#vainvoracity

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• relationship status : in a committed relationship to my cats

• lipstick or chapstick : why not both you cowards

• three favorite foods : all Italian food, cheesecake, anything with blueberries

• song stuck in my head : A Perfect Circle: TalkTalk

• last movie i watched : Heavy Trip

• top 3 tv shows : too many

• book i am currently reading : Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: And Other Lessons from the Crematorium - Caitlyn Doughty

• last thing i googled : Denz Diatomaceous Powder (for me fur babies)

• time : 1.15pm

• dream trip : Norway or Japan??? Or the US to see the field museum in Chicago

• anything you want : to get a solid night sleep hhh

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TAGGED BY : @ncnorocit , @rkunwiired thanks babes -3-

Lip wobbling, Penny does her best to keep her face as far away from her throbbing hand as possible. She could feel how wet and sticky it was, not to mention how much it really hurt right about now, but already she was about to start crying, and the last thing Smaug needed was her sobbing over her hand when it wasn't even that bad.

"Thank you ..."

She was sincere, and in regards to the mounting panic like feeling in her chest, the small woman did try to lighten the mood.

"This is why I can't have nice things Smaug..."

As an after thought-

That was a question even Penny herself didn't really know the answer to. Had she been shot? Stabbed? Honestly to be truthful to anyone listening, she couldn't really remember. What she did know was that everything waist high was in agony, and there was a lot of blood coming from under her hand she'd at least had the sense to press against her side.

Smaug was so much taller than her, and it surprisingly was a lot of effort to tilt her head back and look up at him, eyes moving in and out of focus as words very slowly came pieced together.

                        music bombards the minimal space between them. room air whips between his darkly clad shoulder blades. a bland excitement curls with gooseflesh, dives beneath the clever fingertips that roam smaug’s jacket. there’s a slip and they slink underneath it. loose as the count is, it doesn’t take much for him to acquiesce, turning the framed angle of the other man’s shoulders until his spine hits the wall.

                           his voice is rough. he’s growing slower in the meager years.