#oc radiant nightmare
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the nature of the diseased, pt. 3
@hallowed-nebulae
The Radiant Nightmare knows that there is something wrong with her. But there is nothing she can do about it.
Her tail curls about her multiple limbs, the change in form somehow less frightening than the change in mindset.
Because she thought with 'I' once, didn't she? But now the 'I' has become 'she' and her thoughts are her thoughts, instead of my thoughts.
Something has changed and she doesn't know what.
"You continue to chase my vessel."
The nightmare forces eyelids into existence so she can use them to blink slowly (and warily) at the unicorn masked...man.
Not a man, but the shape of one, so man will do. For now.
Radiant Nightmare does not see the mask with eyes, she just feels it. A hum of a tune, a whisper of robes. Senses beyond the human mind that was once hers.
"I do not chase them," she states firmly. "I...they go where my past goes, so I follow."
The mask tilts in her direction, the eyes underneath no doubt staring into the core of her.
"You are chained by your past."
Literal chains flicker into life, on her wrists, at the mention of 'chains.' With some effort, the Radiant Nightmare forces herself not to think about them. Because they are always there, but much like a Game many once played, she only loses herself to enchainment when she recalls they exist.
She flicks her tongue in one of three mouths. Hm, maybe she should close some of those up, man-shaped Others often don't like the reminders of exactly inhuman they all are. Inside and outside.
Though he may be Light, and her Dark.
Wrists free. Free of...don't think. Act.
"Are you going to do something about it?"
The unicorn man taps at his arms. "Is there something you want me to do about it?"
No.
"Not from you. Never from you," she states firmly. Her scales rise, her fins fan out.
"Some things cannot be broken. Like certain connections. You would know, huh? Between you and your Master."
Something shifts in the shadow that isn't. Because just then, she realizes that the one who stands before her has no shadow at all. Just the light halo of one standing directly under an eclipse.
In a world without a sun. With only stars.
"He is my Master no more, though he tries to claim the past is all that matters. Much like you."
She can't help but laugh. A mere nightmare that shouldn't exist, anything like the Master of Masters? Give her a break!
Her entire body shifts and wiggles under her laughter, shifting all colors under the judging Light.
"Oh, he and I think very differently. About what past means."
After all.
He wants to save the World, doesn't he? Make it into something that he wants to see.
As for herself...
(I will break the worlds. To make them happy again.)
#kh ficlets#storm whispers au#tell me verse#oc radiant nightmare#kh ira#hope ira comes out alright here will change if he sucks too much#there's a certain degree of...insanity that comes with breaking your own fourth wall#to be go on#kh fic
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Hi I'm not dead I'm just busy working on Wyneer's mod. It’s a lot of boring bug fixes and dialogue so I have nothing to post.
Have some doodles I did while working on Wyneer's ref sheet. I was doing an art stream on discord while people in the vc tormented me with Mr. Beast YTPMVs. I also did some concepts for his Moonbound skin masks that I like so I’m putting those here too.
#tane t art#tane t doodles#my ocs#wyneer#dst oc#dont starve#jet black mask#blake#crimson mask#saffron mask#brave face#fright n flight mask#boutey#about face#nightmare face#radiant face#azure mask#laborious mask#lay#amber mask#they snuck in here too#dont tell anyone#i like attributing jerma quotes to crimson it's his vibe
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a “this was supposed to be quick” doodle of @beastenraged ‘s radiant nightmare, bc i was already up and hadn’t drawn her in a bit and i felt like playing around with layer blending modes. anyways. huzzah
#scribbles#oc: radiant nightmare#kingdom hearts#the art that never was#tell me verse#-drops this and scurries away-#body horror tw#tw body horror
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youtube
#Radiant Nightmare King Grimm Nail Arts Only#hollow knight#hollowknight#hollow knight gameplay#hk#nightmare king grimm#nkg#hk nkg#troupe master grimm#grimm#challenge run#oc#Youtube
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Hello Darling
Summary: Tiriel desperately searches for Astarion as he loses his immunity to sunlight.
Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)
Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship, f!tav, patch 6 update
Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!
Read on AO3
Masterlist
Headcanons
The burn left from the fight and dulled by the tadpole pierces Tiriel’s stomach and she falls to her knees, paralyzed by the pain.
It's over.
The tadpole is gone. She is free. She will never become a mind flayer, she will never have to face that blasted dream visitor.
Then, she hears the scream. It's a cry of pain, of despair, familiar and shocking.
Astarion is burning in the sunlight.
His beautiful face is gray like ash, his eyes white as if he were blind. Astarion reaches out his hand for Tiriel as if she could save him from this peril. She has saved him so many times, she can do it again!
But her own pain pierces her body. Tiriel presses her arms to her stomach. She is going to die, she thinks. They both are.
"Astarion, hide!" someone cries out, and Tiriel loses consciousness.
The blissful darkness takes her.
No nightmares, no horrors, no dream visitors. Nothing. Just beautiful nothingness.
She wakes up in a dimly lit room. Her head hurts as if her skull had been crushed by a hammer. She is half naked, her belly heavily bandaged. The throat is sore and her legs are numb.
Tiriel is so exhausted she could sleep for a few weeks.
Four months of non stop traveling. Of fear, anxiety, and never ending stress. Tiriel had never had to make so many decisions in her life. Excusing orders, negotiating, and planning. She is just a lonely traveler, for fuck sake, not a warlady!
And now she can just rest.
The memories slowly crawl into her head and she remembers Astarion’s desperate cry.
A wave of panic crushes her.
Where is he?!
Tiriel’s only known him for four months, but she is sure they were meant to meet each other. She had never loved anyone before him. His cold body, his pale skin, his sharp mind, his… radiant hope.
What if he died?
Tiriel makes herself sit up. The idea that her love turned into ashes horrifies her. He was in such pain, he was so afraid. What if he is gone?
Life is truly unfair, isn’t it?
It couldn’t end well. No happily “ever after” for the undead.
Tiriel makes an effort to calm herself down. There are many places to hide. Basements, houses, debris… The whole city is in ruins, he has enough shadow to hide in…
The other realization makes her sick.
Sunlight isn’t his only enemy anymore. He also can’t go inside without an invitation.
He could have burned down in front of the open door to the darkest room in Baldur’s Gate because no one invited him in!
Still dizzy, Tiriel puts on her camp clothes (no need to attract unnecessary attention with her shiny Drow armor) and rushes outside the inn.
The city has been truly destroyed by the Netherbrain, and whatever future lies ahead Baldur’s Gate will never be the same.
Tiriel wanders the street for hours—she visits the graveyard, the ruins of the vampire lord’s mansion, dozens of places but Astarion is nowhere to be seen.
He’s known the city for centuries. Tiriel, whose first impression of the city was ruined by the mind flayers, stands no chance of finding the vampire.
By the end of the night, she feels like a lost child. Tiriel hasn’t felt so miserable since the day she woke up in the mountains all alone and cold. She was fifteen, and her rage blurred her mind making her run away from an abusive household. She wanted to go back, to the warmth of the house, to sit by the fireplace even if her stepfather would have beaten her again. To just be somewhere she belongs, not in the middle of nowhere with no weapons or armor.
The sun is slowly rising above the sea and the skies slowly turn blue. Tiriel sniffs. She's gotten too used to NOT being alone, a very unfamiliar concept to be honest.
Well, if Astarion isn’t back, if she fails to find him, she will have to go. This city makes her sick, it’s too big, too dirty, too crowded. She will walk the roads of Faerun just like she has ever since she was fifteen. The memories will fade and she will probably question why she fell for Astarion in the first place. He is a difficult person, traumatized, angry, his bruises and wounds are invisible to anyone, and the facade of lies is inseparable from his personality.
Tiriel’s heart sinks at the very thought she might not ever see him again.
A tear flows down her cheek and she immediately wipes it away. She is a warrior. A barbarian. No one must see her cry or in pain. Women like her are alive as long as people perceive them as emotionless marble statues. Weakness turns people like her into victims.
But it felt so nice to be weak in Astarion’s arms. To let him tend her wounds, to cry in his arms… He would never admit it, but she knew he loved protecting her.
The night search exhausts Tiriel and she returns to her room in the inn. The warrior locks the door — she doesn’t want to deal with intruders —and falls on the bed, pressing her face against the pillow.
Astarion is gone. If he is alive, she will never find him. If he is dead, she will never bury him. In any case, Tiriel the Barbarian is on her own again.
She makes herself a promise not to fall for anyone ever again.
When she wakes up hours later, her head doesn’t ache anymore and her whole body feels rested.
“Hello darling”
She startles at the familiar voice.
Astarion lies beside her, with the palm of his hand under his cheek. His eyes are soft and tender and he has the stupidest smile shining on his face.
“You…” she gasps. “You are back!”
“Of course I am”, Astarion leans to her and kisses her forehead, and then rests his head on the pillow. “You are so adorable when you sleep.”
“I thought you died,” she whispers. “Where were you?”
Astarion touches her cheek. “I was hiding.”
“But you could have returned to the inn once the night fell! I was looking for you!”
His face darkens. “It’s because of hunger. It…blurred my mind. The sun damaged me and once I got to the shadow I was starving and just forgot everything. Who I was, who you were. I fed on… something… I don’t remember what and my mind returned to me. And I was so embarrassed by what I truly am and was afraid to come back”
“But you did.”
“I did.”
They lay in silence contemplating each other’s faces. Tiriel's heart melts at how adorable he looks. He doesn’t pretend, doesn't play, doesn’t act. That’s him, that’s the real him. Hidden and concealed for two hundred years.
“How did you get inside?” she asks. “This isn’t the room we lived in. I thought you needed an invitation?”
Astarion shrugs. “I do need to be invited if I don't want to bump into an invisible wall I can’t go through. When I picked the lock I was sure I would just stand there unable to enter. But apparently… I was invited anyway.”
Tiriel nuzzles his collarbone and wraps her arms around him.
“Tiriel?”
“Hm?”
“You aren’t going to… break up with me, right?”
His voice sounds so helpless and vulnerable that it makes Tiriel hug him tighter.
“Of course not.”
He cups her cheeks and kisses her. Tiriel leans to him pressing their bodies against each other.
Then Astarion starts talking.
He speaks about freedom, the future, the places they may visit, and things they can do.
“Tiriel”
“What is it, my love?”
“I need to… rest. Can you stay by my side until I wake up?”
Tiriel kisses the tip of his nose. “Sure. I will be right there.”
Astarion buries his nose in her chest, and Tiriel lulls him to his trance.
As she promised, she doesn’t go anywhere. Time to time she moves a bit not to let her limbs stiff.
Then, she notices Astarion slowly waking up. His eyelids are half-open, his mouth cracks a smile. Tiriel draws an invisible line along his nose.
“Hello, darling,” she whispers to him.
--
Tag list
@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen
#astarion#baldur's gate 3#bg3 astarion#astarion romance#bg3#astarion bg3#baldurs gate 3#astarion x tav#named tav#baldur's gate tav#baldur's gate iii#astarion established relationship#barbarian tav#half elf tav#hurt/comfort#tiriel of the sunset mountains#tiriel the barbarian#astarion x tiriel#oc tav: tiriel#astarion ancunin#astarion baldurs gate#astarion baldurs gate 3#astarion brainrot#astarion fanfic#astarion fic#astarion fluff#astarion fanfiction#astarion imagine#baldurs gate 3 astarion#astarion fics
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Fadeshock (+ my fankid OCs) in Flight Rising
I took a few days off for the holidays and in that time I made Fadeshock, Nathan, and Deniz in Flight Rising!
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Neon
I chose a fae dragon for her because they're the smallest dragon species and are also noted to be quick, which felt accurate. I chose blue and purple colours to fit her design and what I headcanon to be her favourite colour (purple, she's constantly wearing it and it's also a mix of her blue and Fade's red - on a similar note, I think blue is Fade's favourite colour). The yellow highlights of course represent her hair, and the constellation wing markings represent her name meaning "Bright Star".
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Fade
I chose a pearlcatcher for her because they're kind of haughty loners, which I thought fit her. I picked blue/red/black colours to match her powers and her canon design, faded markings on her wings to represent her hair changing colours, and the fireflies representing Prowler/her powers, because with Nightmare, she's never really alone.
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Here's Fadeshock together! I think they look pretty sweet.
I'll add Nathan and Deniz below a cut for those who are interested in my designs for them, too.
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Nathan
I chose a skydancer for him because they're kind of careful mediators/watchers and can sense emotions, which I thought was fitting to his Radiant power of sensing Radiance and everyone's "colours". I chose purple for him because it's a mix of his parents' blue and red colours, with the peacock markings on his wings to push the idea of him seeking people out.
I added a little baby picture of him here too hahah, and will do the same for Deniz!
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Deniz
I chose a wildclaw for them as they're scrappy and fierce hunters, which I thought was fitting for Deniz's little baby anarchist vibe. They're black/brownish since their wolf form is black with some ginger tints in the sunlight, with decorated wings because they're an artist. The stars/glimmering stomach was because they have a white patch on their chest in their wolf form which Tala thinks is really cute because it looks like a little star, and their family is so closely tied to stars with her name and how she and Hazal grew closer because of the planetarium in Hazal's dad's office.
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I really like this little AU. I think in this dragon universe both Nathan and Deniz would exist, and maybe another hatchling too? I'm not sure. I like the idea of Nathan using the peacock eyes on his wings to dazzle his prey and almost hypnotise them, while Deniz melts into the night and uses their large claws to ambush their prey and take them by surprise.
#valorant#fadeshock#fade valorant#neon valorant#own post#queued#pipit writes#bloodwritten silver#fate and karma#dragon au#flight rising#nathan#deniz
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dawnbringer pt. 5|| bradley “rooster” bradshaw x metcalf!reader (oc!reader)
part 5 (out of ideal 10) → part 1 → part 2 → part 3 → part 4
pairing : bradley "rooster" bradshaw x female oc metcalf!reader
a/n ⋯ part five! i am so so sorry for the wait! i'm currently on vacation, so there will be a delay for some chapters. however, i think this chapter is pretty satisfying. oc belongs to me, and original story had been MODIFIED to fit a new character.
overview ⋯ elizabeth "sunshine" metcalf, granddaughter of mike "viper" metcalf, has been called back to top gun. she's found out that other graduates are returning too, including bradley. her heart is on fire.
warnings ⋯ TOP GUN MAVERICK SPOILERS. SMUT!. oralf!receiving , swearing, praise, spanking (brief) , public teasing. smut, 18+. minors dni.
wc; 9.3k, not proofread!, condo inspo
WARNING: SMUT! 18+ ONLY. minors dni!
Elizabeth was at a loss for words when her eyes met Rooster’s broad figure. It was almost a nightmare incarnate— who had she pissed off for this to happen? In what world would this be okay? All Elizabeth had wanted tonight was to watch a movie with Natasha. Not the entire squadron.
Rooster’s soft words, those devilish remarks— darlin’— he’d always called her that. She missed it, much to her dismay and attempts at staying angry with him, but he always managed to do the opposite. He’d always managed to rope her back in some way, entangled with the exigence of his heart.
He wore a navy Hawaiian flowered shirt, tangled with the white inked pattern of white fern leaves with an intricate design of dandelion-colored pineapples. His aviators dangled from the center of his chest against the shirt, accompanied by that damn chain. Elizabeth hated that chain— hated the way it moved, hated the way it sparkled, and most certainly hated how it accentuated his collarbones.
His pants were jean cutoffs, something that he normally wore. The washed out denim suited him against the tan of his skin, complemented by the rose undertones from the heat of the sun. His hair looked different though— it wasn’t combed back to its usual undercut perfection— no, a few strands hung loose over his forehead. Messy, out of place. He looked rugged.
Elizabeth had to pull her eyes away, look at something else. Yeah, those stars look really radiant tonight. Was it a waxing gibbous? Full moon perhaps? Maybe it was the moon that was making her face flush red or her palms sweaty. Didn’t the moon do that? Surely it did. She read buzzfeed articles that proved it did. So, they must be true.
Rooster’s hands were still wrapped around her wrists. The touch had gone unnoticed to her by the minute, falling victim to his incalescence.
“Careful,” he’d whisper to her, his chin lowering to look towards her. His height outmatched hers, she liked to think that he liked that. But, who was she to criticize? She didn’t mind having to look up to him to speak to him. Or look at him. “Reach out and touch me like that, I may not act like a gentleman anymore.” He’d let go of her wrists, which she pulled back against her chest, rubbing where his grip had been. She didn’t lose connection with his eyes, however, enamored by the way they were hooded by his lids, lashes feverish as he blinked. “A man has only so much restraint, Sunshine.” Rooster jokes. He laughed. A hearty sound that she relished in too much after only just deciding to forgive him for what he had done.
What he had done.
She totally forgot.
The moment she remembered, she cleared her throat, stepping away from him. The blush that had claimed her cheeks was hot, fervent in its attempt to stay. She touched her face with the back of her palm, surprised at how verbose the sweltering had become. Her grip was still strong on the white-painted door, on the other hand chauffeuring him inside. His eyes didn’t leave her, the same way his body didn’t move from the outside.
“Are you comin’, or what?” She’d challenge, acting as if he hadn’t said the most devilish sentence to her only a moment ago that made her head feel light and legs turn to jelly.
The man before her nearly dipped his head down, a bolstering laugh chortling from his mouth before he inhaled sharply, making his way into the condo. He looked around, taking off his beat up converse and placing them on the mat. He looked towards the battered sandals, Bob’s, and turned to look at Elizabeth.
“What the fuck are these?” He’d chuckle, shaking his head lightly. Elizabeth had turned to shut the door, leaning against it once it was closed.
“Bob’s,” is all she’d say, laughing along with him. She’d move towards the kitchen, catching a glance at Bradley who now stood upright, observing the different parts of the Condo. She internally hoped that it was up to par— not that her and Natasha had made such a mess— but, you know, she was thinking about it.
Bradley’s playful expression dropped when she had mentioned Bob, muttering a small, “Of course they are,” before wandering over to the populated living room. Elizabeth followed him shortly after, grabbing her water bottle from the countertop.
The sage green couches that were covered with an assortment of blankets had been ruined the minute that the other pilots had made their home on them. The perpendicular white couch, a loveseat, had Payback and Fanboy sitting on it, sharing a wool blanket. Hangman and Coyote sat on one end of the couch, closest to the others, followed by Bob, then Phoenix. The end was open for the final two pilots. Of course Elizabeth would have to sit next to Bradley. It wasn’t like he smelled bad—he most certainly didn’t— but it was something that made her go fucking seriously?
“There’s beers in the fridge,” Natasha would call out, but none of the pilots budged. Elizabeth didn’t want to drink today. She was exhausted as is from today’s flight practice, and she could only assume the same for the others.
“Mavrick had me rolling today, so no thank you.” Payback jokes, Fanboy joining him in for a good laugh.
“Seriously, man, first he was over here—” Coyote made a motion with his hand from the right, “Then, he was over here!” His hand made a lightning fast motion to the left side.
“Then Rooster and him have a cockfight in the air.” Hangman added, causing Rooster to turn his head as he stood before the green couch. Elizabeth had taken her place beside Phoenix, looking up to him as he hovered nonchalantly.
“It wasn’t a cockfight—” He’d defend, throwing his hands up. Bradley let his body weight fall onto the couch, the extension of the sofa allowed him to prop his feet up. He sat a few inches from Elizabeth, resisting the urge to close the gap. “It was just…”
The other pilots eagerly awaited for him to call it what it was.
“A cockfight. Yeah.” He shook his head, laughing, and the other pilots joined in. Even Elizabeth, who felt proud to know the real reason why they were dueling it out in the F-A/18’s.
The Lieutenants continued to make jokes amongst each other, Rooster and Hangman being the comedic geniuses. At one point, the two of them got up and did a mixture of dances, rocking each other back and forth, which earned a cordial laugh from Elizabeth.
It was moment’s like these that Elizabeth truly embraced. When Phoenix and her would look at each other, cracking up about the weirdness of the men, when they sang their own sea-shanties; all of it created an atmosphere that she became dependent on. It was a family all on their own, born from the academy. She felt that at this moment in her life, she had peaked, but there was still so much left to do. She would look at Rooster as he sat down beside her, closer this time, and he looked at her.
The movie hadn’t even started yet.
“Here you go,” Elizabeth would hear Phoenix say beside her, nudging her shoulder with her own. Phoenix held a blanket in her hand made of the softest cotton material she’d ever felt. It was huge, grey, and fluffy. Liz took it gratefully, offering her a smile in return. She’d throw the ends of the blanket over herself, but it was far too big to just keep it on her own. Liz grabbed the remaining fabric on the floor, and threw it over Bradley’s legs.
He was surprised, but fixed it to his liking. They offered each other an awkward glance before Liz broke away to turn towards Natasha.
Phoenix would take the moment while she held Elizabeth’s eyes to look towards the man that sat next to her closest friend. Her eyes flashed towards Rooster. Quickly, without hesitation, Liz shook her head. “No. No. Don’t look at me like that.” Liz would shove Phoenix’s shoulder and the pilot merely laughed, shrugging.
“Hey, I’m just saying.” Phoenix remarked before putting her hands up in defense, turning away from Liz to talk to Bob. They talked about random attributes of the movie as it began, but Elizabeth wasn’t paying attention.
In fact, she wasn’t paying any attention to the movie at all.
While Liz’s knees were against her chest, loosely, they leaned against Phoenix’s body; the direction that she was sitting. Her back was curved away from Rooster, afraid that if she got any closer to him she wouldn’t be acting like herself.
His legs were stretched out on the extended part of the furniture, arm draped over the couch where his fingers were just an inch away from Elizabeth’s bright red hair. It was still wet from a shower, he assumed, but it glinted in the light. So shiny. He wanted to touch it.
Such carnal infractions made him feel arbitrary when it came to her. It was so different when he talked to other women— he found himself wooing them, impressing them with his musical talents, swooping them off their feet for the night. It was easier to talk to them, easier to impress them. They would stare at him with awe when he said he was a Top Gun pilot; asking him if he went to war and shit. He hated those comments. Obviously, he went to war. He’s on fucking active duty— what would be the point of joining the Navy in the first place if he had no desire to go into combat? What was the point of his grueling process and entanglement with the administration if it had all been for a simple ‘oh, actually…I don’t want to go to war…’ it didn’t make sense to Bradley, but he supposed he just wanted to get laid. Simply put, he didn’t have to put any effort in to manage to get women to fawn over him.
But not her.
No, anyone but Elizabeth Metcalf seemed to play into his desires. He thought at one point she did, but he had been too nervous to ever act on it. At the academy, they were attached at the hip. Domesticity is something that he craved; the little things piled up. He liked following her around, watching her methodically plan her day, fix her landing gear, ramble on and on about her Naval Architecture officer and why he was an asshole. He’d only remember the way her lips would move, how when she was angry her nostrils would flare, or how her eyebrows always scrunched together. The little things.
But he managed to ruin it. She thought that he was selfish, so he convinced himself of that very fact. He was simply a selfish monster who only thought for himself and the personal gratification from flight missions. He died for praise, for the looks of approval— so be it. If he were selfish in his flying, then he may be selfish in other ways too.
He lowered his hand.
Selfishly. His fingers curled into the tips of her hair, swirling the redness around his hand. It was softer than he had imagined it to be. Fascinated by the length and the way it waved like the ocean, his eyes would be entranced. Similar to being under a spell, he’d imagine.
Elizabeth wasn’t blind either.
The movie had been going on for 15 minutes. She hadn’t paid a single morsel of attention to it, but what she had been paying attention to was Bradley’s body that still refused to touch hers. She could feel the heat coming from him, a blazing inferno that was kept deep inside a metal cage. A beast upon a flame, begging to be unleashed. It was selfish for her to want to lean against him.
But the process of forgiving had to start somewhere, didn’t it?
Liz almost jumped out of her seat when she felt her hair being tugged, but not too tightly, from behind her. She’d turn to look at what it was, shocked to the almighty that it was Bradley who had a fistful of her hair in his hand, stroking it with his thumb. She couldn’t see his face, but if she did, all he would see is the red blush homing itself against her cheeks.
She’d turn back to the movie with a huff, putting her hand against her mouth to hide her expressive face. Liz couldn’t have Bradley knowing that he affected her— no, no, no, that would only inflate his ego. She can’t be doing that. At times, she’d think he was more egotistical than Hangman ever was.
Speaking of, the other pilots were completely enraptured by the movie. Good. That made Elizabeth less nervous. Payback and Fanboy were making comments to each other, mainly of Payback asking ‘who’s that?’ and Fanboy answering him with an annoyed, yet dutiful answer.
A few times throughout, Elizabeth would hiss in pain as Bradley pulled a strand of her hair too hard. She’d flash him an angry look, whipping her head around, but would put her attention back on the movie. That only lasted a few minutes.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like movies. She loved movies, in fact. But it was just him. Bradley. Rooster. Fucking whatever. He drove her insane.
But never insane enough to drive her away. It always ended that way between them. Somehow either party wants more from the other, desperately finding their ways back. A never ending cycle.
Bradley’s hand unwrapped itself from her hair, shaking it lightly to get rid of it all. It stuck to him, similar to a magnet.
God, if he weren’t selfish before he would be now.
His hand, acting upon his heinous desires, unraveled itself from her hair and settled at his side…just for a moment. Bradley contemplated. Intensely. He had done much more to any other girl without hesitation, but he’d always managed to miss the shot.
If he wanted something, he would prefer to take it.
Don’t think, just do.
And he did, with pleasure.
Elizabeth was watching the movie. She was watching and sucking up every ounce of information from it. Most certainly. Freddy Kreuger didn’t terrify her as much as he did when she was a kid, but that was alright.
Bob jumped here and there, screaming at the horrific scarings. Everyone proceeded to laugh at him, but she didn’t feel a vibration from the man at her side. She couldn’t look at him though. Nope.
Liz thought it was cute that Bob reacted so honestly. His character was all about being self-assured in being…unsure. She admired him for that trait— as well as his handy skills when it came to the plane's operating systems. She’d admit she liked him for a lot of different traits; his ability to make her laugh, to actually listen about science here and there— oh.
Oh.
Elizabeth was pulled out of her fanatical trance thinking about her back-seatter when a warming palm scathed her thigh. Her thigh. Covered by the blanket, she was confused for a moment when the large had flexed, squeezing her muscled flesh between its grip. She’d almost panic, about to stand, but she followed the hand, the arm, up to the eyes of the beholder. To nothing of her surprise, she’d stare knowingly into his hazel eyes.
“Bradley,” she’d whisper, quietly, only loud enough for him to hear. But his eyes weren’t on her, rather the movie. They didn’t move, didn’t falter from the way Freddy Krueger flexed his knived hands. Fine. Elizabeth would do the same then. She shifted, bringing her arms beneath her breasts and crossing them over one another.
She’d tried to move her leg away from him, attempting to get out of his grip, but he only held on tighter. His fingers imprinted on her skin, tips of them digging inward. Elizabeth swallowed a lump in her throat, pulling the blanket above her chest, leveling with her collarbones.
Bradley’s grip stayed like that, unmoving but compelling. Elizabeth would return to watching the movie along with everyone else. They were chatting amongst each other, the same as it was 10 minutes ago. The same it was a minute ago when Bradley put his hand over her thigh. Jesus Christ. Was she just going to let him? Just allow that. This.
Him.
The short answer was yes. The long answer was…she couldn’t facilitate it now. She was too nervous, too hyper focused on the way his thumb began to swirl in circles across her skin. His rough, calloused hand began to tingle against her, a soft shiver crawling up her spine in response.
“Ah!” Bob shouted again, abruptly, scaring just about everyone. Fits of laughter came out of the pilots after a following second, shoving each other and mimicking Bob’s little shout.
“Bob, how in the hell are you still afraid of this movie?” Fanboy would ask in disbelief. Eyes shifted towards Bob, anticipating a response.
“I’m not scared! Just…off guard.” He’d scratch the back of his neck, visibly embarrassed.
“Give him a break,” Elizabeth would say, waving her hand. “It’s kind of cute anyways, you know, sensibility wouldn’t kill a guy.” Phoenix held her hand up for a high-five, which Elizabeth slapped, a loud clap following. That was a good ass high-five. It was also a good ass retort, shutting up the side mimics from Hangman and Coyote, and returning their attention back to the movie. Bob smiled to himself, too, uttering things to Natasha that she couldn’t hear. What wasn’t a good ass response was the way that Rooster’s hand had traveled to the inner part of her thigh, and pulled. Elizabeth was pulled toward the man, the space between them seamlessly disappearing instantaneously.
She’d yelp quietly as her side collided with his, the aggressive action making her wonder. He didn’t look down at her as he did it, but his jaw flexed. He huffed and exhaled, his nostrils flaring like a bull’s. It dawned on her.
Bradley was jealous.
When Elizabeth made that connection, she chuckled quietly which most certainly made him turn his head. She’d shake her head, looking back to the movie, unaware of his burning gaze thwarting into the depth of her skull.
Bradley’s hand squeezed again, attemptedly out of anger, but Elizabeth paid no mind to him. If he was going to act like a child, she’d let him, but not play into it. The movie was turning good now, as they were about 45 minutes in. It’s not like she hasn’t seen it before, so she wasn’t on the edge of her seat like Bob had been. Or maybe he was always like that, she wasn’t sure.
His thumb began to trace in circles on her skin, making her shift. She wouldn’t hide it anymore. Fuck it. Elizabeth turned her body to curl towards his, her legs that were once resting against Phoenix’s now against Bradley’s lap. His hand stayed firm against her, his knuckles inverting to swish across her flesh, too, making her want to purr like a kitten.
Elizabeth’s head moved to rest on his shoulder, the soft navy fabric of his luau shirt riveting against her chin. Her arms would cross over her chest, comfortably, as she took a deep breath in. She missed this. She missed him, and his warmth.
But that only lasted a moment before his hand began to wander. While it was meandering around her inner thigh, he didn’t go past her middle-section, but he began to get curious. He began to wonder how far he could truly go, how far he could push past that fucking barrier of being “friends”. That title made him fucking sick, it always had. Blistering desire curdled in his chest, a beckoning call to reimburse into what he truly wanted: her.
His fingers got too close to the hottest part of her body, teasing fingertips continuing a pattern of a ‘circle’— even if it was more of a random pattern— but inching closer, and closer. While Elizabeth’s body burned with an aching pain of ‘yes’, she closed her legs around his hand, squeezing him in place. His movements froze, but his pinky finger kept its entrancing dance of genuity.
Elizabeth shifted again; this time, out of the pure tingle between her legs. His hand was so close. She could feel the burn pulsating from the veins that encroached him, just like he could feel her, too. She often wondered what he thought about her, how he really felt. For sure she felt something different. Some atmospherical shift the moment he walked in through that door and their energies had changed. For the better or worst, Elizabeth wouldn’t know. She didn’t want to take that gander yet, not while his hand was thrust between her thighs.
Bradley didn’t move, except for his pinky, but Elizabeth was fine with that. At least for the moment. It was a lot to take in— him, this, the whole fucking moment. She thought that she was going to burst, fabricate into a different multiverse all together with the pressure of his thumb increasing on her skin. She felt ashamed loving every bit of it; knowing especially that he had fucked her over in the past. A huff of frustrated air left her as she shifted again, this time disappointed that there was no friction between them.
Liz felt Bradley’s chest vibrate with a chuckle and it pissed her off. How fucking dare he think himself to be so cocky—
Her eyebrows narrowed, and she pulled away from him. Body shifting back towards Natasha angrily, she didn’t look back to see his expression. Accomplished and prideful, she was her own independent woman now. She didn’t need his touch. That blasphemous chuckle only assumed as much.
Bradley, safe to say, was pissed. His hand was still laden between her legs, loosely at this point, but he’d pull her legs to swing back over towards him. Much stronger than she was, he didn’t have an issue doing so.
Shocked, Elizabeth covered her mouth from the alluded gasp that came from her. Angered, she looked up into Bradley’s hazel eyes with malice, pinching his shoulder with her manicured nails. He hissed in response, squeezing her inner thigh in return. A gasp wanted to leave her mouth at the pleasure. What the fuck was wrong with her—! They were supposed to be watching a movie and now all she can think about is what he can do with those big, large—
“It wasn’t bad,” came a voice from the pilots: it was Fanboy. Elizabeth and Bradley, eyes locked with one another, turned their heads toward the crowd of them. Shit. Had any of them been paying attention? Elizabeth gnawed at the inside of her cheek. She tore her legs away from Bradley, for real this time, and faced forward to act as if she had been paying any attention to the movie whatsoever. She took his hand away from her then, too.
“What do you mean, ‘it wasn’t bad,’? Nightmare on Elm Street is a classic!” Payback hollered back, becoming increasingly defensive.
“Yeah, yeah. Fine. It was good except for Bob screaming every damn time Kreuger came on the screen.” Fanboy relented in agreement, but turned his solemn expression into a playful one as he and Payback looked toward Bob.
“Dude, seriously, we have got to have you watch more horror movies.” Coyote spoke, followed by a laugh from Hangman. Bob’s face flushed with red-hot embarrassment, and he turned his head to face Phoenix, ignoring their snarky comments.
“I’ve got an idea,” Natasha said, eyebrows lifting as she nodded towards Bob. “How about ice cream? There’s a mom and pops place down the street.” The pilots nodded in agreement, a few disagreements breaking out about whether or not rocky road ice cream was better, or simply just cookie dough. Bob joined in talking about mint chocolate chip, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh.
Bradley didn’t miss that laugh. That angelic sound.
They began to stand. All of them, besides Sunshine and Rooster. Elizabeth would, eventually, throw the blanket from her lap towards Bradley, who began to fold it.
Elizabeth would stretch, her thumbs coming towards the muscles in the back of her hips to stretch while the others gathered in the kitchen, leaning against the wooden cabinets that were accented with turquoise shelvings.
A wall with an arch-way had separated them, in the kitchen, from Elizabeth and Bradley. She’d wait at the end of the couch, her black-tee riled up around her waist, hands keeping it there. Her hair, golden auburn, had dried now. It was a weird shape because of the way her head was leaning against Bradley for the most part, but oh well. She had to keep it in a bun anyway for work.
“We should talk,” Liz spoke quietly, aiming to avoid attention from those in the kitchen. Bradley began to stand, placing the blanket atop one of the couch cushions, neatly folded. “About everything.” Forgiveness, maybe. She’d broken that boundary of needs versus desire the moment she let him touch her beneath that blanket. Albeit, she is no fool nor a condemner of self-hatred, but merely just a human who has desires too.
Bradley felt his heart drop into his stomach at her words. “Yes ma’am.” He would say, a cool aura encompassing him. Even if he felt like he was going to shit his pants at her words, he’d play off a cool facade. The least he’d want to do is to stay calm, and not act like a fucking animal who wanted to wrap his hand around her—
“Are you guys comin’?” Natasha would holler from the kitchen.
“Not tonight. I have to sort shit out with Rooster.” Elizabeth called back, not bothering to turn away from him.
His eyes didn’t leave hers as he stood at his full height now. His navy white-flower printed flannel glowered in the dim lighting. Broad, large shoulders stared back at her. Most of the time, she’d forget just how large he truly was. How much larger than she was.
“‘Bout damn time.” Payback hooted.
“Don’t get too loud, lovebirds, you know when you’re—” Hangman's irritating voice got caught off by a harsh slap over his mouth from Phoenix.
“We’ll be back in an hour!” She’d call, beginning to shoo them out. Elizabeth could hear her corralling them through the door, the ring of the shackle signifying they had gone. Not only that, but the quiet ambiance that filled the empty halls of the rented home.
It was just the two of them. Alone.
Elizabeth wanted to be kind to him, she really did.
But she never had been known for kindness, only a shining bright smile. An oxymoron on the word “Sunshine,” typical for the Navy.
“Why did you do it, Bradley?” Elizabeth turned away from the cushion of the couch now, index finger raising to press against her lips. “Ground me for all that time. Like a child.” Her words struck like venom. Short, seething, and aimed right for him. She didn’t want to tiptoe around him anymore.
If they were going on this mission, she had to trust him.
And right now, she didn’t know if she could.
At least, not entirely.
She could hear Bradley move. He took heavy steps from behind, approaching her. She’d wave him off, walking through the wooden archways of the kitchen.
He sighed in defeat. “You’re not gonna believe me.”
With those words, Elizabeth would turn aggressively on her socked heel, arms crossed over her chest. She raised a brow at him; him and his long limbs, arms that crossed over one another, muscles flexed in response. She couldn’t stop her eyes from traveling to them.
“Try me,” She’d challenge.
“It was for your safety—”
“Oh, bullshit.” She’d snap back. Well, she supposed that he was right. She didn’t believe him for a second. Her safety. Please, she knew that he didn’t care. If he had cared, he would’ve told her that by now.
Wouldn’t he?
Bradley’s hands were thrown up in both defense and defeat. He smacked them against his legs after leaning against the counter. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, then.”
“The truth would be nice.” Elizabeth seethed, turning towards the sink, away from him. She could barely look at him right now.
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you today.” Bradley’s abrupt snap back had her freezing in her step. His voice had materialized into pure sin, deep and haughty. Elizabeth could feel the vibration, the cadence of his tone ripple through her, and her cunt.
“You’re avoiding the question, Bradley—”
“I told you, it was for your safety.”
“Since when have you ever gave a shit about my—” Elizabeth turned mid sentence, only to be met with Bradley a foot away from her. “Safety…” She exhaled deeply, the monstrous tone that had taken over her slowly melting away. Yet, she kept her arms crossed and stood up straight. She wouldn’t bend to his will, no matter how intense her arousal began to secrete into the air.
“The moment you hit me in the dick with that pool stick.” The memory flooded back to her. That was years ago during their period at the academy. The bar was a popular place for the eagerly graduating cadets, and Elizabeth and many of the soon-to-be Top Gun graduates spent their time there. Elizabeth knew of Bradley, acquaintances at most, stealing each other’s eyes from afar, but only one mere night changed them. Maybe she had come over her fear, intimidation of him, and he finally mustered up the courage to be around her, albeit whatever it may be, they were attached at the hip the whole night. He loomed around that pool table, talking with Phoenix and Coyote before he was rocked in the most sensitive part of his body. Only a small ‘oops,’ left Elizabeth when she turned around, a mocking smile on her lips. Those rosen lips of hers. He knew then that she was plucked straight from a fantasy.
Liz’s eyes averted his own, a stifled laugh came from her. “It really was an accident—”
“Bullshit.” He mocked her. “You just wanted my attention,” now, now, Bradley was preening. Elizabeth rolled her eyes, putting her hand on his chest to shove him away. Barely budging an inch, she pulled it back.
“Whatever you want to believe, Rooster.” She waved him off, shoving him away this time.
“You still mad at me?”
Elizabeth thought for a moment, her hand tracing the wood of the dining room chairs now, adjacent to the kitchenette. “Yeah.”
Rooster groaned, his head thrown back towards the ceiling. A moment of silence passed before he began to speak, his voice arduous and serious now. It frightened Elizabeth with how obscure his tone became. “What else do you want me to tell you?” Elizabeth shrugged.
“Everything.” That’s what she preferred from him. Blunt honesty.
“Okay.” He pushed himself off the counter and away from the cabinets, coming towards the dining room table. His arms outstretched to hold himself up on the back end support of the hardwood chairs. “Okay.” He’d say it again, as if he were convincing himself to do it.
He took a deep breath. Elizabeth did too, mimicking the action. Was it really that bad? Now she was afraid by the way his demeanor shifted. “All of those planes got shot down. That the dual F/A-18 that was supposed to be you was shot down, and there were no survivors.”
A soft gasp came from her. Elizabeth’s hand went to cover her mouth.
“Lieutenant Briggs and Landry. They’re the ones who took your spot.” Bradley wasn’t looking at her. He couldn’t. Not when it was supposed to be her. “They knew the risks. Warned them again and again. They insisted on going.”
“What kind of fucking mission was this? W-What was the point?” Elizabeth had to ask.
“It was a scouting mission overseas. We were outnumbered—”
“We?” Elizabeth clarified. Bradley nodded. “You said all the planes were shot down.” He nodded again. “So yours…” The man before her nodded one final time before he tapped the table with his knuckles.
“The Admiral spoke to me that day. Told me how dangerous it was.” His eyes were locked on the patterning of the granite. “I told him you weren’t up for it. Told him you weren’t ready.” Bradley’s voice broke. He was struggling to tell the story. “And then you were gone.”
Oh shit.
Maybe Elizabeth was the bad guy here. She never even heard him out that night. She slammed his door and backpedaled back to Natasha without a second thought or guilt pending on her mind.
“I wish you told me sooner.” She quietly said, her voice muddled by emotion.
“I tried—”
“No. You didn’t.” She shook her head, tongue prodding at the inside of her cheek. “You should’ve grabbed me, held me down or something like a fucking dog. Now I feel stupid for—” he interrupted her.
“Liz, no—”
“—acting like I’ve hated you all this time when instead I…”— needed you. She was out of breath. Her hand clutched over her heart, the cage that kept it stable had broken. It feebly beat erratically, the booming echoing through every bleeding corner of her body.
Bradley was in front of her now, only taking a few strides. “Instead what?” His breaths were shallow as he looked down at her. Her jasmine perfume engulfed him, straddling him still before her.
“I…I should’ve…”—told you I needed you. Wanted you. Ached for you. “thanked you. I’ve been so selfish, Bradley, I…I’m sorry.” She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t muster up those words that loomed in her head. Those words that beckoned and itched at the tip of her tongue.
“No, no. Liz don’t.” He’d urge to stop her from falling onto a tangent that he wouldn’t be able to control.
“God, I’ve been so mean to you!” She’d gasp, now rethinking all the times she ignored his calls, his texts, his simple remarks on the bases. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, a few stray ones falling down the rift of her cheek. Elizabeth was utterly terrified at the monster that she had created all by herself: she couldn’t blame him now.
“Liz, it’s okay, trust me—” Bradley would remind her, but she turned away his advances. She didn’t move, however, still caught up in the fragmented truth that came so vividly alive in her head.
“I’m a fucking monster, Bradly, how- why would you still w—”
Her breath caught in her throat.
A warm impact embraced her. But it wasn’t a hug.
He had kissed her.
But she, a spark reginited, didn’t think twice about kissing him back. Fervor prevailed between them. She thought that he would break the kiss in a panicked shock, but he didn’t. More than ever had the pair felt alive. Living in the moment, just as one.
The kiss was slow. Movements were lethargic between them, attempting to find a middle ground in what was happening. Or rather, what had happened. Elizabeth’s heart pulsated with desire, the thumping rhythm so loud that she imagined even Bradley could hear it.
—However, the moment of solace shared between them, something so soft and earnest, didn’t last. Bradley’s patience had worn thin. Now that she knew the truth, and beckoned shaking knees and a clenching cunt, he felt his primordial desires extrapolate.
He had separated them, fingers latching onto her chin to make her look up to him. A smirk covered his face, seeing her flushed and dazed expression hastened by lust. He dipped back down, his tongue shoving into her mouth. She didn’t deny him such access.
His grueling, unforgiving muscle searched the corners of her mouth, leaving no area untouched. He had something to prove. But what?
This wasn’t an act of love, but of strenuous passion.
Whatever it was, Elizabeth’s dainty mind corroborated with thick arousal, a haze that patronized the air and gravitated to the sweat that began to seep from her skin. Lost in such a loophole of craving, he elicited a moan from her that came from the back of her throat. She surprised herself at such a noise, unable to believe she made it. Elizabeth didn’t moan just for any guy.
But this was Bradley Bradshaw; the man who wrapped his hands, his huge fucking hands, around her waist, tongue down her throat, making her cunt clench around nothing. She was a spiraling animal now, practically on the tips of her toes to clamp her thighs together to detest such friction.
She wouldn’t submit so eagerly to him, despite what her body demanded of her. Her hands traveled to the brunettes strands of his air; as short as it was, she ran her fingers along his scalp, tugging at the longer parts of his undercut. A grumble wrestled in his throat, the tremor of such a noise making her shift her weight from leg to leg.
Bradley was an attentive lover. He noticed such a shift, an entanglement that he thought she wouldn’t display, yet eagerly addressed it. Against her lips, he’d utter a soft, “Room,” detaching himself from her mouth, he’d move to the crook of her neck, nose jutting against her collarbones.
Dazed and lost, Elizabeth was confused at what he asked. The fur of his mustache tickled her skin, his large nose. Wasn’t he going to fuck her? Here? Arousal was so thick in the air she practically choked on it before she realized what he was really asking of her. With the words, ever so limited, that she managed to cluster together, “There,” she’d point. The room directly to their right.
His nosing assault on her neck paused to look beside them. The hands of the pilot began to wander, the calloused edges caressing her delicate skin. He nodded in acknowledgement, once for understanding, before hinging his hands beneath the crest of her ass and lifting her. She’d squeak, immediately wrapping her hands around his neck before she fell over. Her legs wrapped around his midsection, feeling the jolting tent in his pants.
Elizabeth hummed with impatience, her lips going directly for his jawline and skin beneath his ear. She’d suck and kiss at the skin, a singular nip to remind him to hurry. The burning ache between her legs ran rampant throughout her body. Alive and erratic were her nerves, begging to be touched. She could only imagine the way his hand would curl around the base of her throat, a soft constriction to remind her of what he could do. The thoughts no longer shamed her, but made her cunt pulsate.
Bradley hissed at the contact she made with tongue and skin, his hand coming upward to smack her ass in response. “Behave,” he’d affirm. She’d squeal, her body shifting upward to find any pressure. She was met with his midsection, but nothing came from it.
It was enough time before Bradley threw her down onto the bed, his body coming to hover over hers. He didn’t struggle, or break a sweat from carrying her, such ardent muscle that laid beneath his tan skin. She wanted him more by the second. His arms were placed around her head, one leg between her own.
“Liz,” Bradley would breathe, his voice breaking at the crux. She hummed in response, her eyes closed as she shifted beneath him. “Hey, look at me.” Two of his fingers would direct her chin to look at his hazy eyes. She’d giggle softly, looking at him with the same reflective desire.
“I’m looking at you.” Her hands would come up to cup his face. To keep them staring at each other. “—always am.”
Bradley’s head dropped to her collarbones, breathing deeply against her neck, “Fuck, baby.” He would groan, one so deep within his chest it felt like it was his own beast clawing at his shell of skin. With his remaining convened strength to resist her, he looked up, her hands following him. “You want this?” He’d always been respectful, Elizabeth knew that, but the impending throbbing of her clit distracted her from sentences. Forming sentences, she means.
“Want you,” her breaths were shaky, fingers curling to brush her nails softly across his cheek. “Want you so bad, Bradley.” She’d whine, now becoming radically impatient. He was so close to her, so close to her cunt that she could practically feel his energy transverse towards her. Into her.
The man above her didn’t need any more confirmation than that. His reign of kisses didn’t cease, this time open-mouthed and drawing down the length of her throat. His hips supported him as he hovered above her, hands now running up the underside of her shirt against her soft skin.
He’d squeeze the flesh between his hands, rigid muscle met with his rough palette, a soft groan leaving her mouth. His mouth reached the midpoint of her collarbone, but her shirt got in the way for anything further. His head came upward, back to her mouth, his tongue demanding entry. She obliged and was met with intangible force. Bradley’s teeth scathed her bottom lip, tugging it closer to him, if that was even possible.
He’d tug at the black Top Gun tee that covered her. “Off.” His voice was heavy with arousal. She was glad to know that it boggled him, too. With a little struggle, she’d lower her hands, reversing the fabric over her hands, shifting her hips and upper body to help it come off. When her lower body shifted, it scorched the, now wet, fabric of her athletic shorts, causing her to whine.
Almost over her head, Bradley ripped the rest of it off, still in one piece, but he became restless that she took so much time. She didn’t wear a bra beneath— why would she? She was in the comfort of her own home. But now, Bradley seemed to be, too.
Elizabeth fought the urge to cover her chest with her hands, internally praying, hoping that he’d like the way she looked. Her perky, pink nipples were hardened, sensitive, fending off the cold breaks of air that swooned around them from her air conditioning unit. Bradley looked up and down at her, speechless. His eyes caught on the golden butterfly pendant on her neck, then kept going. Her nerves got antsy, and she was just about to move to shift away—
“Beautiful,” He’d comment, relishing in her presence. Elizabeth’s eyes widened with relief, taking a breath. “You’re beautiful, Elizabeth.” She could feel herself meld into his presence once more, that same feeling of a protected hobble sliding itself into her chest.
She’d whine again, not being able to form words. The female pilot craved him deeply, a never ending cycle of hunger devouring her whole. What she didn’t know was how much he had craved her. This moment, this one right here, he swore he had lived it before in a dream. A fantasy merely reduced to the corners of his mind but as he laid above her, swooning over the perfection of her breasts, he found himself reinventing the meaning of life.
Bradley’s tongue was no short sight. Elizabeth whimpered as his hand firmly cupped one of her breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh between his fingers. His touch was electric, yet also soothing. His mouth latched onto her nipple, sucking and swirling the sensitive bud between his teeth. His hand robustly held the other, massaging it beneath his fingers. That elicited a moan from her, deep and heavy. She was incredibly sensitive when it came to him, apparently. Elizabeth could feel the imprint of his dick rub against her lower stomach, and her hands would travel the length of his chest. Her own hands itched to get beneath his shirt.
“Bradley,” She’d whimper.
“Yes, darlin’?” His words were quick, attentive. He stopped his motion around her nipple, his head lilting to look at her.
“I wanna,” She inhaled, “Wanna touch you.” Elizabeth would do anything to feel the rigidity of his muscular chest beneath her soft fingertips. If he got to touch her in such a manner, it was only fair that she would be able to do the same.
“Anything for you,” his body would come up from hers, the warmth immediately fleeing and her bare chest became cold. His actions moved with haste, however, his Hawaiian shirt that wasn’t button flying off in an instant to God knows where, and the grey undershirt beneath following with it. His chest, huge and bare, laid before Elizabeth.
Her hands acted fast, stretching out to feel his hot skin. He’d watch her explore the lengths of his body, carefully teetering as she came close to his v-line. His eyes would narrow, wanting to see what she’d do. Elizabeth saw the imprint in his pants, and her mouth watered at the sight.
“Let me—” She began to reach her hand beneath the waistband of his pants, the skin much softer, much more sensitive.
Bradley would grip her wrist, shaking his head. “Not tonight,” he’d coo, his voice barely above a lilt. “It’s about you, Sunshine.” At his soft proclamation of words, she’d fold instantly. Her hand, once traversing the depths of his v-line, now grabbed the back of his head to drag him closer to her. The sudden act of aggression had a chuckle boil at the top of Bradley’s throat.
“Needy, aren’t you?” He’d mumble into her skin, resuming his attack on her nipples.
She hissed with pleasure. “Only for you,” she’d managed to say, but not in a tone of playfulness, but a tone of ‘only you, don’t make fun of it.’ but she knew the latter was unlikely.
“My pretty girl.” My. The words stung her so sweetly that she arched against him, thighs now achingly brought back together with his sweet words. If he were going to spoil her, why would she deny such a privilege? To be spoiled by the one and only Bradley Bradshaw: it was a dream come true. A deep fantasy that she wanted to ignore, but ultimately submitted to in the end.
His mouth traveled further down her body, soft kisses pressed against her sternum, then her navel. He paused once he got to the waistband of her shorts. His hazel eyes looked at her for an assuring glance, which she provided wholeheartedly. Elizabeth nodded frantically, shaking her hips.
At her enthusiasm, he smiled cheekily as he took off her shorts, the fabric coming off easily. Beneath, she wore a pair of grey Calvin Klein panties, now ruined to a fault due to her arousal. She looked up from her position, liking the way Bradley looked below her, and turned her head to the side with confusion.
“You’re soaking wet, darlin’, and I’ve barely touched you.” Bradley said against the skin of her navel. His voice sent little shocks of electricity up her spine, causing her to grumble with anticipation. “Talk to me, baby, what do you want?”
No way in hell was he asking her to speak. “Touch me,” was all she could say. The words poked at her tongue, but she liked being difficult.
“Where?” He was being coy, now.
“Here,” Elizabeth’s hand traveled down her own body, sparking her own incentive of desire as she did so. She pulled down the fabric of her panties, revealing her sopping cunt to him. “Make me come,” she’d lapladically order him, her voice lilted with the dreariness of need.
“Yes ma’am.” He’d oblige, just as a gentleman would do.
Bradley didn’t hesitate. The first lap at her drenched, tender flesh surprised her as her eyes had been locked on the way his muscular shoulders flexed beneath her. His body was addicting, and she would become an addict to see him like this.
Chills ran up Elizabeth’s spine as his hot muscle perforated against her, a soft hum coming from her.
Bradley kept going, intensifying his assail. He sucked on her clit, tugging on the hood that grazed the bridge of his teeth. His tongue would saunter, threading against that oh-so-sensitive bud that tingled with elastic electricity that scorched her veins with red hot pleasure. Elizabeth moaned at that— that part of her body had never, ever, been touched nor found by another man. It was safe to say that she was impressed with his skill and attentiveness to her needs.
Whatever nectar secreted from her slit, he perilously lapped up, becoming beggarded by the addictive, sweet taste.
“Fuck,” Elizabeth whined, her back arching against the soft sheets of her bed. Her fingers threaded through his brown hair, tugging harshly whenever he hit a spot that curated such an intense pressure that he had but only one option: keep going.
His tongue continued to swirl and flick, fucking her slowly and deviously without relent. She’d continue to whine more intensely, shifting her hips aggressively. In response, he’d grasp her waist, clutching her in place and holding her steady. The tips of his fingers pierced her skin so aggressively that she was sure he’d leave marks by dawn.
“Be still,” he’d hum against her pussy. She could feel the tips of his teeth against her, and she rocked only once against him. He’d chuckle, noting how impatient she was. He would fix that.
Elizabeth’s back arched with every perfect thrust of his tongue, the hot muscle hitting the spots that made her toes curl, that made her grab onto his hair more tightly. He understood how she taught him to navigate her body. He wanted to know every inch of her.
The pleasure consumed her entirely. Her hands reached to grip his shoulders as her moans and whines became uncontrollable. She was so close; she could feel the pressure building up in her lower stomach, that fleeting feeling that she felt with many men…but with Bradley, it just kept going. She’d beg him if she had to. Get on her knees like a dog for a treat.
“Keep going, Bradley,” she’d whine, her voice caught in her throat. “Please, I’m so close.” Tears prodded at her eyes. This time though, they were out of pure pleasure. Elizabeth was almost confused; she’d never felt so strongly during sex before.
Bradley hummed against her cunt, swirling his tongue more aggressively, purposely flicking upward each opportunity he got to reach that tandem bud that drove her absolutely wild. He kept going, and going, before she felt herself collapse, and release with pressure. Elizabeth’s cunt spasmed, a soft cry leaving her lips, her head slamming against the mattress.
Her body did it autonomously, the pressure instantaneously gone that had been built up for what felt like a millenia.
Bradley’s tongue didn’t stop; he drank up every ounce of her juices, swallowing her like it was the last bit of water he had. He could never get sick of her.
Now that he had a taste, he’d only be craving for more.
Elizabeth’s breaths were rough, inhaling quickly. Bradley pulled himself up over her body, a cool smirk plastered over his face. That feeling, that arousal disappeared that made her dumb. He laughed slowly, looking at her flustered, out of breath expression, pride written across his face.
“Yeah, yeah…” Elizabeth said begrudgingly, smiling back at him herself. She had to admit, his tongue game was pretty strong. “Do you want me to—?” She looked at the bulge in his pants, feeling guilty that she had came, and he…hadn’t.
Wow.
She came.
Wow. No past boyfriend or hookup of hers could ever manage such an achievement like that. It felt so easy with Bradley— so easy to tell him what she wanted. Easy for him to navigate her body. Was it from other women that he gained so much skill? She didn’t want to know.
Satisfied with her exasperated expression, Bradley hopped off of her, his chest glistening with sweat. He left the room, leaving a puzzled expression on her face.
He came back speedily, a wite towel drenched with what she assumed was water in his hand. The man would bend down at the edge of the bed, his arm reaching out to clean her.
“Bradley you don’t have to—” Elizabeth wasn’t accustomed to such mannerisms. Her boyfriends would just pass out after sex, leaving her to have to shower alone. Deal with the mess they made.
“Please, Liz.” He looked at her with that same cheeky smile, “You seem pretty exhausted. Let me.” Asshole. Elizabeth huffed, waving her hand in defeat, allowing him to wipe the warm towel against her languid core. It was endearing, and her heart curdled at the gesture.
When he was done, he threw the rag on the floor, then threw Elizabeth her clothes. The black tee landed on her lap as she sat up. She put it on without hesitation, twisting her wild red hair to the side. Elizabeth didn’t want to put on the same underwear because…ew. Hygiene. So she stood, opening the drawer of the cream-white bureau to put on a new pair. She found a different pair of shorts, too.
When she turned back around, Bradley had put back on his navy tee. She noticed the tail end had been sucked into the waistband of his shorts, so she approached him, mindlessly taking it out. When she looked back up at him, he’d already been looking at her. Her hand came up to caress the side of his cheek, a nonverbal form of communication.
“You surprise me, Bradshaw.” Elizabeth chuckled, watching how his cheek brushed into her palm. “You really do.”
He returned her chuckle with that same cocky expression. “In a good way?”
“Maybe.” She’d shrug. Her hand left his face and went to his own hand, and she laced them together. He looked at her curiously, but she didn’t look back. Elizabeth walked out into the kitchen, letting go of his hand once they reached the dimly lit room.
Perfect timing, no less, as the door burst open with the Lieutenants, cups and cones of ice cream plentiful in their hands.
They hooped and hollered amongst each other, but Elizabeth didn’t feel an ounce of guilt missing out on such an outing.
Natasha’s eyes met hers and widened curiously between her, and Bradley who stood behind her, looming. Elizabeth smiled cheekily, nodding. Natasha gave a thumbs up in the hand free of a cup of coffee ice cream.
When Bob emerged from the crowd alongside Natasha, Elizabeth felt Rooster shift behind her, coming closer to her body. She turned to look at Bradley’s shadow, then back to Bob.
Ah.
This again.
Elizabeth moved from the comfort of Bradley’s heat towards Natasha and Bob. A bright, alleviated smile on her face. They returned it, immediately wrapping her up into their conversation. Out of the blue, Elizabeth beckoned Bob.
“Can I try that?” She looked towards his ice cream in the cup.
He looked startled, face blushing, but agreed. “Sure.” He handed her the cup, to which she put the spoonful of mint chocolate-chip ice cream into her mouth. The cold, creamy texture soothed the wretched soreness of her throat.
She made an imitated moan of pleasure from the sweet treat, then handed it back to Bob. “That’s really good.” Elizabeth sucked on the tip of her finger, getting the last of the ice cream off of her before looking Bob in the eyes. He was clearly shocked. Stunned.
Natasha let out a laugh at his face, and so did Liz. The red head couldn’t resist the urge to look over her shoulder towards Bradley, who joined with Payback and Fanboy.
He was looking at her.
Again. This time, his eyes burned green with jealousy. She smiled at him, tongue poking between her teeth.
Game on.
—☼—
part six in two days since this chapter is longer! however, subject to change.
taglist - ask to be added!
@thatchickwiththecamera
@swthxrry
@datingbtr
@lt-b-rooster-bradshaw
@pinksweetssheep
@shimmer98
@ponyboys-sunsets
@sadpetalsstuff
@luckyladycreator2
@roxanne-ragnvindr
@bespinnn
@alanadetigy
@joshkiskasbunion
@edgypickles
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@luckyladycreator2
@fightertown-usa
@illicithallways
@kermits-bitch
@roses-and-grasses
@alltheloveamelia
@5lutty5arah
if i missed any tags or tw's, lmk!
#top gun maverick#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster top gun#rooster bradshaw#top gun fanfiction#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x oc#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x oc#brad bradshaw x oc#rooster x oc#rooster x reader#top gun x reader#top gun#miles teller x reader#top gun maverick fic#rooster fic#brad bradshaw fic#miles teller#rooster#rooster x you#bob floyd#rooster smut#rooster x y/n#bradley bradshaw smut
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I can’t believe I’ve never posted these smh.
Welcome to the Ladyverse! These are personal redesigns I’m doing for fun. Also my personal MLP OCs (excluding crossovers) will mostly be in this AU. There is lore below the cut, but don’t take it too seriously.
Full bodies will come… someday. Part two is already done and will be posted soon!
Commissions are open! Please see my pinned post for more!
From top to bottom:
Empress Luna (Lunar Solstice): Divine Alicorn, Age 22
Empress of Cimmeria, Goddess of the Stars. Luna was devastated when she discovered the destiny she spent her life preparing for was meant for someone else entirely. One night, Luna decided to try and raise the Moon herself to spite Sombra. But to her surprise, bright lights began to move across the sky. Luna dubbed these lights stars, ascending as their Goddess shortly after. Luna was born a Nightmare Pegasus.
Nightmare Star (Celestial Equinox): Alicorn, Age 23
Former Queen of Canterlot, former goddess of the Sun. Once known as Celestial Equinox, Nightmare Star is a corrupted shell of her former self. While she was happy to see her partners and sister ascend, Celestia was disappointed upon realizing her ascension was not unique. The ponies of Canterlot also preferred the other rulers over her: Luna was gentle, Hope was caring, and Sombra protected them from harm. Celestia was seen as a spoiled brat who didn’t know the first thing about leadership. The final straw was when she saw Radiant Hope raise the Sun, the only thing ponies respected about her. On that day Celestia decided if her ponies didn’t love her, they would learn to fear her instead. Celestia was born a Kirin.
Empress Rabia: Divine Umbrum, Age 3,800*
Empress of Tambelon, Goddess of Darkness. Rabia is a noble, just ruler trying to bring happiness and peace to her people. She would have never expected one of her subjects to raise the Moon, but she adjusted quickly. Rabia is technically the Goddess of Darkness, but she doesn’t care much about her divinity. Secretly wants to retire and settle down somewhere with Luna.
*Rabia’s age is an estimation. Due to the time differences between Domina and Tambelon, the exact age of an Umbrum is nearly impossible to find.
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Hehe @landlordevil tagged me to talk about my Tav/Durge so now yall are gonna hear about my boy :3
and thanks for the tag Aella ~
Name: Kallos ! Last name doesnt exist anymore he does not remember it
Nickname: Kal (by Karlach), Cub (by Jaheira)
Gender: Agender/doesn't give a fuck. Goes by he/him out of sheer convenience/never really knowing anything different but that doesn't make him A Dude.
Star sign: Scorpio. I don't know much but I know enough that that's what fits him
Height: 6'1" (186 cm)
Orientation: Bi but preference for men
Race: Mephistopheles Tiefling, or at least that's what he comes off as to most. To other tieflings tho theres something Off about him
Romancing: Astarion (and he's Very loyal to him)
Fave fruit: Black raspberries
Fave season: Fall, he likes the colors and the chill
Fave flower: Lungwort ~ old medicinal flower that has pretty spotted leaves and comes in blues/pinks/purples
Fave scent: Pomagranates
Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: Coffee 100%
Average sleep hours: He's lucky if he gets a solid 5 with all the headaches and nightmares and he's learned to live with that
Dogs or cats: Cats, dogs are too high maintenance for him
Dream trip: He hasn't really thought about it tbh, he's content to be wherever Astarion is after everything they've been through
Amount of blankets: 2. Despite being a tiefling he's shit at thermoregulating so he runs cold a lot
Random fact(s):
(Personal headcanon territory but) The "Stillmaker" knife, aka the one you find underneath the Open Hand Temple while investigating the murders, was Kallos' personal knife from his time leading the Bhaal temple. After Orin fucked him up and left him at Moonrise it got separated from him and passed around between other temple members until it finally made his way back to him during the murder investigation. Even after Kallos rejects Bhaal he still keeps the knife, whether out of misplaced sentimentality or just wanting to hold onto something that was His, who can say ~
He actually hates wearing the color red and refused to wear it even when he led the temple, preferring greens and greys instead
Despite being a war domain cleric whos adept with Radiant magic, his favorite spells are all Necrotic ones, particularly Inflict Wounds which is his go to.
Thanks to what Orin did to his brain, he's almost fully blind out of his left eye. The damage isn't super noticable outside of the facial scarring, but if you look close its slightly discolored from his right one.
I as the playet give theme songs to all of my ocs to help me characterize them. Kallos actually has two of them, that being "Pathological Facade" by Ghost and Pals along with "The Rifle's Spiral" by The Shins ~
Lets see, I am gonna tag @angel-trapped @piddgeon @fiendpact and @darlinghowl if yall wanna talk about your Tav/Durge ~ obviously no obligation to do so if you don't want to
#sorry this took all day i was tired from work lol#tag game#bg3#kief plays bg3#kallos durge#my ocs#i love this idiot hes Theeee oc now
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Serpent Hope is an MLP oc that I made. He is the only son of King Sombra and Radiant Hope. He is very old, and he originally was meant to literally become GIR from Invader Zim (some weird IZ/MLP crossover inspired by FNAF). Now, he is just meant to be during the early years of the Nightmare Moon era.
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Emotions. Memories. Life. Fanfic. Undertale AU.
-Part 2-
Category: Gen, 16+ maybe?
Character: Frink, Mirror, AI Dream, Radiant, AI Nightmare, AI Blue
Warnings: Obscene language, Inhuman morality, OC, Mental disorders, Psychological traumas, Rating for profanity, Gray morality, OOC,
Other tags: AU, In one body, Drabble, Parallel Worlds, Under the same roof, A collection of drabbles, Elements of psychology, Elements of humor / Elements of banter.
- Created by the desire to ✨ create✨
- Tags will be added as they are written.
- Predominantly bone-shake, though it's not a fact that this will always be the case.
- EML is: Acute Incident stories, (sick)everyday life of HWS, spending time with the AI inhabitants, living the dead and not quite alternatives, and just the creeping of bone-gnaw in the knowledge of their mortal existence.
An alternate timeline where Frink and Mirror had a ... during a particularly intense fight from the remnant of a collapsing world and a high concentration of Frink and Mirror's magic in one place... This little guy.
Frink hand twitches, and Radiant eyes flutter shut, watching with bated breath as his Base gently brings his hand down on his head, and instead of the expected kick or shove, he feels the cloth surface of the glove and the bones whose touch feels like thin cuts in dusty paper.
It had been a long time since Rad had twitched at such displays of sudden tactile generosity as he used to. He would have been proud of what he had accomplished when Mirror had taught him how to deal with such sensations, but learning to accept physical contact calmly like this all at once was proving to be a difficult endeavor. For both teacher and student.
Frink smile faltered, and the perennial red symbols in his eye sockets changed to a hypnotically calm blue, and the arrogant expression on the other's face softened. The guardian still reeks of menace, and subconsciously Radiant tries to force himself to calm down, to muster the courage to look into the stranger's eyes. It takes him a few seconds to do so and smile back, immediately casting a quick glance with a mute question over Frink's shoulder at the figure dressed in blue-colored clothing and a tattered cloak behind him. He gets a nod and Radiant feels a little calmer, but not as much as he would if he saw Mirror there, smiling at him.
- It won't be long before you've developed your abilities to an acceptable level. - Frink continues to smile, staring off into the distance. With a hum, the guardian removes his hand from the stranger's head and the kid lets out a barely audible sigh of relief, briefly looking down at the floor and fighting the urge to scratch himself where he can still feel the rough surface of the touch, sighing deeply a few times. - I hope you haven't abandoned your training.
The brief glance, carelessly thrown straight into Radiant's soul, made his bones and teeth clatter, but he forced his jaw tightly shut and swallowed, shaking his head in denial and clenching his fists tighter. He would have to calm down and pull himself together like Nightmere had taught him. He needed to be able to deal with what he was feeling and understand what he was feeling.
Still, he's weaned from Frink, and he realized that now more than ever.
- It's a good thing you didn't lose you mind while being with that idiot in the madhouse.
Frink waved him aside dismissively, squinting, but then breaking into the same arrogant smile that Radiant rarely saw on his face when he was pleased. There was a stabbing pain in his chest that he couldn't explain, as if someone had stuck a shoemaker's needle into his chest and threaded all the parts of his soul with a thick steel thread, pressing them tightly together.
A little anger came from the unpleasant sensation, the name of which he didn't know. Rad wasn't a fan of when one of his Base insulted the other, and by fateful coincidence, Frink was a master at it. But he also didn't like the conflicts and fights that the bases almost regularly had with each other.
And after that, Mirror still called him his friend?
- What's with the sour look? - Frink snorted, and his pupils flickered with purple and green squiggles, the meanings of which Rad often forgot, and found no point in memorizing. - We'll spend the whole week together. I can finally teach you something! Or aren't you excited?
Frink frowned, and the very thought of it seemed to hurt his ego. Rad didn't like what he was saying, but he nodded modestly, knowing full well that he had no choice in the matter and only a little annoyed at how quickly he'd agreed to this venture, when Mirror had told him that Frink's abilities were better developed by him and that this way he'd really understand what he needed in this life.
Not that any of that wasn't true, on the contrary, he seemed to enjoy throwing ink and watching his Base master the magic of its transformation, but he definitely thought Mirror was wrong about a lot of things, and strangely enough, he was wrong about Frink, even if sometimes his mouth was really prophetic.
And Rad liked fire, too - he was unconsciously drawn to it, having once seen his own ink burning with magic, after so many unsuccessful attempts to set it on fire. It seemed that he had burned two rooms that time, but Nightmare had surprisingly not scolded him, and had reassured him that those rooms had long ago spoiled his entire layout. Of course Radiant didn't believe him. But he didn't believe him NOW, and back then, scared and cornered, he was ready to believe anything, if only he could stop huddling guiltily against the wall and throwing weak magical attacks around uncontrollably.
Smiling as plausibly as possible, and as it seemed to himself - too dramatically changed in his face, Radiant covered his eyes, nodding to his thoughts, and after a moment's hesitation to answer the monster:
- I'm very glad you took the time.
Rad raised his voice, turning his head away to where his Basis had been looking earlier. Hard. Talking to Frink was hard after a while. - Just missed you.
Burying his nose deeper into his clothes, Rad breathed in the familiar smell of coffee and chocolate, smiling a little more confidently. The kid could tell that he was glad when Frink could talk to him quietly, like this.
The guardian was like an older brother to him, the same one who in silence experiences everything that is most terrible and unpleasant, and then exposes his prickles when you try to help him. Like a hedgehog snorting and curling up in a kind of prickly cocoon, sensing some kind of danger, albeit imaginary, he continues to snort and grumble stubbornly without saying anything useful. At least that's how Mirror compared him, and Rad saw no reason not to trust his experience in comparisons.
Except that Nightmare had once compared Frink to a Harpy, and smiled, saying that Dream couldn't stand the likes of them, and yet the two continued to play cat and mouse. Radiant didn't understand what cats had to do with mice, but he hoped the cat could win. He liked cats better than mice, if only because the stripes on his cheeks resembled a cat's whiskers.
Still, Radiant was curious about what lay beneath Frink's prickles, which he sometimes wanted to rip out with his own hands, despite the pain and a hundred percent step into the arms of death. Just to make sure that he really felt nothing for his named "Brother" and really, just as Frink had said, would be able to kill the indecision in him. At times like this, as he realized himself, he becomes uncontrollable and starts to break a lot, and then he forgets everything that has happened to him lately.
Time. What a useless phenomenon, Rad thought, tentatively tugging at the hem of the poncho on which his own hands had embroidered the stars. Three so far. He'd never kept time and considered it a complete pointless nonsense that made those around him feel inferior and forced himself into various ridiculous confines, like a sleep regimen or a daily routine.
Sighing heavily, the kid cast one last sad glance at the place where his nervous uncle was still waiting, stomping his foot in frustration and glancing around. Waving goodbye before taking Frink's hand, his last thought was one of regret.
He had forgotten his doll, after all, and she would surely be lonely without her friend, while he himself worried that Flatch might do anything to his dear Rose.
It had been an eventful day, though, and he couldn't think about his friend while he was with Frink.
The boy was once again plunged into the role of protector of worlds, swimming in its sources but refusing to dissolve into it, watching as his conscience, deaf to his questions, faded and life came to the fore. Not a man or a monster, no. Something more. Something that Frink so desperately protects from everyone at once, proudly sticking out his chest and striking the ground with the sharp end of his hand.
And Radiant had decided for himself at the time that he would never be the next guardian of this infinite space they call the Multiverse.
______
End :)
#undertale#undertale au#AI Dream Sans#AI Nightmare Sans#AI Blue#Acute Incident Multiverse#Acute Incident#Frink Sans#Mirror Sans#AI Dream#Fanfic#drabble
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Primordial dragonfly (that six winged thing)
(@hallowed-nebulae, maybe to be added onto!)
The Radiant Nightmare got her name from a death match, from a Nightmare of a witch that ruled said death match.
Or it's possible that witch stole the name of Radiant Nightmare from Radiant Nightmare herself, passing it down to that small young Replica who had not figured out how much the worlds hated her existence.
It's a difficult thing to tell, when time loops exist.
What a strange Mirage Arena this is, where the witch that the Radiant Nightmare keeps throwing herself against no longer exists here. In this time. Place. Thread of things.
No, an angel has taken her place instead. One by the name of Rinoa.
"Ultimecia always loses to Rinoa, hm?" she ponders. A rule of the universes it seems, that certain pairs should always face each other with one always coming out on top.
Her six eyes blink at said angel looking back at her, arms folded across her chest.
"Why are you here, Nightmare?" the angel, the Rinoa, asks. Demands.
The Radiant Nightmare tilts her head back, horns twitching. She gestures with one of seven arms towards a certain blade impaling her to the ground through her snake-like form.
"Well, I seem to be pinned down at the moment."
The owner of said blade snorts at her, unimpressed. "That's not what she meant."
Of course not.
Gills that are more decoration than actually of use flap open and shut along her sides. She allows patches of scales to grow over them, to lessen the impact of having gaping holes present in her form.
The owner of the blade is a Nightmare. A Riku. Riku but not, a Replica that took a name and face and made them his.
Like they always try to do, don't they?
"Leave Ruse alone," Riku demands. And how she can't but laugh, a gurgling noise that rasps through her remaining gill slits.
"I'm not here for your Ruse. Or even for my reflection," she coughs out.
She's here because...
She's hungry.
Always hungry. And there are so many free Nightmares around here for her to pick up and chomp and chew about, even as the Ruse That Will Be Her wanders in the topmost layers of Dream.
So angry, always so angry.
(Because to not be angry would be admitting failure, hmmm?)
"You've lost control of your impulse," Rinoa remarks, sounding unimpressed.
Radiant Nightmare tilts her head to the other side, lets long rabbit-like ears form from under her horns. Flop flop. "Bold of you to assume I ever had control over it in the first place."
Riku speaks. "But you did, didn't you? Otherwise Ruse wouldn't be the way she is. Either of them."
The Nightmare huffs. Taps claws against the floor, eyes flicking to the blade still stuck through her.
They're judging her, she can feel it in how the not-air hums between them. Or pitying her, which is even worse. Oh, Riku's even horrified by the implications of her, how cute.
How cute.
She blinks, one row of eyes after another. The blade in her doesn't hurt, but only because Riku means it to bind. Not to kill.
"Are you gonna let me go?"
Red eyes look her down. Steady. "Convince Rinoa."
Oh, oh, great.
The Radiant Nightmare clinks her tongue, unimpressed. "Fine, fine, I'll leave you alone. Is that what you want? I'll wander, swim, back to my territory."
Back to Radiant Garden, who shouldn't be too long without its hungry protector anyway.
Rinoa settles her hands together in a prayer-like gesture.
"I'm sorry."
The Radiant Nightmare hisses. Lets the raw poison of pure Darkness drip from her new maw.
"Don't be."
(Because she made this choice. She had to.)
(And if it wasn't her fault...)
(Well. It has to be. That's all.)
#my kh ficlet#kh ficlets#oc radiant nightmare#kh rinoa#my writing#storm whispers au#RN's lost her mind so she's not the best judge on what ANYONE'S reaction to her may be#she's also hungry all the time which doesn't help certain reactions#(would she eat ven's seph if she ran across him? Probably try to)
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hiii elle!!! for the oc asks: alone, future, and midnight for unnamed paladin?
hiiiii val!!!
alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there’s no one around to see them?
as an oath-bound paladin, he has had his bond to his god present with him ever since he was divinely called upon -- so he hasn't been truly alone for the past twenty years, until one moment the radiant light in his soul is just simply gone. he's not doing well about this development, to say the least
future: What’s the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it’s a possibility?
the worst possible future for him is that there is no going back -- his god will never speak to him again and he'll never be able to apologize for whatever unknown mistake he did. he's losing his mind about it and it's his singular thought after he becomes forsaken. all of his self is now directed in avoiding that outcome, trying to figure out what he did wrong and how he can reach his god
midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?
he hasn't been able to have a good night's sleep since he was forsaken, so he stays up half the night praying to the empty silence that used to respond. i'm so obsessed with him you cannot believe
oc ask meme!
#YAY you know i loooove talking about unnamed paladin. he's such a soggy shining guy who still tries his hardest <3#sodrippy#<- still funny to me#oc tag#unnamed paladin#asked#answered#ask memed
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lit by the glowing colors of your flesh
[the crushing stones pov of this ficlet by @beastenraged . finally got around to writing it -- it’s what helped me finally break 50k, just before nanowrimo was over. huzzah!)
You fall. Though water -- through Dreams -- through Darkness -- you fall. (It burns. Licking at your arms and legs and at any exposed flesh. The Darkness burns, as hot things tend to do, as Darkness tends to do.)
Your crutches are somewhere below you, or perhaps above -- adrift where you cannot reach them. Open-cuffed as they are, once you let go of the handles they're hopelessly lost in the storm that surrounds you as you plummet down, down, down, down. . . it's all rather annoying, more than scary. (Scary is Vexen standing over you, dispassionately, with a scalpel in hand, a Sorcerer by his side, reciting his actions to be recorded. Or perhaps that's terror. You're not sure yet.)
The place you are in swirls and shifts and changes as you fall. Streaks of red and purple and blue and green and black all blending together, like some odd kalaedescope, like when you're in a car and the scenery rushes by too fast to be seen. Rushing by almost nauseatingly fast. There is danger in this place, you know. You know this. You can feel it in your metal bones, in the firing of all of those golden circuits making your nerves, in the way your hair raises on end and your stomach churns and your teeth ache for want of biting something. There is danger in this place.
There are creatures here -- you'd call them Nightmares, but you're not sure if that's what they are. They're very dark, yes, red eyes and fangs and claws -- but your brother is not a Nightmare, is a spirit, and his eyes are red and his fingers are clawed, so you cannot be sure. (Perhaps he is simply sitting on the edge of becoming a Nightmare, rather than the Spirit he is? Riku's teeth are quite sharp, and his past as Baldr is so very Dark and bloody and painful at the end, the kind of sickening madness of the mind that makes things as hazy as a storm in every cell and mind tilting and twisting sideways and swimming like the heat-haze of summer. No way to tell.)
Regardless. There are creatures here. And other parts of this place -- this dreamlike place, where things are so deep and so dark and so quiet and just off the slightest bit, like the calm before a psychotic episode descends upon you and you are spent fighting off hallucinations. There are parts of this place that are like liquid, that you fall through, and there are parts of this place that are much more solid, enough that you would surely be broken should you land on them.
You avoid both dangers as best you can. It's a bit difficult when you're falling so fast everything is a blur, and the Dream Eaters are sometimes very small and easy to miss, but -- well. You are a god -- a Reginae -- and your Karma makes its way through your body. You grasp onto it, that luck it holds, that magic that is the toss of dice or a coin standing on its side or the breath before you look down to see what your result is for a random drawing. You grab onto it and feel all that you've endured, feel all the kind and gentle and good things you have done, and that is enough for your purposes. Your Karma is good, and it is this goodness that allows you to grab your luck and hold it as tightly as you can. You use your luck and guide yourself safely down, past all the Dream Eaters snapping and snarling, past all the pieces of this dream that look like they would break even your steel bones should you land on them.
You land. . . softly. Gently. Down on the floor of wherever this place is.
In front of someone. They're almost identical to you -- almost. Their hair is not nearly so long, only falling down some inches past the shoulders and not down to the hips like yours does. There, too, is another difference -- both legs bearing weight, no crutches in sight. The face, too, is subtly different -- more fat on the cheeks, eyes that slant slightly less upwards, no glowing stripes of bioluminescence or teeth poking out from under the corners of their lips. Eyes a darker shade of blue, indigo, compared to your own electric blue. A thousand little differences that makes this other person *almost* identical to you but just quite not.
And, most notably, scars. A deep purple color, stretched and somewhat faded. Burn scars -- old ones. You can tell. (You know what burn scars look like -- your caterpillar's little brother had had those burn scars on his wrists ever since he'd tripped into the dying embers of a campfire so many years ago in your youth. Burn scars are not too dissimilar to other burn scars, no matter the cause of the burns.)
A replica. Like you. Or -- perhaps not. You look a bit more, tilting your head from where you're laying down. (Not like you could stand, anyways. Your hip throbs in a dull ache, the scarring pulling at your skin just a bit. And, besides -- your back hurts.) You don't. . . you're not sure if this person is a Replica. A replica, maybe, but not a Replica. There seems to be an entirely organic body, there. You don't. . . there's nothing that even hints at the cybernetic parts of the other person's body that they would have, if they were a Replica like you are. (You'd know. You've studied Xion, and yourself in the mirror, enough to know what the subtle tells are.)
"Ahh. . . " They sigh, as they squat down to be closer to you. Indigo eyes still looking at you. "Who are you?"
What an interesting question. You sit up -- wince, at further pulling at your scars and your skin, at further ache in your back. It's not the most pleasant of feelings, but chronic pain rarely is. At least your jaw seems to be aching less. "Replica Model 13-B." You answer, unwavering in your confidence. That is what your name is, after all. (That is what you are to others. A Replica. You. . . will not speak of divinity or godhood yet. Not to this stranger.)
They sit back on their heels, this other person. Watching you. Considering. Indigo eyes shifting to red.
They watch you. You watch them. The time stretches on, molasses slow and never-ending -- or perhaps that's only on your end. You're well aware of how odd your perception of time can be. (Whether it's ADHD carried over from your caterpillar, or dyscalculia, or both, or some other thing that causes this to manifest for you.)
A sudden shift in the energy of the space around you is all the warning you get.
The other replica stands. Eyes still that glowing, haunting scarlet. It's a blink of the eye and yet the span of many minutes -- spine stretching out into a long, long scaled tail, with elegant fins and spines that glint silver and iridescent sheen. Growing bigger until they -- she -- is massive, an eye the size of your body. Ribcage splitting open, bones and organs and visera exposed for all the world to see, dripping a green green blood that is too different from your own magenta blood (or the blue your blood should be). Many, many spots of light upon her side and her arms and her throat, all little dots of bioluminescence, all glowing a not-quite-bright white-blue.
Jaws stretch open, sider than humans mouths are supposed to. (But neither of you are human.) A second inner jaw opens, like that of an eel. She reaches forwards with a clawed hand --
You know what she is now.
Kin.
Her glowing flesh and monstrous inhumanity plain to see are proof enough.
"Big sister!" You shriek, and if it is loud, well -- if has been some time since you have met kin. (All the rest of your older siblings are sleeping, still -- is it a crime to be so overjoyed at meeting an older sister who is awake?)
She pauses. Does not move. Just the waving of her hair in this almost-underwater place, all of it so much longer now. Just the waving of fins in the nonexistent breeze, like a fish or an eel -- probably an eel, she does resemble them -- staying in place in a pool.
"Big sister?" You repeat. Just in case. Can she hear you? Did you speak too loudly, or too shrilly, before?
She twitches. "Nibling?"
Claws move forwards. Scoop you up, so that they're holding you in the palm of a hand. They're very pretty claws -- mostly the color of fingernails, which is the color of keratin, which is to say they're a pale color, not quite see through in the parts where they've grown out from the nail bed. Tinted greenish, though -- probably like her blood.
You let out a sigh, and curl up there where you lay. Nestled safely in your big sister's hand. It is very warm, and soft. She could crush you, easily, with the simple action of curling the hand into a fist, but you know that she won't. She's your big sister, after all. She wouldn't do that. Siblings don't kill siblings for no reason. (Not unless they're a bad sibling, and -- well. You'd like to hope that your big sister is a better sibling than Riku's big sister Hoder. Hoder was not a good big sister, you think.)
For a while, you doze. You can't fall asleep -- not really, not with the way your hip and your back still aches. Not with the way your stomach still howls at you, grinding and grinding and grinding away at nothing, because you haven't eaten anything in. . . a long while. (You'd like to eat, but. . . well. You don't want to throw up. You've gotten more familiar with the feeling than you'd like, and it's far from pleasant.)
"Excuse me." Floats a voice, through the air. Familiar, you think. You know this voice. It's. . .
Hmm. You were thinking something. You were thinking something, weren't you? Weren't you? You can't remember, but you are laying here curled up and comfy, and even if your back and your hip hurts (you don't know why, though) you can at least try to rest.
"Can you put my friend down?" The voice says, and you blink. Lean up, one hand rubbing at your eyes to get rid of some of the bleariness. It's. . .
Oh! It's Yozora! Your bodyguard! He's here! He's -- of course he's here, he's your *bodyguard*. Oh, you probably scared him. Getting to here instead of. . . wherever you were before. If he's separate from you and not by your side then that means you got separated from him somehow. He's. . . probably not happy about that. Oops. (Maybe he'll be mad at you for it? But -- he doesn't seem like the kind of person to get mad about it. You think. It was an accident, you're pretty sure, so hopefully he doesn't get upset. Hopefully.)
Anyways. "No!" You say, leaning forwards to look down at him. Wow, you're really high up. Better grab onto your big sister's fingers so you don't fall. "This is my big sister!" You chirp the latter sentence out -- you have! A big sister! And she is very big and eel-like and has bioluminescent marks like you do! And she's very pretty and warm! She's great!
Yozora. . . looks up. And up. And up. "I. . . see." He sounds very much like he does *not* see, but it's not his fault. Yozora's never quite understood how you find kin, even for all his trying. It might be a Reginae thing -- might be part of your divinity, searching for kin -- or it might be a you thing, but either way, he at least tries.
"Do you mind coming down?" He asks you, looking up at you with that concerned slight tilt to his head, eyebrows furrowed just so, the slightest bit. Gotta remain looking stoic, you guess. Maybe something that came from his time in the military (that. . . is still technically ongoing, it's just that he's guarding you now instead of actively going out and fighting in Quadratum) . Maybe it's something that's just a Yozora thing. Who knows.
It's very polite of him to ask, you decide. What are you going to do? Are you going to go down? Are you going to stay up here in your big sister's hands? Many options, many choices, many decisions to make.
In the end. . . probably best to join Yozora down there. There are places you're both meant to be, you're sure. Probably. "Can you put me down?" You ask, looking up at your big sister. "Don't drop."
Your big sister sets you down, next to Yozora. Leaning you just so, so that you can put all of your weight on him and on your good leg, and none on your bad leg. Very kind of her. Very nice.
"Thank you." Yozora says, voice being just that bit soft, like it always does whenever he's all grateful and kind and appreciative. (You don't know how you know that, but you *do* know it. It's good to know. Maybe.) "I am Yozora." He introduces.
You feel like he's supposed to give a longer introduction, but maybe it's because this place is so odd -- and so informal, as well -- that he forgoes it. Most people only introduce themselves with their first names, anyways, so it makes sense.
You look around some. At the colors. At all the muted colors, and the Darkness dancing around. It's very pretty. "You live in a nice place," you say to your big sister. All the pretty colors and all the pretty Dream Eaters flitting around somewhere on the edges of your sight. (You can feel them. You could probably reach out with your own Darkness or Light, trap them and consume them. But you won't. It would be rude to eat your big sister's friends.)
There's not a lot of light here, actually. Just the glow from the few bioluminescent plants, and the dots on your big sister's flesh -- whitish blueish green -- and the stripes on your own cheeks and throat -- whitish blue and whitish gold. It's a nice effect, to be honest. Very much something that could be used as art inspiration.
"I appreciate that," your big sister says, sounding incredibly grateful. "It can be easy to forget the beauty when spending too much time in a Dream."
Hmm. That makes sense, you think. You get used to places if you're there for too long -- the same way you get used to a taste if you eat it every day, or a sound if you hear it on repeat for too long. White noise, but in a visual way.
Yozora coughs, then. Clears his throat. "About that." You turn to look at him -- his face has turned serious again. "Could you possibly guide us back to the Waking Realm?"
Oh, is that where this is? Somewhere in dreams? That. . . would explain a lot. And why he sounds so hurried.
"Why?" Your big sister asks. "Do you have somewhere to go? What if I want company?" She snaps her jaws shut, a clacking noise made. Winds her tail around you, like a net almost. Fins spreading wide. (They're very pretty, colored that pale silver with that iridescence and gossamer sheen. Like your hair does, when hit with the light.)
Yozora doesn't blink, of course. This is nothing to him -- should be, at least, if you can remember the stories he's shared correctly. Gigas are more a threat, and big displays like this aren't too scary.
With that in mind, you don't really feel like watching either of them too closely. Instead, you reach out -- press your hands against one of your big sister's fins. It's smooth, almost -- a bit bumps from the occasional change of scale or the like. . . texture it has. (You don't really know how to describe it as anything *but* the word 'texture'.) Still, though -- very pretty. Glimmering in the light, tinted blueish from your sister's luminescence and a little bit that's goldish-orangeish from your own luminescence.
"This place is not meant for someone like us." Yozora continues, as if he hadn't noticed you reaching out. Or your sister's show of threat. "Surely you do not want to put your. . . younger sibling in more danger?" There's a brief pause, but you can tell Yozora doesn't meant anything bad by it. Just trying to figure out the right words to use. Like he often does, in situations like these where you're not really anywhere familiar.
Your big sister considers, visibly. Cracks her jaw open -- stretching it open wide, wide, wide, all of those needle-sharp teeth on display, light from her throat catching on the ridged roof of her mouth. You copy the behavior -- your own motion cracking your entire face open with the way your mouth opens and stretches. When you close your jaw, it's a clacking noise to accompany the action -- like to break bone. That's what your teeth are made for, of course. Your teeth and your jaw adjusted, to match that of a spotted hyena, for bone-breaking strength.
"Fine." Big sister says, after a bit of deciding. "But I'll take you my way."
She grins, then -- wide, just as wide as her jaw had stretched open, and those teeth are all on display again. She reaches out with hands much bigger than you and Yozora both and scoops the two of you up. You're depostied on her back -- you scrabble at her scales, digging in enough to stay anchored but not enough to hurt. You're not sure how Yozora manages to hold on, but he does. (It's neat to see that the scales continue much further up your sister's back than her front, you think -- weird how the scales do that though. Maybe because of the split-open and bleeding ribcage?)
"Just hold on tight." Your sister tells you and Yozora both, before there is motion, and you are rushing through the waves and waters of this deep, deep Dream.
(Around you, colors blur again. You don't need to grab onto your Karma anymore, though. Big sister will keep you safe.)
#drabbles#oc: replica model 13‑b#oc: radiant nightmare#yozora#kingdom hearts#crushing stones verse#tell me verse
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#Radiant Nightmare King Grimm... using only Sharp Shadow#hollow knight#hollowknight#hollow knight gameplay#nightmare king grimm#nkg#hk nkg#troupe master grimm#grimm#challenge run#oc#Youtube
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Tales from Valaria Masterpost
A collection of fantasy stories taking place on the planet Valaria.
About Valaria
A world with two main continents: one referred to as the eastern, one as the western, with a smaller third continent and numerous islands.
(map made with Roll for Fantasy map maker)
Valaria is populated by three dominant bipedal species (humans, elves, Draigo) and three known subspecies (devar, lycanthropes, sang)
The magic system is based on spells, which are cast by writing or speaking runes. Only two groups can use runes: magicians and Stalkers. Magicians write runes using ink or blood, while Stalkers learn to speak runes through experimentation and thirst for power.
Characters:
[TBA]
Stories:
(arranged chronologically but can be read in any order)
The Watcher and the Thief
[1:1] [1:2] [1:3]
A Watcher (glorified detective/bodyguard) seeks out a magician to reverse a curse placed upon his apprentice. A thief steals a gemstone from the Draigo that is much more valuable than it seems. And a devar, dispatched to catch the thief, is instead drawn into the conflict between a Stalker and her prey.
Contains: magic whump, knife wounds, arrow wounds, burns, gunshot wounds.
The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure [TBA]
"Is that a kid?"
Gunblade Duo Used as Bait One-shot (noncanon)
Draven Cozenson, an infamous lycanthrope hunter, is tasked to capture numerous werecreatures within the city of Zariya. At the same time, a devar acquaintance seeks his aid. A young teen is kidnapped from her home for unknown reasons.
Contains: kidnapping, blood drawings, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, magic whump, monsters.
Magician's Bait
[Read on AO3]
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
Damian has been abducted by a Stalker who seeks to use him as bait for her true prize.
Contains: magic whump, captivity, PTSD, deception, knife wounds, death.
Misc:
Tag Games:
Find the Word [1] [2]
Incorrect Quotes
OC in 15: Draven
Memes
Character Voice [1] [2]
OC Questionnaire: Draven, Octavian, Reese
OC Questionnaire: Luc
Vaguely Summarized WIP: The Watcher and the Thief
OC Interview: Reese
OC BINGO: Draven
OC Interaction: Hector
Character Asks:
Worst Ever Hurt
Lost Children
Weirdly Alike OCs: Draven and Korfel
Knights Radiant Quiz
Watcher Apprenticeship
Nightmares
Jumbo Ask Game [1]
Soft Ask Game [1] [2]
Emoji Ask Game [1]
Incorrect Quotes:
Two Truths and a Lie
Consequences of Actions
Just a guy
Risked your life
Worldbuilding:
Zariya
Art/References:
Gunblade Duo (Draven and Octavian) Doodles
#tales from valaria#masterpost#masterlist#my wips#my writing#tfv#twatt#thtmatc#magician's bait#fantasy writing#writeblr#whump#whump writing#my ocs#my stories
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