#perhaps....contained radiation in the form of..liquid.....

[draeisgrayte]

Moonlit Monsters | Muzan x FEM!reader

SYNOPSIS: Reader is having a nice night time dip in the lake not too far from her village, when a mysterious man appears on the shore (omg it's like that one story in the Bible) anyway- the man stakes claim to the shadowy heart of reader.

CONTAINS: smut, female naked, one mention of a boner, claws, teeth, blood kink, oral sex (fem!receiving), kissing, a bit of wounding, outdoor sex (almost?), dirty talk

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

A/N: A little drabble I just had to get out of my system. I'll have a lot of free time coming up so I'm trying to get some of the shorter ideas I've had out of the way so I can crank out those longer fics. I hope you enjoy!

Moonbeams create a sky of their own on the water’s surface—the liquid forms around your naked body, welcoming you into the environment with ripples from your movement. There was a strong waterfall about 20 feet from your current spot in the lake creating small waves that would lap at the shore. The waterfall, a celestial cascade of liquid silver, descends gracefully from the heights above, its sound a lullaby that resonates through the night. The surrounding nature seems to hold its breath as if joining the observer in silent admiration of the nocturnal spectacle. Trees guarded this oasis with ancient splendor. You felt safe. That was until you heard the foliage rustle behind you. 

“You’re quite a pretty thing.” A smooth voice sneers. Your brows knit together as you turn in the water. There’s a figure leaning against one of the trees – face shaded by the lack of light. 

“I’m afraid this lake is already taken.” You call to the shore. You can’t see, but you swear their lips lift in a devious grin. 

They shift forward, still within the shadows. “And here I was hoping you’d invite me in.” The voice is deep, deeper than a woman's. You’d assume this was a man leering at you – like they usually did – but there was something off about this one. He carried himself in a way that made you think twice about crossing him. “What’da you say, Nightshine?”

A nickname, already? He moved quickly. “What if you’re dangerous?” An elegant laugh rumbles out of the man. His next move is at the speed of light as he almost teleports behind you. A chill runs through your body as his hands grip your shoulders. Claws dig into the tender skin, pricking blood. They also prick a low desire in the core of your stomach. 

“There is no if, my sweet, but you already knew that.” He purrs into the shell of your ear. Your body fills with heat at the way his hot breath makes your nipples stiffen. The prospect of what he was about to do excited you in a way that probably should be looked at by the village healer, but that was if you lived past this evening. 

“What do you plan on doing to me?” You question, stupidly, perhaps. A delighted hum vibrates from him, his fingers trailing down your arms. 

“I’m feeling a bit peckish after my last meal. I think you’ll be a delicious dessert.” The point of his sharp fingernails traces a swirling pattern on your collarbone. Without a moment's hesitation, the span of his hand wraps around the base of your throat, pushing your head to where it was resting on his shoulder. You could almost make out the shape of his face before thick curly locks fell in front of his face. You don’t miss the glint of pointed teeth in his lecherous grin. You notice he smells like the city, with aromas of food and women imprinted on the clothes he wears. There was a secondary scent, one that was pungent enough to make your nose crinkle. It was coppery and meaty, it didn’t mix with the first smells. The latter felt like part of him as if he carried the waft of blood on his body. 

His nose drags up the length of your jugular, stopping when he meets your ear lobe – licking the spot with hunger you could feel radiate off of him. His hand on your throat squeezes tighter as he slips it under your jaw. As he turns your head to face him he covers your eyes with his free hand. Your senses felt like they were on fire, everything making your ears perk up. “If your eyes meet mine,” He pauses, hot breath spreading over your exposed face. He must’ve moved closer to you. You can almost feel his proximity with the slight movement of his lips. “I will snap this pretty neck of yours.”

Soft, feverous lips meet yours. Feasting on the moan that escapes your mouth as his hand slides to the back of your neck, keeping you pressed to him. “Fuck you taste divine.” He growls, clamping down on your hair. Your yelp cracks into a gaspy moan as he bends his head to suck on the junction of your shoulder. The creatures of the night had always enticed you, even as a young girl you explored the forest in hopes the shadows the chief warned you about would appear. 

When he was kissing you this man tasted like fresh blood. A fact that should’ve made you run, but something told you that you wouldn’t make it very far. In the meantime he’d made his way down your body, scraping a claw down your abdomen. It stung with an exhilarating pain, making you press your thighs together. He clicks his tongue, pressing the muscle to the wound he’d created and licking up the blood that spilled from it. A whiney moan tumbles into the open when he takes your stiff nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it with dexterity that even the warriors of your village would be envious. 

“M-more I need more,” You pant out, reaching down to grip his cheeks. They’re soft, and sunken in as he sucks on your hard peaks. A chuckle vibrates his mouth and the sensation makes you nearly scream. 

He lets go of your breast with a loud pop that echoes around the lake valley. His mouth is on yours, feeding you that same taste as before. It makes your knees weaken to the point he wraps an arm around your back, supporting you against his own body. He breaks from the kiss, the shadows only allowing you to see his mouth which turns up in a smirk. “I thought I was the hungry one, but it turns out you were ready to feast on me my little siren.” 

A warmth spreads over your body, your gaze falling to the reflective water you both stand in. “Who are you?” You find yourself asking, expecting the man to not respond. There’s a long pause before he wraps his massive hands under your thighs, pushing lightly so you’ll allow him to pick you up. He brings you around his waist, the hard planes of his chest exposed from where his clothing had parted slightly. 

“The monster your mother warned you about.” He responds, splashing through the water, toward the shore. Your heart pounds in your chest and chills run up your exposed back as the water drips to the ground. 

“I was hoping you’d say that.” You whisper, finding your back aggressively pressed into the trunk of a tree. 

“Is that so?” He chuckles, kissing at your neck. You try to bite back the moans, but he nips at the splotchy skin he left from earlier, eliciting a garbled whine from your lips. 

“Oh heavens,” You cry out, gripping his shoulders. Another laugh, this one more devious than the last graces your ears. 

“No my sweet, the things I’m about to do to you will not be heavenly.” He huffs, lowering your body slightly to where you can feel something hard press into the apex of your thighs. 

“Then stop talking and take me already,” Exasperated from his teasing tongue your mouth turns down in a frown. 

He pulls you away from the tree, slamming you rather roughly into a large boulder near the shoreline. The wind is knocked out of you with his action. He slides you upon the boulder, grasping at the plush skin of your thighs. “Hold on darling.” He mumbles and before you have much time to regain any form of thought his tongue plunges into the place no one else has ever touched. A scream of pleasure rolls from your throat, the movement against the sensitive bud making you squirm. It felt so good like you were becoming a piece of glass about to explode. 

“Ngh–yes, oh my – f’eels so good.” Garbled nonsense sputters from your mouth as the man works the folds of your wet cunt like a master. A moan shakes from his throat, sending shockwaves through your nerves. 

“P-please, h–ugh–harder.” He listens well, sliding one of his clawed fingers into your throbbing pussy. You squirm from the intense amount of pleasure. With just one finger it felt like he was stretching you out, but through the slight sting, your walls still clenched around his finger. “That feels so good, ha,”

His lips wrap around your clit, sucking on it while he moved his finger slowly in and out of you. You start to shake, an overwhelming feeling radiating through your entire being. Just as you feel the crest of whatever sensation that was he releases your abused clit, grinning up from between your legs. “Such a good girl,” He hisses, but a wash of realization crashes any pleasure you once felt as his red irises stare back at you. Illuminated in the moonlight a short gasp escapes your lips. You want to explain, it was an accident of course, but if the last thing you got to see was his eyes, you could die happy. His eyes glow with an ethereal gleam, his free hand clawing into your outer thigh. You let out a small cry as blood rushes forth. He lifts your leg, turning the axis of your hips to reveal the gash of flesh he tore into. He brings his teeth to the surface, sinking into the tender skin. You hiss in pain but the calming stare of his eyes brings you to a sense of euphoria. His tongue dances around, lapping up the copper liquid with appreciation. 

He lifts from your bloodied thigh, red painting his mouth as he smirks at you. “You are mine, little siren, you belong to me. You belong to the Demon King.”

[tinydefector]

quietly whispers (for your consideration)

ratchet x human reader

sex pollen

Pheromones

Ratchet x human reader

Word count: 2k

Warning: smut, thigh fucking, sex pollen/ pheromone spray, #valveplug

Request and ask open, read pinned post

So what about, Cybertronians react to perfume in the way humans react to Sex pollen hehehe. I love the idea of human perfume mix with skin contact makes an almost intoxicating scent and sends Cybertronians feral when they get a hint of it. They love how it makes humans skin taste, and it over rides their interface systems.

So enjoy.

_____________

The human moves around Ratchet's medical lab looking at different vials and flasks their eyes flickering over the difference Liquids. " Hey ratchet what are all of these different vials?" They call out to the medic. Ratchet looked up from his work when he heard the human call out to him. He put down the datapad he was looking over and walked over to where the human was examining the various vials on the shelves.

"Those are different medical compounds and chemicals I use in treatments and repairs," Ratchet explained. "The colourful ones contain powerful medications and sedatives. The clear ones hold things like bonding agents or nanite solutions. Others are a mix of experimental solutions" 

He pointed to a vial with a swirling pink and purple liquid. "That one is a broad-spectrum energon healing compound I developed. It speeds cellular repair and regeneration, within Cybertronian functions." His optical ridges furrowed as he watched the human carefully look over each vial. 

"You know better than to touch anything in here, less you break something and contaminate yourself with something i can't fix" Ratchet said sternly. "Some of this equipment and chemicals could seriously harm an organic being like yourself." Despite his gruff tone, his words held more care than scolding. Biology was complex, and humans were so small and fragile compared to Cybertronians. He hoped his favourite little patient and helping hand was being careful not to endanger themselves.

"It's just fascinating is all, kinda reminds me of a mediaeval apothecary" they chuckle. "Do you ever just take samples for fun, like when you're out and about on planets?" They ask, they were always curious over what things ratchet tended to keep.

Ratchet huffed a small laugh at the comparison to a mediaeval apothecary. "Fascinating perhaps, but also dangerous if mishandled," he remarked.

He considered the human's question for a moment. While most of his samples were acquired for medical necessity, he couldn't deny a certain curiosity about other life forms and ecosystems. 

"On occasion I have collected specimens from planets we've visited, simply for observational study," Ratchet admitted.  He walked over to retrieve a data pad containing photos and analyses of plant samples from their recent away missions. "Here, let me show you some I recorded on our last stop." Ratchet enlarged the images for the human to easily see. "This radiation-resistant lichen seems to secrete a natural antifreeze. And these fungi act as natural air filters in their toxic environment." The medic's optics glinted with interest as he discussed his findings. Perhaps exploration held some appeal, even for a skeptic like himself.

They stand close to Ratchet looking over different specimens, “some of these plants look like they would make really nice perfumes'' they mumble while flicking through the different photos reading the small information bubbles around them. As the human stood near Ratchet examining the data on his specimens, something about their scent suddenly registered in his olfactory sensors. An overly sweet aroma was emanating strongly from their skin, but it was clearly not the normal scent of an unadulterated human.“perfume?forgive me, I'm not accustomed to what that is?” he asked with a raised optical ridge

Their eyes flicker to Ratchet. “It's like scented alcohol or oil we put on our skin, most times it alters our scent. We humans happen to have a big fascination with them, and have millions of different perfumes.” they explain before tilting their head in slight amusement. “I'm surprised Cybertronians don't have something similar” they reply. 

“once millennia's back cybertron did try making things like that, but due to our metallic body's it doesn't stay on us, or it tented to cause rust spots from the ones they did try and make” Ratchet explained, sensors flared as he analysed the unfamiliar composition, immediately detecting unusual chemical traces that seemed to send strange pulses through his neurocircuitry. The smell was strangely enticing yet worryingly off-kilter at the same time. He tried venting deeply to clear his nasal chamber but the scent only grew stronger. 

"What in the Allspark..." the medic muttered, not meaning for the human to hear. His optics dimmed slightly as redundant calibrations ran, trying to make sense of why the scent was affecting his processor. Ratchet crouched down and focused his sharp gaze on the human in concern. They smile up at him offering for him to examine. 

"By my scanner  it seems as if you've been contaminated with something. Are you positive these ‘perfumes’ are safe? I need to analyse your system for potential toxins." He asked while trying to figure out why the scent was having such an effect on him, it was as if his processor had thrown care to the wind. 

They let out a laugh as his optics try analysing, he moves closer taking another inhale of their scent "haha yes Ratchet, it isn't harmful, humans have been using it for hundreds of years" they state. “Ratchet are you alright?” They ask while cupping his face. 

Ratchet's sensors were in disarray as the potent scent overwhelmed his circuits. He vented heavily again, coolant failing to properly flush the heated energon now racing through his fuel lines. His optics flickered with minor instability as calibration errors cropped up across multiple systems.

Though lacking his usual gruffness. Ratchet leaned in closer, trying to pinpoint the source, but only succeeded in inhaling more of the intoxicating aroma. A rumble rose in his chassis against his better judgement. “ your scent...", he struggled to find words between fragmented logic protocols. "It's affecting my sensor net. Overloading my functions. I need to...run a full examination. Determine why this perfume is making your scent overwhelming..." 

His field pulsed with uncharacteristic confusion and static electricity. Ratchet knew he should contact someone for assistance, but found himself unable to call out in his muddled state. The human's safety was his top concern, yet he feared touching them in this condition. Some natural, impossible chemistry was at play here, and the medic had no control over his compromised systems.

As gently as his shaking grip allowed, Ratchet grasped the human in his large palm to properly scan them from close range. His detailed medical scanners searched every inch, They gasp as Ratchet glossa meets their throat, fingers shootout to grip the side of his faceplate. 

A throttled moan escaped his vocalizer against his will. That light touch from their hands nearly shorted out his already fritzing systems. vents plume in hot exhaust. His interface panel felt too hot and tight , barely clinging to integrity protocols as the pleasure centres of his processor went haywire. 

“your scent...overloading my sensory net...cannot...resist...” Ratchet calls out through groans,his grip unconsciously tightened around the small organic in his hand. His free hand scrambled for purchase on the table, denting the metal. Something primal and powerful part of him was unravelling his mental restraints, and no calibration or forced shutdown seemed able to stop it.

Their eyes go wide. "Ratchet! Are you alright do in need to get a Perceptor or first aid?" They ask as the medic leans down into their shoulder, denta nipping at the skin as his digits try removing their shirt as quickly as he physically can. They yelp as he pulls them back together with him, his lips work along their smaller frame desperate to taste the sweet flavour and scent that had taken to their skin. capturing them against his heaving chassis. His optics blazed with static and uncontrolled charge.

"No...don't leave," Ratchet growled through clenched denta. Every fibre of his being screamed for more. His panel snapping open with an echoing click, massively engorged cables twitching in the open. Coolant and lubricant poured from his interface array, drenching the human involuntarily as he grinding against them, bright glowing pink stains their pants and paints their skin in his transfluid. 

His hands trembled, barely able to restrain their desire to claim the tiny body before him. Rational thought was impossible under the onslaught of chemical signals frying his cognition. Ratchet bucked erratically against them, whole body illuminated by dancing electricity. 

"Need you... interface protocols are in-gauged, can't fight it...please,!" he pants to the human as his spike presses against their back. Blunt node swelled monstrously at its tip.

Their back arches into each grind of Ratchet's spike. “Ratchet!” They whine out. 

Their soft noises egg ratchet on, his servos move quickly, trying to discard the pants sticking to their form, he hisses out in annoyance before finally getting them off their legs, throwing them across the medical room. Twisting them around so he can see thier eyes. 

Ratchet growls eagerly spike swiftly sliding between their thighs and against their stomach. His spike is already dripping with lubricant. As he ruts against them. Each inhale of their scent has him spiralling more. 

"Is this what you want, sweetspark? My spike filling you up?" His voice is rough with lust. Gently spreading their legs wider. Watching the bright pink stick to their legs "Primus... I bet you feel amazing." 

He moves slowly pressing his spike against them, tormenting as he presses into them inch by inch. Needy moans leave their lips, hands clinging to him desperately as they roll their hips. “Ratchet!” They cry out. 

 Their stomach bulges from Ratchet's spike, the bright pink splatter across their skin nearly has ratchet overloading from the mere sensation, not to mention the intoxicating scent of their skin. Ratchet groans deeply at the sight of his spike bulging their abdomen, his engines rumbling with feral satisfaction. One hand strokes almost reverently over the taut swell.

"So stunning like this... stretched wide around me, primus so small and tight”

Slowly he draws his hips back, then thrusts forward, grinding deeply into them. setting a steady pace, rockin into the slick heat enveloping his spike. Ducking his head, he captures their shoulder between his denta, glossa flicking against the sensitive skin as he tries to lap the perfume from their skin.

Ratchet growls deeply, thrusting harder at the way they clench around his spike. The table creaks and trembles under the force of his movements but he can't bring himself to slow down. 

"Yes, just like that," he rasps. "Keep that sweet valve squeezing me. Feels so good..."

captures their cries in a heated kiss. "Want you to overload for me," Ratchet purrs. "Let me feel you come undone around my spike, sweetspark..."

His engines are roaring furiously now, spike swelling and throbbing powerfully inside their smaller body. Ratchet groans deeply as they clench around him again, the feeling of that slick heat clenching and rippling around his spike is incredible. 

"That's it love, overload for me... you feel exquisite. So good" 

The sensations quickly become too much for his own systems to bear,the feeling, scent and the pure primal heat running through his system hits hard. With a staticky shout of Julian's name, he buries himself to the hilt and overloads powerfully. His transfluid gushes hot and thick, pumping deep into their smaller form. 

His engines vent heavily as he leans over them, face pressed into their shoulder, a deep guttural moan leaves him, Shuddering with aftershocks. When he finally leans stack to take in their exhaust and truly used form their lungs desperately inhale and exhale drawing in air as if it was their life line. 

Bright pink transfluid pudding around them as Ratchet's systems finally subsided. His optics flicker on them. “ Are you alright?” he asked softly, his human companion replied with a soft whine and nod. “ Remind me not to wear my perfume out in public” the call out in shuttered words. It makes ratchet chuckle as he leans back down to them. “a wise decision” 

[loaksky]

— 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 | ii

the lowdown — the one where you make neteyam's heart skip a beat.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 687

the tags & warnings — no warnings or specific tags! just neteyam being emotionally constipated (the usual).

the notes — another thtbu drabble! i think this one fits well as a prequel perhaps? this is one of the first times neteyam starts seeing you in a different light hehe.

part one | masterlist | main fic

You’re mixing the finely pounded dust of healing rose seedlings into a jar of syrupy liquid when you scent him. A moment later, he’s poking his head through the lowered flap of your tent sheepishly.

“Neteyam, hi,” you greet shyly. “How can I help you?” 

When he fully enters the tent, your eyes widen, glazing over each injury notched into his muscular body. You’re on your feet in the blink of an eye, circling his form to assess the damage. His throat bobs as he stands, frozen, unable to meet your worried gaze. 

He hisses when your fingers plant gently on his shoulder, the other hand softly thumbing a particularly jagged wound sliced between his shoulder blades. 

“What happened to you?” you whisper, rounding his rigid stance to stand before him. 

His eyes map your face as you touch his jaw, moving his head from side to side in search of any more damage. 

He doesn’t answer, too immersed in wondering how your features can be so sharp yet gentle and soft. Wondering when your round eyes, framed by thick lashes, had started gleaming like a nebula. He’s only seen you in passing these past few weeks, but recently there’s been talk. Talk of the shy healer who’s beginning to grow into herself, and maybe there’s something new, different, that radiates off of you. But as he gauges every freckle littered across your cheeks, the plump of your bottom lip, he only finds the same little wallflower he’d grown up with.

“Neteyam?” you try again, brushing over a lesion on his chest. 

“I was on look out for Dad with Lo’ak,” he finally says, voice scratchy. “You know how Lo’ak is…” 

Your lip purses microscopically and Neteyam’s mouth twitches up at the furrow in your brow bone. 

He’s almost certain you whisper something along the lines of shithead underneath your breath when you guide him to sit on the mat mirroring your own. 

There’s a line of little containers already set as he lowers himself, one long leg tucked under the other as he gives you his back to face the entrance of the tent. 

His shoulders tense when you start big, slathering something gooey over the laceration that stings the most. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, breath fanning across his skin. 

He shivers, golden eyes wandering around the tent in search of a distraction. Anything that will take his mind off the fact that your small hands are on him right now. Despite you tending to him intermittently for nearly six years, something different has clung to the air his past few visits and it makes him thoroughly unsettled. 

“Still okay?” you ask softly, touch gliding over his injuries like a kiss. 

He chokes on his words the first time around, but manages a croaky, “Yeah.” 

“Good, can you turn so I can work on your front, please?” you say and he nearly melts. 

He turns wordlessly, infinitely more rigid now that he faces you. 

His heart jerks when you lean in closely and he can smell the herbs in your hair. 

Your pointer finger swipes through the mixture and traces the seam of wounded flesh on his stomach, earning a breath that makes his diaphragm cave. 

You are so close and Neteyam’s nervous. He doesn’t know why, it’s only you. Gentle, quiet, and reserved you. The girl who always got left behind, who smelled flowers for fun instead of hunting with the others, who spoke to Ewya like she was your dearest friend. It’s just you.

You’re about to tend to the cut on his chest, but he stops you with a shaky hand, pulling the little jar of salve from you grasp. You’ll feel the hammering of his heart against his brittle ribcage, he knows it. 

“I can do the rest,” he says quickly, flashing you an uneasy smile. “I’ll bring this back.” 

You blink up at him as he climbs to his feet and he feels absolutely weak. 

“But—“ 

“Thank you,” he rushes. 

He doesn’t see the way your face falls as he excuses himself, leaving you by the crackling of the tent’s dying fire. 

neng © 2023

taglist: @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul

[predakings-den]

Chapter 1: The Lab-grown Experiments

Word count: [1426]

Content Warning: [None]

He had revealed his form, a choice he believed wise in order to be taken seriously by these Decepticons. No longer is he stuck as a draconic being of metal and circuits, shrieking with his mandibles outstretched and large wings reeled back as a means to threaten. His new form is just as formidable, with a crown of horns protruding from his helm and a sharp, weary faceplate that made him come across as older than he felt. Predaking was met with surprised expressions from his superiors, crippling trepidation and dread from that pathetic Air Commander, and a sudden new sense of commitment as he realized the intention of this specific site.

Shockwave’s secondary laboratory, nestled in the caverns, now harbors the latest “pet project” as the others had liked to call it behind his back, or even in front of him, believing his intelligence to be that of a primitive creature. Predaking gazes upon the rows of test tubes decorating the underground lab in a hue of green lighting, with large cables connecting the tanks to a generator and a control panel where data is monitored, collected, and stored for Shockwave’s use.

Inside each containment chamber is a curled-up Predacon, growing and alive in their slumber. There’s a variety of what humans may recognize as mythical creatures thought to be in myths and legends. A plethora of beaks, wings, claws, and maws can be seen.

His large claws press gently against the warm glass. There was no outward response, but he could feel it, a pull on his EM field, albeit faint. The thought has crossed his processor every now and then when he was but a warhorse with no real designation. A question lingered: where were the rest of his people? And that knowledge has had the time to settle in his tanks like an endless pit. They were offline, decimated by either the radiation that had plagued Cybertron’s surface long ago in the Great Cataclysm where they starved underneath the shelter of dirt and rock, or driven mad stellar cycles ago.

Even now, these caverns strike a quiet unease with the Predacon, a fear of some sort or… Perhaps a memory from long ago, etched deep into the bones that Shockwave had cloned him from.

He could hardly believe such little beings, so vulnerable and exposed, can evolve to one of Cybertron’s greatest beasts of the past. How? They’re practically tiny bits of soft metal and exposed biolights, still developing their tough exterior.

He could be always be patient, until Shockwave's process is complete. He doesn't understand the exact science behind it, the cloning and accelerated growth procedure, but he trusted the Decepticon scientist to continue his work with the same chilling dedication.

"Would you like to feed them?"

Predaking perks up as he hears Shockwave's monotone vocalizer ending the silence between him and the Predacon pups. He takes a lingering glance at the science officer. "How so? Are they not sleeping?" It sure seems to be the case, as they have been quite unresponsive to the vast world around them. In Shockwave’s optic, Predaking taps the glass as if he were a youngling curious, although much larger in stature.

Shockwave walks over to a large crate of yellow vials. He hands him a few and Predaking cautiously sniffs. There appears to be no scent to this so-called meal that Shockwave is implying them to be. Regardless, the scientist continues droning on. "They absorb nutrients through the liquid they lie in, and every spark needs a certain amount to maintain a healthy core. It didn't take too long to develop a concoction similarly to the nutrients sparklings are provided naturally. All I needed were the correct ingredients, procured by those willing to aid in my research."

“I only considered the next logical step was to add… supplements of a sort. After all, I strive to improve in reference to previous works.”

Predaking chuffs and avoids his blaring optic. As if the ultimate being had imperfections. He is powerful in strength, his size indomitable, a Predacon in his prime and yet Shockwave finds flaws in his making?

He almost thinks to ask for the specifics, but Shockwave ignores his questions and leads him to the control panel, finding his personal inquiries asked to be of unimportance in the current moment or at any time really. "Now, insert five vials into these slots.”

The Predacon stares at the yellow vials, small in their little glass containers, so he feels fit to comment. “Five hardly seems enough for ten little ones.” And he nearly shrinks at the scientist’s stare. There is no emotion that can be read, but the feeling of… inadequacy stings at his spark for asking what the officer appears to see as menial queries.

Again, the scientist pays no mind to his observation and gestures to the control panel. “Each individual button is a labeled tank. The gray button is for fueling, the red is the release.”

Predaking follows along, inserting the vials, and then slowly presses the gray buttons with one large claw. In a few seconds, the green containment chambers turn a more vibrant yellow as nutrients start filtering inside.

The inhabitants do not move, but he understood that somehow, they are being properly cared and fed, even if it didn't seem as traditional as simply hunting and providing the meals for them.

And with feeding time underway, Predaking notices that many of the tanks do not have… names. Instead, there are numbers. It’s not entirely surprising when even Predaking had nothing, and sought to find him his own name. “Do they carry any designation? Like this one?” He gestures to a Predacon pup who is a mixture of yellow, teal, and purple, with two draconic helms and tails to match.

“#SW81617 is quite sufficient for the level of organization I require to properly assess Project Predacon. I do not plan on developing such a … familial connection with my experiments, that which I am starting to notice that you are starting to seek out. You yearn for something more than what I choose to provide.”

It renders the large Predacon quiet. Before anything more could be spoken between the two, the science officer gets a ping in his system. His red optic dims as he reads the short notification, Soundwave calling for his presence onboard the Nemesis warship. “It appears I have a meeting that I must tend to. I will reconvene with you later, but for now, you are granted a privilege of staying. Only, do not touch any of the mechanics until I arrive back onto the site.”

Shockwave could logically assume what this particular meeting could consist of. He wasn’t the only one who noticed how… fearful Megatron almost seemed, a mixture of that and shock, is not an acceptable state that their leader would approve being rendered to. Megatron has already shown his bouts of irrational, impulsive, and paranoid tendencies when confronted with something much grander than him… and the dangerous, chaotic beauty of Predacons is grand indeed.

Shockwave did not exhibit any signs of nervousness. His EM field of wall of cold indifference as usual. And Predaking didn’t question the sudden call away from the lab. Perhaps he should have at the time. Maybe it could have prevented… well, everything, but the Predacon who had only recently gained sentience did not yet know how to become a bit more astute in his observations.

Instead, he allows the officer to call for a ground bridge and thinks nothing of it. The large beast curls up next to the tanks, with a soft rumble sounding close to a yawn exiting his maw as he hunkers down for the evening.

He’s not that attached... he was simply curious at the prospect of new life, of not being alone anymore, of reviving his species once more. Everything… that was now his duty to protect and see through.

His moments spent in the lab were coming to an end though, and soon he’d be unable to look upon the tanks of Predacon pups as if he were stargazing at the brightest of constellations with such… completion in his spark. He would never have thought that displaying sentient thought and behavior would write their end, that despite any signs of loyalty towards the Decepticon cause, that Megatron was never going to allow them to simply exist.

It happened then, and it will once again.

Predacons cannot just exist…

A Cybertronian will not allow that to be the case, Decepticon or Autobot otherwise.

[nenebot]

y'know what? we made a hahafunni googledoc of a researcher trying to figure out how an absurd fantasy species works so have this:

Observations and hypotheses about It

Immortality and Invincibility greater than scp 682 (and 682 can return from even zero atoms left!) is due to the fact that “each member of its species has a single ‘true’, but still not really vulnerable form in a single universe where said ‘true’ form is the only thing that exists, and the visible form i see of it is a projection that its species considers more important and the actual form. These universes can not be accessed by anyone except the ‘true’ form”. As for the “projection”, Its cells can somehow contain stupid amounts of a ton of chemicals to use for digestion, toxin neutralization, and More. don't ask how, or what the more means.  On the topic of cells, they also kinda do like sea sponges where they can rearrange any organ and can just trigger cells to become stem cells and then make those cells do/become whatever.

Also due to the above, very atypical way of gleaning energy. Special receptors on surface of the material that could be considered skin-analogous by a stretch so absurd it almost breaks and has torn in quite a few places, sense what it is, take it into the body, and utilize aforementioned chemicals to convert it into whatever. Also note that it can somehow produce excess of its own cells enough to sustain itself if wanted/needed.  

The texture of it, despite resembling different common materials (porcelain, plastic, and precious metals for main body, eye tissue, feathers and fur for rest) can spring and rebound even bullets if hit… due to the cell chemicals as well?

The crystalline stingers on its fluffy tails and fangs are filled with lethal toxins worse than anything previously known and become consistently more hazardous to anything that is not part of its species… 

Is it  made of all the same substance? Who the f— knows?! Certainly not this tired researcher…

On a similar note, why the hell is that fire-esque semi smoke-like, seemingly gas/plasma state substance that coats its wings and mimics hair something it can change at will (due to similar mechanisms as the rest of the cells) while staying the same shade of iridescent ? What liquids are its clear arms filled with, and what are the cute charm-like objects inside said liquid..? 

The other day, it showed me that it can make any its tissues into vocal cords and i have no idea how to react.

It has told me that its species does not reproduce or mate in any way, and are all grossed out by that idea due to how foreign it is. Apparently, they must either evolved so that this generation is now all thats left, or were created. Either way is simultaneously beautiful and cursed. 

I think the rest of the system, considering we are all repulsed aces who laugh in the face of maslows hierarchy of needs, can relate.  I particularly envy the fact that they have never given birth and just must have reproduced/would reproduce asexually (while somehow maintaining genetic diversity too!). I dont know how though, it did say it was “born from a rock”... whatever that means. 

It has spoken of being able to perceive all radiation wavelengths and dimensionalities. Perhaps that explains some of its quirks? Though i still cant see how that could give it control over the universe that overshadows anything from any media, and it has no pupils or marks on its iris…

Its magic seems to function similar to the system from wundersmith, complete with markings identical to what is described in the book, but on a much more powerful scale.

Now to figure out how it jumps/controls universes so well…

It said that though it can generate a cursed vocal cord structure anywhere it wants, it generally prefers to use strigulation to speak and preform mimicry and a thought leaked that was along the lines of “he doesn't need to know why?!” 

Dear. (nontheistic) God. 

(edit: a couple minutes later another thought leak was revealed: “he wouldn’t get it” 

…W. T. F. 

(it should be noted that its response to this was to giggle and say “don’t worry little one”...)

my cpu overheating

[sporadicarbitergardener]

Earth’s atmosphere has five major and several secondary layers. From lowest to highest, the major layers are the troposphere, stratosphere, mesosphere, thermosphere and exosphere.

Troposphere. Earth’s troposphere extends from Earth’s surface to, on average, about 12 kilometers (7.5 miles) in height, with its height lower at Earth’s poles and higher at the equator. Yet this very shallow layer is tasked with holding all the air plants need for photosynthesis and animals need to breathe, and also contains about 99 percent of all water vapor and aerosols (minute solid or liquid particles suspended in the atmosphere). In the troposphere, temperatures typically go down the higher you go, since most of the heat found in the troposphere is generated by the transfer of energy from Earth’s surface. The troposphere is the densest atmospheric layer, compressed by the weight of the rest of the atmosphere above it. Most of Earth’s weather happens here, and almost all clouds that are generated by weather are found here, with the exception of cumulonimbus thunder clouds, whose tops can rise into the lowest parts of the neighboring stratosphere. Most aviation takes place here, including in the transition region between the troposphere and the stratosphere.

Stratosphere. Located between approximately 12 and 50 kilometers (7.5 and 31 miles) above Earth’s surface, the stratosphere is perhaps best known as home to Earth’s ozone layer, which protects us from the Sun’s harmful ultraviolet radiation. Because of that UV radiation, the higher up you go into the stratosphere, the warmer temperatures become. The stratosphere is nearly cloud- and weather-free, but polar stratospheric clouds are sometimes present in its lowest, coldest altitudes. It’s also the highest part of the atmosphere that jet planes can reach.

Mesosphere. Located between about 50 and 80 kilometers (31 and 50 miles) above Earth’s surface, the mesosphere gets progressively colder with altitude. In fact, the top of this layer is the coldest place found within the Earth system, with an average temperature of about minus 85 degrees Celsius (minus 120 degrees Fahrenheit). The very scarce water vapor present at the top of the mesosphere forms noctilucent clouds, the highest clouds in Earth’s atmosphere, which can be seen by the naked eye under certain conditions and at certain times of day. Most meteors burn up in this atmospheric layer. Sounding rockets and rocket-powered aircraft can reach the mesosphere.

Thermosphere. Located between about 80 and 700 kilometers (50 and 440 miles) above Earth’s surface is the thermosphere, whose lowest part contains the ionosphere. In this layer, temperatures increase with altitude due to the very low density of molecules found here. It is both cloud- and water vapor-free. The aurora borealis and aurora australis are sometimes seen here. The International Space Station orbits in the thermosphere.

Exosphere. Located between about 700 and 10,000 kilometers (440 and 6,200 miles) above Earth’s surface, the exosphere is the highest layer of Earth’s atmosphere and, at its top, merges with the solar wind. Molecules found here are of extremely low density, so this layer doesn’t behave like a gas, and particles here escape into space. While there’s no weather at all in the exosphere, the aurora borealis and aurora australis are sometimes seen in its lowest part. Most Earth satellites orbit in the exosphere.

The Edge of Outer Space. While there’s really no clear boundary between where Earth’s atmosphere ends and outer space begins, most scientists use a delineation known as the Karman line, located 100 kilometers (62 miles) above Earth’s surface, to denote the transition point, since 99.99997 percent of Earth’s atmosphere lies beneath this point. A February 2019 study using data from the NASA/European Space Agency Solar and Heliospheric Observatory (SOHO) spacecraft suggests, however, that the farthest reaches of Earth’s atmosphere — a cloud of hydrogen atoms called the geocorona — may actually extend nearly 391,000 miles (629,300 kilometers) into space, far beyond the orbit of the Moon.

— Alan Buis/NASA's Global Climate Change website

[rainichito]

Do you feel like drawing NRG in his true form from ben 10 omniverse?

there is 0 context to this doodle but this is what happened

[rafescoke]

Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High ; Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Request: The second one I was hoping could be a Rafe x reader based on the song why’d you only call me when you’re high by arctic monkeys. Maybe something along the lines of rafe only calling and giving the reader attention when he wants to hook up. Finally, the reader gets tired of it their feelings known.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader finds herself thinking about a certain boy more than what they had agreed on

Warnings: Hella angst, mentions of sex, masterbating, substance, cursing, toxic relationship

A/N: I’ve been updating a new fic every single day and the amount of love you guys are returning is beyond amazing. I love you so much, thank you for all of your kind words <3

p.s, again, my request box is always open. drop in any ideas and i’ll present to you my best :)

p.p.s, does anyone know why i can’t tag some users? im going crazy.

“I was thinking. . .” Rafe trailed, drawing invisible circles against her soft skin. She hummed in response, her eyes closed, feeling so relaxed under the silk bedsheet wrapping around her body.

“We should do this often.”

“Is twice a day isn’t enough for you?” she asked, hiding her smile. She felt him shift, placing his arms around her waist and pulling her close against him. She giggled lightly, feeling him behind her, but she was too tired to do anything.

“We should try doing it every minute,” he simply replied, smelling into her scent. She smelt like vanilla and caramel, just the way he likes it. “Is this the perfume I bought?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, feeling so peaceful she could sleep if he hadn’t pulled her closer against his hardening member. She groaned, trying to scoot forward by an inch, but was stopped by his fingers gripping her hips.

“I’m sore.”

“I know,” he replied casually, still brushing against her bottom. Before he could do anything else she turned, now facing him. She looked at his handsome face, his blue eyes and his soft lips. Her thumb grazed over his top lip, and Rafe swore he could fuck her anytime soon if she kept doing that.

“Are you not tired?” she asked, now cupping his face. He stared into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them before giving her a smile.

“No.”

“You’re mental,” she sighed, but she failed to contain her laugh after. She giggled, still cupping his face, and she has never felt so calm and relax before. Just them two, on top of a bed in some cheap motel, sometimes hearing the couple staying on top of them screaming at each other.

“Are you?” he continued, tilting his head into her hands. She smiled when he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth radiating from her. He loves it. He feels at peace.

(Y/N) sighed, loving yet also hating these kind of moments where she knew they would be acting like strangers after, in front of everyone else. She remembered the exact day after she had had sex with him for the first time, and how he acted so cold afterwards.

“Hey,” (Y/N) smiled, standing beside his form as he squinted his eyes against the bright sunlight to inspect his goal. He didn’t reply, swinging his golf club upwards and hit the golf ball. (Y/N) watched as it flew and landed near the goal, and expressed a smile.

“You’re good.”

“Huh?” he looked up to her, as if just noticed her existence. (Y/N) felt a pang of hurt across her heart, especially when he had just whispered so many love words into her ear the night before.

“I said you’re good.”

“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, already making his way back to where his friends were. Clearly not satisfied, she followed him suit, watching as his friends cheered for him. Rafe groaned even harder, and turned to look at her before they got too close to his friends.

“What are you fucking doing here?” he scolded, his eyes staring at a space beside her. (Y/N) raised a brow, being caught off guard, but she tried to play it cool.

“I’m a member of this country club too, Rafe,” she replied, scoffing. “You’re an asshole, do you know that? Are we not going to talk about last ni-”

“Shut up,” he grunted, looking backwards to check on his friends before pulling her a few distance away. “Look, I was on drugs last night. That was not me. Let it go, okay?”

(Y/N) has never experienced that kind of disrespect, and she swore she hated Rafe Cameron so bad that when she got home, she cried against her pillows until the night sky greeted her. 

She thought about the many other guys who tried to be with her, but she had pushed them all away for a certain rich boy living 6 houses away from her. The fact that her parents are good friends with Ward and Rose Cameron doesn’t make it any easier, not when she is forced to see him every single Saturday night for ‘barbecue night’.

“What are you thinking?” he suddenly spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, suddenly scooting away from him. He watched as she turned away, but he didn’t put much thoughts into it.

“I can still smell the weed from you,” she suddenly said, and Rafe let out a laugh. He rubbed his eyes, hating the fact that they are going to repeat the same topic they have fought countless of times before, especially after sex and they had both came down from the high.

“Don’t start, (Y/N), fuck,” he sighed, covering his face with his large hands. He watched as she scooted further, wrapping the covers around her body. “Can you please just lay right next to me?”

“I want to sleep,” she replied, and bit her lips before she could express any tears. Rafe sighed, groaning, and sat up straight, resting on the edge of the bed before reaching for his jeans discarded on the corner of the room.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and (Y/N) heard the metal bar of his belt clanking against his jeans button. “Since you wanna act like a bitch again.”

“You’re an asshole,” she replied, still not looking at him. A tear rolled down her cheeks before she could stop herself, and she quickly wiped them away.

“Whatever,” he said, and she heard the door slammed shut. She cursed, unable to stop her tears now that she was alone. The banter between the husband and wife from the room above filled the silence as (Y/N) sobbed against the pillow and she thought about how it resembled her and Rafe’s relationship so much.

He would call her when he’s under the influence, whispering sweet-nothings through the phone, saying how much he’s missing her and longing for her forehead kisses. The fight they had before the phone call will immediately evaporate into thin air, and (Y/N) will make her way to wherever Rafe is. Sometimes they’ll do it in the car in a secluded alley or sometimes in the cheap motel at Chapel Hill. 

But then it was the moments after their brief meeting that had her all moody and depress throughout the week; how he would ignore her, pretending not to see her and forcing himself to say ‘hi’ during their family barbecue.

(Y/N) never thought of herself as someone who’s prone to being in a sneaky relationship, but if that what it takes to be with Rafe Cameron, she was willing to be in one.

It had been a week since the incidence, and Rafe hadn’t call her to meet or anything of the sort. (Y/N) frowned when she thought of this, because the longest fight they had before only lasted for 2 days before he rang her up, asking to meet up. 

(Y/N) shook her head, sipping on her martini before setting it on the side of the swimming pool. She dived into the water, trying to get the heat from the scorching sun off of her, and resurfaced seconds after, her wet hair falling down her shoulders.

“(Y/N), where’s dad?” Topper appeared, squatting in front of her as she took another sip on the martini. Her eyes fell to the figure behind her brother, and she almost choked on the liquid.

“Um, I don’t know,” (Y/N) replied, staring at Rafe Cameron as he took out his phone to check on his messages, ignoring her like always. She rolled her eyes at this, knowing that there were no new texts and he was just trying to act like she wasn’t there. She dived into the water again and swam to the other side, away from Rafe and his negative energy.

If Rafe knew she was going to be in the swimming pool, he would have made an excuse to Topper, perhaps saying how he has to take Wheezie to the clinic for an appointment. (Y/N) was almost never home every time he hang out with Topper, so he thought he was safe. But there she was; in the most tempting bikini, swimming and constantly sipping on a martini.

Rafe sat right next to Topper, watching her back from the corners of his eyes as she gazed at the view in front of her. She was laying on her arms, lazily humming to a rock song Rafe plays every time he’s driving.

He jolted when Topper touched his hand. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Topper laughed, “I said, do you wanna eat?”

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and thinking about good she looked in that bikini. He made a mental note to guess the brand to purchase more of that sort for her. 

“Okay, I’m going in to get myself some food. Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Topper asked, sitting on the edge of the seat. Rafe nodded, his eyes still closed, and heard him walking towards the sliding door into the kitchen.

“Why are you ignoring me?” 

Rafe opened his eyes, and to his satisfaction, the girl with the (H/C) locks stared at him with her face rested against her arms. His breath hitched, seeing how beautiful she was with the chlorine water dripping from her face, down to her neck, continuing to her che-

“God, you’re a fucking asshole,” she suddenly said, and Rafe had to shook his head from the involuntary thought that appeared in his mind. He groaned, watching as she dived in the water again, and almost catching a glimpse of her bottom. He smiled.

“Are you still a bitch?” he asked when she resurfaced, crossing his arms. “Because if you are, I don’t feel like fucking you right here and right now.”

(Y/N) halted her movements as she tried her best not to look at the smirking boy, and instead staring into the swimming pool as if there was something interesting in it. Rafe laughed, knowing exactly the impact of his words towards her, and thought about wanting to have a little more fun with her.

“I’m asking, baby,” he said softly, and her eyes landed on his. “Are you still a bitch?”

“I brought cookies!” Topper suddenly yelled, appearing from the sliding door and walking towards them with a bright smile. Rafe cursed, laying his back against the seat again and pretending to close his eyes while (Y/N) dived underwater, trying to hide her red face. He was glad when Topper handed him a cookie, talking about wanting to surf tomorrow - so oblivious towards the sexual tension between him and his own twin.

“What do you think?” Topper asked, munching on the cookies all the while trying to see Rafe’s reaction. Rafe nodded, muttering his agreement, but under his sunglasses, he was watching (Y/N) and she too, was watching him.

“Can I have a cookie, Tops?” (Y/N) suddenly interrupted, and without looking at her, Topper gave her a thumbs up sign. (Y/N) smiled, pulling herself up from the pool and Rafe almost had a heart attack from the sight of her curves donning the bikini and the water dripping off of her.

She walked towards them, hair swept to her left shoulder, and Rafe’s gaze followed her fingers as she grabbed a cookie and immediately putting it in her mouth. He watched as she closed her eyes, enjoying the sweet taste, all the while sitting under the glowing sun that highlighted her features even more.

He could feel himself getting harder.

“Well,” (Y/N) suddenly said, and Rafe had realized he was too busy looking at her to realize that she was already conversing with Topper. “I’ll go. Is Rafe coming too?” 

Both of the siblings’ attention fell towards him, and Rafe found himself clearing his throat before he spoke.

“I’m sorry, where are we?”

“Man, are you sure you’re okay?” Topper asked, removing his sunglasses to look at him clearly. “Do you need water?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Rafe quickly added, “Can I, um, go up to your room? I think I need a nap.”

“Yeah, okay,” Topper replied, not thinking much of it. They had been spending so much time under the sun during the summer, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them got sick. “I’ll go upstairs in a second.”

He muttered a thanks, quickly making his way to the top of the house, where Topper stayed. He groaned, feeling himself getting harder, and hating the fact that she was most probably liking the way he was reacting. 

He locked the door of the bathroom he has been using since the first day he became friends with Topper, watching himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes while he tried to picture her in his mind, his fingers trying their best to untie the knot of the band of his swimming shorts.

He held himself in the palm of his hands as he pictured her again, this time with her under him. He started sliding his palm over his hardened member, his other hand safely placed on the sink for balance. He thought of the way she’ll bounce on him when she rides him, and bit his lips before he could let out any sounds.

Fuck. 

He hated how easy she’ll make him hard and how she has him wrapped around her finger. It was true how they would only do the unholy thing when he was under the influence or they were both under the influence, but he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling in his stomach every time he saw her.

“Fuck,” he expressed, his grip on the sink tightening. His movements became faster as he tried to picture her mouth and around him, and felt his end coming. He left a string of curses as he finally released himself, watching the shot dripping off the sides of the sink. He grunted, having to do more work, and grabbed himself the white tissues before wiping his mess.

. . .

“Hey.”

“Hey, Rafe,” (Y/N) said, trying to maintain her normal tone. She bit her lips at the sound of his heavy breathing, missing his voice and also his handsome face. She longed to have his face in her hands again, staring at each other’s eyes and kissing each other’s lips right after.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice slurring. “No, I mean, can I pick you up?” The sound of laughter and booming music could be heard behind him, giving out his location. (Y/N) sighed, knowing the exact request behind the words, and looked at her wall to check on the time.

“It’s 12 a.m., my mom won’t allow me to go out.”

“Sneak out, then,” Rafe replied, and he said something to his friends before focusing back on her. “Please? I missed you.”

(Y/N) sighed, knowing exactly her problem.

This.

“Okay,” she replied, leaning over her mattress to close her laptop now that she had new plans for the night. “What time are you picking me up?”

“I can’t drive right now,” he said, suddenly realizing how sloshed he was. “Can you come and pick me up, please?”

She sighed again, but she had missed him so much. Him and his touches. His and his words.

Him.

“Okay, send me your location, okay? I’ll pick you up.”

(Y/N) thought about how she couldn’t do it anymore. Not when she has spent most of her life trying to make him love her. He had been friends with her brother since forever, but yet he never seemed to settle on her. She heard about the amount of girls he dated and how she tried to become like them, but after a while, she grew bored of it. She was tired of running after someone who doesn’t want to be caught.

Until the night at the party, where they had been smoking and doing coke and god knows what else. (Y/N) had watched him from the corners of her eyes, liking how attractive he looked under the party lights. He was in a black shirt, his hair messily parted, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips.

“Thornton, do you know how perfect your smile is?” he asked, leaning towards her. (Y/N) giggled, her back against the wall as she stared into his eyes. 

“You’re mistaking me for my brother, Rafe?” she asked, with that smile again. Rafe licked his lips, looking down to hers before leaning closer to whisper into her ear.

“I’ve got to confess, (Y/N),” he whispered, sending shivers down to her spine. “You’re the hottest sibling.”

When she woke up the next day, laying right next to Rafe Cameron, she had to pinch herself a few times to make sure that she was living in reality, but when she tried to approach him that evening on the golf course, it was like nothing happened that night.

It scarred her until he rang her up again, six days after. 

“Rafe,” (Y/N) sighed, leaning over to open the passenger’s door from her seat, seeing how drunk he was. Rafe giggled, getting himself in before shutting the door and staring at her. He leaned towards her and placed a sloppy kiss against her cheeks, down to her neck and stopped directly before her chest.

“Just park in the back,” he ordered, placing his palm on the upper side of her thigh, too close to her heat. She bit her lips as she turned her steering wheel, entering the back alley of the club. Soon after he had texted her his location, she sneaked out through her brother’s porch and stole his car, driving straight towards Rafe.

She turned the ignition off and looked at him, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, groaning when he missed one button. He tried to reach for her, but she pushed his hand away, her face expressing into anger.

“Don’t pull this shit again, fuck,” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back against the seat and covering his face with his hands. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a gold ring, and noticed how it looked so similar to hers hanging around her neck.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said, filling the silence. Rafe let out a shrill laugh, still closing his eyes.

“Still a bitch, I guess.”

“This is the problem, Rafe!” she groaned, causing Rafe to look at her fully in the face when he noticed her increasing volume. “What are we?”

“What do you want to hear?” he simply said, staring at her with empty eyes. He licked his lips, “No, seriously. Tell me the answer, and I’ll say it.”

How cold could he be?

“Rafe, do you see how you’re treating me?” she asked, and she could feel her tears threatening to fall. “Do you realize the difference between sober Rafe and intoxicated Rafe?”

Of course he knew. He just chose to ignore it.

“I can’t do this right now,” Rafe said, putting his hands up in defeat. “Can we just fuck, get over whatever fight we’re having right now, and live our best lives the next day? Can we do that?”

He turned to look at her, and noticed her glassy eyes. He sighed, trying to cup her face, but she flinched at his touch.

“You make me feel like a whore,” she whispered, her lips trembling. “One second you love me, the next second you’re spitting on me.”

He just had the worst night of his life; having a fight with Ward about his business, bumping onto the pogues, catching Sarah and John B. . . and now this?

“You think too much,” he said, but his heartbeat was quickening. He stole a glance at her and watched as she stared at him with empty eyes. “I’m sober now. You know what, (Y/N)? You’re right. I can’t even look at you when I’m not under the influence.”

He turned to open the door, getting out while buttoning his shirt back, not wanting to look at her. He couldn’t stand it, he knew he’ll be too broken if he sees her cry over him. He didn’t know what to do; he panicked, never preparing for this exact moment where he knew she will ask about the state of their relationship.

He watched as she sped away from the alley, her engine roaring against the silence of that particular Friday night, where his day had been nothing but miserable. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to contain his feelings, but before he knew it, he had kicked on the empty beer can on the side of the road, watching its movement as it hit the opposite wall and fell into the trash can.

He laughed at the strange occurrence, his tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and made his way back to the club.

If there’s one thing he’s so sure about himself; Rafe Cameron hates himself more than anyone else in the world.

-

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[ererokii]

Heyyyyy, so I just finished the Aot 2 game and was kinda messed up by the ending... sooo in honor of that, could you possibly write something about the reader sacrificing herself to distract the Titans so that everyone can get away safe and she doesn’t come back for a few years? I’d prefer something with Jean but it’s completely up to you! Thanksssss

Thank you so much for requesting, I had a fun time writing this and I hope you love it!

For those that don’t know, this is based off of the Attack on Titan 2 game! This contains some spoilers from the game!

Year 3, 850

Three years of intense training are now behind me as today is the long-awaited graduation. Unfortunately, I could not come in the top ten, but Shadis believes that I have potential. My goal from the beginning hasn’t changed. I plan to dedicate my heart to the Scouts and take out the armored titan myself. 

Y/N

XX, 850

Reiner and Bertholdt escaped, and we were able to retrieve Eren and Ymir. Not long after the fight with them, we gained insight that Wall Sina has been breached. This is it. Now or never. The battle to keep our human race alive was at stake. I will not let defeat take over my body. 

Y/N

Jean’s eyes scan over the series of letters in the journal that belonged to an assumed fallen comrade. Every day for the past three years, it has always been the same routine. 

Get up, train, socialize with comrades and read this journal. 

By now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have memorized the whole book. Each inked word seemed to lose its meaning, and its color as the pages began to fade away, just like his hope did. 

The tips of his fingers grazed the rough sheets of paper, a lump forming in the back of his throat. No matter how many times he has read this, he can never shake off the dull aching pain in his heart when he realized he had looked over the last entry once again. 

Currently, he’s sitting in his room, the window open that allows the cool breeze to wash over his body. Goosebumps form on the nape of his neck as he shifts his attention to the walls in the distance. The moon took its place in the sky, the light shining down on the walls as if it were mocking him. 

His tongue peeks out and swipes across his lower chapped lip, hoping that the wetness is enough to moisture them. His fingers continually flip through the pages after the last entry, staring down at the blank pieces of faded white sheets.

The vivid images replay in his mind on the day Wall Sina was breached. Reiner, Bertholdt, and the Beast Titan were all there. The Beast Titan was a surprise to everyone. Out of all the battles, Jean has fought, this one was by far the most blood-curdling. The thought of humanity dying out on that field was enough to ignite a feeling in all the soldiers. 

When Eren and the rest of the scouts defeated Reiner for the second time, there was enough time to take Annie’s crystal back to an underground cellar. But because it weighed more, the horses were at a disadvantage. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jean likes to think that you survived. Maybe you were residing in the new buildings of Wall Maria once the scouts took it back. Perhaps you didn’t want to be apart of the Scouts anymore— then maybe you would be safe. 

The slamming of the door catches his attention as the sound of pants and coughs are heard. 

“Jean!”

“What, Connie?” He sighs and slicks his hair back. “What could you possibly want at this hour?”

“S-Someone’s approaching headquarters! I think it’s Y/N!”

His body grows cold at the sound of your name. “Y/N..?” He whispers underneath his breath, thinking that his mind was playing games. “How are you so sure?”

“The person is wearing the Scout uniform with no horse! We haven’t been scouting outside! It has to be her! It can only be her!”

“That has to be impossible,” he stands abruptly from his wooden chair, stalking towards his comrade. “She’s dead.”

“Weren’t you the one who told us to have faith?!”

“I did. A year ago. It’s been three years, Connie. She’s not coming back.”

“Jean,” he whispers, unsure if he heard right. “We all know you were heartbroken when she sacrificed herself but—“

“She’s gone, Connie!” His arm swings out as his fist collides with the wall, a surge of pain shooting through his arm. “Because I couldn’t help, she’s dead! We were useless! Maybe we should have let Reiner take Annie back so she would be here! But she’s dead!” 

His voice cracks as a lump grows in his throat, limiting the use of words. His nails dig into his palms, nowhere near, causing the amount of pain he felt within his heart. 

Only a few minutes pass as Connie leaves his friend alone, not wanting to upset him further. 

Jean’s mind begins to flood with the memory of your departure. His eyes are squeezed shut as the clear liquid runs down his face, damping the wood of the desk underneath his arms that rest under his head. His grown out hair sways slightly from the cold air that sent shivers down his spine. 

“The horses can’t go as fast with that big thing in the cart! There’s just too much weight!” Connie yelled out as he and Jean steered the horses forward as Titans trailed from behind. 

You, Mikasa, Eren, and the crystal that held Annie sat in the cart. The horses ran at top speed. Your fingers gripped the leather of the journal, nails pressing against the material. 

Your eyes are trained on the hoard of Titans that seem to get closer and closer by the minute. 

“Any minute, they’ll be on us!”

“I know that, Connie!” Jean grunts and glances over his shoulder. The determination in his voice washes away as his eyes widened, face growing pale as he watches you slide the journal into Eren’s hand as he lies unconscious. 

He was no fool to know what you would do. The air is knocked out of his lungs as the faint noise of the gear rings in his ears. It’s like he’s living in slow motion. His mouth opens as he screams out for you, begging to keep you on the cart.

Your alluring eyes bore into his own as your lips curve into a small smile, mouthing something to him as a hook shoots out from its confinement and into a tree, shooting your body forward. 

A hoarse sob leaves his mouth as he sits up, covering his face with his hand as his shoulder shakes violently. Jean can feel himself washing away from reality and falling into the deep void that was his heart as he cries. Each waking second he knows he’s becoming insane.

As harsh as reality was, the man wanted to live in his fantasy world, where you were still aliv—

“Jean..”

His body stifled as he heard the sound of a voice he knew by heart and loved dearly. His pupils are wide in shock as he stares forward at the walls' chipping paint in his room. 

“Impossible,” he trails off in a whisper, hands beginning to shake in uncertainty. “It’s impossible..”

“Jean...turn around,” you whisper into the tense air, walking forward as the creaking of the floors alerted him of your presence. “Please?”

“Maybe I have finally lost it,” his voice comes out in a lower octave as he runs his hand through his hair. “I guess that’s what I get for not sleeping.”

“Jean, it’s me!” You plead as you place your hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense he was under your fingertips. “It’s me..Y/N.” 

“No, she’s dead. I saw her leave us. You aren’t even here. You’re just a figure of my imagination to make me feel better so I won’t wallow in my pity.”

Your heart aches at his confession as you suddenly wrap your arms around him from behind, burying your head in his neck as your hair tickled at his exposed skin. “I’m home now, Jean,” your voice cracks as tears well up, the liquid hitting against him. “I’m back..”

“How can you?” He questions, relaxing upon touch. From a face showing sorrow, it shifted into one of seriousness. “I s-saw you leave us. You can’t be alive..it has to be a joke.”

“I survived Jean..can’t you see?” You press your cold hand against his warm cheek, feeling his warmth radiated off of his face. “I’m here..flesh and blood. I’m alive...I came back to you.”

Jean tilts his head to gaze up at you; his mouth parted as he gazed into your eyes. All the words he had to say now left his mind as his lips became parched, peeling his tongue out to lick them. “You are here..”

“I am!” You laugh through the tears, cupping his face in your hands. “I was in a shelter in Wall Rose. I was injured for a long time before I was able to return here.”

Words couldn’t express how the boy was feeling, only actions. He abruptly wrapped his arms around your torso, bringing you flush against his body. “You’re here now..”

All of his worries and hidden thoughts could now be thrown out the window and buried deep underneath the earth, a place he would never have to reach. You were alright, alive and breathing.

And especially in Jean’s arms.

[wispvial]

So I finally posted my Franklin/Nubbins fanfiction, lol. Shout out to the three or so people who might enjoy it, I just had fun writing, even if I’m not confident! I wasn’t so sure about tagging, but there are allusions to violence and animal death, the kind you’d see in the movie.

[let-them-read-fics]

Hidden Love & High Society

Requested by Anon: “Can you do a Jisoo x fem reader where the reader is also an idol and Jisoo and the reader develop feelings for each other. But they're under super strict companies and Korea is a strict society so they're scared to admit their feelings. Some angst but a fluffy ending please!”

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,049

Warnings / Misc. -- Angst, Self Doubt, Fluff, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: To the anon who requested: Thank you! I had a couple different ways I was going to go with this, but I think this version fits the best. I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading, everyone. Let me know what you think :)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Falling in love with Kim Jisoo had been a gradual experience, beautifully terrifying and perfectly imperfect. You never intended it, especially with how strict your companies are, but there was no stopping it once it started. As much as you’ve tried to, you can’t deny the butterflies that take flight when your eyes meet, or how your heart skips a beat whenever she’s near. In your head, where you’ve convinced yourself this unrequited love will forever stay, things are perfect; you hold onto the memories there when the hard times come along, seeking solace in them. Sadly, the real world can never look like this -- especially for the two of you. Two women -- two idols, at that -- thrust into the limelight, immersed fully in Korean standards and societal roles. You don’t stand a chance against all of the odds, even with your group members at your side, behind you all the way. But with every stolen glance, every fleeting moment with her, your feelings become harder to hide. You’re only capable of so much pretending, and your cache is running out.

Being the leader of your group is a wonderful thing that you don’t take lightly, but it doesn’t come without its share of stress. The girls look up to you, always trusting you to take care of them and do what’s right, and that makes you want to be perfect for them. That fact doesn’t make the inner turmoil any easier for you: is it better to deny yourself of the one thing you want, for the sake of saving face? Or should you teach them to live for themselves, answering to no one else? That question persists in your mind, replaying like a mantra, working to drive you insane. 

Jisoo is much the same: she knows how unforgiving and heinous the media can be, and she isn’t willing to risk the group’s reputation over a silly crush. A silly crush, she always tries to remind herself, although it becomes more difficult with every new memory she makes with you. She’s done well in concealing her emotions this long, but you make her feel weak; a part of her resents you for how easily you can turn her into a blushing mess. All of your little mannerisms and quirks fuel the flame in her heart, and she’s growing more and more fond of the feeling. 

~~~~~~~ 

For Jisoo, nights like these are always the best: both of your groups are relaxing at the Blackpink dorm, everyone discussing the award show you just attended. The two of you are seated on adjacent couches, the rest of your members strewn about the room, some on the floor while others lounge on the sofas. From her spot, Jisoo has the most perfect view: warm light shines on you from the nearby lamp, accentuating your features in all the right ways. Her gaze softens as she watches you recount how it felt to hear that you’d won, your eyes bright and expression cheery. You rule her world without even knowing it, and sometimes she seriously considers just listening to her heart and admitting her feelings. 

Lost in her thoughts of you, she doesn’t even realize that she’s leaned in closer, her eyes dropping down to your lips as you speak. You act like you don’t notice, doing your best to hide the blush that rises to your cheeks at the thought of having her full attention. There’s always been an unspoken tension between the two of you, and all of your members are aware of it. As Lisa takes control of the conversation, you sit back a bit, relaxing into the cushions of the loveseat. At the feeling of the material against your skin, you’re reminded of the time that Jisoo straddled you here, tickling you relentlessly as you squirmed and laughed. The memory, one of thousands that she’s the star of, brings a smile to your face.

Eventually the conversation shifts, with everyone ranting about how hungry they are. Of course, being the unnie that you are, you offer to make some food for everyone -- you enjoy cooking, but you also know that they’re all too lazy to make anything for themselves. 

“Jisoo, would you care to help me? I know I’m pretty great and all, but I’m not so sure I can feed this gang by myself.”

She has to stop herself from agreeing before you’re even done asking. Needless to say, her smirk widens as she says, “I’d love to help,” before standing up and trailing in your wake.

As the two of you make your way out of the room, a quiet chorus of ooo’s can be heard from the girls. You send them a stern look, but it only makes them giggle even more than they already are. Jisoo’s thankful that you’re turned away from her right now -- she has to bite her lip to contain the dorky grin on her face.

~~~~~~~

Upon entering the kitchen, you retrieve two aprons from the hook located beside the other entryway. The room is spacious and open, with plenty of countertop to work on and even an island in the middle. Perfect, you think to yourself. Jisoo leans into you as she wraps the material of the apron around your form, securing it in place with a light tug. You help her right after, and try hard not to get distracted by the warmth that radiates from her. 

To anyone other than the two of you, getting so flustered over such a simple act would seem ridiculous. You had long ago mastered the art of subtlety, though, quickly learning how important it is in your line of work. In a weird way, being so restricted added even more meaning to the small things -- light touches asking, “How was your day?”, soft smiles saying, “I’ve missed you.” Everything had a hidden message, a secret purpose between the two interacting. You spoke without words, living in a realm of quiet boldness.  

Now, equally as giddy in each other's presence, the two of you begin cooking.

~~~~~~~

By some miracle, you had managed to whip out a fairly big meal for everyone in just under an hour. The spread consisted of ramen, tteokbokki, dumplings, soup, and some other random things your members requested. Quickly, everyone is called into the dining room, and they begin making their plates. 

“Crap, I’ll be right back. I forgot to cut up the veggies.” You announce as you set off back to the kitchen, a pep in your step; preparing the food had made you realize just how hungry you are, and you want to hurry back. Perhaps that’s where your mistake laid; about halfway through the batch of veggies, in the rushed state that you were in, you miscalculated the slice, and the sharp edge of the knife cut into your finger. It wasn’t too deep, but it was enough to draw blood immediately, the red liquid running down your hand without restraint. 

“Oww!!” You call out to no one in particular as the pain seeps in.

At the sound of your strained voice, Jisoo practically races to the kitchen to check on you. The other members are concerned too, but they know that she’ll take care of you. (Besides, they’re busy chowing down on the food... but we won’t mention that). 

“Y/N?? What happened?” She’s frightened, completely worried about you. 

You fill her in to the best of your ability, feeling a little lightheaded as you catch a glimpse of your hand. She wraps you in her embrace, steadying you, and grabs a towel. You’re unable to stop the pained hiss that leaves you at the pressure she adds to the tender skin in order to stop the bleeding. She sends you a regretful look, paired with a quick sorry, as she walks you to the bathroom.

Once there, she puts the lid down, carefully setting you down on the toilet. The cold surface of the porcelain makes you tense up, but it’s successful in taking your mind off the pain, if nothing else. Your eyes shyly trail up her body as she stands on her tippy toes, stretching up to reach the top shelf of the medicine cabinet. How does she manage to always look so good?

“Here, let’s rinse it off first.” It’s a request and a command wrapped into one, and you readily agree. One of her arms loops around your waist as she helps you stand, and you hold onto her with your good hand. She tries not to think about how your fingertips run over her collarbone, lightly stroking the skin there, absentmindedly. Focus, Jisoo, she tells herself. Even with the slight grimace on your face, you look breathtaking. After all, you’re art to her -- she would spend hours studying you if she could, imprinting every detail of you into her mind. 

You lean against the smooth counter of the sink, feeling your hip bones press onto it, and you wobble a bit. Jisoo notices this, but both of her hands are busy with cleaning your injured one off -- thus, she does the next best thing: gently, she repositions herself so that one of her legs is behind you, and she presses her own hips into you. Once you’re secured against the counter, she puts her focus back on her previous task. Meanwhile your brain is having trouble functioning at the proximity of your bodies; she’s being bold. You steal a glance at her in the mirror, but she appears cool and collected -- the complete opposite of you right now. 

After the bleeding has slowed dramatically, she returns you to your seat and grabs the bandages. She crouches in front of you, a reassuring smile on her lips as she makes sure you’re feeling okay. Once your finger is patched up, she takes you by surprise: she places a small kiss to it, her hands still cradled around yours lovingly. 

Likely from the blood loss, a strange surge of confidence comes over you, and you reach forward to run your thumb across her bottom lip. She’s a little shocked, with how her eyes open a little wider and her breath hitches. The two of you stay like that, looking at each other, a silent war of wills being waged. 

In that instant, Jisoo is forced to confront her feelings. She had long ago lost count of how many times she’s wanted to kiss you. To feel your body aligned with hers, your racing heart against her chest, minds running wild with all of the new possibilities being unlocked. It would be a huge step, no doubt -- one that offered no chance to turn back, no place for fear to reside any longer. It would feel like finally solving a puzzle, all of the pieces coming together in just the right ways. As terrifying as that leap would be to make, Jisoo would do it for you. The idea became a little less daunting with every step closer the two of you got to one another.

And so, she does. Jisoo leans forward fairly quickly, capturing your lips in a hesitant kiss -- if she would’ve gone slower, she knows she would’ve chickened out. A light tremble runs through her, proving just how nervous she is. At first, you relax into the kiss, moving your lips against hers in perfect time; once your brain catches up with your heart, though, you pull away. 

“I- I can’t,” you stutter out, mind still a little foggy at what just went down. You lick your lips without really meaning to.

Her expression quickly dims, now looking dejected at your rejection. As she goes to stand, one of your hands lands on the collar of her shirt, holding her in place -- you don’t want her to misunderstand you.

“If we do that, I won’t be able to stop myself.” 

“Who says we have to? I’m sick of holding back.” Her hands are resting on your thighs now, eyes watching you intently as she waits for your response. She’s just a breath away from you, sitting right in the palm of your hand. 

You panic and say, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

Your change of heart confuses her, but she respects your wishes nonetheless. Just as quickly as she had appeared before, she’s gone, leaving you to think about what just happened. 

You sit there, already missing her presence, and you hate yourself a little more. How could you be so stupid? The opportunity was right there, ripe for the taking, circumstances perfectly aligned, and yet you let it all slip away. Even still, your mind justifies your cowardice for fear of the fall out that would ensue. This is for the best, though it hurts. Keeping Jisoo at arm’s length in the name of protecting her had become the customary thing to do, and you fell right back into the habit. To be with her is to limit her, and you can’t bear the thought of that. She deserves to be showered with love and attention all the time, not hidden away and forced into secret meetings. What kind of life would that be?

~~~~~~~

The rest of the evening hosts a newfound tension, one full of uncertainty and longing. The two of you are deep in your thoughts, neither of you knowing where to go from here. She tries to forget how your lips felt, the rhythm that they fell into with hers; but she can’t get it out of her head.  

Before long, your members decide to call it a night, and you’re being whisked away. Somehow, it’s a combination of exactly what you want, and the complete opposite -- what are you to do now? Where do you stand with Jisoo? Your feelings are so overwhelming that it’s almost too much to handle; so many questions float around in your mind, begging to be answered by her. 

Quick goodbyes are given, and you can’t find it in yourself to even hold her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. Surely you’ve hurt her: knowing that fact is bad enough -- you can’t stand the thought of seeing the pain in her eyes, her smile even a little faded because of your own doing. It tears you up, and your speedy exit is a testament to that.

~~~~~~~

2:41 AM

You’ve spent the better part of the night tossing and turning with no hope of getting any sleep, no end in sight for this self-made torture. Regret runs through you every time you replay the events that unfolded, and you feel a little more hopeless with each passing second. 

Why did she have to kiss you? It’s impossible to contain your feelings now, the emotions far too abundant to be bottled up any longer. Your lips remember how hers moved against them, her gloss spreading at the contact. She tasted like some tropical fruit, sweet and foreign on your tongue. Being with her is like taking a late night drive through the city, windows rolled down with the radio playing your favorite songs. She makes everything feel possible, somehow, and you secretly love the spontaneity of it all. You want more than anything to just give in, to relent after all this time. Clearly she feels the same, right? If that kiss meant anything, then surely she did. So why should you care about the rest of it? If being with you is what she wants, who are you to deny her?

~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Her voice is sleepy, yet it still holds a layer of shock; likely given the fact that you’re at her door at such an ungodly hour. 

“Did I wake you up?” 

She pauses for a beat, seemingly deciding on what to say, before replying, “...no. I can’t sleep.” 

“Neither can I,” you confess, hoping that she’ll put two and two together. 

“Listen, I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have done that without asking first.” For a second, your heart stops, and you almost chicken out again. 

“I’m glad you did, Jisoo. Because it made me realize how much I like you.” You listen to your heart, the admission coming out more confident than you expected. 

She’s stunned, to say the least, her eyes blinking a few times in confusion. “I thought--” she starts, but you interrupt her.

“I’ve spent all of this time pushing you away when all I’ve ever wanted was to be close to you. To be with you. I’m just so scared of what people will say, you know? There’s no turning back after that.”

“I wouldn’t want to, Y/N. I’d rather be happy with you than live like this. To hell with them, they’re always gonna have something to say about us. You and I can figure it all out together.” She smiles at the end of her statement, a tender hue in her eyes that you’ve never quite seen before. 

As you stand there in her doorway, the slight chill of the night breeze ghosting over your skin, giving you goosebumps, everything clicks. It feels like coming home, something that was always destined to be, and you can tell she feels it, too. You close the distance, finally allowing your walls to crumble away. Her arms are around you, and her presence is actively soothing any remaining fears you may have. Only she is capable of that; you’ve never felt safer than when you’re with her. You run a hand down her arm, lacing your fingers with her own in a sweet embrace. She relaxes into you, now able to trust that you won’t leave. 

Though the kisses started off sweet, they’ve turned more desperate; the two of you are eager to make up for lost time, after all. Following an especially bruising kiss, you pull away breathlessly, and rest your forehead against hers. “Can I come in?” You ask shyly, ducking your head down a bit. Two of her fingers hook underneath your chin, raising your head so that your eyes can meet hers. “I’m not letting you get away this time.” With that, the two of you retreat to her room, hand in hand. You spend the night tangled up in each other, joining forces to write your new destiny together from scratch. 

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for reading!!!

[guardianspirits13]

Hi, I saw your art for the AU where Touya weakness is a medical conditon and I wanted to know if there is a story based on it or a one shot ?

PS: I love your art, is amazing

Hi!! Sorry that I’m so late to respond, I never check my inbox so I was surprised to find so many kind messages there!!!!

The concept for Touya with a quirk-based medical condition is my own idea, so while there is no fanfiction it was based off of, I do have a work in progress for the story! It’s nowhere near finished but here’s an excerpt just for you 😘

(read under cut)

(Important side note- in this au, Endeavor and Rei are good parents who do everything possible to help Touya’s condition. They do inadvertently give less attention to the other kids, but it’s in no way malicious since he has different and more urgent needs)

Touya had always been a small kid.

It was his small stature perhaps, that gave him that spark in his eye. That determined gaze, setting his jaw and taking the world on every step of the way. If he had to fight to be heard, to be seen, then so be it. He refused to be forgotten, lost to a cloud of strangers who were taller, stronger, better.

Natsuo knew this more than anyone.

He had always admired his big brother, always looked at him through the eager eyes of a child. Touya radiated warmth- he was gentle and kind and smiled in the face of pain, if only to comfort his younger siblings- and Natsuo loved him more than anything else in the world.

Touya had always been different. He was always a little unbalanced, always heasitant to rush into things. Always looking out for himself, everywhere he went, lest he take one wrong step and land right back in the emergency room.

For as long as Natsuo could remember, Touya had been sick, but he never let that stop him.

-

He recieved the diagnosis two weeks before his sixth birthday.

It was a cloudy winter day, wind whistling around the walls of the Todoroki estate and cold air seeping through the cracks of thin wooden doors.

This couldn’t have mattered less to six-year-old Touya, however, as he played with his father in the training room. Well, not exactly playing. His dad referred to it as training, but Touya loved it anyways. Hurling brilliant bursts of fire at his father and dodging blasts in return was thrilling. He loved the crackling whoosh of the flames, and their dancing warmth on his skin. He loved running around, laughing, spending time with his dad.

Nothing, it seemed, could ruin this moment of joy as he barely managed to dodge a fireball and it tickled his ear. He emitted a small giggle as he rolled onto the floor. He looked back up at his opponent, towering above his tiny form, and grinned mischeviously. He feigned taking a moment to catch his breath, using it to focus all his power into his hands and create one small, brilliant ball of  sparkling blue flame. As Touya stepped up off the floor, the flame flickered violently, roaring like a caged lion- yearning to be set free. He posed properly, as he had been taught, and reeled his arms to his side.

With a shout of victory he thrust his arms forward, and a wall of flame engulfed the room. It was blinding. The bright light engulfed everything, the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Everything was white, and suddenly Touya felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. His body went limp, and the last thing he saw as the white faded to black were his father’s eyes, contorted with worry.

-

He woke up in the hospital. He only recognized the scene from movies, white-washed walls, a large window obscured by sheer curtains and a steady beep…beep…beeping sound coming from somewhere behind him. He lay in a small bed, just as white as the rest of the room. A tube stuck out of his hand that hurt a bit whenever he wiggled his fingers, and it seemed to have some sort of liquid running through it. On his other hand was some sort of weird clip, and right below his nose was another tube that itched his nostrils. He looked around the room again, hoping someone was there that he could talk to. Nope. He did his best to sit up without moving any of the wires, and just as he crossed his legs the door peeked open.

“Touya!” His mom stepped in the room, and nearly ran to pull him into a gentle hug, her cold hands making his skin prickle.

“Hi, sweetie…how do you feel?”

“…I’m hungry.”

“That’s okay, the nurse should be in soon with a meal.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s past your bedtime.” His mom laughed softly. “It’s almost eleven o’ clock.”

Touya looked up at her with wide eyes. He had never stayed up this late before. It felt like he was a grown-up or something. He glanced at the tube in his hand. Maybe he didn’t want to be a grown up. It seemed scary.

“Am I going to die?”

His mom looked at him, eyes bright and wide.

“Oh, no, sweetheart, you aren’t going to die.”

She reached over and took his hand. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Then why am I here? Isn’t this where people die? What is this for?” He fired off all his questions at once, embellishing the final one with a tug on the tube that sat awkwardly on his face. His mom gently guided his hand away from it.

“You passed out when you were training with your father. We brought you here just to be safe. The doctors have to run a couple tests, but you’ll probably be allowed to leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Where’s dad and Fuyumi and everyone?”

“Your father had to go home to tuck them in. We switched places to look after Natsuo, because babies can get cranky in hospitals.” She brushed the hair out of his face, fingers heasitating for a second as they raked through the fresh streak of white in his dark red hair.

Touya closed his eyes as his mother leaned in and softly pressed her lips to his forehead. The motion was calming, and he relaxed as another bout of exhaustion called to him, lulling him to sleep once again.

-

A week later, the only evidence Touya had of having been in the hospital was an All-Might band-aid on his right hand, where the weird tube had poked his skin. He stared out the window of the moving car, counting mailboxes and trees as they flew past. His mom and dad said they needed to talk to the doctor again, because Touya had a test. He didn’t remember taking a test, but he hoped he didn’t fail it, anyways. His little siblings got to stay at home with a babysitter to watch a movie. He was jealous of them.

Once they got to the doctors office, a nurse led them through identical hallways until they got to a small room. Inside was a countertop, and a big chair, and some normal chairs. Touya got to sit in the big chair. His feet were so high off the ground! His mom sat in a small chair next to him, and his father stood. The nurse left them there alone for a few minutes.

Touya swung his feet lazily as he waited for something to happen. He watched the clock. He hummed a song.

Eventually the door opened, and a short, round man with similarly round glasses stepped in. He shook hands with Touya’s dad, then his mom, then Touya. He said he was the doctor and they were going to figure out what was wrong with him. Touya didn’t know there was anything wrong with him. He looked to his mom for reassurance, and she smiled and took his hand.

The doctor settled down in the second chair. He reached into a pocket on his white coat and pulled out an envelope. He said a few words before slitting it open, and retrieving a single piece of paper. He said some big words that Touya didn’t umderstand. He talked for a few minutes, but Touya was bored so he ignored him. He looked around the room- the bright lights on the ceiling; his father taking up the whole corner; his worn sneakers with stomp-lights that didn’t work anymore. His mom squeezed his hand, and he turned to look at her.

Was mommy…crying?

She reached up with her free hand to wipe her face and smiled at him again, but this time her smile was different. It was a sad smile, like the ones she used whenever Touya scraped his knee or ran to her crying after he fell off his bike. Touya stared back at her. He didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t understand what was going on. His mom turned again and asked the doctor a question. He answered patiently. Then another one. He answered that one too. And on it went, until the doctor finally stood up, shook his parents’ hands once more, and left without a word.

The room was silent for a moment, then Touya’s dad reached down and picked him up off his chair, holding him to his chest with one arm. With the other, he grasped his mom’s shoulder. She had her face covered with her hands, but in a few seconds she sniffled softly and took the hand on her shoulder, allowing herself to trail behind them as they headed back out to the car.

-

“I’m afraid your son has a rare quirk disease.” The doctor looked up from the creased paper containing the damning lab results.

Rei’s heart dropped. She turned to look at her husband. He was stoic, standing frozen in the corner, face shadowed by the ceiling light. She let her eyes rest on her child, seated closer to her, fidgeting with the zipper on his sweatshirt. Touya, her eldest child. Her baby. She took a deep breath and turned back to the doctor, who continued.

“It is known as Degenerative Quirk Disease.” He paused. “The cause of the disease is unknown, but the essence of it is that the quirk preys on the life force of the user. The more he uses his quirk the faster his body will deteriorate, and unfortunately once the damage is done there is no known way to reverse it. As per the name of the disease, it is degenerative and will get worse over time. Unfortunately this does mean that your son will have a shorter lifespan. All known cases have eventually proven to be fatal.”

The room was silent for a moment. Rei’s vision blurred with tears. She squeezed Touya’s hand and he looked down at her, wide-eyed and innocent.

“Mommy?”

Rei smiled softly at him as tears broke her waterline. She haistily swiped them away. She couldn’t bring herself to reassure him. What a terrible mother she was.

She turned away, looking back at the doctor.

“Is there anything we can do?”

He nodded slowly.

“While there is no known cure, there is treatment available. In fact, just recently a villain-strength quirk suppresant was approved for medical use. The only way to slow the disease is to prevent the usage of his quirk as much as possible. This is the best option available, as even among those who thoroughly abstain from using their quirks, there are still accidents and passive attributes to most quirks that would expedite the disease, such as fire-resistance.” He nodded at the man in the corner. His face, normally highlighted with dancing flames, was dark and unreadable.

Rei prompted him further, eager to learn how to save her child.

“What does treatment entail?”

“The most promising option available is a weekly IV treatment supplemented with oral medication.  Both help to suppress quirk usage as much as possible to delay progression of the disease. With regular use his lifespan could be expanded by up to five years, compared to manually abstaining. Now I know this doesn’t sound like the most effective treatment, but given the life expectancy without treatment, five more years of life is the best gift you could give him right now.”

-

That’s all I have for now! If I ever decide to finish it I’ll upload it to my Ao3, and if you like my writing you can find more of it there as well :)

Again, thank you so much for the support! I’m so glad you like my art so I’ll be sure to keep on creating!

[shadowsfiguresfigments-blog]

A good place to die Chapter 25

Warning: Harsh language, violence

His jaws closed around me, swallowing me whole. Powerful muscles moved me further down his throat, driving my body against the myriad of teeth that sliced my skin. Pitch black darkness consumed me. As I was moved further and further down that fleshy tube, it didn’t stay dark, though; through the pain I noticed some sort of light slowly approaching me. In the emerging twilight I could see the little tentacles sprouting around me, eagerly sucking up the blood gushing from my open wounds. After several heartbeats, the light source finally came into my view, and I forgot everything around me, even the pain.

Three fiery, rotating orbs slowly approached me. They circled around each other in a mesmerizing dance, spinning faster and faster as they came closer. Their glow reflected off the yellowish teeth and the slimy pink flesh, casting a whirlwind of dancing shadows and rainbow reflections along their path.

It was the most beautiful sight I’d ever beheld.

The orbs radiated an incomprehensible otherworldliness that would have certainly frightened the living shit out of me if I had been able to be afraid. Distant cries and screams echoed all around me; however, I only perceived peace – it reminded me so much of my dream, when I had been engulfed in that warm, glowing bubble.

Finally.

I didn’t even notice the grin spreading across my face, nor the taste of my own blood in my mouth. Meanwhile the orbs where spinning so fast they melted into a fiery ring, ever growing before me, until it was big enough to fit all around me. When they reached me, I closed my eyes, perfectly at peace for the first time. I felt their touch on my face, an electric jolt of enormous proportions, and gave myself up as they flowed through the tears in my skin, burning their way into my core.

_____________________________________________________________

Of course, it wasn’t over – why would it ever be? The sensation only lasted for a heartbeat; then I was violently jerked backwards. The lights disappeared from my sight with superhuman speed, whilst the iron hard muscles crushed me as they pushed me backwards through the tube of flesh and teeth. That also meant the pain was back, the teeth not only slicing my skin, but digging deeper and further into me, slashing into my muscles, whilst the tentacle-like suckers writhed as if in extreme agony.

Fortunately it didn’t last long – it could only have been a few seconds – and I was spat out unto the cold concrete. The sensation of the hard ground and the freezing air came as an utter shock after the tranquility before.

A familiar wail filled the air. Disoriented and half-blind with blood and saliva, I crawled towards it, until my hands found the silk ruffles. I buried myself in them and felt them close around me, engulfing me in cool softness. Nestled deeply in the fabric, I was dimly aware of being moved at a ridiculous speed.

My eyes were still crusted with fluids, and the shock of what had happened left me only half aware of my surroundings. My nostrils and my ears worked just fine, however; and a familiar scent soon filled my nose. Together with the sloshing sounds it told me where I was – back in the Derry sewer system.

Home at last.

My broken body was gently lowered on a soft surface, and something warm and very wet washed over my face. Again and again it touched me ever so gently, until I could feel the grime and crust dissolve. Simultaneously the pain lessened and lessened, until it became more of distant thumping rather than a sharp burning.

The licking sensation now extended to my entire body, washing away all discomfort. I sighed and opened my eyes.

Penny loomed over me, his clown features barely recognizable beneath layers of my blood. His eyes had turned the deepest shade of orange I’d ever seen, but he didn’t radiate any aggressive energy. He was quite busy licking every inch of me, and his saliva had already closed most of the wounds, leaving only pink lines criss-crossing all over my skin. The tattered, crusty remains of my clothes were the only left-overs from his attempt to eat me.

I was still very much in shock – not from fear, but from being exposed to the unforgiving world after that tranquil place. Being born must feel the same way, I thought to myself. My hands reached out on their own, cradling Penny’s cheeks against them. His face slowly spilled out from between my fingers, and I sat up to pull him closer to me, to contain his melting form between my thin limbs. He was so big and there was so much of him; how could I possibly succeed? Still, I couldn’t NOT try to; even if I did my body wouldn’t have listened to me either way.

Between the aftereffects of the shock, the numerous substances I was covered in and Penny not having a solid form, I only realized after a while that the liquid running over my hands was neither saliva nor blood.

Penny was crying.

So was I, I discovered.

Like so many times before, I couldn’t tell in hindsight how long we stayed like this. Only when the feeling in my body was back to somewhat normal I dared to speak again.

“Are you alright?” It was a poor, pathetic attempt to tell him how worried I was, how much he meant to me, how sorry I was.

“I don’t know.” His voice echoed the same confusion I felt, somehow magnifying it because it was Pennywise who said it.

“Why… Why didn’t you eat me?”

No answer, though I felt it was because he truly didn’t know.

I tried a different approach.

“What were those lights?” Since Penny remained silent, I added: “They were so beautiful.”

His huge frame started twitching, and I realized he tried to get his form together. At last his eyes focused on me.

“Those lights… They are me. My true form.”

I traced my finger across his cheeks, gently stroking them.

“Well, I always thought you were handsome. So when they… when you touched me… What happened?”

Penny’s gaze drifted away, but I was sure he was only gathering his thoughts. After a while he sat up and cradled me against his chest.

“I don’t understand it, little one. Normally, seeing me… my true self… would kill you. You’d die of fear, and I’d absorb you soul and digest your flesh. But when I touched you, I couldn’t absorb you. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t; physically, if you will. And then all your emotions flooded into me.”

It took me a while to process that new information. I had always thought my lack of fear only meant he wouldn’t enjoy my taste, that eating me would be equivalent to forcing down some disgusting vegetables or something; not that it would make him throw up. What had been the most wonderful experience for me had made him sick.

I had made him sick.

“Am I… dangerous for you?”

“I don’t know, little one. Are you?” Though he cackled at the question, I could tell he was honestly wondering.

“I could never intentionally hurt you. I’m sorry for what I said before. I was frustrated.”

Penny reply was slow, as if he was testing out the words that left his mouth.

“I believe so was I, little one. I’ve never, in all the eons I’ve lived, ever experienced anything like this.”

“So, no one has ever seen your true self… and lived?”

“No…” Penny stopped, and his eye color changed once again, turning dark red.

“There once was a girl… She and her friends nearly killed me.”

I sat up and stared at him. Penny appeared to be just as shocked as I was, though perhaps for other reasons.

“You mean, a human did that to you? That a human was the reason you were so wounded when we first met?”

He nodded, looking away. He’s embarrassed, I realized.

“Wow.” I slouched back against him, wrapping his arms around myself. “No wonder you’d think of me as a threat. But Penny, I love you.” Again, the English language failed me in trying to convey my feelings. Still, he seemed to understand, because he rested his head on top of mine and sighed heavily.

“I love you too, little one. And I don’t want to eat you. Not because you’re not delicious, but because I don’t want to you to not be around.”

I chuckled at his curious way to express himself. Fortunately I wasn’t the only one struggling with words.

“So, where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know.”

We sat in silence, both pondering what had happened between us. Finally, I found I couldn’t stand the uncertainty any longer.

“So, we need to address three things, right? Firstly; your hunger – you haven’t fed since you woke up, right? Secondly, my life and my schedule – I got the opening coming up, I got Bee moving in and I need to finish school. Thirdly, our future together – whether you’ll go into hibernation again, and what I’ll do then.”

I could feel his nod, and finally, it was accompanied by merry bells jingling again. I had my Penny back.

“Until then, let’s take it one day at a time, okay?”

Again, he nodded; again, the bells jingled. I twisted around and pulled his head towards me. “In the meantime, why don’t we enjoy each other?” His low purr was answer enough. I closed my eyes and opened myself to him.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Europa Clipper to determine whether icy moon has ingredients necessary for life In 1610, Galileo peered through his telescope and spotted four bright moons orbiting Jupiter, dispelling the long-held notion that all celestial bodies revolved around the Earth. In 2024, when scientists expect to send the Europa Clipper spacecraft to investigate one of those moons, they too may find evidence that fundamentally alters our understanding of the solar system. Europa is the sixth nearest moon to Jupiter and is roughly the same size as our own. Thanks to data retrieved by the Galileo space probe—launched in 1989 and named to honor the Italian astronomer—and the Hubble Space Telescope, scientists are almost sure that a salty, liquid ocean is hidden beneath Europa's icy surface, one so large that astronomers believe it could contain two times the water in all of Earth's oceans combined. Europa itself has been around for 4.5 billion years, but its surface is geologically young, only about 60 million years old, suggesting that it has been continually resurfaced, perhaps through a process much like Earth's shifting plate tectonics. As Europa travels around Jupiter, its elliptical orbit and the planet's strong gravitational pull cause the moon to flex like a rubber ball, producing heat that's capable of maintaining an ocean's liquid state. Hydrothermal energy at the moon's core, left over from its formation, may also heat the ocean at the seafloor. These unique characteristics have led NASA to deem Europa "the most promising place in our solar system to find present-day environments suitable for some form of life beyond Earth." But in order for life to exist, it needs more than just water and energy. It also needs essential chemicals like hydrogen, carbon, and oxygen. While Europa seems to check the first two boxes, its composition remains a mystery. Confirming all three of these ingredients for life will determine whether Europa is habitable. "That's the $4 billion question," says Haje Korth, a space physicist at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Lab and deputy project scientist for the Europa Clipper mission. He and his colleagues at NASA and its California-based Jet Propulsion Lab are gearing up to investigate whether Europa might contain the ingredients necessary for life somewhere in its vast ocean. In late 2024, they will send the orbiter into the skies above Cape Canaveral, where it will begin its five-and-a-half-year journey to Europa. During that time it will fly by both Mars and Earth, using the planets' gravity to slingshot itself 484 million miles toward Jupiter, arriving by 2030. Kate Craft, one of the mission's project staff scientists, warns the long journey will precede even greater challenges. "The radiation from Jupiter is really harsh," she says. "Our instruments have to be able to survive that." Roughly the size of a basketball court, the Europa Clipper will carry an impressive suite of 10 separate instruments. Korth says getting all those gadgets to work simultaneously—in the frigid temperatures of outer space, no less—will be another test. Two cameras, so powerful they will be able to pick up features just a few feet long, will map the moon's surface in color and from multiple angles. Spectrometers will study the chemical makeup of Europa's surface as well as the particles that hover above it. A magnetometer will be able to determine the depth and salinity of Europa's ocean. Two more instruments, a thermal emission imaging system and an ultraviolet spectrograph, will look for areas where Europa's ocean may have spilled out onto the surface via eruptions or plumes. If scientists find such a location, they would be able to analyze the composition of Europa's ocean without ever touching down on its surface. "These would be the most pristine samples of the ocean underneath," Korth says. "This is not a plume-hunting mission, but we'll certainly take that opportunity." Clipper will spend three and a half years in orbit around Jupiter, performing a flyby of Europa every two to three weeks from as close as 16 miles away, sending back observations that will reach Earth in as little as a week. Between flybys, scientists will pore over this cache of data, adjusting the observations if they see something that sparks their interest—a plume, for example—or necessitates further investigation. Right now, the mission team has planned 45 flybys, but the tour could be extended if funding allows. While launch is still more than three years away, Craft is already part of multiple studies determining the feasibility and logistics of a Europa Lander mission, the next logical step if Europa Clipper finds the moon to be habitable. A lander could be delivered to Europa from a sky crane—much like the recent Mars Perseverance—and house a cryobot designed to drill through the icy shell and into the ocean below. Europa's subsurface waters aren't the only outer-space oceans that APL has its eyes on. In October 2020, the Lab announced it would pitch NASA on the Enceladus Orbilander, a spacecraft designed to orbit and land on Saturn's sixth-largest moon to search for signs of life hidden in its ocean.

[leviathan-dee]

DMC Week 2020: Day 7: An Enticing Outcome

(An AU day! I’ve recently watched Van Helsing and had the need for masquerade Vergil and vampires. I’ve also never written smut before, so there is a small debut of spice at the end of this story lmao) (Vergil x Reader) (NSFW, sexual content, mentions of alcohol, canon typical blood and violence).

Thrown amidst an exsanguinous masquerade, you were left to fend for yourself, until a handsome and very much animated young noble graced you with his presence in hopes to rescue you from your predicament.

Word Count: 4,682

Characters: Vergil, Dante, Fem!Reader

Read On AO3

A starless night stretched outside the arched windows, an abyssal blanket shrouding the supposed ‘jovial’ celebration. It appeared as though the evening was overbearingly cold, albeit the vermilion glow of candles and chandeliers that peppered the ball. You should be warm. In fact, you should be sweating. However the facade of extravagant foods and fabricated smiles couldn’t possibly hope to mask the cold reception.

You brushed your goosebumps away, before observing the patrons of the masquerade evening. Mulberry silk and crushed velvet fabrics draped over bodies dragged on the tiles, the sound resonating almost deafeningly. These strangers waltzed amongst the golden halls, frozen limbs rigid in their movements. Even the gentle lul of acoustics, violins and pianos, appeared tuneless. Lifeless.

Naturally, the perfume thick air became colder with these observations. You coiled your tense fingers around the wineglass, the liquid within thickly sloshing at the movement. You eyed your drink with curiosity, sniffing the rim of the crystalline glass, before a sickly scent overwhelmed your senses. It was oddly metallic for a wine. You silently took note that the aristocrat your father wanted you to marry had peculiar tastes.

You assumed a doleful smile. Admittedly, you never expected yourself to be handed away to some noble, body and soul, for a fleeting promise of wealth and power. For a mere title, your flesh and blood threw you away like some bleating lamb, ready for the cut. Sad, truly. And yet, here you were, wearing the finest satin gown with an amethyst encrusted mask, preparing to don the title of Countess of Redgrave alongside your future husband.

For one final time, you attempted to swig a gulp of the obscure alcohol, instead gagging at the smell as it hit the back of your throat. You made a wheezing sound, forcing the bile down before it projectiled onto the polished surface of the ballroom. The mask wearing passersby began to eye you with stares that seemed oddly vacant; Perhaps even hungry? You averted your gaze, attempting to keep to yourself, as a morbidity so indescribably visceral, pierced through you at the thought.

Your prayers appeared to have been answered, a towering man with a gaze that gleamed with life graced your presence. The subtle flint hue in his irises was a welcome change to the usual cadaverous stares from the guests. Though their colour was cold, his eyes radiated a fervid warmth.

Tentatively, he approached you, seeking silent permission to close the gap. Your tranquil manner confirmed his wordless request. As he drifted across the polished tiles, you noted he was of highborn descendancy, his frame draped in exquisite brocade, the colour of Siberian delphiniums cascading from his chest in lacy frills. The man’s chiseled jaw was framed by a Venetian mask of vivid golds, whilst his silver locks sat subserviently slicked back. His tailcoat settled on the broad shoulders with nary a sign of creasing on the fabric. You took note that the air of sovereignty appeared to move behind him like an obedient wind.

Undoubtedly, he intrigued you.

A sweet scent of spiced apple and cinnamon gently wafted through the labyrinth of expensive perfumes, as the man finished his approach. It was as if he eclipsed the entire world with his presence. Though his height was intimidating, you felt safe knowing that the rose tint of his plush lips seemed more alive than the population within the hall tonight.

"You do not belong, my lady." The slight adenoidal, yet husky tone of the voice caught you off guard, alongside the strangely insulting statement. Though the sentence was forward and harsh, it was oddly true. You inhaled a quick breath before responding.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Forgive me for my brashness, your courtesy, but I fear a lady of your stature and health must not reside in such establishments, no matter how tempting it may be.” The cordial hum that followed his explanation somehow warmed your chilled core. Becoming aware of the titles he rained upon you, your cheeks began to blaze with a feverish life. You chuckled bashfully in turn, tracing the lip of your wine glass with your fingertips. His eyes followed the movement eagerly.

“I have yet to marry the Count. You need not address me as such.”

“It would be inappropriate of me to address you as anything but your future title, your ladyship.” The man’s tone stayed low yet soft spoken. Falling into deep thought, your fingers continued to circle the rim of your crystalline glass, a sweet melodic sound resonating between the two of you.

“I see. May I ask the gentleman his name, my lord?” As you finished your request, the noble beckoned your hand.

“You may, my lady,” swooping down to a low bow, he palmed your fingers, cradling them close to his face to plant a chaste kiss upon the knuckles, “Vergil Sparda, at your service.”

This noble, Vergil Sparda, kept his gaze on yours with every inch of your knuckles he pecked. A bashful expression spread across your face, the man sighing contentedly at your blazing cheeks. For the first time tonight, you felt welcomed. Welcomed by someone that appeared animated, as opposed to the cold-blooded patrons of the evening.

You took your hand back, already missing the feeling of his velvety lips upon your skin.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.” Feeling somewhat embarrassed at your sudden schoolgirl attitude, one certainly not befit of a future Countess, you averted your gaze in order to regain your composure. It was not a successful endeavour.

“The pleasure is mine, your ladyship.” Vergil seemed to enjoy your abrupt change in posture, dragging out the vowels of every word with his honeyed voice to get another coy response. You wanted to return his teasing with your own coquettish mannerisms, however the exchange took a turn in your stomach, your abdomen becoming a breeding ground for rabid, carnal butterflies.

Trying to keep whatever dignity you had left from your burning cheeks, you proceeded to ponder the man’s goals. He appeared as though he did not belong here.

Come to think of it, neither did you.

“May I inquire as to what your affair with the masquerade is tonight?” Your question appeared to have caused his hand to reach for his silver hair, slicking the loose tendrils back into their place. Vergil fell deep in thought, before reaching for your glass of obscure scarlet liquid. He beckoned the wineglass onto his palm.

“I have business with the Count. A personal matter. In fact…” As he spoke, you obeyed his request for the glass, reaching forward dangerously close. Your fingers brushed past his, the warmth of foreign flesh feeling utterly scandalous.

Calculating his movements, his eyes kept burrowing into your soul, your stomach continuing its somersaults. Albeit the flirtatious moment, he examined the liquid within the glass with a disgusted snarl. Even through the Venetian mask, you could easily distinguish the slipping facade of stoicism, revealing a repulsed frown.

“My lady, have you ingested anything this fine evening? This drink included?” He swished the sanguine liquid, as an almost noxious, metallic odour began veering itself into your lungs once more. You tried not to gag, attempting to retain your poise. You kept your mouth shut in fears of suddenly emptying your stomach onto your ball-gown, instead opting for a vigorous shake of the head. Vergil nodded approvingly, before tossing the crystalline container aside, letting the macabre smelling swill pour in torrential floods down the polished surface of the ballroom. The ghoulish crowd reacted disapprovingly at the shattering sound of the glass.

“Very good. Now, follow me.”

Cradling your hand, the young noble pulled you in like a singularity, both mentally and physically. He seemed hasty, albeit his cool exterior of unwavering stoicism. You both weaved through crowds of marbled velvet, avoiding the dragging gowns and spilled wine . Each patron’s mortiferous faces contorted at the sight of your apprehension and worry. It appeared as though the whites of their eyes were a ghastly porcelain, so unbearably white that they gave off a luminous glow. Even their smiles seemed pernicious in nature, each tooth a sharp rapier ready to gnaw at whatever fell beneath their gaze.

Something felt off.

Sudden panic spread within your frame, your fingertips going numb, alongside an anxiety induced lump of phlegm forming in your throat. Your legs carried you beside Vergil, yet the seductive noble provided you with not a sliver of information to suggest why there was such a rush.

What was his business with your future husband?

What putrid liquid was in the glass?

Why did these guests appear so necrotic in nature?

With each step, your calves seemed to burn with a sweet ache of exhaustion. Undoubtedly, you had enough.

“Stop!” Your plea went ignored, the ultramarine draped noble with eyes of silver continuing on his cascade down the stairs towards the exit of the masquerade.

“Please?!”

“Not now, your ladyship.” Pausing in his surge out of the doors, Vergil turned to you, his arctic eyes pinning you down with an unwavering stare. It appeared as though it was a warning, yet not for you personally.

“Stop calling me that. I am no Countess. And unhand me, at once.” You inhaled a shuddering breath, unsure whether the surging unease was from your nefarious surroundings or the noble’s frigorific stare. You continued, nevertheless, once more attempting to break the silence of Vergil’s gaze.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Away. It is not safe here.”

“Why?” You continued to wriggle your wrist under his iron albeit somewhat tender grip. Firm, yet not once feeling uncomfortable. He wordlessly sighed, tugging at your wrist, beckoning you to follow him. You felt safe in his presence, however each step felt like pulling teeth, your lack of knowledge in the situation filling you with dread. Giving up in your endless tirade of defiance, you followed the noble, his mood improving dramatically.

Each stranger became a grotesque amalgamation of lucid terrors, their teeth lengthening with every inch of the gap you closed between yourself and the exit. Their skin grew rubicund scales, their pupils morphing into sharp slits.

The golden arches of the entrance called to you, Vergil’s steadfast resolve forcing you away from danger, and certain demise.

It all occurred so incredibly swiftly.

One moment you were being protectively held against the silver hair’s chest, feeling his proud melodic drumming of the heart. The next, an ancient, ethereal weapon of foreign lands materialised within Vergil’s hands, flooding your vision with phosphorescent cerulean sparkles.

He stormed at the diabolical crowd, gently pushing you behind him to safety. Within a sliver of a second, the patrons of this nightmarish evening metamorphosed to what you can only explain as vampires from stories your dear mother told you, in order to scare you, and make you obey her orders. Your noble protector, however, made short work of them, parrying each swing of their hungry claws. Lifeblood flowed in rivers. Flesh was torn, and bones were fractured. These fissures within the vampiric patrons’ bodies were endless, Vergil showing no benevolent mercy as he summoned a cyclone of blades to sever body from limb.

Slashing with an unmatched speed, Vergil was a tempest. None could stand in his way. With every attempt at his flesh, the monsters were tossed aside, their teeth still baring and searching for a chalice to drink off. It was inevitable that one exsanguinous guest was lucky enough to swipe at your protector. Swirling on his heel, Vergil barely dodged a gnarly claw, his Venetian veil dropping to the bloodied floor. It was then, that you finally earned a glimpse of the noble’s face.

He was an incredibly concentrated man, the wrinkles upon his visage indicating a permanent grimace. A small, albeit deep, crinkle took residence between his brows. You could not help but become entranced with his features. Even his silver locks had come undone from their usual position, swaying in the wind with effortless ease, framing his sharp jaw. Every aspect of his face was bedecked in grace and grandiose elegance; Expressions of harsh focus, yet features of tender origins.

This fixation was cut short, Vergil Sparda calling forth Geryon, a horse of sublime magnificence. Its sleek surface appeared to reflect the vermillion lights of the ball inside, the horse’s shadowy appearance seeming like a void of pure black.

Snapping his fingers, Vergil ordered you forward beside him, whilst fending off hordes of ravenous predators. Undoubtedly, you obeyed. Hiding behind him, Vergil inhaled deeply before crouching, drawing his sword only a minuscule sliver to reveal the radiating power within its sheath. You observed the peeking metal. It appeared as though it was a pure mirror, reflecting the nobles devious visage in all of its glory.

The ground shook violently, forcing you to steady yourself on the man’s shoulders. As the necrotic beings approached, cerulean energy swirled around the two of you, the air becoming thick with tension and the smell of smoke.

And then… Silence.

Silence that was followed by pained groans and the cacophonous sounds of sliced flesh. The display of severed dimensions, refractions of light dancing around your vision, materialised without a single movement from Vergil Sparda. Your jaw sat ajar at the sudden majestic view. The air seemed to become sliced into many tiny slivers, like paper-cuts in reality.

As the quiet resumed once more, the noble closed the gap between his hilt and the sheath with an achingly slow snap. His lips curled mischievously upon seeing your expression of shock.

“That was- What was that?” Your query went ignored, the noble wordlessly hooking his arm around your waist to prop you upon the horse. Letting out a tiny squeak, you complied, grabbing onto the braided mane of the creature. The noble effortlessly sat upon the steed’s spine in front of you.

“Hold on.” His voice was steady. Husky and low. Whether it was from the battle, or your closeness to him, the sudden change in character concerned you. Nevertheless, you once again complied, coiling your arms around his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat pound against your palm. The scent of cinnamon would have been overwhelming, if not for the splatters of blood that blended with the sweet spice.

It was a tranquil ride, the stillness of the Redgrave forest forcing you to adopt a reticent manner. Though your physical closeness to the man was evident, you still had barriers to uphold. Your head seemed to nod against his broad back, the warmth calming you into the realm of slumber. No words were spoken between the two of you.

Thus, the horse continued with utmost haste.

Away from the masquerade.

Away from the Count.

Away from your title.

…

“My lady. We have arrived.”

The noble hopped off of the horse, his ultramarine shirt ruffles soaked in tar-like blood. Tentative in his movements, he offered you his hand in order to help you reach the floor to safety. Your toes touched ground with a less-than elegant huff resonating from your lungs, with you accidentally stumbling into the towering noble’s chest. An apologetic expression graced your visage. Before speaking, you yawned widely, a small giggle bubbling from your chest.

“Thank you,” keeping your fingers laced around his own, you squeezed reassuringly before craning your neck up to observe the scratches upon his face, “how are you faring? You’re injured, my lord.”

“I’m fine.” Although his voice was firm, his expression was grave. It seemed to soften whilst his eyes lingered on yours. Your own vision appeared to trail around his features, the glimmer of intrigue never dwindling. The curiosity was overwhelming. You wondered how his velvety lips would feel upon your own plush mouth. Would the sensation be the same as the chaste kiss he placed on your knuckles? Or would it be so much more-

Unfortunately, your trail of thought was cut short. The tender, yet focused gaze of the man morphed into one of annoyance, as a boisterous noble sprung forth from a gold embellished carriage, his horse neighing in defiance.

You attempted to wave off your bashful and warming complexion; However, to no avail.

The man appeared identical to Vergil, noting that the noble may be a less stoic twin to your saviour. He was draped in matching brocade, except for the scarlet hues that peppered his frame. His locks also appeared to match Vergil’s current state, cascading to the sides of his jaw, framing the chiseled features elegantly. A broad, genuine smile spread across the man’s lips as you approached beside your saviour, continuing to subconsciously lace your fingers with Vergil’s.

“Welcome back brother, you finally made it. And ahh, Lady Y/N, it is an honour to finally make your acquaintance. I am at a disadvantage.” You attempted a warm smile, your curling lips appearing disingenuous. You instead opted for a curtsy, the scarlet clad man bowing in turn.

“We must leave at once, the Lamiae demons are close behind, Dante.” Vergil ran his fingers through his silver hair to fix its positioning, furthering the differences between him and his brother.

“I beg your pardon? Demons? My lord, explain yourself! Demons?!” A small ghost of a smirk tugged at Vergil’s lips, leaving you perplexed as to why he derived such pleasure from your fright. Holding on to your delicate fingers, he pulled your figure towards the carriage, beckoning you to enter to safety.

“Come on. We need to press on.” Vergil’s brother, Dante, assumed a serious tone which somewhat bewildered you. He returned to the carriage, placing his posterior back into the rider’s seat, whilst whistling to draw the attention of Geryon. To your surprise, the black horse emigrated in front of the carriage. Dante’s arms began to glow with a royal violet magic, a bridle morphing in his palms, connecting him to Geryon and the carriage.

You watched in complete awe. Vergil Sparda noted your wide-eyed stare.

“I will explain everything when we’re moving towards safety, my lady.”

Nodding in agreement with your features still morphed through perplexion, you followed the towering man. The inside of the carriage was a luxurious change to the forest outside. Countless silk fabrics were draped over the seats, swaying with embellished fleur de lis symbols. Vergil gently fixed a section of the silk, letting you relax from the recent life-threatening events.

You sighed as you landed amongst the cushioning fabrics.

Vergil sighed with contentment in turn.

“Me and my brother were to exterminate the threat within the masquerade tonight, the Lamiae. We did not anticipate that their depraved rituals would involve an innocent bystander such as yourself, until recently...” Sitting beside you, Vergil’s fingers laced around yours, gently stroking your skin with his thumb. It was a harmless act of absent-minded tenderness and comfort, yet it felt so much more than a simple gesture. Something amorous began to broil in your stomach.

“I… apologise if I was too abrasive, my lord. You saved me from certain demise, and I should thank you for that.” As you spoke, the noble kept his softened gaze upon yours, drawing your hand to his lips, to place more ardent pecks on the skin. That same feeling of wanton curiosity overwhelmed you as it once did at your first meeting with the enticing man.

“No need to apologise, Lady Y/N. It would be a shame if a woman of your stature was overly submissive.”

For the first time this evening, your name rolled off his tongue. It sent countless lascivious shivers down your spine, your grip on his fingers tightening at the mention. He seemed to note the reaction with his own returning squeeze of your delicate hand.

“Besides, I could not allow a creature of such extraordinary beauty to fall into the hands of that vile Count.” The atmosphere within the chamber appeared to drift into one of attraction, the two of you being pulled in by pure inquisitiveness. Your eyes danced between his own, whilst the blaze within your abdomen and cheeks began anew.

“I- Thank you, Vergil.” You decided to grace his ears with your own utterance of his name. He gave a small smirk, reaching up to a stray lock on your cheek, which he deftly pushed aside to have a better view of your embarrassed visage.

Sitting quietly, the carriage began its journey, Dante whistling a tune to himself, occasionally talking to the horses. You let out some giggles upon hearing the noble’s less stoic twin make conversation with the creatures, and hearing Vergil’s exasperated scoffs at the comments.

Pondering your predicament and the sudden appearance of your timely rescuer, a question bounced to the forefront of your mind.

“Was I to become one of them?” Though the question was harmless enough, Vergil’s brow wrinkle made a comeback.

“Your ladyship, you were no future wife to the Count, but a sacrifice. These demons are vampiric by nature, and rarely ‘recruit’ into their ranks. The Count simply found you worthy enough to… drain.” As the words cascaded from his lips, your nausea returned in full force. Vergil noticed your anxious demeanour, cradling your chin to meet his gaze. Your head spun like a silk throwing machine, the world becoming a hazy mess of subdued hues.

“I am sorry to say this, but your father knew this all along.” His low, yet tender tone flowed through the air. Though tears were meant to escape your vision, your sorrow and grief was as dry as a desert. Nothing could hurt as much as the mention of your own father wanting your death in exchange for a title.

Vergil continued to cradle your face, stroking small circles upon your skin to ease the sting of such news. He seemed to understand this burning feeling. Your eyes met with his again, searching for answers that were not there. Perhaps you were not searching for answers? Searching for comfort instead? Perhaps a friend?

“Truly, Vergil. Thank you for this. How can I possibly repay you?”

“There is no need, my lady. Your company is enough.”

The comment rolled off as a request, rather than as a statement. Your company was his desire,

and you wanted to comply.

For what monstrous contessa would deny this pulchritudinous hunter their reward?

Certainly not you.

As the smell of cinnamon and spiced apple graced your lungs, the thrill of supple lips brushing against yours overpowered the senses. His fingers carded through your hair, mirroring your own movements of trailing fingers through his arctic locks. Your shivers seemed to come in endless waves. His tongue delved curiously at the entrance of your lips, asking silent permission to explore further. You complied once more, parting your mouth, and sighing into his warmth. Tiny mewls escaped your throat, the noble reacting positively to your noises with the nestle of his palm against your thigh, and a possessive, almost hungry, pull towards his hips. Eager to sate your wanton curiosity, you plunged into each others’ embrace in unison, sharing this moment of voluptuous desire.

You hadn’t even noticed the speed at which your clothes were discarded. Vergil’s hands moved along your naked thigh, enjoying the shifting muscle, to meet the folds of your slicked petals. His hands began to travel miles upon the shivering skin of your loins, his fingers tracing your exposed core, finally pushing to the apex of your pleasures with repetitive yet decisive movements. Pump after pump of his fingers against your satin centre, your gaze shifted towards his lustful eyes, his expression reflecting the sheer pleasure he experienced watching your flower unfold beneath him. The mischievous smirk that formed on Vergil’s visage appeared to have pushed you even further into the blissful euphoria he was so easily able to thrust upon you with nothing but his hands.

The feverish yearning for his full glory inside of you was unbearable. You began to plead him, as his honeyed sighs and low growl resonated against your neck, his velvety lips promising release, brushing soft kisses against the flesh. He did not give in, however. His delicate, yet strong digits continued their tirade at your core, pushing you to your limits as you sighed out his name in a delectable, yet hushed voice.

Oh how scandalous this union was. To be stolen away on the night of the masquerade, which your fiance gifted you for the consolidation of two families. How scandalous was it to spend the night with a stranger you barely knew, no matter how tempting it was. You continued mewling into his ear, gracing your saviour and conqueror with euphoria, whilst pondering these vulgar acts.

Impatience appeared to overtake the silver haired noble. His facade of stoicism and composure slipping into one of fervent need for your sweat slicked body against his. Before your very eyes, his skin was exposed to the fervid warm air of the carriage. Unable to control your own carnal need for the man, your fingers laced around his member, his seed beading at your satin touch. A small, almost cautious exhale of gratification escaped Vergil’s lungs. Achingly slowly, your thumb traced the tip of his cock, coating his seed across the silken skin. His eyes darkened with an insatiable hunger, pushing your back against the cool silk of the carriage. It was then that your thighs shivered with an expectant welcome.

As his frame fit against yours, like a finishing piece of the puzzle, the sensation of his decadent skin propelled you to a realm of exhilaration. He pushed your folds to the sides, revelling in the display of your glazed over eyes and your slicked petals opening up only for him. Tentatively, he lavished your core with his length. The noble closed the gap between your hips, relishing in the sensation of your satin walls, whilst observing the blooming lethargy his body caused in your own. With each slow pump, the quiet groans that escaped Vergil’s lips poured out in unison with your own.

An abrupt thrust into your core caused an overbearing moan to escape your lungs, Vergil’s eyes widening in fears of alerting the oblivious driver. He placed his palm against your mouth to quieten your fragmented voice. The danger of being found out only quickened your arousal, your silken walls closing around Vergil’s cock. This caused his pupils to completely blow out, quickening the pace to chase his pleasure with yours.

Vergil’s racing heartbeat unified with yours, and the marks he left upon your skin with his longing bites, seemed to push you to your limits. Your thighs closed around the noble’s hips, welcoming a vigorous ecstasy to bloom within your frame. He followed suit, prolonging his euphoria with feverish thrusts into your core. Amidst each pump, you breathed in his scent, kissing the frame of his jaw with worshipping pecks after pushing his palm away from your mouth. You let your voice fill his ears, his own husky groans gracing your skin as a delectable orgasm spread within his body.

This maelstrom of pleasure pushed all of your worries aside, forgetting the predicament of betrayal and the discovery of the existence of demons. The view of the panting, undone hunter above you, his muscles rippling alongside the intoxicating feeling within his loins, was grandiose to say the least. You admired his sweat slicked skin, running your fingers across the Herculean build of his abdomen.

A victorious, as well as dangerous, smirk formed on his lips.

He appeared to enjoy your cherishing gaze.

Reaching down to knead the skin on your buttocks, he drew you in for another round, his craving for your silken walls not yet sated.

You expected this evening to be dull and monotonous. And yet, your heart beat faster than it had its entire existence from carnal pleasures. Was this your way of saying thanks? With both your bodies interlocking, causing saccharine friction between silk sheets?

It appears so. But you didn’t mind.

And neither did Vergil.

Here’s hoping Dante wouldn’t hear the events of this hedonistic night as it continued until the end of your long journey.

[the-marvel-ous-hobbit]

To Slay a Dragon: Ch. 4

Summary: Radagast and Wargs.

Word Count: ~5300

part three || part five

Morning sunlight aggravates the pounding behind my eyes as I stare at the leafy canopy above the trolls’ campsite. The glare holds me captive as effectively as the burlap encasing my body. Each breath draws the smell of rich, damp earth into my nose. Garbled voices drift past my head, mingling with the birdsong. It might almost be peaceful, if it weren’t for the agony radiating from my shattered ribs.

I still can’t believe we made it through the night unscathed, broken ribs aside. I should be grateful the trolls in this land are as stupid as they are ugly. If it had been three of Skyrim’s trolls, we wouldn’t have been so lucky—especially with Kili throwing himself blade-first into a fight without a second’s thought. Idiot. I should be angry with him—the fire devouring my chest is basically his fault—but the relief at seeing the sun rise drowns out any sense of ill-will.

A vision of wide green eyes flashes in my mind, reminding me of the reason I jumped into that troll’s path. I’ve never reacted like that to save anyone before—instinctively, without a shred of rational thought. A sure-fire way to get yourself killed—or, in my case, seriously injured. But if I hadn’t, if Bilbo had been on the receiving end of the blow that knocked me flat, would we have survived the night at all?

I let out a slow breath through my nose, wincing and struggling to believe I just watched the same Hobbit who was scared to leave his armchair stand up to three fully grown trolls with barely a quiver. He saved my life.

Maybe Gandalf is onto something after all. Perhaps there’s no need for me to leap to Bilbo’s rescue. But something within me seems determined to protect him. If I were to give any thought to it, I might say it’s because I’m trying to make up for something.

I cram that thought back into its box and firmly jam on the lid. Not today.

“Hello?” A curly-haired silhouette blocks the glare from the sun. I blink, forcing my vision to focus. “Are you alright?”

Bilbo’s question fans the fire in my chest. Metallic warmth floods my mouth as I clamp my teeth down on a whimper. I have to get something to fix my ribs before I pass out. I squint at Bilbo, at his mussed hair and concerned eyes, teeth gritted against the pain. There’s no way I can even stand in my condition, let alone walk to get my pack. But the thought of someone else touching my possessions feels like a hand squeezing my insides.

Don’t be so stubborn.

The voice is as familiar as my own, and my heart aches to hear it, even if it’s inside my own mind. I can picture the exact expression on his face as he says it—the long-suffering exasperation on his hardened features contradicting the endless patience in his soft eyes. I swallow thickly and force myself to speak.  

“I need—can you bring my bag?” The words climb up my throat, emerging in a hoarse whisper.

Bilbo’s brows knit, then he nods and disappears from view. I let my head drop back amongst the leaves and close my eyes, praying Bilbo doesn’t possess any tendencies to snoop. I doubt he would understand half of the things I carry with me, but they’re all I have in the world, and I’m not very good at sharing.

Snatches of conversation reach my ears across the campsite—the Dwarves discuss the night’s events in breathless, excited tones punctuated with bursts of raucous laughter. Their familiar noise is a welcome distraction from my laboured breathing and the bile rising in my throat.

Bilbo reappears, clutching my pack between his small hands. It’s half as tall as he is, and the breath whooshes out of him as he sets it on the ground beside me. Before I can fully register the next problem, he ducks his head and reaches to untie the sack. Even after weeks on the road, he still smells vaguely of lavender and sweet tea underneath the dirt and sweat. He fumbles a little with the knots, tongue poking between his teeth. His breath is warm on my neck, chasing spiders down my back. My fingers curl around an invisible blade.

I close my eyes and force my breaths to slow. This is Bilbo—he’s half my size and unarmed. Never mind that, he saved my life not an hour ago. Why would he go to the trouble only to pull a blade on me? The idea of him wielding a blade is almost laughable—this sweet, innocent creature doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.

But he’s not innocent. No one is.

A twig snaps. Opening my eyes, I see Bilbo standing several feet away, hands folded behind his back. He doesn’t meet my eyes, gazing off towards where a few of the Dwarves are wrestling in the dirt. The vice around my chest eases, but only slightly.

I struggle to sit up, my ribs barking their protest. I could just ask him to get what I need from my bag, but I’ve already defied my instincts one too many times today. A face flashes before my eyes—a certain red-headed Nord who would repeatedly test my skill and patience by seeing how easily he could filch my possessions, and grin widely at my frustration when I failed to conceal them properly.

The lump in my throat returns, thick enough to choke on.

After a bit of fumbling, and with my teeth clenched hard enough to hurt, I manage to retrieve my prize. The glass vial is about the size of my pinky and contains a deep red liquid. I yank out the cork and drain the liquid in one swallow. The potion burns down my parched throat, hits my sternum and blooms outwards like a mushroom cloud. Bones shift and crack, knitting together behind a fresh surge of agony. A whimper escapes through my teeth, and the pain subsides. Cool air fills my lungs, and they expand joyfully inside my newly-healed ribcage.

Bilbo’s wide eyes dart between my face and the empty vial. “What was that?”

“It’s medicine.” I kick the sack off my legs and wiggle my toes inside my boots, flinching as blood surges to the deprived muscles. “Of sorts.” Bilbo’s eyes shine with more questions, but he looks away, fiddling with one of the shiny gold buttons on his waistcoat.

With the pain finally gone, my gaze drifts to the three large figures across the campsite. Gandalf is busy examining the statues—he raps one smartly with his staff like a schoolteacher disciplining a student with his cane. The troll’s stone eyes stare off into the trees, forever oblivious. The dagger still wedged in its thigh glitters like a ruby encased in a halo of sunlight.

Leaving Bilbo and his questions behind, I roll to my feet and cross the glade to retrieve what’s mine. The Blade slides from the stone with no resistance, returning to my hand like a loyal pet. As its familiar weight settles in my palm, something else previously absent slots back into place in my chest.

Footsteps approach through the bracken a few feet from me. The slow, deliberate steps can only belong to one person. I duck behind the statue as Thorin emerges from the trees and strolls towards Gandalf. Though he’s half the Wizard’s height, he does his best to look down his nose at him.

“Where did you go to, if I may ask?”

“To look ahead.”

“And what brought you back?”

“Looking behind.”

I swear if I roll my eyes any harder they’re going to get stuck. Maybe Gandalf deserves some credit for saving our hides, but it’s also very possible this entire thing was somehow his fault. Thorin gives a barely perceptible nod of thanks, despite the tightness around his eyes that echoes my sentiments.

“Nasty business,” Gandalf mutters, glancing up at Lazy Eye. “Still, they’re all in one piece.”

Thorin doesn’t miss a beat. “No thanks to your burglar.”

Gandalf raises his chin. “He had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that.”

Thorin looks sheepish for all of half a second before he sighs through his nose. “And what of the Elf? For a supposed dragon-slayer, she wasn’t any help at all. She almost got Kili killed.”

My breath freezes in my throat, my fingers digging into the statue beside me hard enough to hurt. Gandalf holds Thorin’s gaze, their expressions a perfect contrast. Thorin’s thick brows form a harsh ‘V’ over his eyes, his chest rises and falls a little too rapidly.

“I made my reservations regarding her clear from the beginning,” Thorin growls. Each word is like a fist driving into my gut. “If any of my kin are harmed because of her—”

“Our agreement still holds.” Gandalf’s voice is perfectly flat, mirroring his placid expression. “You may seek retribution as you see fit, as promised.”

Thorin nods his assent, and the conversation moves on. My pulse pounds behind my eyes. The Night Mother’s breathy whisper hisses inside my mind, repeating the words of the contract she burdened me with over a year ago. The Blade twitches in my hand, yearning for blood.

Why did I let him live?

With some effort, I shove the Blade into its sheath at my waist and stagger across the clearing on heavy legs. Curious eyes drill holes in my back, but I keep my gaze fixed on my feet. Crouching by my bag, I dig through the contents, hyper-aware of the steel pressed against my thigh.

It shouldn’t bother me, knowing that Gandalf and Thorin have an agreement about my death, as though they both expect me to betray them. At one time, I might have applauded their foresight. But after all the effort I’ve made to repress my assassins’ instincts—the same ones drilled into me by the very person who haunts my every step—I ought to be granted some kind of reprieve. I thought I’d left the distrustful glares and concealed blades on Skyrim’s grey shores. How naïve I was.

Curling my shaking hands into fists, I force a lungful of air in through my nose, hold it, and slowly release, my eyes shut tight. With each slow breath, the heat gradually subsides.

His approach is silent, but I sense Bilbo’s presence before he speaks. He hovers behind the pale curtain of mud-smeared hair brushing my shoulder—I tuck it behind my ear and turn to look at him. The gold buttons on his waistcoat gleam as he bounces on his toes.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says.

I blink at him. “Why?”

His nose twitches like a rabbit’s. “I saw you save my life. I may not have much experience with adventures or fights, but I do know a thing or two about manners.”

With my hands tucked inside my pack, I slowly uncurl my fingers. “You saved my life too. We’re square.”

A tentative smile brightens his face, and he offers me a slight bow. Against my better judgement, I smile back. He strolls over to join the Dwarves—they’re getting ready to move off. Upon reaching them, he turns and waves at me, beckoning. I nod, motioning for him to go on without me. My eyes dart to the troll statues. Thorin and Gandalf are nowhere in sight.

I inhale one final time and push to my feet, swinging my pack onto one shoulder and my hunting bow onto the other. My fingers brush the hilt of the Blade, and something inside me stirs, sending a thrill through my fingertips. Perhaps I will fulfil my contract after all.  

*

The trolls’ cave is located further into the trees, and is easy enough to find. The stench is ungodly—even standing outside the entrance, it’s enough to make my head swim. Gandalf leads Thorin and a few of the others down into the darkness, whilst the less foolhardy among the company remain out in the fresh air, taking stock of our situation and the gear we left back at the farmhouse.

I don’t feel much like talking to anyone—my thoughts are muddied by lack of sleep and snippets of the exchange I overheard between Gandalf and Thorin. I feel Bilbo’s eyes land on me repeatedly as we wait for the others to return, but I don’t dare to look at him. I don’t trust myself to control my expression, and if Bilbo finds out about my decision, he’ll go running straight to Gandalf. Wizards are far too unpredictable to engage in a fight. It’s just common sense to avoid confrontation with people who can bend the laws of nature to their will. The only thing to do now is pray for a quiet day of travel once we’re finished here.

“Bilbo.”

As if on cue, Gandalf looms out of nowhere like a wraith. I roll to my feet, alarmed at his silent approach, but he doesn’t even glance at me. He’s gazing down at Bilbo with a strange intensity, holding a sheathed dagger in one bony-fingered hand.

“Here. This is about your size.”

Bilbo stares at the blade like it might bite him, but eventually takes it. In his small hands, it’s about the size of a sword.

“I can’t take this.” Bilbo’s voice is a breathy whisper as he holds the dagger back towards Gandalf. The Wizard fixes him with a look that immediately ceases his uncomfortable shuffling.

“The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when Orcs or Goblins are nearby.”

Bilbo’s eyes widen, as though Gandalf is trying to gift him a live snake instead of a magic Elvish dagger. “I have never used a sword in my life.”

“And I hope you never have to.” The Wizard echoes my thoughts, low and sincere. “But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”

A cold sensation spreads through my gut. I turn away before my face can betray me. If the Wizard can read minds, I’m done for. I suck in a breath, forcefully shoving my fantasies of murder into some deep, hidden recess of my brain. Gandalf’s attention doesn’t stray from Bilbo, but I won’t be fooled.

I pause, lifting my head to examine the forest. The trolls’ cave is enclosed by a circular wall of rocky slopes, with only one way in and out. It’s actually a pretty smart place to hide a treasure hoard. Upon first arriving, I scanned the surroundings for potential threats, and was satisfied nothing was waiting to ambush us. Now, a rhythmic pounding that can only be footsteps approaches from beyond the safety of the rocks and trees, heading in our direction.

“Something’s coming!”

Thorin’s yell bounces off the trees, and the Dwarves swarm like agitated bees, readying weapons and moving into defensive positions. Bilbo stands frozen, clutching his new dagger with white knuckles.

“Stay together!” Gandalf draws a blade from inside his robes and strides towards the Dwarves, leaving Bilbo and me alone.

Bilbo turns away from the chaos and gingerly draws the dagger from its sheath. It’s simple but beautifully made—the blade elegantly curved and engraved with delicate designs. The hilt fits perfectly in his hand.

Just like that, the only harmless member of the company is equipped to kill.

Before I can get caught up in the opposing emotions, I cross to his side and we hurry towards the others. Branches crackle and snap in the distance, growing louder at an alarming rate. Footsteps pound the earth, too numerous to count.

Something big bursts out of the undergrowth mere feet from our defensive circle. It skids to a stop in a spray of leaves and dirt. I blink once, twice, a third time. For a moment I think I’ve inhaled Gandalf’s secondhand pipe smoke, because what I’m seeing cannot possibly be real.

“Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

What fresh lunacy is this?

“Radagast!” Gandalf lowers his sword, a smile lighting his bearded face. “It’s Radagast the Brown!”

Wonderful.

*

Radagast the Brown presents a bizarre picture, even by the standards I’m accustomed to. He’s both similar to Gandalf—tangled grey beard, scruffy, mismatched brown clothes, massive brown hat, mage’s staff—and wildly different—Radagast is several inches shorter, somehow even more deranged looking, and has bird shit in his hair. As the two of them converse in barely-audible murmurs, I swear his hat moves. A quick glance around at the Dwarves’ expressions—which range from curiosity to fascination to poorly-disguised disgust—confirm I’m still not hallucinating. I might almost feel better if I were actually going mad.

As the two Wizards wander out of earshot to continue their conversation, movement catches my eye. My gaze is met by eight pairs of liquid black eyes belonging to the large brown rabbits tethered to the sled Radagast crashed in on. The biggest one regards me with a tilted head and twitching whiskers, each of us unsure what to make of the other. I wait for it to open its mouth and speak. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if it began reciting poetry.

Across the clearing, Radagast is speaking rapidly, gesturing wildly with his hands and Gandalf has become a silent grey statue. I catch snatches of words I don’t fully understand—‘Dol Guldur’, ‘Necromancer’, something about giant spiders and spirits of the dead. Bilbo sits beside me and peers into my face, eyebrows knitted. The air practically vibrates with unasked questions.

Radagast concludes his tale, visibly trembling and clutching his staff so tight it’s in danger of splintering. Gandalf reanimates, offering a pull on his pipe. Radagast instantly relaxes as a puff of herbal smoke wafts around his head. Gandalf leans closer to him, and Radagast fumbles beneath his filthy coat, producing an object wrapped in brown cloth.

The temperature plummets as Gandalf unwraps the sword. Bilbo goes tense beside me, and the Dwarves’ quiet chatter falls silent. A palpable sense of wrongness pervades the clearing, turning my blood to ice in my veins.

“That is not from the world of the living.”

The words settle around my shoulders like a heavy cloak. I’ve had dealings with creatures beyond the mortal realm—those experiences are scorched into my memory, and I’d rather not repeat them, thanks ever so.

Gandalf’s frown deepens as he examines the thorn-like blade, but he rewraps it after a couple of heartbeats. The dread dissolves and my breaths come easier, but the warmth fails to return to my body.

A low, chilling howl cuts through the silence.

“Was that a wolf?” Bilbo’s eyes dart between the Wizards and the trees. “Are there wolves out there?”

“Wolves? No, that is not a wolf.”

Am I to infer from your tone it’s something much worse? Excellent.

An enormous, four-legged shape crests the rocky slope behind Bilbo. The creature is easily three times the size of a wolf. Its yellow eyes regard us for a moment, saliva dripping from bared fangs as long and sharp as the Blade in my hand. A growl rumbles up its throat, and it leaps. Thorin’s blade slices into the back of its skull, but not before it takes down an unfortunate Dwarf with its massive front paws. A second beast appears atop the rocks behind Thorin, and an arrow zips past my ear, thudding into its shoulder. Knocked off balance, it tumbles down the slope and is met by a mighty swing from Dwalin’s hammer.

“Warg scouts!” Thorin yanks his blade from the twitching body. “Which means an Orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orc pack?” Bilbo’s voice echoes my own disbelief. How did I not notice a pack of Orcs on our tail?

Gandalf advances on Thorin, face like thunder. “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?”

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?!”

“No one, I swear!” Thorin’s eyes dart to me, then back to Gandalf. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

“You are being hunted.”

Brilliant.

“We have to get out of here.” Dwalin’s gruff voice is tinged with fear, his tattooed, knuckle-dusted fingers tightening around the handle of his hammer.

“We can’t, we have no ponies!” Ori skids down over the rocks behind us, Bifur on his heels. “They bolted!”

Another spine-chilling howl echoes in the distance. The Dwarves glance at each other, gripping their weapons tighter. Bilbo’s eyes are wide and frightened in his pale face. I hope Shadowmere has found somewhere safe to hide—he’d never abandon me, but he’s also not stupid enough to take on an entire pack of Orcs.

“I’ll draw them off.”

I turn to gape at Radagast, at the fierce determination blazing in his eyes and the bird shit caking his hair. Are all Wizards in Middle-earth completely insane?

“These are Gundabad Wargs,” Gandalf protests. “They will outrun you!”

“These are Rhosgobel rabbits!” Radagast’s tone is utterly serious, and his eyes gleam beneath his ridiculous hat. “I’d like to see them try.”

I need a lie down.

*

Radagast might be a complete lunatic, but those rabbits of his can really run.

Beyond the trees, an area of open grassland littered with enormous, jagged boulders and smatterings of tall pines extends for several miles in every direction. Crouched behind one of these boulders, the company and I watch Radagast careen recklessly across the plain, a dozen Orcs on his tail. I can’t decide whether to stare at the bundles of furry lightning pulling the sled, or the pack of baying Wargs with Orcs astride them like horses. The sight is equally horrifying and morbidly amusing.

“Come on!”

Gandalf’s yell draws us away from the safety of the treeline and out onto the open, where Thorin quickly takes the lead. Ducking behind boulders and weaving up and down hills, we work our way across the plain as fast as the  Dwarves’ short strides will allow, accompanied by a distant chorus of barks and whoops.

At least one of us is having fun.

Several times during our flight, the Orcs cross directly in front of us, though always at a safe enough distance that we don’t draw their attention away from the Wizard and his rabbits. Each time, Gandalf ushers us in a new direction with only a brief pause. At first, the zigzagging back and forth seemed nonsensical and fuelled purely by fear, but there’s a deliberateness to it. Clearly he has a plan, but I’m not sure whether to be relieved or nervous.

We scramble over more boulders, and Radagast’s sled cuts in front of us again, the Orcs even closer on his heels.

But something’s wrong. There’s one missing.

Thorin ducks behind another boulder, and the rest of us pile in after him. Beneath the Dwarves’ panting, I hear snuffling, low growling and claws clicking on stone above us. Craning my neck, I catch a glimpse of matted brown fur and glistening teeth—one of the Wargs is pacing around on top of the boulder. It’s so close I can smell the musky, wet-dog stink of its fur and the rotten stench wafting off its rider.

Further down the line, Thorin nods at the bow in Kili’s grip. Kili’s eyes bug, but he slowly draws an arrow from his quiver. In a burst of movement, he leaps away from the rock, twists and shoots. A snarl, and the Warg lands almost on top of us, half-crushing its rider beneath its bulk. The Dwarves ready their weapons, and the wounded Orc meets the business end Dwalin’s hammer. The others launch into the fray, hacking and smashing with no finesse whatsoever. Bilbo remains by my side, his blade quivering. Howls and screams echo across the plain, deafening and endless.

The Orcs charge straight for us.

“Move!” Gandalf yells. “Run!”

The adrenaline sizzling in my blood urges me faster, despite the burn in my legs reminding me I’m exhausted and out of shape. Small rocks and grassy knots threaten to snap our ankles with every step, but there’s no time to pay any attention to my feet. The Wargs are unbelievably fast and show no signs of slowing.

I lose track of how long we spend running to and fro across the cursed plain, screeching to a halt and abruptly changing direction every time a Warg blocks our path. If the landscape were flat, we would have been run down several times over. Still, the Dwarves’ short strides are no match for the Wargs’ loping gait. Though their speed and stamina is impressive, it’s not enough to outrun our pursuers.

“We’re surrounded!” Fili crashes through the grass as two Wargs crest the hill behind him. There’s at least one in every other direction—they seem to rise from the earth itself, forming a loose circle around us. They’re too far away to attack, but close enough to prevent us making a run for it. Desperate faces cast about every which way, searching in vain for an opening.

“Here!” I usher Bilbo towards another rock—our only salvation in an otherwise open and vulnerable position. The others hurry towards us as the Wargs stalk closer.

“Where’s Gandalf?”

“He’s abandoned us!”

Impossible. He was here a moment ago, and there’s nowhere to hide, and no way he could have slipped through the circle of Wargs. He’s simply vanished.

Looks like here is where we make our final stand.

“Hold your ground!”

The least I can hope for is getting to watch Thorin get eaten.

Gandalf’s voice rings out behind me. “This way, you fools!”

That’s just rude.

Unseen by everyone except Gandalf, the ground beneath the rock opens up to reveal a tunnel, presenting us with an underground escape route. I can’t see what’s at the bottom, but whatever it is can’t be much worse than a dozen ravenous Wargs.

Thorin hops up onto a rock near the entrance and ushers the Dwarves inside. A Warg breaks formation to lunge at him, but is cut down by an Elvish blade wielded with deadly skill. A growl ripples through the enemies’ ranks, and they close in faster. Below, I can vaguely hear Gandalf counting the Dwarves as they slide into the tunnel.

“Five… six…”

I turn to look behind me. Kili’s dark hair whips in the breeze as he launches to arrow after arrow towards the Wargs and their riders. Some hit their mark, others lodge harmlessly in the ground. His rhythm is slowing. The nearest Orc sneers at him. I yank the bow from my back and unleash an arrow. Kili shoots me a startled look, but grins and swiftly nocks another arrow. The bow hums in my hands. My arms burn with the effort, but still the Orcs keep coming.

“Kili!”

My shout is echoed by Thorin’s, and we bolt for the tunnel. I shove Kili ahead of me, hot breath on my neck and the stink of must and rot in my nose. Kili disappears, followed closely by his brother and Thorin. I barely have time to slow before the ground dips sharply. My knees and shins bark as I land awkwardly in the dirt. I lie there, winded and unable to move, staring up at the roof of the small cavern and waiting for the Orcs to follow.

The sharp blast of a hunting horn is the last sound I expect to hear. Dust rains down, dislodged by thundering hooves above. Arrows zip through the air and thud into flesh, drawing screams from the wounded and dying.

Something heavy tumbles down the slope, sending up a cloud of dust. Weapons clatter as the Dwarves jump to attention, but they’re threatening a corpse. Thorin bends to retrieve the arrow lodged between the dead Orc’s eyes. His face twists into a scowl.

“Elves.”

I barely manage not to roll my eyes at his tone as I pick myself up off the ground and dust off my trousers. Something twinges in my knee—an old wound that never healed properly—but a quick inspection confirms no new injuries. I glance at Bilbo—he’s pale and trembling, but otherwise unharmed.

In the ensuing silence, Dwalin’s gruff voice echoes from the back of the cavern. “I cannot see where the pathway leads! Do we follow it or no?”

“Follow it, of course!”

As the Dwarves move off, Gandalf murmurs, “I think that would be wise.”

I’m almost too tired to wonder what he’s scheming at.

The tunnel morphs into a deep, narrow cleft bordered on both sides by towering walls of solid rock. In some places, it’s barely wide enough for the Dwarves to squeeze through, let alone Gandalf and me. My palms sting, scraped and bleeding from bracing them against the rock. All things considered, it’s a small price to pay after the day I’ve had. Exhaustion envelopes my brain in fog, burying any thoughts concerning Thorin and his impending demise. It’s actually a relief.

Also, I hope Radagast is all right.

The sliver of sky visible through the crack above fades from blue to purple, and shadows engulf our path. The Dwarves’ chatter lapses into silence. A faint but noticeable hum builds in the air, lifting the hairs on my arms.

Ahead of me, Bilbo stops. Slowly, he turns to look at me, then at the Wizard behind us. “Gandalf, where are we?”

The Wizard glances between us. His blue eyes gleam unnervingly in the dimness. “You can feel it.”

“Yes. It feels like…” Bilbo glances at me, and I nod. With less focus on where I’m putting my feet, I can taste metal on the back of my tongue. “Well, like magic.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Gandalf says softly. “A very powerful magic.”

A voice bounces off the rock walls, reaching us in a stifled echo. “There’s light ahead!”

With a glance at Gandalf’s placid, unreadable expression, I follow Bilbo towards the smell of fresh air and the soothing sound of trickling water. The tunnel opens into the pleasant evening, and my jaw drops.

We emerge onto a small outcropping overlooking a deep valley. A settlement nestles against the opposite cliff face—white walls, golden roofs and delicate arches shimmer in the light of the setting sun, surrounded by lush greenery and vibrant gardens. At least a dozen waterfalls gush from the rock into the river far below. The heady scent of a hundred different flowers fills my nose.

As I gaze down at the valley, warmth unfurls in my chest and seeps into my muscles, spreading through my limbs and pooling in my fingertips and toes. I catch myself smiling like an idiot, and quickly pull myself together before anyone can see. But I can’t squash the comfortable peace that has settled over my body.

Home. This place feels like home.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf announces. “In the common tongue, it’s known by another name.”

“Rivendell.” Bilbo’s smiling face glows in the soft evening light as he gazes out over the scene. He seems transfixed, his small body trembling slightly against my arm. The Dwarves shuffle about on the platform, restless and unimpressed.

“Here lies the Last Homely House east of the Sea.”

Thorin rounds on the Wizard, his face a thundercloud. “This was your plan all along,” he growls. “To seek refuge with our enemy.”

“You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf snaps. “The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!”

Bilbo and I exchange a glance. A laugh bubbles in my throat, and I bite my tongue to stifle it.

“You think the Elves with give our quest their blessing?” Thorin asks, voice tinged with something almost desperate. “They will try to stop us.”

“Of course they will,” Gandalf says. “But we have questions that need to be answered.” He raises his chin slightly. “If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact, respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

What could possibly go wrong?

@moloko-tyan ; @bluelinkmp  ; @inumorph ; @psychomanias