about the dreamlike narrative it tells, and I love the visuals. I love how Gino stands in front of the roman busts, or how we first only see his eye through the eyehole behind a little cupid head. I like the nightmarish quality of the scene where that one guy gets torn apart by dogs in the wine cellar. I like how Gino's presence overshadows the scenes in Cuba. The way he becomes the figure of Death in this film. I love the strange scene where Chuck Scott ends up in the quarantine house, lit up by gaslamps and the constant sound of crying. I love the strange dinner scene where Lorna Roman is miserable and how Gino and Eddie Roman appear to be having an affair in her presence. I was disappointed when the film tried to clarify the hallucinations because it felt to me like it dropped the ball. I could have seriously enjoyed it more if it leaned in way more into its strangeness, like Stranger on the Third Floor did.

Finally, I drew Marco from Black Angel. I'm cheating a little, because Marco's been getting a bit of a comeback lately, but I think he still counts. I loved this film too. It’s such a classic film noir, with the flashbacks, the red herring villain (Marco), the drunken antihero, the psychological drama, the twist, the camera angles and effects… It’s exactly the kind of film I'd use as an example to explain the whole genre. I like Marco. Not least because he's one of the few Lorre characters who gets to see the end, but also because he's so well-worn… if that makes sense? Like he's seen it all. He's been around, he knows what people try. He manages his nightclub and that’s that. The film ends but you feel like Marco's club will still remain. Perhaps there are traces of it still around. I like Lucky, Marco's heavy. His right-hand man. His silly little rabbit. Does he call you that? Yes. No.

I hope you liked these!

#peter lorre #drawing #obscure characters #fan art #fanart #kismet #my favorite brunette #bob hope #gino #the chase #marco #lucky #black angel #film noir #1940s hollywood

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absoloutenonsense · 10 months

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(almost) exes-to-lovers Sunday Snippet

“Louuuuuuuu,” Harry whines, but there’s a giggle behind it that makes Louis smirk. He doesn’t say anything.

His boyfriend is sitting at the tiny kitchen table in their minuscule apartment, that is doubling as an experiment-center right now. He’s blindfolded and his hands are in his lap, as he was instructed.

“Louuuuu,” Harry singsongs this time. “This is taking forever, let’s just go get ice cream.”

“It’s been six minutes,” Louis says, crossing his arms as he leans back against the refrigerator across from him. “And ice cream is the reward once you get through all of our run-through.”

“Don’t you think I deserve a reward already?” he asks, grinning hard enough that his dimple is in full force.

“No, I don’t,” Louis lies. Harry always deserves a reward.

Harry pouts. “I always deserve a reward.”

Louis shakes his head and tries to keep the laughter from puffing out of him.

Harry sighs when there’s no response. “Okay,” he huffs. “Go on, give me the last one.”

Louis stands up straight and grabs the final part, a kitchen-towel-covered mason jar and brings it over to the table, right in front of his boyfriend’s face.

“What do you smell?”

Harry takes a small whiff, scrunches up his face, then takes a bigger smell as he leans forward. “What did you bring into our home that would smell that rank?”

Louis snorts and blushes, still not over it being their home. “It’s not one thing, baby, I told you. You got too good at single smells. C’mon, what do you think it is? Talk it out.”

Moving forward again, it looks like he’s about to bring his arms up onto the table, but he catches himself and keeps his hands on his knees. It’s better to focus on only one sensation at a time, to try and solidify each one before moving on.

“Well, you’re clearly using something we just washed because I can smell our fabric softener, so thanks for that.”

Even through the blindfold, it looks like Harry wants to roll his eyes. Louis just gazes fondly at his cheeky, observant, playfully stupid boyfriend and waits as Harry gets another good waft of something and concentrates.

“Like… rubber?” he asks more than says and continues sniffing it out. “Intense rubber. Not… not tires? But not, not tires? Ugh.” He tips his head back.

“Keep going, you’re doing great,” Louis says.

“Something sort of citrus-y,” Harry says. “Not heavy like a lemon. A… grapefruit? Maybe? And… cinnamon? Or, no, nutmeg.”

“What’s your final guess?”

“Well… okay I guess… okay. It’s grapefruit, nutmeg… and a tennis ball?”

“Take off the blindfold,” Louis says, finally sliding down into the seat across from him.

Harry pulls it off, giving a wide-eyed look as he shrugs and looks at the still-covered jar. “Well?”

Grabbing the corner of the dishtowel, Louis pulls it off to reveal what’s inside.

“Wait a minute,” Harry says, reaching out for it and pulling it to his nose again. “What did you do to this lemon peel, it doesn’t smell like lemon.”

“It’s a yuzu,” Louis says, pointing at it unnecessarily.

“A yuzu? Where did you find a yuzu?”

“That Asian supermarket that opened up a few weeks ago. Went after work yesterday.”

“You went without me?” Harry asks, affronted.

Louis laughs as he says, “You’ve never mentioned it!”

“That because I didn’t know about it, but now I want to go. Do you know how long I’ve been searching for a good kewpie mayo?”

“It’s gotta be years for how put out it made you.”

“And it might as well be for how much damage this betrayal has done to me!” Harry says, looking back down at the jar.

“So I should never go anywhere new without you ever again, is that what I’m hearing?”

“Yes, I don’t know how much clearer I could’ve been,” he says. Harry points at the jar. “What did you do to this poor tennis ball?”

“It was an old one from the community rec center,” Louis says. “They were going to throw it out so I snagged it.”

Nodding, Harry opens his mouth but then stops to look up with confused and fearful eyes. “You didn’t use my nutmeg I ordered from the Banda Islands did you?”

“Of course not,” Louis says. “I wouldn’t touch anything in that kitchen unless you put it in my hands. I got a small packet from the corner store.”

Throughout Louis’ answer, Harry’s face softens.

“So you’re telling me I got a 66%?”

Louis takes the jar back and looks at it considerately. “Nah. Yuzu kinda smells like grapefruit. I think you passed with flying colors, baby.”

“A hundred percent?” Harry asks, like he’s in awe of himself. “Well, that definitely earns at least a large sundae, don’t you think?”

Louis grins at him. “Whatever you want. You earned it.”

Harry holds up the blindfold. “So… I should… put this away?” There’s a spark of heat in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

“I don’t think so,” Louis says, leaning across to take it from him. “We’ve still got to run through sense of taste. Think this’ll come in handy for that.”

“Mmm finally,” Harry says, getting up from his chair and taking the step towards him, lacing his fingers through Louis’ hair as he bends down. “You know that's my favorite test.”

“Mhm, mine too,” Louis says, right before his boyfriend kisses him.

#this is an apology for chapter 10 #there will be no further apology snippets though sorry <3 #(almost) exes to lovers

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foreveralwaysanauthor · 2 years

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This last week has been insanely hectic, as I stated in the notes of my most recent part, but I figured I would share a little bit as to why that is. So, here goes!

On top of juggling the three jobs I now have, my great aunt had me stay with her since Saturday as she was sick with the stomach bug that's going around town. I always sort of dread staying at her home since she's almost 92 and her health recently hasn't been the greatest (also, I have almost no way of writing while I'm at her house since she doesn't see the need for wifi and the signal in the area is dreadful). I'm always afraid something will happen to her while I'm there and that everyone in my family will blame me if anything happens on my watch, but thankfully, nothing did and she's almost back to full health. I finally came home yesterday, only to have my entire day of relaxed writing torn away from me.

My mom and I were taken away from our hobbies by the sound of our upstairs neighbor flooding our bathroom from above. That's right - she left the sink running while she went to visit her boyfriend, flooded her own bathroom, and it began raining down into our apartment! For context, the building we live in isn't some run-down, shabby place - personally, I love it and the history it represents in our town - but it is over 200 years old. My parents and I moved into this apartment when I was almost a year old and only had one issue of this happening before this new girl moved in last year. However, this isn't the first time since she's lived above us that it's rained on us; it's the third. I have to say, though, it was definitely the worst since it flooded our bathroom and almost spread to the kitchen.

I helped my mom clean as much as we could once the water stopped coming in, and we went downtown to get something to eat since we didn't feel like cooking, only to realize that most of the shops/restaurants in our little town were closed due to high winds downing a tree and taking out the power lines. So, as much as I want to power through everything and get more writing done, I just don't think I can focus right now. I'm going to try spending today relaxing as much as I can because I've been rained on by rusty water, my nerves are fairly shot, and I'm exhausted. Anyway, I don't know when the next part will be out since part 11 will be very long and I don't want my stress to influence my writing, but I hope it won't take too long before I post another part. Sorry for the rant, by the way. It's been a long week 😅

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jaewrotethis · 2 years

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10- Waste...

Her P.O.V.

Waking in complete darkness is more confusing than I remember. Opening my eyes to see confusion of which way is up and which is down, I get slapped in the face with a spinning ditz. Only grasping the ground steadies the head sway and there is still no way of telling if it’s day or night. No light ever shone from the forever closed door. No other prisoner started conversation with me. No sign of time was given at all. I lie on the floor for hours on hours. Time goes on and on. My mind screams louder and louder. From fidgeting to exercising I fall into old habits that distract the voices in my head from ripping me apart. I stretch my new bruises and wounds to make them ache is warm soreness, so east to focus on. I fight the walls, I beat the bars. I sing songs coded in my head and recite readings memorized. I laugh at the ceiling and cry in the corner. For every hour until sleep took over, from every minute after waking up, my best efforts to soothe the psychosis kept it at bay, until it didn’t…

The darkness around me blinks away when I open my eyes after rubbing them roughly. I exhale my slipping sanity and see the white room that has replaced the dark cell. My dorm surrounds me. The white walls and barred window stir my stomach, suddenly all I know is the asylum days. Back to the routine of trying to stay off the medication, stay out of trouble, and stay plotting to get the warden, Tris, fired.

I do a quick circle, scanning all my old belongings I used to cherish. My eyes come to the bed and I the memory of what hides underneath the tile slaps me in the face. Walking to the bed slowly, I look down to see my clothes clean. I take hold of the cold bars of the head board and pull the bed away from the wall. Underneath one of the square tiles that touches the trim sits scraps of papers covered in my hand writing. A small journal as well hides beneath the scraps. Kneeling down, I lift the loose tile and sift through the papers, pulling up the small black journal. I so vividly remember the last time I wrote in this little book. Tears poured down my face, my teeth chattered with my shaking hands. Blood dripped from my nose, a bad reaction to the medicated they forced into my veins. I was panicking, trying to maintain my eyesight as I wrote the sloppy cursive summary of what had just happened.

I flip to the back of the book to find the very paragraph of the traumatic day but I find different entries. Entries of a different time I had written down the horrors of the days in this place.

April 7, 1947 Dear the free, Tris caught me yesterday. It was going to be the fourth day in a row that she made me chew and swallow her pills. I went to the aviary so the birds could eat the evidence. I pulled the heist and wiped my mouth when I was done, but she saw it all. She gave me her favorite needle dose. It’s the worst they’ve done yet. I woke this morning to guards yanking me from my bedding. They held me down and forced the long needle into my neck. It took over fast, lasted over nine hours. It wore off just now, minutes ago. I’m finally mobile again to write this letter that will hopefully find it’s way to someone who can shut this whole evil place down. My muscles ache, I cannot relax, the tension is unbearable. The drugs were so cold, so paralyzing. I was unable to move anything, even blink. It tires me so yet I was unable to fall asleep. They threw me back in my bed then messes with me...parts of me, luckily they didn’t go as far as to have sex with me. After they left the room all I could do was lay there all day long. Only the ceiling to stare at. It was only the first day and it is the most torturous thing. Worse than the box, worse than the shocks, I think it might be a perfected treatment, they might’ve cracked the weapon drug solution. Man made, mad made. I’m not sure how I am to do thirteen more days of it. The dread of tomorrows needle is enough to force the unthinkable in my head, to end it all. The only reason to fight on would be to find the boy responsible and make him pay, the boy who could fly. The evil, spiteful being who is free instead of me. An evil human free to fly outside of captivity, it’s not right. There is no karma. There is no god. There is no justice.

- Jane.

This entry wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t the very last time I wrote in this journal. The entry after it haunts my bones as I remember these days too well. The days when I was paralyzed beyond help. Confused, look to the entry beside it.

April 22, 1947 Dear the free, I see it now. The reason I was put here. It wasn’t because of the boy who claimed his name to be Peter Pan. It wasn’t so he could save my life for a higher purpose. It’s because I was meant to have time to get lost in the expensive world that is my own mind. I was meant to sit alone in my mind and indulge in the rabbit hole that is my mind. To think. To plan. To rise, to be free, to escape. I will get out one day. I’ll get out, I’ll find this ‘Peter Pan’, and I’ll make him feel every last bit of what I felt, what he deserves to feel. He will be put in the dark for days on end, unreleased until his mentality has cracked by his own thoughts. He will be injected with the cold fluids of sedatives designed to collapse his entire reality onto himself and tear his emotions to shreds. He will know his failures are his own and the consequences will always hurt everyone he cares about, it will tear his mind apart whether he lets it or not. He will feel every last bit of torture inflicted on us in this hell of a building. He will get every treatment, the first one, the worst one, that shows every fear the mind could ever hate right in front of his eyes. The state that will rape his mind until the pieces of sanity left over are only demeaning fragments of the human mind. The second treatment, that paralyzes and doesn’t allow sleep, only thoughts on thoughts on thoughts, no action, never movement. The third, the one that will put him in a deep sleep, a terror that brings all dreams to nightmares, all fears to reality, all the terrible hidden thoughts to the surface.

I am the way I am because of these treatments. All the tortures and demonic experiments thrust upon me will be the fate for ‘Peter Pan’ when I meet him again.

The needle treatments ended today. I’ve endured the two weeks of being a potato as punishment, left for the male nurses and guards to do the sick twisted things that they did. I’ve lost nearly fifteen pounds and no longer see the need to try and stay on my best behavior for the hope of being released one day. I’m fucked. The world is fucked. These people are fucked, worse of all. I’m not going to die classified as insane, in this building. They wish my life will not amounting to anything but they’re wrong. Sure, when placed under a rigged microscope I am nothing but a defected cell meant for an early death, but the higher truth is that I have a bigger mission. To reciprocate9 every horror caused by Peter Pan. The only light, the only hope is that one day the flying boy will simply find his way back to my window, and I can take his miserable life.

-Jane

I close the book, wondering why the entries are out of place. And then I hear the footsteps coming to the door. I turn to face, my eyes catching glance of the mirror behind the thick plastic. My hair is braided to the side and suddenly, I remember this day. The only time I ever tried to braid my hair. This is the day before I wrote these entries. It doesn’t make sense how the entries are already written before the events happened, but here I am, trapped in the memory. Unaware of what it is, the footsteps come closer and my nerves jump higher. I shove the paper and journal back in the floor and push the bed back in place, not bothering replacing the tile where it goes. I barely manage to shove the bed back in place before the door unlocks and swings open.

Behind it stands the very Tris I loathe. Two guards behind her. She wears the fake and quite caked smiling face. In her hand is a tray of paper cups. One small full of pills, the other bigger, full of water. She steps into the room. I back up, looking behind me for an exit, though I know there isn’t one.

“Good morning, Jane,” she smiles at me.

I say nothing.

“Ready for breakfast?” she steps to me again, edging out her tray.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

She takes the little cup in her slim hand and holds it out for me. The two guards walk in when I don’t take it and the three of them corner be against the bed until I’m sitting on it, looking up at Tris’s devil face.

“Open wide,” she encourages when I take the cup and bring it to my mouth.

Glancing inside the cup I see four blue tablets and smaller yellow capsule. I drop the pills in my mouth, holding them on my tongue.

“Chew them.”

“What?” I finally speak.

“Chew them,”

“You’re crazy, I’m not-”

“Chew and swallow them, or we’ll inject them.”

I shake, wondering how serious she is. Eyeing the guards beside her until one of them pulls out the white pouch and I know I don’t have a choice. I don’t break the eye contact as I crunch down, breaking open the powdery circles. The taste of chemical medicine fills my mouth and I choke on the gag.

“Ah, ah, ah. Swallow them.” Tris says when I almost cough.

I glare at her, forcing my jaw to chew the awful tasting drugs.

“That’s a good girl,” she smiles handing me the bigger paper cup full of water.

I swallow down the water, thankful to wash away the taste, only bits lingering on my molars.

“I’ll be back later with your afternoon dose,”

Already I feel the effect, my eyes lowering.

“And if I catch you throwing them up in the bathroom again, I’ll assign your medication as injections for the next two weeks,” she says the last sentence less nice.

Together they exit my dorm, closing the door behind them, without a lock. My stomach begins churning, my head already clouding. My heart beats fast as I grow nervous knowing I have very, very little time to eject them from my system before they hit as hard as they can. I wait until the clicking of her high heels disappears in the hallway’s echo then I sulk to my door. I open my door, peeking around the corner. The white halls are empty. My arms are beginning to feel heavy, the tips of my finger tips are tingling. I shake my head to keep my sight from dizzying. My time is shorter than I thought, so I run down the hall, headed for the bathroom as fast as I can. I sneak behind the male nurses that stand facing the rec room, getting slower and slower. I struggle, dragging my feet and trying to keep my head up. When I turn the corner to the bathroom I’m forced to stop. Three guards stand at the wide open door, listening to whatever goes on the bathroom.

Oh, now you chose be on guard, but not when the girls rape another in there, I shake my head, turning around.

Using the bathroom to rid the meds isn’t an option and my time is only running more and more out. The drowsiness is beginning to taking over. I try to hustle through the hall way, walking sickly through the rec room, the drugs spinning my mind, but it’s only common behavior in this place. The only rooms open to us at this time would be the music room, the cafeteria, the library, and the aviary. Best option is clearly the aviary, so the only evidence would be some dazed birds flying around. Off to the aviary I run, before the drugs make me hit the floor.

Just as I’m approaching the glass doors of the aviary a new wave of dizziness knocks my senses away and suddenly I feel so dumbed to my core. A single guard stands at the door, eyeing my ditz of a walk. He lets me pass, thinking my state is nothing but normal and I walk behind the trees. My knees hit the ground without consent and yet this is only the beginning of the reaction. Refusing to let the drugs stay in me any longer. I shove my fingers in my mouth as I’ve perfected by now and relax my stomach to let out all the awful drugs.

When I’m done, my shaking hands wipe my mouth. I can already feel the head rush calm just a tad. I suppose I’m successful. I’ve nearly avoided my doses. The little bit that did drug me effects as sitting on the floor, shaking away the sleep and paralyzing agent. Breathing hard, I search for stability and grab hold of it when I can, until it lasts longer and longer each time. Just waiting for the bits that made it into my blood to wear off, to just go away. I wait and wait until the fuzzy drowsiness and muscle stiffness turns into just a cloudy train of thought. When I’m able to stand I walk back inside.

The doorway to the building seems to darken as I step closer. The white frame creeps gray then black, darker and darker the closer I walk and when I step inside the entire white walls are gone. A black void waits for me. The asylum is gone, the memory just that again. I realize I’m standing in the dirt cell. The foggy flashback gone and I remember what the present is. I remember my situation, my long day, and my horrible enemy that waits to kill me. And wait for so long he does. Waits and waits for so long that I’m right back to loosing my mind without a flashback or old habits to distract me.

Is it morning yet? When is Pan coming back to kill me? Will I ever see outside again? Why are people crying so much? What’s going to happen to me? Am I gonna get forgotten down here? Oh god, I’m going to get forgotten down here. How long have I been awake? Did I even sleep? How long has it been? Do the cries and moans ever stop? What time is it? What is that on my face?

Over and over I’ve explored my little dirt cell with my hands, failing to find anything but dirt and root bits. No back door exit, no hole to dig bigger and bigger until it’s an escape, and certainly no source of any kind of light. I resort to laying on my back with my feet on the wall, counting my fingers in the air. It has been fairly cold this entire time down here in the dark, but just now as I drop my hands, I feel a strong, freezing sensation. It strikes every skin cell, deep in my bones, in one instant and then it’s gone. I scoot back, dropping my feet to the floor.

“Evening, love,”

His voice frightens me into standing and stepping into the wall, face first. I exhale furiously, the new smell of blood in my nose. I take a moment while the pain subsides but fury does the opposite. Then I face him.

“Come to watch me while I sleep, again?” I say through my teeth, holding my nose.

I drop my head on the wall so my nose can lean back, eyes closed, the anger swelling in my chest.

He chuckles and I hear his hand grab the root bars, “I think you’ve spent enough time down here,” he says and the door opens.

I chose to sit down against the wall. How did the door open? He waits a moment realizing I’m not going to move, “By all means stay down here longer, I surely couldn’t care less,” the door closes.

“If that were true, why have you kept me alive all these weeks,” I croak out.

He clears his throat and I hear him kneel down, “I don’t believe someone like you should be down here, Jane,” he says almost genuine.

He spoke to me with respect for the first time. A concept so odd to me I lean forward, placing my arms on my knees, eyebrows knitted.

“What?” I say expecting some kind of trick.

He laughs a quiet laugh, then inhales, “I apologize for calling you a liar,”

All cells go quiet of the hush torment it had this whole time.

I squint at his direction in the darkness, completely suspicious of this new behavior.

“I shouldn’t have thrown you down here,” he stands and opens the door again, “allow me to make it up to you,”

“What do you know?” I ask loudly.

“What?” he falters.

“What happened to change your mind?”

“Smart girl. Tell you what,” he steps into the cell with me where I scramble away, standing up, “I’ll play a game with you, an answer for answer, but,” I hear him step aside, exposing the open doorway, “you gotta come with me,”

“Why, would I go anywhere with you?” I try to sound like I’m not longing to see any source of light.

“The walls have ears,” he whispers, I hear a smile on his mouth.

The defeat exhales from my nose in preparation then I step forward. I feel his cold hand touch my bicep in attempt to guide me but on reflex I hang away.

“Don’t trust me?” he asks, annoyingly playful.

“Don’t trust.” I say right at him so he understands I will never trust him.

I step through the bars and at the very end of the hall, I see a dim, dim light. It brings joy to my cheeks. A warm sense of hope touches my heart. I walk to the light, the exit, the hope. Pan follows behind. The closer I get, the better I see the terribly brown walls and crumpled bodies on the floor of each passing cell. Just one cell from the stairs up and out of this place, a woman throws her arms out, grabbing at my skin. She triggers the painful bruises along my sides, causing me to rage in agony against her. She claws through my shirt, grasping me entirely and slamming me to the bars, where she can hold me tight. I fight away from her, shocked, frightened as she screams.

“No! Don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him!” tears pour from her eyes, as she shrieks hysteria.

“What the hell, get off!” I angrily yank away, stumbling on the dirt.

Pan clutches my arm, stepping between us.

“Don’t do it! Please! He’s new! He’s new! Please, he’s new!” she shouts louder, clawing at me, her nails breaking skin.

I suck in a painful gasp, pulling away from her.

“Hands off.” Pan says, flicking his wrist.

The woman is thrown back, hard, against the wall of her cell. Her feet off the grounds, she’s pinned by Pan’s hand in the air. I yank from Pan’s grasp and blink at the sight, dumbfounded, until he gives me a shove, to continue up the stairs. I obey, looking back at the crazy woman, in awe at his ability. Her eyes wide, she glares at me, screaming. I feel blood trickle down my arm, I look down at the claw marks and notice my dried bloody knuckles. Pan drops the woman when his hand relaxes to his side, leaving her sobbing on the floor then he follows me up the stairs.

My eyes squeeze shut the brighter the stair case gets, I walk until there are no more steps, temporarily blind. I hold my hands to my eyes, trying to suppress the aching in my bruised torso. I stand at the top of the stairs, waiting to see again, cringing and Pan comes from behind. He walks around me while I continue blink my eyes open, becoming confused at the room around us. The wood grows freely. Couches, chairs, and counters fill the room, all looking hand made. Green vines hang from the ceiling and drape off the walls. The floor is carpeted with red. Many exits sit in the ceiling, from the walls, and in the floor. The wood grows to make windows on all walls. Weapons and clothes litter the floor and furniture as decorative clutter. A bar-like area sits in the corner, trashed with horn cups and glass bottles.

“What the hell was that?” I ask angry, as the stinging pain pulls me from examining the room.

“That was a crazy nurse. There’s quite a few here,” he says casually walking over to a maroon couch, “Have a seat.”

The deep red, stained, couch looks, worn down, broken, and rotting.

“I think, I’m ok,” I hold my cut arm.

“Here,” he takes a seat on the arm of the couch with his boots on the cushion, “not going to hurt you,” he pats the seat beside him.

“Alright,” he reaches for the counter, with the beverages, and a cup comes flying to his palm. He grasps it and hands it out for me.

I step to him, looking inside of the cup to try and hide the astonished look on my face, “It’s empty,”

“Is it?” he asks with a light smile on his face.

I take it, staring at it. The closer it comes to me, the fuller it fills with clear water. My mind explodes in new wonder of the magic this boy has. The stranger in the dark with his tales of nonsense is becoming more believable in my mind. Pan really does have so much power, more than I know. I bring the cup to my mouth, hoping that feeling refreshed by water will calm the wondering thoughts of just how powerful Pan really is.

“Better?” he says when its all gone.

I shake my head. He waits and I proceed to take the seat on the opposite end of the couch.

“Answers. Now.” I demand.

“I believe to get an answer, a question must be asked,” he jumps from the couch and walks the room.

When he got up my cup refilled. I stare at it and watch every detail of the way the water whirls around from the bottom of the cup until it reaches just before the brim and settles so gently. I want to shake my head in disbelief but instead I bring the cup to my mouth a second time.

“Why’d you change your mind,” I ask when I’ve finished it again.

“I can admit, I over reacted the day of your arrival, but in my defense you are a sight for sore eyes,” he had picked something up and brought it back over to me.

He hands it to me, and I see its a piece of broken mirror. I look at myself, startled at the crazed girl in the broken glass. My eyes red and watering, around my eyes are puffy and dry. Dirt splatters my face, my hair. Blood sits under my nose, dried mostly. A small bruise on my cheek, another on my neck, small red nicks sit on my cheekbones and chin. One long lash down the left of my throat, nearly across it. I don’t know where to begin to clean. I go for under my nose to wipe the blood but my dirty hand catches my eye, muddier than my patched face.

I exhale, dropping my hand with the mirror, “That’s not an answer,”

“I came to my senses,” he says raising his eyebrows.

“How long was I down there?”

“Ah, ah, play by the rules, it’s my turn,”

“I’ll owe you one, how long?” I growl out.

“One night,”

My mouth drops.

“Down there is different though, for you...it could’ve been days...longer,”

I stumble for words, and the cup refills again. I drink it to calm myself and comprehend. When he cup is empty, yet again, I ask, “What did you do in that night?”

“Research.”

“On?”

“You.”

“Why?”

His face becomes confused but I don’t believe it for some reason, “Miss Jane, you really know nothing of the power you posses.”

I blink, “Answer me, why?”

“Because I don’t know why you’re here,” and for the first time he spoke to me honesty in his voice, “I researched you because you have such a powerful belief that it can’t go ignored.”

I squint again, “That’s, what-tell me why I’m here,” I spit completely disregarding his rubbish.

He shrugs, “I, truly,” he looks me in the eye, “do not know why. I cannot answer that question,”

“We had a deal, you tell me what I wanna know, I come with you.”

“I believe the deal was an answer for an answer, as you now owe me five, but I what I found wasn’t plausible, I still am not certain why you ended up here...or how for that matter,”

“I told you how, the de-”

“And I told you Shadow didn’t do it. Either you’re still lying, or my shadow is being impersonated, which, by the way, isn’t possible,”

I grind my teeth hard, deciding to drop the subject that we can’t seem to agree on, “What did you find?”

“Nonsense.”

“Then why are you keeping me here?”

“I think, maybe, it’s my turn for...six questions, yes?” he toys with a small knife I hadn’t noticed.

“I’m not done,”

“You’ll have another turn, but for now,” he walks to me slowly.

I release the cup and mirror on the couch and stand, not wanting him towering over me.

“Where’d this come from?” he uses the tip of the knife to lightly graze my skin and lift the rubber band around my wrist.

I squint another time, suddenly confused at the item, Where, DID that come from?

“Uh, um,” I stammer, trying to recall.

He gives me a look like he’s waiting for me to lie to him.

“I-I don’t remember,” I tell him.

I yank away from his pulling knife and it snaps into a useless string, hitting the ground.

“Now, now, Miss Jane, play the game fair. I was honest, wasn’t I?” he takes steps back.

I realize then, he is toying with me. Showing me fake honesty, playing with my head, “This isn’t a game, not everybody plays games-”

“We do here,” his stare becomes possessive.

“I don’t. I’m not.” I’m getting frustrated all over again, “and I’m not lying either, I don’t remember. What does it even matter?”

He shakes his head, “My turn for questions, not yours,” he sighs, “but, figures you don’t remember, I doubt you realized when you did it,” he tosses the knife into the floor, blade first.

“What does that mean? Did what?”

“Miss Jane, you must be aware of how games work, one turn at a time, it is mine,”

He’s just messing with me! He’s an insane person playing a game all by himself in his head. I’m angry enough to fight now.

He takes my quiet anger as cooperation.

“What exactly is all my fault?” he asks.

I look up at him with a glare, “What?”

“The other night, you went spouting off about ‘it’s all my fault, it’s all because of me,’” he does air quotes.

Is he trying to push my buttons? Does he want me angry?

I pick at the shoulders of my dirt and blood brown shirt, “This is the uniform of an insane person,” I say through a closed jaw.

His smirk appears, “You’re saying you are insane?” then he scoffs at me.

My anger rises, “That’s exactly it. Because of YOU, they locked me away. No one believes people fly, you must know that,” I don’t break the stare we hold.

He does when he turns around, “I see. When was this?”

“What do you care? Why are you in my life?” I whine the last part only to myself.

“Surely, you don’t think I meant to have you locked up?”

“I’m not so sure.”

“How could I have possibly known you’d speak so often of me while I was away?” he chuckles that stupid amused laugh, “I couldn’t have known you couldn’t get me out of your head,” he tilts his head and starts walking to me. He’s making fun of me! I ball my fists. “You shut the fuck up! You have no clue what you’re responsible for. You think you were slick but you’re a fool. A lunatic. Nothing but a stupid child with too much power for WHAT reason?” He looks surprised for one moment only, then he’s back to smirking at my reaction but I can’t help it. “And to think I actually believed in you as an escape from that horror, but you’re your own show! God, I was stupid for falling for it!” I throw my anger in a fist at his face, but he dissolves into thin air.

He was right in front of my face, then gone. I’m startled and feel him appear behind me. Too startled to wonder of yet another ability he has, I whip around to strike him but he blocks my blow to quick for comprehension, I’m not even sure I moved to strike him yet.

“Yes, you were,” he shoves me way and drops the playful tone, “And you’re still being stupid. You can’t hurt me.” he steps to me and I know he’s doing it to make me feel small. “No matter how much you might want to,” he sneers with a mean smirk, “Now, I still get three more answers,” I stand tall, “I’m not giving you anything until you explain why you’re keeping me here,” I spit the words at him, wishing he’d back up. “I already did,” “You bullshit me.” I glare. “So much fire,” he says clicking his tongue. Then he backs up to ask me a question with an entire mood shift, yet again, “Now tell me, did you feel different back home?” “What? “Did you feel different from others? Special, extra, wrong, odd-” “This is childish nonsense. I want answers. Now. Or-” “Or what?” he looks at me. I look to the door. He follows my gaze then looks back at me with a smirk, “It’s quite clear you hate me,” “With passion,” I manage to say through a closed jaw. Shit. I answered him. “Fear me?” I hesitate. “You blame me for your imprisonment?” “It wasn’t just-, nothing would have happened had you never shown yourself.” Stop answering questions. “What was done to you during your imprisonment?”

I stare at him. Not because that question hurt to answer, but because the more I give him answers the more I let him play with me. I feel only fury as I try to avoid his game, it weakens me. He reads my exhausted expression and lack of speech, he takes the hint.

“Alright, alright, answer my last question and you’ll get one last answer,’” I clench my jaw, furious with the fact that he has control over the conversation. “How did you get here?” his eyes dare me to repeat the answer he doesn’t believe. My eyes widen. He still thinks I’m lying. “I already told you.” I spit through my teeth.

He stares at me, deciding if he’ll believe I’m not lying. He squints at me and I hold the glare right back until, finally, he backs up, bowing his head and gesturing at me to ask my last question. I exhale, figuring he now knows I’m not lying. But now a million more questions come to mind, wondering why the demon grabbed me, why the ‘shadow’ is his but he doesn’t know why it snatched me. I feel so angry and so alone from the facts that Pan will only answer one more question, and that he could be so stubbornly in control. He just might be the evil ruler the man in the cell claimed, so maybe I’ll forever be helpless. I shake my head wondering how he can be so powerfully cruel. Then I choose my last question.

“What happened to you?” His face falters, “What?” “You are different, entirely. I remember… you saved my life.” our stare holds and I see him remember saving me from falling off the building all that time ago, “and now, you’ve...” I fade, attention being drawn to my torn, bloody clothes. His face softens and I know that he knows what he did. “If you didn’t plot all of this, then what happened in those five years?” I ask. The question triggers him. His jaw clenches, he’s suddenly so, very angry at me, “It was a hell of a lot longer than five bloody years.” Then he was gone.

A dizziness spins throughout my head. I blink, realizing he wasn't gone, I was. The room dissolved to a much smaller, much darker room. A bedroom. One second we were together in a sitting room. The next second, I’m alone in a dim bedroom. I glance halfway behind me, confused.

Did...he...teleport me?

In front of me a window takes the center of the wall. No glass or curtains on the odd window, just the wood growing away from itself to created a sloppy square in the wall, like the ones in the sitting room. A large bed sits to my left, it’s headboard against the center of the wall. A rocking chair by the foot of it. Directly across from the bed, sits a sad dresser with a big, shiny mirror on top it. Scanning the room I spot a door that hangs on the wall beside the dresser. I run for it, grasping the handle and yanking it open. I exhale to see the disappointing closet. Then looking back to the wall that was behind me when I showed up in here, I see another door I hadn’t notice. I quickly waddle to it, afraid of another closet.

I pull it open, hard, to see just darkness. Pitch black, but it doesn’t stop me from running through it. My head buzzes intensely, knocking me senseless for a second. I’m facing the room when I blink away the dizziness. Even more confused, I turn around anyway back through the door, only to get dizzy again and face the room. I stare at the room I just walked out of twice. For a third time I turn to the door running through the threshold again, only to step back into the room, the dizziness doubling up and knocking me to my knees.

“The fuck! Again?” I shout out all the rage building up since I left the cell. Trapped. A-fucking-gain! I can’t leave. When I step out, I just step back in. How is that possible? What? More magic? I can’t leave. I’m trapped. I can’t leave.

I sit on my knees, blinking away the angry tears that rise without consent. I wonder back to the thought of imagining everything. Imagining the door that leads into the same room and the root doors that don’t really open or close. Maybe there is no spirit, no Pan, no beach to land on, and maybe I’m still in the asylum, high on the forced drugs. The thought of the possibility that drugs could be making me hallucinate this badly only pisses me off more.

It’s the memory of blasting all those boys away with anger that I took from Pan that brings me back to the decision that it isn’t just my imagination. This is all happening. After the decision is made, I gather myself to focus on the problem at hand. Escaping. Wiping tears, and cleaning my face with the two white spots left on my shirt, I straighten my hair and push it behind my ears, leaving the pity party.

The door isn’t going to be an option, so I look to the window. One last sniffle and I slowly get up off the floor walking to the window even slower, dreading anymore tricks. As walk passed the bed I slide my fingers over the soft fabric. Dirt smudges onto the pretty linen and I withdrawal my fingers. Then I hear it. The music.

The instrument I heard the first night, the one I followed into the woods. A pipe or flute playing. Instead of the soft and peaceful song, it’s an upbeat and exciting tempo. Hearing it causes me to run to the window. My palms thump on the wooden window sill and I become sick at what I see.

The ground is far. Far enough to make my stomach jump up to slap my heart. I’m forced to pull back and away from the height and blink away nauseous black spots. I breathe through the nausea and look back out the window starting at the far view, instead of straight down. I see the ocean far away. In the very distant, touching the black, star speckled, sky. A lagoon curves in the closer distance at the edge of the forest. The water shines, from the bright moon sitting above the thick, flourishing forest in every direction. The forest looks alive. It moves with the wind as one. Beyond the forest the valley sits in the mountains on the left. It’s beautiful.

The forest crawls close and seems to grow louder the closer my eyes crawl to what’s right beneath me. The tree line stops just beyond the canopy of the enormous tree I reside in. A campsite litters the clearing around the tree. Tents and wood makings sit organized in the open dirt. Barrels and crates, chairs, tables, and worst of all, boys. A blazing fire burns below my window. So big, I can feel the heat from all the way up here, meters and meters above the ground.

Most boys surround the fire in a madness of a dance. They run around the flames with hollers exclaiming from their throats. They jump between hot coals and each other while cheering. They dance like beasts on a clock, making their way in a circle. They sound of a mix of young men and wild animals. They’re lost in the night, not a care in the world except for their next step. The beat of drums echoes behind the flute music I’m searching for.

My eyes drift over them all and then I spot him. On a large rock, near the blazing fire pit, he sits crisscross, a line of wooden pipes in his hands, at his mouth. He plays with pride and ease. His fingers run along the hollowed pipes projecting the bouncy tune. He matches every pound of drums playing, and challenges it, rising the energy of the party. I nearly feel it from up here.

I blink at the sight of him relaxed, unaware of me, for the first time. The truth hits me like a rock in the face. He was the song player. He was calling me through the woods that night I arrived. He played the song for me to follow. It was just more magic. He knew I was here. He must have brought me here, and is just lying, insisting that I’m the one lying about how I ended up here. More anger uploads into my chest.

He’s been using magic ever since the moment I got here! I stir in the new anger. What kind of game is he playing? He’s lying, he’s got an agenda. Is this room even real? I hug my shoulders, feeling lonely and lost in the facts of the magic tricks. I can’t even touch him, let alone try to kill him, or even escape. What does he want?

My eyes unfocused from the scene below and my legs decide to take a break. I sit on the floor my back to the window. I feel like I don’t know a single thing and trying to figure one thing out just confuses me more. I feel like the more I discover the less I know. It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless. He has every advantage. I’ve done everything he’s wanted me to do since the moment I got here. From running through that horror forest to giving him information and the satisfaction of not being able to do anything about it.

I sit lost. I don’t know if I should cry or rage out, or just end the nightmare right now and jump out of the window. The longer I sit, the angrier I get. My heart beats faster, my fists clench tighter. I loathe him for making me feel so small and alone and lost. I hate his magic and all the power he has.

I shake my head in disappointment and rage, clenching my jaw. Suddenly, the rage is changing into a daring curiosity. I wonder if what I have is enough to escape him. I know my only choice is to have what it takes or else I’ll end up like that old man in the cells. I feel challenged to beat this power spoken boy, and nearly excited to win.

I could take him on. The thought of besting him fuels me entirely. He panicked when I snatched that red glow from him, that’s enough for me.

And even though I have no idea of how I managed to do what I did, it’s enough to drive me to at lease try. Try to escape him. I have to just try. The need to discover a way to escape this whole place is quickly overtaking. This new driven feeling has been felt before. I try to place the needy feeling but it’s only familiar. I try remembering how I know this needy aching to learn and win. A crave for fun, or an experience.

Finally, I place the feeling from a memory. It’s what I felt when I used to fly in my dreams. Then, remembering this, I jump to my knees, peeking out the windowsill at the boy who caused everything. That’s why I can’t let any of it go. He can fly, and I saw flying as the escape from the terrible world back home. He was a hero to be, but instead, he abused the gift so that he could have his own playground. He’s wasted everything I’ve ever longed for. He has a paradise here and he runs a prison on it. He can fly, he can enjoy the feeling of limitless happiness and craving fun, yet he wastes it all to be a cruel dictator.

“A fucking waste,” I whisper to myself. I bet I’m not even the first one he’s done this to.

I want to hurt him, I want to kill him. He is the reason I was sent back to the asylum and tested on. He is the reason I lost my home, my life, and time and time again, my freedom. He owes me so much suffering. I sit back down on the floor as I make the decision to not waste this night on sleep. I will take the night to devise a plan that will make him suffer until we are even. And I can worry about getting back to London after. I will not waste a single opportunity, and I’ll find a way to beat Peter Pan before he beats me.

His P.O.V. The Lost Boys dance around the particularly big fire tonight. They have always loved showing off on a new comers first night. Rumors are spreading between them. They’ve heard whispers from Pixies and such. They are confused about the girl being here brother-less and staying two nights alive. I don’t blame them for it, it’s most unusual and unsettling in fact, for them. I sit on a tall rock beside the fire pit. I know the girl watches. I can feel her presence unnervingly so. I’m so aware of her, it’s upsetting. She possesses so much power, that she doesn’t deserve. Everyone saw what she did.

The boys’ vibes are high tonight. They’re truly enjoying themselves with or without an explanation about the girl. Unfortunately, I can’t join them. I’m too occupied with the answers the girl gave me. So, I play the Song of the Giants while they all dance as a distraction from my uneasiness. I play loudly ensuring my enjoyment, no doubt.

It grows late. She’s not watching anymore. Probably figured out she can’t leave the room by now so sulking on the floor or something. My song long since over. Some boys retire off to the side and watch the remaining flames blaze. Others fall to the floor, exhausted from the trance of the fire. Most take refuge inside of Hideout. My right hand, Michael, walks to me.

“You don’t seem on it tonight,” sounds like a question. “It’s the girl, isn’t it?” “The girl?” I scoff, “She’s our next project,” I say thinking of what the seer Pixie told me. “That’s why she’s still here,” he puts it together. I notice more of the others falling down one at a time. New music has taken over. I crack a smile, “Surely, you’ve noticed,” “What is it? The cover around her. She came from the Mainland, didn’t she?’ “She did.” “Then, how does she have that...shield?” I look at him, “Everyone knows the Mainland has no magic, everyone knows magic is created by belief, faith, hope, all that,” He nods. “Meaning people in the Mainland don’t believe. Why do you think it’s called the Hopeless Realm? No one has hope, no magic. But what happens when one of them does believe?” I point my finger up at her window, shaking. “She believes more than any being I’ve ever met,” “She’s got magic,” “I don’t understand how, or why her. But that power is wasted, and it’s up to us to save it from being thrown away,” “You’re going to take it from her,” he says understanding now. “But, she blasted us away through emotion, she could’ve just gotten lucky. It’s not unlikely.” “She was imprisoned on the Mainland, in a place for those who believe. See, over there, the ones who have hope are kept away and tortured, so that they loose it...all of it,” I gesture at my wits. “They’re stripped of everything,” He looks at me waiting for my point. “And yet she some how had a rubber band,” “You’re saying she made it through imprisonment with her own magic? It is real power, how?” “She is gifted undeservingly so. Unless one of my Lost Boys dropped a female’s accessory, this one can not only use Neverland’s magic, but has her own source,” “She is like that one girl, the odd one with the water-witching,” I wave my hand at him, “The one who claimed to visit the Other Realm, she was a dark soul, wasn’t she?” I joke with him. He finds his humor, “She could use Neverland’s power,” I nod, “She could, but Jane acts clueless and angry. We need to make her believe she can trust us so we can find out what she really knows, and what she can really do,” “So that’s the plan,” he looks up at the empty window, she stays in. I nod with a closed smile, “Who knows, M,” I say his initial as code, then slip off the rock, placing an arm around his shoulder. “If she survives the extract, she may just be a fiery new recruit.” “This one is going to be fun,” We walk to the fire now. “Word has come from over the North Mountains. Another battle was fought today,” he says after a moment. “No politics, right now, there’s a celebration at hand,” I spread my arms at the fire. “The Pirates keep coming,” he says. “Not my problem,” I say at him, joining the very few troopers left dancing.

#neverland #peterpan x reader #peter pan fanfic #the promised neverland #fanfiction writer #creative writing #written #wrtieblr #long reads #writerslife #female writers #writers block #writers on tumblr #january #peter pan fandom #peter pan and wendy #tinkerbell #disney

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parcy-anda-but-with-actual-posts · 28 days

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Smaugust Week 1 Smaugust Week 2 Smaugust Week 3 Smaugust Week 4 - you are here!

Day 22: Enchanted — I went more abstract with this one... you can't see the dragon for the shroud around it... nor can it escape. I'll update if I come up with something more concrete, but for now, this is it. Sorry this is a pretty slow start for week 4.

Day 23: Labyrinth — Combined with an overlay of yesterday's excuse of an entry. ;w; That there is a hexed chicken turned into a dragon and it haunts this hedge maze. >v<;; My brain's mush at this point, not a good sign. Let's see how tomorrow goes.

The plot thickens... turns out this cursed hedge-maze chicken is... the Final Boss (Day 24). I did a different color palette for this one, partially because I felt bad for defaulting to a foghorn-leghorn color scheme on the above. The background suffered a bit this round, but I really tried for a more dynamic dragon to make up for the past couple days. I like the sense of motion the radial blur gives, but it robs of some work I honestly put into things. ;w;

Afterthought... I should have opened this whole smaugust project with a disclaimer that I'm obscenely loose with my rules of what can be a dragon and have much, much too much fun hybridizing... this should be the end of the chicken-dragon, though. =v=; b

Day 25: Bioluminescence — Ah, the difference the weekend makes - I've felt significantly better about these last couple entries. >v<;; Have a dragon that's used to being considered drab and not conventionally pretty being comforted with the company of the shiniest. Per most of my dragons, there's some chimerification here, since I can't help myself. ^^;

Day 26: Fanart — Oof, and just like that, the work week strikes. It's just a sketch today - I bit off more than I could chew, exploring an alternative design for characters from an old children's show called Dragon Tales. Zak and Wheezie are the main focus, drawing inspiration from hognoses, while Ord, also featured is built around a beaded lizard in a screenshot redraw of this:

I took some liberties of course, since I was picking animals to inspire more detailed drawings of these guys, and also just went and gave Wheezie a look more so saying: "tf just happened?"

Day 27: Eclipse — Started overworking this and decided to stop - I wanted to do a lindwurm like creature coiled up in the night sky, and bathed in the light of a lunar Eclipse, almost becoming the lunar body itself? The concept was not very thoroughly planned. ^^'

Day 28: Chained — Another workday defeat (if the muse strikes, I may give this an honest retry without being confined to the tail end of my day), but I decided to try a small animation at the expense of any detail or drawing I'd be proud to share. ^^' A depressed cooped up little apartment dragon, looking out the room window before dropping its head, defeated and in tears... it's stuck somewhere, not chained physically, but definitely confined.

Day 29: Aurora — Phew - alrighty, overdid it on blurs and add glow effects, and not sure it's on point with the directions, but I wanted to have fun with this. >v<; Have a cosmic serpentine dragon that flies through the night sky with a body-length mane of shimmering lights. Another concept I wouldn't mind coming back to and putting more work into. ^v^

Day 30: Wood —I got carried away again, but liked the idea of another 'tree mimic', if we may? Or just a fantastical tree that looks vaguely draconic. >v<; Had trouble deciding between Cherry and Wisteria, I guess, and the colors/continuity for the backdrop got completely out of control. @v@; On the upside, I found different uses for that custom brush I made. X'D

Day 31: Mirrored — Okay - done with Smaugust, and some days were better than others, for sure, but I had fun! I went for a cutesy entry for the finish line. Played with bronze/patina tones for these two buddies, and kept it simple, aside from overdoing different brushes for texture. XD

#smaugust2024

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loveforalexzverev · 1 year

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🎤 SF on-court interview following his win over Fils:

Interviewer: Well, Sascha, well done. I mean, utter 'wow', he really pushed you at the end there. How happy are you with the performance, to reach your first Hamburg final?

Alexander: Yeah, extremely, especially holding my composure in the end. Yeah, I couldn't be happier, but, of course, there is one more match to play tomorrow, and that is where my focus is right now (smiles).

Interviewer: Having watched, I presume you watched, all of, or some, of his match against Casper yesterday, I mean, he really did take him apart, especially in the first set. What kind of mindset did you bring into this game today?

Alexander: Yeah, I knew that, me and Casper have very different game styles, though. I think Casper is somebody that plays a lot more spin, and plays a lot higher, I think it's something that Arthur [Fils], maybe, likes. I knew that I had to take the time away, I knew that I had to play a lot quicker and a lot flatter, in a way, and… yeah, I did that well today, I feel like (smiles).

Interviewer: I know you've been sleeping in your old room all week, I think you could be offered any bedroom in the world and you wouldn't change a thing, would you, ahead of tomorrow (Alexander smiles). What's it gonna mean tomorrow?

Alexander: Pauses Yeah, of course… (smiles) it's always nicest at home, but at the end of the day, you know, it's a very difficult match, and I'm just looking forward to it (smiles).

Interviewer: Well done, Sascha.

Alexander: Thanks.

❤️ A very sweet and wholesome on-court interview today, it's lovely seeing Alexander smiling so much and looking content with both his tennis and with himself. And I personally love that he is staying in his old room while in Hamburg, that's so sweet. I hope Alexander can carry this positivity and impressive form into the final. Auf geht's, Alexander 🔥

#zverev #alexander zverev #alexanderzverev #sascha zverev #saschazverev #hamburg open #hamburgopen #atp 500 #atp500 #atp tour #atptour #atp tennis #tennis

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korusalka · 2 years

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#love working the sunday shift it's so relaxed i get to watch my shows and do laundry and my nails whenever nothings happening #AND i get extra pay #today i napped after finishing the first six hours it was awesome #of course less awesome that i have to get up for work tomorrow as well but hell I'll get over it #planned my outfit planned what to say to enby colleague in case we run into each other & will get some clothes to the repair shop after #and maybe shop for a few flat things before that #upcoming week won't be without stress i still have to visit my grandma on the weekend but it's for a good cause (her birthday)#and old apartment is finally FINALLY done as of yesterday so i can finally focus on the new one starting now #do not rb it's just late night oversharing <3

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luveline · 3 years

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you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina, to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

#listened to boyfriend by big time rush while writing hahaha #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fred #fred weasly x reader #sad reader #reader insert #artist reader #fred weasley fluff #sorry for the big blocks of text tumblr has a 250 paragraph limit #why woukd they do that

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shirecorn · 3 years

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how about 17 and 24? what inspires you and how do you deal with art block?

Long post warning.

Art block...

I don't actually get art block, which is probably a combination of neurodivergence and drawing every day for the last 3 years

I wrote an entire tutorial about how to do that, but didn't feel like illustrating it. Would people want to read it even without visuals?

Maybe... I'll just start rambling.

There's a couple different types of art block, and it's really just a philosophy puzzle to get past them. I'm going to assume that the things I think of slow days, or art mud, is a milder form of art block and work through that.

Art block is a symptom, not a disease. You probably have something deep inside that you don't want to face, or don't know how. Sometimes you need to discover the cause, sometimes just power through.

Method 1: Rest

Let yourself just Exist. The act of consuming art is part of the process. Watching shows and playing games, taking a break and going gardening or focus on school. This is what you need for burnout-induced art block.

Method 2: Action

I always choose action, sometimes it means a tiny 2 min sketch per day. Ugly or super simplified. As long as I don't stop moving.

Toss everything. Start every piece thinking you will throw it away.

The act of drawing moves you forward; pinning it to the fridge does not. Don't work things until they are perfect. Work them until they are there.

Art block causes and solutions:

- No Inspiration

Not sure what to draw, nothing seems appealing. Art won't come out like it used to.

Do studies from life or photos. Sketch, paint, digital, traditional, doesn't matter. Rocks, fruit, figure drawing, landscapes, buildings, anything.

Study and copy professional's work. Old masters are best, like rubens, michalangelo (only his men tho) etc because they will teach you anatomy while you work. If you copy someone with a lot of flaws, you will repeat those flaws.

Trace to learn, not to earn. Trace photography and art from anyone you want. Don't post it unless you have the artist's permission or they are dead, whichever comes first. This is strictly work for yourself, on yourself. It's not about the finished drawing.

Find an artist with a fun style and try converting stuff into their style. Don't make that your new style though and especially don't start selling it. Your style is a chimera of everyone you love, not a clone of one person.

Take blurry photos. You don't need a fancy camera or good skills or beautiful subjects. Doing studies from your own photos can spark life into your workflow.

Make challenges for yourself. Randomly generate things to combine. Try fusing characters! Don't try to make it look good, just be fun.

Doodle patterns, swirls, lines, random stuff. Try looking up art warmups and doing some of those.

- Everything Sucks

You finally see how bad you are. Or somehow you got worse. Every piece is a fight and you spend hours trying to get something right only for it to be stiff and disgusting and STILL wrong.

Why are you trying to draw good? It's enough just to draw.

Accept that your art is bad. Every artist can see flaws in their work. Your problem is that those flaws outweigh anything remotely worthwhile and hurt to look at.

So what? You're in a period of growth, not a period of production. Keep that wonky second eye. Let them have hot dog fingers.

Show everyone! Show no one! No piece of art can ever be a reflection of the artist. Not their worth, not their skill. The only thing your art says about you is "Held and moved a pen for a bit."

Make bad art. It's ok. Most of the time, the pressure to perform and get things Right is what made them wrong in the first place. Relax.

- No Motivation

The #1 killer of artists everywhere. On some level you think you should draw, on every other level you think you should stay in bed.

You are not lazy. You wouldn't have read this far in a post about art block if you were lazy. You wouldn't CALL it art block if you were lazy. Laziness is wishing you didn't have to do anything. A block is wishing you were doing something. If you think you can namecall Yourself into productivity again, you're wrong and You need to unionize so that you don't treat You like that anymore.

Consider Mental Illness. Losing interest in something that brought you joy can be a symptom of depression. I know it seems obvious, but if you're waiting for a sign that it's "bad enough," it's bad enough. Seek care if you have the means. Forgive yourself if you already know this.

Selfcare. Examine yourself for neglect. Nutrition, exercise, enrichment, social need, and sleep are all part of the art process. Eat three meals and sleep 8 hours. That's your gaymer fuel. You deserve it, I promise. Depriving yourself of your needs will make your blocks worse, not kick you into making them better.

Identify potholes. Sketchbook falling apart? Tablet cord frayed? Half your pencils missing? Chair uncomfortable? Desk hard to reach? There's a lot of things that you tell yourself to work around and get over. Just because you CAN workaround something, doesn't mean you SHOULD. A difficult work environment can cause secret dread deep inside that you don't recognize and just think you're lazy. What you think of as "no motivation" might actually be "I don't want to deal with my tablet disconnecting every time I move it wrong and I have to wiggle it for a few seconds to make it work again." These little things are like potholes in the road. Sure you CAN still drive through them, but eventually you're going to look up and realize you haven't voluntarily left the house in weeks.

Repair potholes and roadblocks. You might feel bad about buying a new pencil, headphones, tablet, car, etc because technically the old one works if you hustle. But if you're running into so many potholes you've ground to a halt, it doesn't Actually work anymore, does it? Invest, save up, request, and require working equipment and suitable conditions. This stuff isn't just cushy privilege, it's an investment in yourself and your art. You are worth the effort it takes to clear the way. If you can't afford reliable (reliable! not perfect or luxurious) equipment, then say it. If cardboard is all you can afford, draw on cardboard. But know that you deserve canvas, and one day you might be able to make the jump. Acknowledge that sometimes, if you don't have it in you to smear burned twigs on wet cardboard, the problem isn't motivation, but opportunity.

- Haven't Drawn in So Long

A unique type of art block that self perpetuates. The thought of starting again is so stressful you can't do it. Or maybe you'll do it tomorrow. Yeah. Tomorrow for sure.

Face your fears. Are you ashamed of your lack of drawing? Are you anthropomorphizing your paper and thinking it's going to judge you, like "oh NOW you come back >:/" I internalize voices I hear and project them onto other people, concepts, locations, and inanimate objects. Your paper, computer, WIPs folder.... none of that is judging you.

Reframe your WIPs. Do you feel shame when you see "unfinished" projects? Why? Who says you MUST bring everything you start to Finish? You don't have to. A sketch is a finished art piece; it's called a sketch! If a sketch is a fully realized creation, pages that are half colored, 75% lined, or partially rendered are all fully realized creations too. Unless paid otherwise, art is done when you're done working on it.

Lower the stakes. Draw a chibi or grab some crayons. Get messy and slowly ease yourself back into the flow over the course of a couple days. It's fine.

Get a buddy! Find an art meme, do an art trade, get a study subject, or just wing it. Drawing art alongside someone can help you get past that block.

Pretend you never stopped. Don't think about the gap, how long it's been, or rustiness. As far as anyone knows, you drew the mona lisa yesterday and didn't break a sweat. Today, you drew a starfish on your hand with a gel pen. Keep up that streak, good job!

Just keep drawing. Make a goal to do one sucky drawing per day on the back of a napkin. Don't make up for missed days, just pretend they didn't happen. Who's going to judge you? The calendar? That's pieces of paper; it doesn't have an opinion. Draw a cat on it. Done. Keeping up the momentum is a great way to prevent art blocks in the future.

TLDR: Draw imperfectly and toss it. Selfcare is king. Draw often and don't judge yourself.

Art is a process, not a product.

#shire screams #art tips #ask #art block #long post

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imkylotrash · 4 years

Text

On The Edge

Pairing: Riven x reader

Request: Reader is a water fairy & gets infected by a burned one and riven’s scared that the reader dies. Anonymous

“You know what? I’m done.” People lie when they tell you heartbreak doesn’t kill. You lift your hand to your chest convinced there’ll be a hole from where he ripped your heart out but somehow there’s no injury.

“You’re done?” It’s masochistic to ask him to repeat it but you just don’t understand how an argument turned into a breakup. You’d mentioned that you were worried about his day drinking which you still are and he’d just lost it. Accused you of wanting to change him and being like everyone else. Clearly, you’d touched a nerve, but you never thought he’d break up with you.

“I’m just over you always trying to change me. I am who I am.” He grabs his stuff before running out the door. Your feet seem glued to the floor because every time you try to follow him, your feet refuses to move. Maybe it’s the shock holding you in place.

“What just happened?” Sky asks. Of course, he heard everything. He’s probably been waiting out in the hallway waiting for the fight to be over with.

“We should get going.” You’re not ready to say it out loud.

“I thought you said it was a bad idea?”

“I changed my mind.” You grab his sword and hands it to him. Yesterday, Sky asked you if you were up for a little hunting in the woods to help Silva. You’d told him it was a bad idea and to let the adults handle it, but now you’d do anything to just get out of here.

“Hey,” he says grabbing your arm, “no distractions. We have to focus when we go out there.” You squash the small voice in your head telling you not to go.

“I’m fine, really.” You even plaster on a smile to convince him and poor Sky, who is desperate to help Silva, believes you. As you head out, you leave a note for Riven in case he comes back to tell him where you’ve gone and that you want to talk when you get back. It’s just that you don’t return in any condition to talk to him. You don’t remember Sky carrying you back to school or Mr. Harvey treating your wounds. For a while all you feel is pain. Your body is on fire and you’re screaming for someone to help you but it’s no use.

“Baby, I’m right here.” You try to locate the voice but it seems so far away. He keeps talking but you’re in and out of consciousness.

“Please just open your eyes. I’m so sorry.” He keeps talking but you can’t hear him. The next time you’re conscious, you manage to open your eyes. Even in his sleep, Riven is clutching your hand. You try to feel out in the room but you can’t get a sense of water anywhere. Panic settles in your body. You’ve never been without water in your entire life, even just a glass of water would be enough for you to feel calm. Being in touch with your element keeps you calm but now you can’t feel it at all.

Riven,” you croak trying to move despite the pain. Immediately, he’s awake asking what you need.

“Water.” He runs out the door and returns with a glass of water. Just the feeling of it entering the room calms you down.

“We had to remove everything with water in it while Ben treated the wounds. Your powers were all over the place,” Riven explains grabbing your hand once again. Silence settles in the small room as you drink the water but you don’t need Riven to say it out loud for you to know; you’re not healing.

“Is Sky okay?” you ask and Riven nods.

“He brought you back to school. He saved your life,” Riven says in a bitter tone.

“I’m so sorry for what I said,” he whispers finally looking at you. He’s seconds from crying and miles from how he normally acts in situations like these.

“I didn’t mean any of it. I was angry and I took it out on you. When I came back, you were gone. I kept thinking if something happened to you, it’d be my fault.”

“Riven, no one is at fault here except me. It was my decision to go out there. I’m sorry I scared you but I’ll be fine.” He keeps quiet and you realise there’s something he’s not telling you.

“What is it?” you ask wondering if you’re even ready to hear what he’s about to say. Judging by the grim look on his face, it’s not going to be pleasant.

“They were hunting in groups. Sky managed to kill one but the other got you. Silva’s out hunting for the one who hurt you.”

“But that’s good news. Sky got the one who injured Silva,” you say not understanding why Riven looks ready to cry. If anyone can find the Burned One, Silva is the one for the job. He used to hunt these during the dark years.

“We’re running out of time,” Riven says and it hits you like a brick. Sure, Silva is good at hunting these things - maybe even the best - but there’s only so much time before Mr. Harvey can’t keep the infection from spreading. You might die and all you can think about is how much it’ll destroy Riven.

“There’s hope until the very end, Riven. If you don’t give up, I won’t.”

“Never.” He leans in and kisses your forehead. He’s being as gentle as possible but your entire skin is on fire. You smile promising yourself that as soon as you get a second alone, you’ll get to shed a tear. But right now you remain strong as you look at Riven who’s turned into a complete mess. Your heart breaks for the boy he truly is at heart and how scared he is of people leaving him.

“Hey,” you say grabbing his chin to make him look at you, “I’m not going anywhere. We have to trust that Silva knows what he’s doing.” You take a deep breath signalling for Riven to do the same. Every breath adds to your pain but it’s worth it if it helps Riven cheer up. What hurts you more than anything is the pain in his eyes. For a moment, it looks like it actually helps then Sky enters.

“You’re awake,” he states in a surprised tone.

“I hear you saved my ass out there,” you say hoping to keep the conversation light, “thank you.”

“Wasn’t easy. Had to drag your ass all the way through the forest. I’ll send you the check from my chiropractor.” You start laughing but it turns into a cough and immediately Riven’s frown makes a return.

“You should take a shower, handsome. You smell.” Sky laughs locking eyes with you for a brief moment before helping Riven to his feet.

“I’ll help you to our room, but you gotta handle the shower part on your own,” Sky teases and you’re forever thankful that your hunting partner knows you this well. Although, Riven protests it only takes Sky minutes to drag him out of the room. You finally allow yourself to feel the pain from your wounds. Trying to seem fine is taking its toll on you. Five minutes of self-pity and you’re done. You tell yourself over and over as you try to face the fact that you might not make it through this time. When Sky returns, you’re not quick enough to dry away the tears.

“He’s showering, you still have a few minutes,” he says quickly and you fall back against the pillows.

“I don’t want to die,” you whisper admitting the one thing you’ll never be able to admit to Riven. He needs you to be strong but there’s no shame in falling apart in front of Sky.

“Don’t talk like that. Silva will find the Burned One and kill it.” Ever the fixer trying to see the positive.

“He doesn’t have much time. I feel it in my bones. It’s spreading and soon Harvey won’t be able to stop it.” Sky tugs a strand of hair behind your ear with a pitiful look in his eyes. He knows you’re right and he knows it’ll destroy Riven.

“There’s still time. Saul sent word that they were tracking one up North. It might be the one,” Sky offers with a smile. He’s giving you hope when there is none. You know you won’t make it through another night with these wounds. Your fever is too high for your body to keep up.

“There’s a letter in a shoebox under my bed in case I don’t make it. Please give it to Riven.” You’ve always known that being a fairy comes with certain dangers so you didn’t want to leave unprepared.

“What are you talking about?” Riven is standing by the door looking like he might break something. “What letter?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you say trying to sit up straight.

“Give us a minute, Sky.” He sends you an apologetic look as he leaves the room. Riven sits down next to you awfully calm. It’s the calm right before he explodes and you’re not sure you’re ready for it.

“What letter?” he asks again making it clear that he’s not going to drop this.

“I wrote you a letter in case I was ever injured and didn’t...”

“In case you didn’t make it? But you said there was hope!” His voice is shaking but you’re not sure if it’s from anger or heartbreak.

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to prepare for every outcome. I-”

“There’s one outcome and that’s you staying alive. Do you hear me?” You bite your tongue and nod. The last thing you need is for the two of you to argue when you might not wake up tomorrow. Instead you pat the empty space next to you and smile.

“Just be careful,” you whisper as he gently crawls into bed with you. He falls asleep there and at some point, even you fall asleep despite the pain getting worse. You don’t expect to wake up the next day but you do. The fever broke at some point during the night and the foul smell of your wounds have gone away. Not daring to hope you slowly lift up your shirt to find beautiful, pink skin rather than ugly slashes.

“Riven!” you yell out in excitement.

“What?” He’s awake in seconds looking for the danger.

“Saul did it. He found the right one,” you exclaim lifting up your shirt to show him the healing wounds. Your hands are shaking as you cup his cheeks and kiss him. You’re going to be alright.

“As soon as Mr. Harvey clears you, we’re burning that letter. You don’t get do die on me, alright? Not before we’re old and grey.” You can’t help but smile at the thought of growing old with Riven.

“Okay.”

#riven x reader #riven blurb #riven gif #riven imagine #riven #fate the winx club #fate the winx saga #fate winx club #winx club #winx saga #winx blurb #fate winx #winx sky

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stargazingthenightaway · 3 years

Text

See Something You Like? Part 4

Pairing: Rebels Rex x Reader

Word Count: 6.1K

Warning: NSFW 18+ Sexual tension, yearning, dirty thoughts, praise kink, size kink, fingering, oral (female receiving) Dom!Rex, slight predator/prey vibes

A/N: What do you do when you’re in the middle of a heat wave and don’t want to go outside? Write smut! Turing up the heat dial. Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

The sound of his footsteps fade away down the hall, his steady gait giving no indication that he’d left you a wound-up mess in the practice booth. If anything, that was the walk of a man who had every assurance he could wring out every moan, whimper and scream out of you, all with just a touch of his hand. The certainty that he’d be knuckle deep inside you again after finding you waiting for him back in your quarters, and you’d be waiting because you’re his good girl.

You listen until you hear the faint hiss of the entryway open and close before you slide down to the floor, legs finally giving out. You sit unceremoniously on the ground, legs spread to the sides and struggling to calm your breathing. Your heart could jumpstart an X-wing it was beating so fast.

Did that really happen? You think to yourself. Did Rex really just do that?

The ache in your folds tell you it very much did. Thinking about his thick fingers sends a pulse in your core, reminding you how empty you feel, and how much better it was when Rex was filling you up. Your thighs clench together to ease the sensation, wanting to get to the safety of your quarters before someone else finds you in this compromising position. Imagine explaining that to the higher ups. The stern face of General Draven is enough to put your arousal on the back burner, for now.

When your breath is steady enough you stand up and while you very much enjoyed how skillful Rex was, walking around in damp panties was very much not something you want to do for the rest of the day.

Reaching over, you shut off the simulation, targets moving back to their spots by the wall, and make your over to get your blaster, placing it in your holster before leaving, legs slightly wobbling the short distance. They get better as you walk down the main hallway to the entryway, but every so often there is a tremor that causes your steps to falter.

There is no way that you are in any state to finish your reports, not that you’d want to right now, so you head back to your quarters. It was maddening how easily Rex could walk away when you knew you’d struggle just to walk out of the practice booth, never mind the winding hallways that you had to navigate to get to your quarters. Each time your panties rub against your folds keeps you hovering between anticipation and frustration, and you want to scream. Anticipation because you know Rex will come back and make sure you’re satisfied, frustration because you have to wait. The force must have been on your side for once since you don’t meet anyone on your slow walk back to your room.

When you open the door you look at your quarters and wince just a little bit. While you could confidently say you were not the messiest person on base, you wouldn’t call yourself the neatest either. You’d like to say your room looked lived in. Yesterday’s uniform was hanging on the back of your desk chair, boots kicked haphazardly by the entrance, reports stacked on any available surface and various knick-knacks clustered on shelves, tokens from missions or gifts from friends. While it certainly made the room homey, it’s not the setting you’d like for a sexscapade with a certain rebel captain.

You busy yourself around the room, filing reports away or neatening up the stacks on your desk, putting your boots on the shoe shelf by the door and tossing your dirty uniform in the laundry hamper. Once that’s done you give everything a quick once-over with an old shirt. All in all, clean up is over faster than you’d thought it be, but then again, your quarters aren’t that big to begin with.

Now that you’re done, you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself. What’s the standard procedure for waiting to get dicked down by the one you’ve been fantasizing about. It wasn’t like a manual came with your rebel registration packet. You sit down on the bed only to stand right back up. Right, your panties.

Peeling off your rumpled clothes, you toss those into the hamper before getting a clean pair of underwear, tossing a loose shirt on over top your bra. You don’t bother with a new set of pants, the shirt being long enough to give you some modesty if someone came by.

Well, that took all of thirty seconds you think sourly.

Flopping back on the bed, you stare at the ceiling. Twiddling your thumbs doesn’t seem very productive, but your mind is too buzzy to focus on reports. You wiggle up your bed so that your head on resting on your pillow. You wonder how long Rex’s meeting is going to take, if he’s feeling as antsy as you. Is he thinking about how you sounded underneath him, how easily his fingers slipped inside you? Or is he wondering how he’d take you when he gets back, if he’ll bend you over the desk, or have you suck his cock before getting you on all fours, mounting you from behind? Would he call you his good girl after filling you up with his cum?

You squirm and rub your legs together, feeling the heat start to build back up, getting you all tingly and eager for his touch. Your hand sneaks down your front, picturing Rex’s hand in your mind, how it felt, how warm it was. Just as you reach the band of your panties you hesitate. This wouldn’t be disobeying him you think to yourself. He didn't say anything about fantasizing, only that you weren’t allowed to touch to get yourself off. Deciding a little touch would’t hurt, your hand dips down beneath your panties, tracing your slit over the thin fabric. You close your eyes and picture Rex sliding between your legs, you spread them a little wider, imagining he’s there with you. Back n’ forth, you finger follows the same path, changing up the pressure every so often.

“Look at you mesh’la” Rex coos, “So eager for me you can’t help but touch yourself.

Moving your panties to the side you move two fingers along your folds, feeling the slick that has started to collect at your opening. You gather some and bring it up to your clit, rubbing gentle circles over it.

“That’s it, nice and slow. No need to rush” he says, sitting back to watch, hand stroking his length. “Show me what you want.”

“I want you” You moan as you start to rub faster, your other hand playing with your nipple through your shirt “I want you so bad.”

Rex spreads your legs wider, putting you fully on display “Show me where you want me” he commands.

Your fingers leave your clit and dip into your opening once “I want you here,” you turn pleading eyes up to him, “please, help me. Need your touch.”

He smirks “Well then, convince me to help.”

“Reeeex” you whine, speeding up your thrusts, fingers plunging into your heat. The coil of pleasure builds, you’re so close -

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You rip you hand from between your legs and roll to the side, squeezing your legs together. That was more than just touching! You whimper, your pussy flutters around nothing, denied cumming yet again. You’re lucky your comm went off when it did, or else you would not have obeyed Rex’s order. Pulling it over, you find that it’s silent, no blinking light indicating a call. Then what-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Chest heaving you sit up, realizing the sound is coming from outside your door. Scrambling up, you nearly trip in your haste to open the door, momentarily forgetting about your flushed state. You hand slaps down on the entryway button and there he is.

“Rex!” You exclaim, face breaking out into a smile “What kept you?”

Rex stands with his fist poised to knock again before he moves it back to his side, taking you in. Hair mussed, chest straining against your shirt, face flushed and the most beautiful smile on your face. All for him. He knows he wasn’t gone that long to warrant such a welcome, but he wasn’t going to complain. With any luck, seeing you like this would become a permanent fixture of his day.

He wants to see you sleepy eyed in the morning, snuggled close before work calls you both away, watch you blaze with determination as you outline decrypted enemy intel, share secret touches that are just for him alone. But most of all, that you keep this smile just for him, when he comes back to you. It lights up some forgotten part of him that says you’re home.

Rex is stunned for a moment, by the power that is you, before coming back to the present. “It almost sounds like you missed me, mesh’la” he says with a grin before leaning into your space “and you got all dressed up.” He rubs the hem of your shirt between his fingers. “Answering the door like this could give a man ideas.”

“Naughty ones I hope,” you say as you loop your fingers through Rex’s belt, tugging him inside your room, “someone did promise to take care of me when he was finished his meeting.” You smile coyly up at him, “Sound familiar?”

“Maybe” he says, punching the lock once the door has shut behind him. Don’t need any interruptions he thinks. “I might need a reminder though.”

“I think that can be arranged, Sir” you say before you’re tug him flush against you, his hands settling on your hips. Rising on your tiptoes, you slot your mouth over his, linking your hands behind his neck, pulling him closer. There’s no rush for fear of being discovered, so you take your time, savouring the feeling of your lips moving against his, slow and languid, reacquainting themselves after being apart.

Rex groans low in his throat, hands kneading your sides, letting you take the lead for this kiss. As you press yourself even closer, he feels your fingers brush against the side of his beard, cradling his face between your palms, when he feels something confusing.

He pulls away slightly, ignoring your little mewl “Cyar’ika, why is your hand wet?”

You look at him in confusion “Wet, what do you mean w-” You freeze up as your fantasy barrels to the front of your mind, your very hands on fantasy. In your haste to get to the door you had forgotten to wipe off the evidence of your arousal. Taking a breath, you relax your body. You got this.

“I was washing my hands before you arrived and was drying them when you knocked on the door.”

Rex raises an eyebrow before slowing pulling your hand away from his neck and bringing it in-between the two of you. He looks at it for a moment before commenting. “Drying?” He sounds skeptical “and only two are still wet?”

You give him your best innocent look “I was eager to get to the door.”

Rex hums in thought before giving you a stern glance “So your wet fingers wouldn’t have anything to do with the sounds I heard through your door?” He wraps his other arm around your waist, keeping you nice and snug against him, locked in his embrace.

“How you were moaning my name like a loth cat in heat?” Your guilty look says it all. “Cyar’ika” he tsks.

You look away, embarrassed to have been caught with your hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “You said I wasn’t allowed to get off” you mumble to his shirt.

“What was that? You’ll need to speak up cyar’ika” Rex lets go of you hand and brings his underneath your chin, lifting your face up. You look over his shoulder, not ready to look into his eyes and see the disappointment there. He gives you chin a gentle shake “Eyes over here, I won’t ask again.”

While his tone is gentle, you just know that there will be consequences if you don’t listen, so you shyly meet his gaze and find faint amusement there.

Rex gives you a quick kiss “There’s my good girl. See what happens when you listen?” He smoothes the hair back away from your face and you’re spurred on to hear him call you good girl again.

“You said I wasn’t allowed to touch to get myself off” you huff “technically I wasn’t disobeying you.”

He moves a lock of hair behind you ear. "And if I hadn’t knocked on the door, would you have been able to stop yourself from cumming?” Rex leans his head next to yours, his mouth trailing up to you ear. “Would you have been able to stop yourself from finding completion with fingers that weren’t mine?”

You can’t find the words, so you just shake your head.

That seems to be the answer he's looking for, as he starts to kiss his way down your neck. “Oh mesh’la, while you might not have disobeyed me, you were well on your way to doing so.” He feels you grab the fabric of his shirt, steadying yourself. “There must be some sort of punishment for you.”

The way he said that sends shivers run down your spine. “And what type of punishment were you thinking of?” You ask, tilting your head, exposing more of your neck.

“Nothing terrible, but something I know we’ll both enjoy.” He suddenly picks you up, listening to your little eep as your legs wrap around his waist. “Plenty of time to figure it out later, Right now,” he grins as he walks towards your bed “I want to hear you moaning my name again mesh’la.”

You bounce a little as you’re dropped on the bed, and your hurry to take your shirt off. You stop when you hear the “Not so fast” from Rex. Confused you look up at him.

His palm caresses the side of your face, “I’ve waited so long to see you like this mesh’la, eager and ready for me, let me unwrap my present.”

Your eyes widen before you get a mischievous twinkle in them. Lying back, you place your arms above your head, and enjoy the way that Rex’s breath hitches. “I wouldn’t dream of denying you Sir” you purr “by all means, unwrap away.”

Rex is over you in a heartbeat, legs straddling yours, hands by your head. “Such a brat” he growls before kissing you. While he may have let you lead the earlier kiss, he makes sure that you know he’s in control this time, and he wants to take every gasp and moan you can give him. Rex is fierce in his domination, sucking on your tongue before pushing his own into your mouth. He’s pleased that you give your all as well, kissing him back just as fierce, arching up into his touch and sighing out your eagerness for more.

He starts tugging your shirt up, fingers grazing over your breasts before giving them a squeeze, swallowing down your heady moan. You sit up, breaking the kiss momentarily so he can whip off your shirt before his mouth is back on yours, hungry for more. Rex traces the lace of your bra before reaching around your back to find the clasp.

You use his shoulders as leverage, wrapping your arms around him so you can arch up, undulating your body along his. You can feel how hard he is through his pants. Maker he’s huge! You think to yourself as you writhe against him, looking for more friction.

Rex grunts before bracing one arm on the bed, the other holding you closer to him so he can grind down, letting your feel just how eager he is for you while still kissing you.

Easing you back onto the bed he kisses down your neck again, hearing you gasp and moan as he sucks bruises onto your skin, each mark his own brand claiming you as his. Rex feels as you tilt your head, offering up more skin as his canvas, his to decorate however he wished. He stops at the spot just before your neck meets your shoulder and bites down, your Ah! music to his ears. He nibbles and sucks, worrying the skin between his teeth, causing the skin to bloom a darker colour.

When he sits back to look at his handiwork he’s satisfied with what he sees. While his mark could be hidden by a high collar, if it were to move just the slightest bit, anyone could see that you were taken. Rex takes you in, eyes flutter and panting hard. He can feel himself twitch in his pants. Fuck you’re gorgeous. He watches as you run one of your hands up his arm, turning to nuzzle his palm when he moves some wayward hair from your face. All the while you’re still smiling at him, soft and happy. If this was to be Rex’s last day alive, this is the image he would think of before he goes marching forward.

Before he forgets he’s meant to be making you scream his name, Rex looks down and smirks. Easing a finger underneath the band of your panties he stretches the fabric before letting it go, hearing your yelp.

“As delightful as these are, they need to go” he commands and starts to shimmy your underwear down your legs. You wiggle your hips up to try help him and Rex moves off your legs to pull your panties off the rest of the way. Tossing them somewhere over his shoulder he rearranges your legs so that they are on either side of his hips and looks at your glistening folds, a victor come to claim his spoils.

His voice is reverent when he speaks “You don’t know how hard it was to walk away from you earlier on.”

You pout up at him “Sure looked pretty easy to me. You weren’t walking like a newborn fathier.”

He chuckles, “No, but you also didn’t have this to maneuver out of sight.” He rubs himself through his pants, bringing your eyes down to his movements “Try walking when you have a tent in your front.”

You snort at the picture that makes and Rex grins down at you, seeing your pout turn into a smile. “The good news this time mesh’la, is that there are no more interruptions.” He watches your hopeful gaze “That means, I get to have you all to myself, however I want.” Rex runs his hands up your thighs, feeling you shiver beneath his touch ‘and right now, what I want is to taste you.” He moves back, just far enough so that he can lie down on his front, placing your thighs over his shoulders.

“But I though you wanted me to come on your fingers” you whine before it turns into a yelp, scowling at Rex. “You pinched me!” You accuse him.

“And I’ll do it again if you keep behaving like a brat” he looks up at you from between your thighs and you catch your breath at the sight. “The bet did say anything, and I’ve decided to change my mind on where I want you to cum.” He uses his thumbs to spread your folds, watching you clench in anticipation “I want you to cum on my tongue.”

“Re-aaah!” Whatever you were going to say gets cut off in a high moan as Rex licks a broad stripe up your slit before sucking on your clit. You tried to wrap your legs around his head but his hands have anchored themselves on your thighs, keeping them spread apart, keeping you open for him to taste.

He flutters his tongue over your pearl before nibbling around it, taking in your reactions, what motions you like best, what gets you to moan the loudest, what gets you screaming his name. A harsh suck causes you to arch your back, grinding your head into the pillow. Rex circles an arm around your hips to keep them from flying up. He can feel you grinding back as he licks up your folds, gathering the slick that’s pooled there.

“Rex, please!” You sob as you writhe in his grasp “Please let me cum!”

“Not yet mesh’la” he hums, the vibrations making your twitch and moan “I’m not done tasting you yet.”

Rex continues to lap at your cream before inserting one finger, slowly pumping it in, mouth moving back up to your clit. Your whole body starts to shake, beads of sweat forming on your skin. It’s still not enough to get you over the edge and you cry out.

“Please Sir! Please, I need more!” You coherent enough to remember that good girls ask nicely. “Please Sir, could you put another finger in my pussy, I need you to fill me up. Pleasepleaseplease.” You can feel his smug smile against your folds.

“Since you asked so nicely, I can give my good girl what she wants.” He hums before adding a second finger, feeling you clench around him. Whimpering, you feel him stretching you out, pumping in and out of your pussy, keeping you on the edge of your orgasm. It’s so frustrating because you can feel it, it’s right there! It's like Rex knows and is purposely making you wait. You try to solve the problem yourself.

“I need more, need you to go faster.” You cry as you try to grind up against his hand, looking for more friction to ease the ache.

“Patience mesh’la, I’ll get you there, all in good time.” Rex says as he continues his maddeningly slow pace.

A high whine leaves your throat “But I want it now! The war will be over by the time you get me off!” You know you shouldn’t be taunting him, not when his fingers are knuckle deep inside you, stringing out the pleasure, but some part wants to see how far you can push him before he loses control. “Perhaps if you’re too tired that pilot can take over, let you catch your breath.”

He goes completely still, his digits ceasing their ministrations. Rex pulls them out, the slick sound loud in the otherwise quiet room, even you’re holding your breath at your daring.

Rex is just staring at you, face blank and you can hear the warning klaxons go off in your head. You fucked up. You fucked up and he’s going to see this was a mistake. He’ll leave and that’ll be it. Sitting up, you open your mouth to try and apologize when he shakes his head, gaze stern. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

Finally, Rex starts to speak "It seems that my little brat is back, demanding things again.” He shakes his head “This won’t do.”

You hiccup in relief “So you’re not going to leave?”

His face softens for a moment. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily cyar’ika” he says before giving you his Captain look. “No, I’ve decided on your punishment ner aikiyc ad’ika. Hands up by the wall.”

You hasten to obey, putting your wrists together above your head. You watch as Rex moves away, keeping the whimper behind your teeth.

He doesn’t say anything as he starts to undress, taking his time placing his armour by your chair and folding each item of clothing as it’s taken off, prolonging the wait. Rubbing your legs together, you watch him undress, each part of him revealed to your wanting gaze. He doesn’t give you a chance to really look as he takes something out of his belt and moves back at your side. You look at what’s in his hands and can’t help but gasp.

Binders. Magnetized binders. Imagining yourself, bound to his mercy, sends a rush of dark desire through you. While you’ve only thought about what it would be like to be restrained, you never brought it up in your past relationships. The only excitement they seemed to enjoy was changing up positions. It seems Rex will give you want you secretly want.

Rex can see how intent you are on the binders, biting your lip and oh, you like his idea. That is something to explore another day. Maybe if you do well with the binders, he can experiment and see how you’d look all wrapped in ribbon, blue ribbon. He can already picture you bound up, wearing his colours. Putting that thought away for now, Rex needs your attention on what he’s going to say, so he leans over you so that your eyes are on him, and only him.

“Since you can’t seem to wait for what I give you, you get to wear these.” He dangles the binders before moving them back to the side. “Do you know about the light system”

You nod eagerly, “Yes Sir.”

He smirks, “Good, one tap for green, two for yellow and three for stop. Do you understand?

You tap your hand against the headboard.

“Good girl.” He starts to remove his gloves when he pauses, thinking. He looks back up at you with a smirk on his face and you know he has another idea.

He finishes taking off his gloves “Since you like to run your mouth, I think I need to keep it busy.” He takes his thumb and rubs it over your mouth. You open your mouth and suck on the digit, tasting the salt from his skin.

Rex growls “So needy for something to suck on. I’d give you my cock but you haven’t earned it yet.” You whine around his thumb, looking at him from under your lashes. “ I was going to tell you you’re not allowed to make a sound, or I’ll stop whatever I’m doing, but we both know you’re not going to listen.” He pulls his thumb from your mouth and you flush. “No, we need a bit more practice with that.”

Rex holds up a balled-up glove “Will you be my good girl and use this as a gag?”

Quickly you nod, already opening up your mouth so he can place the fabric there. He chuckles at your eagerness. Once that’s done he gets to work on the binders, placing them around your wrists before magnetizing them.

“All good? Not too tight?” He asks.

You tap once on the wall and light up with the smile he gives you. One smile from Rex makes Naboo seem like a dump, he’s that beautiful.

He presses his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “Remember mesh’la, if you need to stop, for any reason, three taps. No toughing it out to please me.”

He waits to hear your tap before he grins, settling between your thighs again. “Now where was I?” He muses “Ah yes, right here.” He shoves his face in your pussy, going straight for your centre, licking right into your heat. Your shriek is muffled by the glove and while he’s disappointed he can’t hear you call his name, knowing that you’re not holding back your sounds is a pleasure all in itself.

Rex works his tongue deep into your core, licking and slurping up your arousal, the lewd noises mixing with your whimpers. “You taste so good mesh’la, like fucking sweet cream” he growls, the vibrations making you squirm in his grasp. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer and feels your body shake with pleasure. Widening your stance, Rex props your legs on his shoulders, nose bumping your clit as he continues licking up your folds. He wasn’t joking when he said wasn’t a small man, but like a good girl, you’re making it work.

He lets you grind your hips against his face, working to get more friction to bring you closer to the edge. A squeeze to each of your thighs causes another gush of slick to rush out that Rex is eager to lap up. Stars there’s so much! He can feel it coating his beard, there’s so much. Your legs are pushing against his back, trying to bring him closer and he can feel your toes curl when he nips your folds. He soothes the skin with a long lick, listening to you cry out though the gag.

Rex pulls away for a moment, moving to his knees and he can see you straining again the binders, wanting to touch but unable to. He drags his fingers down the inside of one thigh, feeling you jump and twitch as he hits your sensitive spots. “You’re doing so well cyare” he coos as he grips each of your thighs, slowly pressing them closer to your chest, “Such a good girl.”

He watches you moan as your pussy clenches around nothing, while slick drips down onto the bed below. Rex drags his finger through your mess before rubbing your clit, seeing your eyes roll back in your head, a long whine escaping your throat. “Naughty thing, you like it when I call you good girl.” You nod eagerly as he chuckles darkly. Moving his hand back to your leg he nuzzles your thigh before kissing his way down. “Your legs are a little bare mesh’la” he says when he gets to one of your sensitive spots “I think they need a little decoration” and nips hard enough to bruise. Your moan is long and loud, and it spurs Rex on. He makes sure to thoroughly leave as many love bites as possible, taking his time to make sure his creations last. Rex wants you to remember him when he’s not with you, each time you get dressed, when you move, that he’s the one who made you writhe in pleasure, and that he'll give you new ones when these fade away. If you ask nicely.

Your cries fail to make him move any faster, and once he’s done with one leg he moves to the other, marking it up with his brand. You’re a quivering mess by the time he makes it to your core, slipping a finger inside and you moan as you feel another rush of slick help to ease his way in. Rex curses under his breath, curling his finger just right, making your hips jerk up. “Haar’chak! I bet you’d take all of me if I fucked you right now” he inserts another finger and you cry out, listening to the squelching sound as he thrusts his fingers in at a relentless pace. “Would you like that mesh’la? Stuff you so full of my cock, ruin you for anyone else?”

You nod frantically, feeling the coil in your belly pull tight, your pussy clenching around his fingers inside of you.

Rex adds a third finger and Maker you can feel him stretching your walls, making you feel full, but wanting so much more. His hand is soaked in you arousal, and you would be embarrassed by how much there is, but you’re beyond caring. He suddenly leans forward and sucks your clit into his mouth and you howl through the gag, just a little bit more-

Rex pulls back at the last minute, slowing his movements to a mere crawl and you cry out your frustration, hips grinding back to get some stimulation, but he stops that as soon as it begins. He rubs soothing circles in the crease of your thigh “That’s it mesh’la, just ride this out, I got you.”

Again! He denied you again! You try to roll onto your side, to ease the ache, but Rex prevents you, keeping you spread out. Shooting a glare his way, you whine as you feel your orgasm start to fade, turning into a slow simmer.

He keeps his fingers moving, just barely, making sure to remind you of their presence, and that your pleasure is literally at his fingertips. “This is the last part of your punishment cyare” he says and watches as you narrow your eyes at him, pouting even through the gag. You are too cute he chuckles to himself, feeling a smirk makes its way onto his face “Don’t worry cyar’ika, you’ll get to cum, but only when I say you can.” Rex watches the emotions play out on your face as he starts moving his hand again, seeing the tears gather in your eyes and your chest rising and falling with your panting breaths. Yes, he might want to keep this vision of you for a while.

Rex does this for ages, building you up, watching your body tremble under his touch before easing off. Again and again until you’ve lost track of everything except the touch of him. You whimper as he pumps his fingers slowly, finding the part of you that makes you see stars, and just grazes over it. Again, and again. No pressing against it, no rubbing it, just a light touch. Letting your orgasm build up and stay on the edge. When you start to feel like you’ll finally fall, Rex eases off, pulling his hand away completely this time.

Your head is buzzy from this last denial, so you don’t notice when Rex pulls away, your legs flopping down without him to hold them up. When you see he’s not there, you immediately look around, trying to find him. When you do you can’t help but stare.

“Something you like, mesh’la?”

You would have answered except that your mouth is still stuffed with Rex’s glove, and you realized it was the one he used to get you off the first time, however long ago that was. The tang of you lingers on the fabric and some desperate part of you hopes that it won’t fade away, that there will always be some part of you with Rex when he’s away on missions. You whimper around your gag, pulling uselessly at the binders around your wrists as your eyes rake over his form, taking in the sight before you and oh, what a sight he is.

Rex stands at the end of the bed, all smug and relaxed, as if he hadn’t just been on his knees eating you out, denying you yet another orgasm. With a smirk, he casually stretches an arm behind his head, putting himself on display He watches your face as your eyes greedily take him all in, lingering on his thick waist.

You loved it when you sparred and you wound up sitting on his waist, feeling him spread you out as his hands held you in place. Judging by how his cock twitches you know Rex is thinking the same thing as you, how you must have looked to him, and it makes you squirm in place. Swallowing hard, you drag your gaze to what you need most right now.

While Rex may seem relaxed, his cock looks as hard as beskar. Thick and full, it practically touches his belly, demanding your attention. There's a pearl of pre-cum at the head of his cock that slides down his shaft, before dripping onto his balls. You preen a little, knowing that’s the effect you have on him. You squirm, the sight of his dick makes your mouth water, wanting a taste for yourself, but you know that you’ll have to wait until Rex has finished punishing you.

A slick sheen of sweat covers your body, with smaller droplets pooling between your breasts, evidence of how thorough Rex has been in his ministrations of keeping you just on the edge of your orgasm. It’s been a sweet torment, being denied your release, but stars you thrive on his attention. He’s been hyper focused on what makes you moan, what touch gets you rocking against his face, memorizing you little tells that you’re about to cum. Only he can get you worked up like this, ready for the fall, and what bliss it will be when that happens.

Rex kneels back on the bed, slowly making his way up your body, leaving kisses and nips along the way, keeping your attention on him. By the time he is level with your face you’re back to being a quivering mess, needy whines filling the air.

“Easy mesh’la” Rex says as he cups your face “you’re being such a good girl, you’ll get to cum soon.”

You nuzzle his hand as you put on your best tooka eyes, hoping it will sway him.

He tsks “Remember our bet cyar’ika. You said if I win I get to do anything I want to you, however I want.” As he’s saying this his hand slowly wraps around your throat, applying the tiniest bit of pressure, testing your reaction. Your pulse jumps and judging by the feral grin Rex gives you he felt it too.

Rex leans in closer to whisper in your ear “I won mesh’la. That means you’re mine and I’m nowhere near finished with you."

To be continued

Ner aikiyc ad’ika - My desperate little one (very rough translation)

Haar’chak! - Damn it!

Tag list @samrubio @justanotherstarwarswhore @bvcketfvcker @grumpymuffinmama @justanothersadperson93 @fat-zygerrian @deewithani @idolized-sea-salt

#Captain Rex #Rex #Oldman Rex #Rebel!Rex #Rex x reader #Rebel Rex x reader #First fic #Yay me #Wooo boy this ended up being longer than I thought it would #Rex be showing off those Dom vibes #Dom!Rex #I need a Dom Rex in my life #Rex is going after reader like a king #Rex makes the reader all 💦#Things are heating up now 🔥

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