#fantasci snippet

[watercolorfreckles]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I understand if you don��t want to!!❤️

Hello! This has been sittin in my inbox for many months during my huge writing rut, sorry about that! I know you also gave this prompt to @the-modern-typewriter and she's been making an incredible series with it on patreon! I changed some things around because I don't want to in any way attempt some sad copy of her interpretation, but I was still inspired by the prompt itself, so I've taken some fairly big liberties to avoid any significant similarities! Hope that's okay! Also, please manage your expectations, I do not compare to the magic that is TMT's writing 😆

TW: Brief depictions of body horror. Violence.

The power blew out in sections. The lights dissolved sector by sector with a sickening whine and click–one by one–in approach.

The commotion ripped Eloise from the fictional world she was lost in, aged page corners still pinched beneath her thumb. Her spirited storytelling abruptly died behind her teeth.

Somewhere in the distance, one person shouted. Two.

Her gaze flicked behind them to the door isolating herself and the bound supervillain from the other sectors of the Maximum Security Prison for Powered Individuals or, as everyone called it, The Max. Seeing nothing but black beyond the bullet-proof glass, her attention snapped forward again to the supervillain imprisoned across from her. 

Was this the start of some elaborate escape plan on his part? Why did it have to happen on a day that she was stuck fulfilling her community service hours instead of being something she could safely gawk at in the newspaper from a distance in a few days? Her stomach did a nauseated flip. 

“What are you doing?” she blurted, voice quivering only a little. Her fingers tightened around her book.

The villain made a show of looking pointedly at his restraints. Wrists strung taut and chained to either wall, he shrugged an innocent shoulder at her as if to say “clearly, nothing.” He was perched on the edge of his bed like a bird, tilting his head with a matching sort of probing curiosity. 

For all the chaos outside of the room, Artisan had not a hair out of place. He appeared perfectly unconcerned, though as thoroughly trapped as ever: ankles shackled, arms stretched uselessly apart from each other. The power-dampening collar wrapped around his neck still blipped a faint red light, indicating it was active. 

The prisoners were rioting. Surely they couldn’t get too far? Containing the most dangerous of powered individuals was, after all, the express purpose of the facility��

The lights above them flickered, dipping the room in and out of inky darkness before settling into a dimly lit haze. Eloise’s breath stalled. The imposing dark felt like a threat, as if the lights could keep the monsters at bay. It only made a little sense, in the way that a child feels safe from the monsters under their bed as long as their nightlight is plugged in.

Except that these monsters were real. The most dangerous in the country. And she was currently feet away from the monster that made even other monsters run.

He hadn’t seemed so bad in the time that she’d known him. Quiet, impassive, yet twisting her gut with pity any time she eyed his barbaric restraints. The least she could do–while crossing off her hours–was to read the supervillain a story every few days. She couldn’t change his fate. Couldn’t make him more comfortable. What she could do was rattle off, sheepishly, about fictional worlds and impactful characters in literature and the way that a well-crafted story could transport you somewhere better.

A crash, gunshots, a scream. Tension racketed through Eloise’s shoulders. More shouts chased thundering footsteps.

Things were going very, very, wrong. And she was very much out of her depth.

Eloise jolted as something struck the door, her special-edition copy of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein falling to the ground and skidding away.

Finally, the lights cut out. With it, every noticeable piece of tech died. All of the energy felt sucked out of the room as if vacuumed. The camera’s blinking light disappeared. Alarms that should have been wailing cut silent. Speakers, keypads, and security systems, all dead. The secondary generator hadn’t sprung to life yet. That meant that this was more than a simple power outage. This was a calculated revolt.

 Eloise’s mind raced through a list of everything else that must have been failing. Coms. Sedative gas. Shock collars. Layers and layers of security locks…

Power dampeners.

Panic clamped vice-like and suffocating around her throat. Artisan’s collar was no longer blinking. 

She froze in the eerie silence of the cell, afraid of shattering the fragile calm. Her heart thumped, rabid, against her ribs.

Chains rattled and clinked to the floor.

Eloise bolted blindly for the door, smacking her palm against the DNA scanner while frantically swiping her “Volunteer Staff” badge through the card reader. When neither miraculously came to life, she resorted to banging on the door.

“Let me out, let me out! Guard!”

The door could only be opened by one person inside the cell and one outside simultaneously unlocking the security checkpoints. Even if the power were on, if the guard on the other side was gone…

The emergency floodlights kicked on, bathing the building in startling fluorescence. Eloise flinched, briefly stunned.

Hands grabbed her firmly from behind, yanking her backward.

Eloise yelped. “No, please–!”

The spot that she had been standing in exploded, steel door and concrete chunks collapsing into the room in a barrage of shrapnel. Something–no, someone–landed, bones crunching, at her feet. The guard who had last been standing on the opposite side of the door lay motionless. His blood puddled the floor, staining the soles of her Converse sneakers.

A horrified sound choked in Eloise’s throat.

Another supervillain strode in, eyes alight with hatred and something more–power. His lip curled, waving a mocking hand–engulfed in green energy–at the guard’s corpse. “God. I’ve wanted to do that for far too long. That one always got on my nerves.”

Artisan looked unimpressed. “You’re making a mess in my cell.”

Eloise’s breath caught. Hearing the supervillain’s voice was jarring. Artisan rarely spoke. Not that any of the other staff had ever actually attempted conversation with him… But even in news clips and YouTube videos, he carried himself with the kind of self-assured quiet of someone who had absolutely nothing to prove. His lethal efficiency did more for his reputation than any words could.

The other man was a villain named William Frenzy, a telekinetic with a gleeful taste for violence.

Faced with Artisan’s startling calm, Frenzy… paused. Faltering on a tight rope he had moments before been strolling across. 

“Yes, well. It won’t have to be your cell much longer, will it? They can’t stop all of us.” He smirked at the dead body on the floor. “Some of them can’t even stop one of us.”

Eloise shrank back toward the corner nearest the door, agonizingly slow, willing the ugly shadows from the artificial lighting to swallow her up while the supers focused on each other. She was the kind of person that people tended not to notice; a background character in the perimeter of a story that the protagonist would meet once and never spare a thought again. She wished, then, that invisibility really was her superpower.

Artisan said nothing, his steely gaze fixed upon Frenzy.

Frenzy floundered beneath the scrutiny. The smugness buffered on his face. Finally, he huffed, crossing his arms. “I made you a nice and easy door out. You’re welcome.” He flicked a hand toward the gaping hole in the wall.

Eloise inched further toward it.

Artisan tutted, and while it wasn’t aimed at her, it shot a cold thrill up her spine. She froze, briefly, before continuing her tantalizing escape. She listened to Artisan speak again. 

“I did not need anything from you. I’ll be getting out regardless. You on the other hand…” 

Eloise stared as Frenzy’s skin shrank taut against his bones, the frame of him creaking and groaning like an old tree in the wind. The air choked out of him, fingers grabbing at his jaw as it stretched open too wide. The corners of his lips tore, slitting his mouth into a gaping maw.

The faintest of smiles graced Artisan's lips as he continued, soft as ever. “Say sorry.”

Eloise didn’t wait to see the carnage through, slipping out into the hall and running.

The other sectors were washed in the same sterile glow as Artisan’s cell was, blue-tinged and horrible, like the lights in a dentist's office. She kept to the edge of things as best she could, clinging to the walls and dark corners.

There was brawling in every sector—guards with weapons drawn mowed to the ground by the creatures they had wardened for so long. A villain fell as shots rang out. Another grabbed the guard from behind, cracking his skull against their knee. 

The smell of blood stung Eloise’s nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe.

She turned to flee down another hall, but two fighting inmates crashed into the doorway in front of her.

Eloise squealed, jerking backward into the belly of the room's chaos.

Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice me.

Everyone was so occupied by their chosen prey, maybe she could fade into the background. Maybe she could–

Her heel caught on something and she tumbled, gracelessly, to the floor. It took her several moments to register the lake of blood seeping warm and sticky into her clothing. 

Terror blurred her brain in a white flash bang.

Disappear, disappear, disappear…

“Mm. What do we have here?”

Eloise couldn’t bring herself to lift her head. She clamped her eyes shut, another child’s illusion of protection. 

The villain opposite her chuckled. He ripped her volunteer badge off of its clip against her chest. Her eyes snapped open again. She recognized him as a ringleader among superpowered thieves. They called him Volt.

“Volunteer, eh? A pretty thing like you should know better than to willingly set foot in a prison full of men with nothing left to lose. It’s been a long sentence, darling. I could make excellent use of your volunteer services. Get up.”

Numbly, ears full of static, Eloise shook her head.

Volt frowned, electricity jumping to life in his palms. “No?” He reached for her, hand nearing her throat.

“Keep your hands to yourself or I will remove them.” 

Artisan’s voice was calm. His eyes were not.

The room quieted.

Spatters of red decorated Artisan’s prison uniform. A few drops dotted his face and he brushed them away with his knuckles, smearing the crimson across his cheek. Almost lazily, he popped his neck and stretched his shoulders, no doubt sore from the strain his restraints kept him in.

The villain across from Eloise paused, sparks still dancing across his fingertips. He regarded Artisan with the same wary caution as Frenzy had.

Before he'd been… Before Artisan had…

Eloise swallowed back the nausea climbing her throat.

Finally, Volt’s hand lowered. “She's yours?”

“She's hers. Step away.”

The man hesitated a moment too long. Artisan didn't offer a second warning. 

As if puppeted, the man's fingers raised to gauge at his own eyes. He screamed, the faint evidence of Artisan’s power shimmering over him. He clawed, next, at the skin on his face, peeling it back like wet wallpaper. 

As promised, his wrists crunched and bent, wrenching all on their own at impossible angles.

Eloise covered her ears, unable to bear the screaming. She felt sick.

“Stop,” she whispered finally. “Please.”

It did. The man collapsed into a sobbing, bloodied heap.

When Eloise managed to look at Artisan, she startled to find his attention fixed on her.

They stared at each other for a stretch of silence that itched. She imagined being forced to choke on her own lungs, or her skull constricting in on itself until it squashed her brain into pulp. For being so bold as to run, he might snap her legs and reaffix them the wrong direction, or splinter her bones to poke, grotesque, out of her skin. They always did say that his victims were his personal works of art, bodies twisted into shells of monsters.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her.

The edges of her vision swooped fuzzy and vertiginous. She rose onto wobbly knees and pushed herself to her feet. When she swayed, Artisan caught her elbow, slipping an arm around her waist to lead her forward.

He did not look back at the others, with complete confidence that no one would challenge him.

No one did.

Eloise was barely aware of taking one step after another. When they arrived back in the villain’s cell, the bodies of Frenzy and the dead guard, thankfully, were gone, though the floor was streaked with the drag lines of their blood.

She wrenched her gaze away.

Artisan’s hand moved further down her arm to her wrist, gesturing that she sit on his bed. When she shifted to do so, his grip tightened, tugging her to a stop. She frozen and tried to read his face. 

His dark brows were furrowed, suspicious eyes flicking from hers down to her hand.

He pulled down her sleeve and held her wrist up between them, revealing the power-blocking cuff clamped around it. His head cocked. He waited.

Eloise swallowed. “I’m not a super. I mean- not a super-super. Just a…..no one.”

“A no-one who volunteers at The Max? With a power-dampener?”

“They’re terms of my probation,” she blurted. “A thousand hours of community service here and a power-inhibitor for a year. I think they put me here to threaten me with where I could end up if I continue on like… Um…”

“Me.”

“A villain,” she clarified, as if that was better. 

Her gaze flitted from the fingers wrapped around her wrist and up to the villain’s face again. The harsh lighting haloed him, dimly silhouetting his face. He looked haunting. He looked lovely. A beautiful house, old and creaking, wrapped in ghosts like a bride’s veil and left to rot. 

“What did you do?”

“I…” Eloise felt very small. “I lied about being powered on my documents. So that they wouldn’t put me on the registry. When they found me out, I tried to run away.”

Artisan’s scrutiny burned her cheeks. He let go of her wrist.

“...What can you do?”

“Nothing special,” she said, cradling her wrist–wholly uninjured as it was–in her other hand. “It doesn’t even work most of the time. My power is sort of…blending in. Going unnoticed. When it’s working, I could stand in a the White House and people’s attention would glide over me as if I belonged there. Not quite invisible, but… It just tricks your brain into not thinking twice.”

Artisan’s eyes narrowed.

Eloise flinched back a step, stumbling back over her fallen book onto the bed. She stared at him.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Some of the tension eased from her shoulders, but she still waited for the catch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them? Trying to escape?”

The villain considered her for a long moment. He sat down beside her, and the hard cot creaked beneath his weight. “Mm. That’s just it. No one inside the prison could have blown the power-dampeners. They require someone with powers to turn them off or on, and the security is impenetrable. My team has tried. Besides, if this was a simple power outage, the inhibitors would still be on. But they’re not. This was premeditated–and no one imprisoned here could have done it. No one on the outside could have done it. So. Process of elimination. Who’s left?”

That was the most Eloise had ever heard Artisan speak, and she could only sit and listen intently–As he had when she’d read him stories. Her brain whirred in a jumbled jigsaw of puzzle pieces. 

“It… It could only be an inside job.” She wet her lips. “The heroes- The higher-ups- They want the prisoners to break out so that they can kill them. A clean massacre. Justified under the law. The world’s most dangerous criminals could never be allowed to escape…”

Artisan smiled and it swirled something in her insides. “A convenient way to get rid of all of the pesky criminals clogging up the system. I’d bet anything that there are 50 snipers surrounding the building, waiting to slaughter anyone who steps foot outside.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Artisan agreed, his smile easing into something softer; something with less feral teeth.

“Thank you for helping me,” Eloise whispered. “What do we do now?”

Artisan hummed. He bent down and swept up her book, dropping it into her lap. He laid back against his pillow and crossed his arms behind his head. The bloodspots on his skin and clothes glittered in the lowlight. 

“Keep reading. I want to know how it ends.”

Part 2

[amethystpath-writes]

A Pomegranate Sunset

NOT A PR0MPT

******

“I thought you never wanted to see me again.” The sorceress curled her legs beneath her body, against the red and clumped sand of the battlefield. The soldier she sat across from was one she was all-too-familiar with.

“I need your help.”

“You want healed," she hummed, and her red hair whipped around her face in such thin tendrils that Hero was surprised they didn't slice her cheeks like a blade. "Last we spoke, you told me you would defy death so you and I never met again. Now look at you. Blood on your lips.”

The sorceress could arrive on her own, when a soldier, or many, of her kingdom died. She came to clear the battlefield of her people. She did so now, her toes curling in the bloody sand as she reached a hand towards a dead soldier, the one whose blood she sat atop of. The soldier vanished. His afterlife would be a clean slate, no lingering messes which made him wish he were still alive, with comrades or family back at home. He wouldn’t suffer, for he never asked to stay alive. He would reach Bliss- nothingness.

If she were summoned, the sorceress would save the one who called on her. They were easy to spot, for the only way to summon her as a savior was to taste the blood of a fallen comrade. These men always had blood on their lips, just like Hero.

He held a hand against a wound on his stomach. “Please. I have someone to return to.”

“You know what it would mean if you did this?”

Hero took a breath. Being saved meant he broke his vow to his kingdom; he would have rejected a dignified death. He would be banished to an afterlife with the sorceress. He would face a life without sentiment, with a woman who loved him, but whose love he could never return.

“I always wanted you in the afterlife. I never thought it would come at the cost of you loving another woman.”

“We were children.”

“I held out for you,” she whispered. The jagged edge in her voice, the cutting edge which told him she held contempt, was gone.

Then you were naive. But what choice did she have in the matter? She was trained all her life to serve the soldiers of their kingdom, to make them an afterlife worth fighting for, to punish them when they didn’t appreciate the gift, to love them and the wars they fought. She was only ever taught to fall in love.

“You saw me when no one else did.”

“I was being kind.” They warned him not to get too close. ‘She’s dangerous.’ He didn’t understand it then, but he did now. Knowing she had full control of whether he died in this moment and was banished to an afterlife with a lonely sorceress- herself- or whether he went home to the love of his life...it made his palms sweat. His stomach stung from the salt.

Hero prayed. He wasn’t supposed to. The gods were meant to be scorned, while his sorceress received the praise. Right now, he saw no other choice. Secretly, he always worshipped the gods, and believed they would grant him a peace which was deserved, not vowed. They would save him.

"If you love me at all," Hero panted, "you will help me get home."

"You are going to be my Hell, you know that?" She slid across the ground to another body, which she touched, and promptly made disappear. Another soul sent into nihilism. "I will send you home and you will come back to me. Then, I will be forced to love you when you have no care for me at all. We will both be punished, and what will my misery be for? What have I done, Hero?"

"You are kind," he said, "and kindness must be met with consequence. The person who perseveres through that unfairness is the strongest of them all."

"And what if I do not care about strength?"

He was bleeding out. His hand didn't possess the strength, nor his mind the will, to hold his wound. "You choose to be strong like you choose to be kind, to love. If nothing else, you choose it because it is all you know."

She breathed. It was all she could do; it was all she knew. Looking at the bodies around her, she knew she had so much work to do. She would be here for hours- walking to one body, kneeling, touching them, and moving to the next. Body after body after body.

In another moment, she stood and held her palm out to the sky. In her hand, a pomegranate appeared, red and glistening in the sun like every other drop of blood on the field.

"If the woman you love is worth both our miseries, you will crawl to this fruit and eat every aril." She broke the pomegranate between two hands, ignoring the juice that dripped down her white and bloodied dress, and then she dropped both halves where the first soldier's body was. If Hero made it, he would taste the blood on the fruit, and she would be summoned again. She would save him.

***

As the sun set, the sorceress returned to her pomegranate. It was uneaten and untouched, though the whites of it had become yellowed from exposure to the air.

Hero's fingers were curled just short of the fruit. So close, yet so far away. If kindness was always met with consequence, she wondered why the scene before her felt so good. She was liberated, out of love.

Leaning down, she picked up one half of the fruit before plucking an aril and placing it on her tongue as she watched the sun finish setting over the field of red sand.

Every soldier had reached Bliss, and every sorceress, too.

******

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Ok I wrote this ages ago and it’s probably wayyy too dramatic but it does have an entire storyline behind it that I’m thinking of turning into a series (an adjusted rewrite of this would actually be a part in the middle haha)

Just wanted to reblog and add our new fantasci tags:)

Writing Snippet #5

Queen of the Harvest

*Vibe check: I listened to Warriors by Imagine Dragons while creating this one*

—————————————

Her city was surrounded.

The new queen sat on her throne, fingers brushing the oval sapphire hanging against her forehead as her advisors argued about what was to be done. Her golden hair stood in stark contrast to the dark wood of the throne, gleaming just as deeply as the the gilded heads of wheat carved into the back and sides of the chair.

She dropped her hand back into her lap.

“Could they not have waited for the mourning period to be over?”

Her quiet words brought a crashing halt to the debate.

“Your Majesty—” the Master of the Markets cautiously broke the silence, hands clutching the skirts of her dress.

But the young queen held up a hand. “There is no point going down that path, I know.” She turned to the old grizzled soldier standing near the throne.

“Master of the Watch?”

“Yes, my queen?”

“How many men do we have within the city walls?”

“Less than six hundred, Your Majesty.”

“Against how many?”

“At least five thousand, Your Majesty.”

She closed her eyes briefly.

“I thought Prince Raiiyn was busy attacking the Southwest border. Is that not why we sent nearly our entire army to repel him? And yet, somehow he is here, in the heart of our land?” She looked around the room, her slender brows raised in question.

“Your Majesty, the Crimson Prince is indeed at the border with part of his army. It is one of his generals that now beats at our door.”

“How much food and water do with have within the city walls?”

The Master of the Silos stepped forward. “Enough to feed our people for over a year.”

“If we use the seed intended for planting,” muttered the Master of the Planting.

The Master of the Silos ignored this remark. “But with last year��s drought... the harvest did not yield much. Now that you are queen and the rains have returned, the wells should be...” he trailed off at the raw sorrow upon the queen’s face.

He bowed low, fingers to his brow. “Forgive me.”

The queen offered a small nod and pushed her grief away. “How long would it take our army to return?”

The Master of the Watch shrugged hopelessly. “If they could disengage without being pursued by the Crimson Prince?” His tone suggested just how likely that was. “Ten days? Twelve? The cavalry could be here in three days, but that would leave our army weak, and 400 horsemen would do little against the army camped outside our gates.”

“They have little by way of supplies. Our people took every scrap of food they could when they retreated to the city. We can try to wait them out. The odds of them breaching the gate—”

“Maing Soundolung!” The doors of the hall burst open and a soldier rushed forward.

“Maing Soundolung!” He gasped out as he bowed, fingers to his brow.

Her eyes narrowed in concern. He was addressing her not as the nation’s queen, but as ruler of the harvest. It was the first time the honorific had been used since the sapphire had been placed upon her. Something was very wrong.

“The southern gate is on fire.”

The queen pushed off the arms of her chair and rose to her feet. The entire council bowed, fingers to brows, as she strode through their midst and out the doors. The hall opened up directly onto the hill overlooking the colorful city, which was bathed in the light of the setting sun. In front of her, smoke billowed from the distant wall, flickers of red and orange gleaming through the haze.

She walked across the stone landing until her bare feet rested on the grassy slope that led down to the city proper. Silence reigned as she closed her eyes and felt the earth.

Finally, she spoke.

“The roots are half an inch long. Master of the Fields?”

“They can handle some rain, but not much.”

“Master of the Planting?”

“We have enough seed to replant nearly three quarters of the fields, but that leaves us nothing for next year.”

Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a breath. “Then we will pray it is enough.” The council bowed their heads as one.

Then she slowly lifted her hands from her sides, raising them towards the heavens. Black clouds formed on the horizon and drew closer as her hands continued to rise. Soon the sun was blocked by the dark boiling clouds.

Her palms touched above her head, and the skies opened. Rain poured down.

Water dropped from her lashes as she lowered her palms until her fingertips rested against the sapphire that adorned her brow.

She kept her eyes fixed on the angry flames that fought against the downpour.

They must have used oil.

“Signal for the guards to abandon the southern wall and have the townspeople retreat to the northern quarter.”

The advisors eyed one another but hastened to obey. A horn rang out in four quick bursts.

When the answering horn replied that all was clear, she split her hands. The rains slowed as she raised her right fist to the clouds and stretched her left down to the earth.

“Can you aim that carefully, Maing Soundolung?” The Master of the Market asked hopefully.

“I can try.” she replied, her quiet voice grim but determined.

In one swift motion, she spread her fingers wide. Thunder shook the air as bursts of lighting split the sky, striking the ground beyond the southern wall in angry streaks of light and power. The thunder rolled unceasingly as lighting struck again and again.

Rain streamed down her arms and dropped off her chin, but the Queen of the Harvest did not cease until a horn blast signaled that the enemy was retreating.

As her arms fell weakly to her sides, the air stilled and the clouds began to retreat.

The council stood, frozen in awe, as the queen looked out at the scorched strip of earth between her city and the vast enemy encampment.

To the right, a brilliant sunset had turned the sky blood-red. A sign of what was to come if she followed this path.

“How fast can you get a message to our army?” She said, voice steady but eyes wide as she took in the destruction.

“Our fastest messenger bird could be there by tomorrow. Are you going to call for the cavalry?”

“No. That would only result in a slaughter.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I’m going to surrender.”

—————————————

She raised her hands to ward off the building protests. “I cannot fend off their attacks indefinitely without destroying the crops, and neither can our army keep the prince’s force at bay forever. If they take the city by force, they will show no mercy. If I surrender, I can negotiate the terms.” She swallowed, then continued. “He does not want this war to drag on either. They want to rule over Zea because they have no good soil of their own. They rely on our harvest as much as we do. He will accept—”

“You cannot negotiate with that monster!”

The queen turned her head to look at the Master of the Fields. “He is a prince, a not a monster.”

“The Crimson Prince is a demon!”

“Prince Raiiyn is a Tyger. If heightened senses and reflexes make someone a demon, then what does that make me?”

She gestured to the burnt earth behind her.

Her advisors did not speak, but the soldier who’d first brought word of the attack stepped forward. “It makes you Cerelia: Soundolung, Queen of the Harvest, Singer of Storms, Protector of Zea.”

He bowed, one hand to his brow, the other raised as if to touch hers. As he straightened, his burning eyes met hers. “It makes you our queen.”

She inclined her head, touching her sapphire, symbol of her role and conduit for her power. “Then as your queen, I must do what I can to protect our people. From starvation and enemy soldiers alike.”

“Your Majesty,” the old Master of the Watch was regarding her with sorrowful respect. “Surrender... you know the cost?”

She turned back towards the hall, where the doors still sat open, the last light of the day casting streams of light on the throne of gilded wheat.

“I know the cost.”

[thepenultimateword]

Claws and Fangs Part 2

CW: Discrimination, essence of racism and hate speech (just with made-up terms because its supernatural creatures)

Part One

[Vampire!]

The little girl standing tiptoe in the doorframe sprang at the vampire's chest, nearly knocking them backwards down the long flight of stairs. Luckily, Fangs managed to catch her under the arms and swing her weight back toward the door just in time.

"Aggie!" they cried, matching her energy. They rubbed noses with the child as they shifted her to the crook of their free arm and reached behind them to find Claws’s arm again.

The child, Aggie, clung to their neck. "Daddy said you weren't coming!"

"Plans changed." They gave the little girl an extra squeeze before smoothly positioning Claws in front of her. "This is [Werewolf]. They're staying the weekend with us."

The little girl lit up for an instant but then froze, sniffing the air and wrinkling her nose. "Why do they smell like that?"

"Aggie!" a new feminine voice scolded, this one older, huskier. "That's no way to treat a guest."

A tall, raven-haired woman in a long red dress appeared in the doorway. Claws only needed a second to recognize her as another vampire. She carried the same red-eyed glint and predatory elegance as Fangs.

Her gaze roved up and down, taking in their utter unvampireness, but she still smiled as she met their eyes.

“Excuse my daughter. She hasn't had much exposure outside a clan.."

Aggie wriggled out of the Fangs’s arms and darted past her mother's legs and into the house.

"I'm [Vampire's] sister, Nerezza. You must be [Werewolf]."

"You know me?"

"Of course, we've been trying to get them to invite you for a dog's age." She gasped, covering her mouth. "I am so sorry."

Fangs covered their face with one hand. "Nerezza."

Claws's face heated. Apparently, their identity was no mystery. "Er, it's fine. I didn't really notice."

"Until you made a big deal out of it," Fangs said.

"Excuse me, [Vampire] for being careful," Nerezza snapped. "I didn't want to offend them before they even got through the door, and I only just remembered that dog is a derogatory term!"

"You can say dog, just don't call them one."

Nerezza glanced at Claws for confirmation, as if she only trusted the explanation from the source's mouth. When they nodded, she noticeably relaxed.

"Well come on in before you catch a cold standing here. Just leave your bags by the door; the staff will take it up to your room. Now. Let's introduce you to everyone else."

Fangs squeezed their hand as they crossed the threshold. "Here we go."

The house was even more beautiful inside than out. Rich red rugs swathed pearly marble floors. The walls and banisters were dark chocolate wood decorated in tapestries and oil portraits of vampires that looked suspiciously similar to Fangs and Nerezza. At the end of the hall, Nerezza turned through an arched entryway into a great, round sitting room. The sofas and recliners were draped in white fur throws and a rose and silver-leaf garland hung over the hearth, the hearty, pine-scented fire within accenting the room with an orange glow.

"Evening everyone!" Fangs said

Several vampires twisted their heads around as they entered, one man on the end of one sofa with his dark silky hair pulled into a bun immediately began sniffing the air.

"What in burning silver is that smell?"

The man beside him, looking nearly identical except for his hair--pale blonde and plaited over his shoulder, promptly punched him in the ribs.

"Told you, told you, told you!" Aggie sang from the floor where she was very meticulously putting together a puzzle of a frog pond.

Fangs's hand slipped out of Claws's grip and settled more protectively around their waist, seeming to forget for a moment that their partner was over a head taller and a few palms bulkier than they were. Though they wouldn't deny that having that supernatural vampire strength wrapped firmly about them was comforting.

"This is [Werewolf]. You know about them. My...er...well, we're engaged. Sort of."

"Sort of?" Man Bun said condescendingly, this time blocking his brother's fist.

"I haven't actually asked yet, but we both already know--"

"You're going to," Claws helped. "It just hasn't officially..."

"No, not quite yet."

"Soon though?" Claws tipped their gaze meaningfully toward Fangs’s face. Standing in front of their family for the first time probably wasn't the time or place for hints, but they couldn't help it now that the topic was out in the open. They had been waiting for a while now.

"Oh, yes, yes, very soon!" Fangs said, and they both strained smiles at the room. Fangs clapped their hands together. "Anyway. Aggie and Nerezza greeted us at the door, this is my brother-in-law, Gabriel."

The vampire he gestured to was in fact the only one who had not bored holes into Claws upon entering. Mostly because he was reclined all the way back in the biggest armchair, snoring. Claws still committed his enormous frame and the pink elastics in his auburn beard and hairline to memory.

"My brother Renwick,” Fangs moved on, introducing the blonde man. “The especially rude one is Lauden." They pinched Man Bun's cheek and turned their tone babyish. "Our baby."

Lauden swatted them away. "Shut up, I'm grown! ...Unless the last blood custard is up for grabs, then I'll gladly be the baby."

"My mother and father, you can call them Jacqueline and Valerian.

Jacqueline strained a smile, but Valerian was as still and austere as one of the oil paintings in the hall. Claws could definitely tell who had the strongest genes. Jacqueline's blonde hair and storm gray eyes had passed to Renwick, but the rest of the siblings shared their father's raven hair, amber eyes, and delicate bone structure. They still needed to get used to vampire parents looking nearly as young as their children.

Fangs gestured to a regal, middle-aged man in the armchair closest to the fire, not a recliner for how stick straight he sat, pale hand planted firmly around the gold knob of his cane. His dark hair was a mane brushed straight back and streaked at the temples with silver.

"Grandfather Ambrose," they mumbled quickly and then immediately brighter, "And that’s everyone!”

Before Claws could reply so much as 'pleased to meet you,' Fangs's strong arms dragged them off balance, plopping them both on the floor beside Aggie, Claws in the center of Fangs's lap.

Claws looked at the floor. It still wasn't the full moon, but the phantom sensation of a tucked tail and ears plagued their body. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. The air of awkwardness and disapproval was worse than being alone.

"So, [Werewolf]," Nerezza said, breaking the quiet. "How long have you and [Vampire] been together."

"W-we met a year and a half ago. So I guess officially...a year? How long have you known about me?"

"A year sounds right," Renwick said, leaning his elbows forward on his knees and resting his chin in his hands. His eyes seemed intent on dissecting Claws bit by bit. "You're name came up several times, but [Vampire] has always been a closed trap on the topic. Now I know why."

"Not that it matters, of course," Nerezza piped in quickly.

"Of course," Renwick agreed, though his tone was much less concerned. "How old are you?"

"Er, 27."

"Ah."

What was that supposed to mean?

"Ren," Fangs warned.

"What I'm just getting to know them. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that why you brought them?"

"This a probationary meeting. For if you ever get to see them or me again."

Claws melted closer to the floor, tracing the pattern of the rug with their eyes.

Aggie tugged on their sleeve. "Can you help me find the froggy eyes?"

She pointed to one of the background frogs on the box, his eyes only the corner of a mostly pond puzzle piece.

"Of course, let's see..." They sifted through several nearly identical, greenish-gray pieces. "Ah ha! One set of froggy eyes!"

Aggie's amber eyes lit like embers as she fit the piece into place. "And the dragonflies?"

Claws slowly slid off Fangs's lap and sprawled onto their stomach. "Pink or blue?"

"The pink."

"Ah, those ones are tricky, huh? Well, it looks like they're an edge piece, so can you help me find all the pieces with flat sides like this?"

She nodded adamantly, and together they made a small pile. Claws already saw the dragonflies, but instead of handing the piece to her they said, "See any pink ones?"

Aggie bit her lip mildly with one fang, flicking her eyes back and forth like a cat stalking a mouse. All at once, she pounced, finger landing on the center of the piece.

"Right there! Right there!"

"You found it!"

Aggie giggled. Claws was vaguely aware of a slight back and forth of their hips, habitual even with the absence of a tail.

"Look at them wriggle, just like a--"

"Why don't we all change for dinner," Jacqueline said, cutting Lauden off. She stood with a flourish, fluffing the skirts of her creamy vintage evening gown. “Lauden, dear, come with me, and I’ll help you with your tie.”

“What are you talking about?” the young man said, crinkling his pale brow. “I know how to tie—”

“Come.” Her eyes flashed like lightning in the violent storms of her irises, and Lauden quickly got up to follow her.

***

Claws threw themselves on the bed, giving a luxurious stretch as they stared up at the rich velvet canopy. They rolled on their side as Fangs closed the door.

“Alright, infamous outfit change #1. Help me, my love, what am I ever supposed to wear?” They tossed their head and pressed the back of their hand to their forehead.

Instead of playing along, Fangs sat on the edge of the bed and took their hand. “Do you want to go home? Because one word, and we’re out.”

"Hm?"

"We've only just arrived, and they're already being rude. It's going to get worse as they get more comfortable."

Claws crawled the couple of feet between them and flopped their head on their legs. "I’m not so much of a coward that a few mean words can chase me away. I’m from a wolf pack, you know. We deal with rough every day. Besides, I’ve been through worse.”

“Like what?”

“You.”

“Ow. What?”

“You were not pleasant when we first met. In fact, you called me the d-o-g word. Multiple times.”

“Because I was stupid! And I didn't know it was a slur! I didn't exactly talk to werewolves yet."

Claws reached up and smoothed the creases out of their face. "I know. The point is I can handle it. I'll let you know if can't."

Vampire wore a pout but nodded. They pointed at the suitcases. "It's the grey suitcoat with the red cravat. I'll help you tie it."

"You think I can't do it on my own?"

"Oh, I know you can't. Now stay there and sit still. I'll explain a bit about dinner."

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

The Piper and the Frog

For this challenge proposed by @thepenultimateword, I had to mix the Pipe Piper and the Frog Prince (you'll admire the originality of the title). This is what I got:

*

When the rat catcher stepped into the throne room, both the king and queen failed to hide their surprise. They had been warned, though. Most people thought that this man was not completely human.

What a peculiar appearance, though ! He was so skinny and tall, his spine rigid as if wearing a tight corset. His face was the color of flour, contrasting with the skin of his neck and arms, with golden spirals under the eyelids. It didn’t look like makeup. Discolored long hair fell on his shoulders. His long sky-blue robe with wide sleeves was made of a silk that not many royal guests could have afforded. The same golden spirals were shining on the fabric, and it was hard to stare away. Stuck in his belt, there was one simple flute. Whoever he was, it was evident that this man had spent a long time with the fair folks, and hadn’t come back untouched.

The king and the queen knew how important it was to be polite with the faeries, so they treated him like a prince. Not once they wondered out loud how he could catch rats in such an outfit. Instead, they invited him to dinner. While they ate, young and beautiful girls danced for them and harp players sang.

The rat catcher was not exactly impolite, but didn’t look impressed either. He accepted silently what happened, staring in front of him, his face emotionless except for a tiny smile when the orchestra began to play. He barely ate, and the queen blushed in humiliation. The dinner had not been a feast. It was all they could find that had been spared by the rats. Only during the (meager) dessert the king tried to talk about it:

“It’s like a curse. I’ve never seen anything like it. We can’t poison them, we can’t hit them fast enough. We don’t have many cats, and when I try to buy some from the next kingdom, they ran away or die of illness. At first, they were hiding. Now they don’t even bother. We see some in the day, looking at us in the eye as they’re eating our food. They know they won. It’s only a matter of time before everyone here die of sickness. I’ve already lost some guards who were bitten. Our only son has ran away years ago and can’t be found. Please sir, you are our only hope.”

The rat catcher looked at the thrones and at the once beautiful tapestries surrounding them. Everything had been nibbled. Precious furniture was covered with droppings. The people threw anxious glances here and there, as if dreading to see a form moving from the shadows, grimacing when they did, then staring away in defeat. From the guards to the dancers to the royal couple, they all look exhausted.

The rat catcher made his first genuine smile of the day.

“Pests”, he said. “Quite strange creatures, aren’t they? So sure of themselves. So confident when they take away beauties that they can’t understand, and destroying them. Oh yes. I’ll deal with them.”

His voice was sweet but the tone was strange. Many people shivered, without knowing why. The man nodded to his hosts, then went out of the room without another word. The queen pressed the king’s wrist:

“He looked very passionate about pests”, she said. “I’m glad our son couldn’t meet him.”

“I’m glad too.”

*

Now to be clear, it wasn’t exact that the prince had run away. The prince had not left the kingdom, not even the capital. In his current state, it wouldn’t have been very easy. He was currently living in a lake, next to the forest.

He’d seen the rats during his time here. It’d have been hard to find a place where they weren’t there. Sometimes they came to drink. Sometimes he’d fought against them, with no success. They had teeth and he hadn’t, not anymore. They were stronger and more agile when he was nothing but a green mass with awkward legs.

He’d never been seriously hurt, though. That was the thing with curses. The person who had thrown the spell on you always made sure you stayed healthy, so you could endure your fate worse than death the longest time possible. He stayed there, his humans thoughts and memories and desires trapped in a frog’s tiny mind, turning and turning around. He learned to eat flies and to hide from predators.

He couldn’t drown. Sometimes he wished he could.

He didn’t like to look at humans anymore. They were a painful reminder and a threat, all of them. So when he heard a flute so close to the lake, his first impulse was to flee into the water.

He didn’t, though. The sound was unlike he ever heard before, and yet somehow it was something familiar, something he thought he’d heard a long time ago. He stayed frozen in place, one of his three eyelids twitching, hearing with his inner ears, his lungs, his skin, his whole soul.

Frogs are better at seeing far objects. The prince saw at first a long silhouette covered in sky-blue silk, his flute like a strange beak. Then, he heard a trumping, and focused his large eyes on the ground. Rats were coming. Not only some of them. Lots and lots of them. More than he’d ever seen in his life. A walking, gray meadow. They came in troops without hastening, but not slowly either.

Survival instinct told him to run away, but he stayed glued on the leaf, watching the lake getting surrounded.

One rat fell – no, not fell, stepped into the water. The prince stared at it, expecting it to swim, but it didn’t. It let itself drown, its little black eyes only expressing a vague dreaminess. The others followed. The frog felt drops of water made from their splashing glistening on his skin. Bodies floated around him before plunging into the darkness.

“You are no ordinary animal.”

To say this, the rat catcher had interrupted his song. The prince made a desperate effort to jump, but two hands came over to catch him before he could escape.

“Let me go!” he croaked.

“Not before you tell me who you are.”

“You can understand me?”

“I speak many languages.”

“I’m – I was the prince of this kingdom. I was cursed, as you can see.”

There was a moment of silence. The frog couldn’t look at the rat catcher’s expression, but a few seconds later, he was gently laid on a polished stone. Then the face of the man came into view. The prince took a while before realizing that he was kneeling before him. Again, he was overwhelmed by an impression of familiarity – he’d never seen that stranger, and yet, something in that gesture…

“Who did this to you?” asked the flute player. “What happened?”

The frog gulped.

“I don’t know how it happened. One night I was a man, the next morning a frog. I went to my parents – their room was just in front of mine.”

“How did they react?”

“Well…”

The prince stayed silent for a moment. He remembered his own deformed voice, helplessly trying to form words. He remembered jumping on the royal bed, watching his mother blinking, his own heart beating at the idea that she could scream and try to kill him-

The queen had done nothing of the sort. She’d woken up her husband, and whispered:

“So the spell has worked.”

The prince had a bitter smile.

“They knew already. In fact, they’d asked an enchantress to curse me.”

“Why?”

Embarrassed by the constant staring, the prince moved his legs awkwardly:

“They wanted me to have children. For children, I have to marry. I didn’t want to, and they felt I needed an incentive.”

The frog sighed:

“For the curse to wear off, I have to convince a princess to spend the night with me. My parents told me that and let me go out of the castle.”

“Like that? They didn’t help you at all?”

“Oh, I was supposed to figure things on my own. For a little frog, it’s a big kingdom. I never made it. Maybe they just wanted me out of the way. I tried to stay among people for a while, but since no one understood me, I settled for this lake. It’s- it’s nice.”

He looked at the water that was overflowing with corpses:

“Well, it was.”

“Did no one have pity on you?”

“Who would? They all thought I’d run away. Well, there was- there was my best friend. After my disappearance, he was so sad he bound three bands of iron around his heart, for preventing it to break.”

“Your best friend?”

“Technically, a servant. He mourned me. He was the only one telling people something was wrong, but he left to find me and was never seen again. No one cared about that either, but it’s my fault.”

“How so?”

“I spent so much time with him, everyone thought it was his fault if I didn’t want to find a wife.”

“Were they right?”

“Does it matter? What’s done is done. He knew nothing of the life outside the kingdom. I don’t think he survived. It’s been three years now.”

“Three years is a long time. It’s enough to get lost in the woods. It’s enough to be caught by the fairies.”

“Thanks, you don’t exactly-”

“Your majesty. What do you think happen when you sleep on a fairy mount but your heart is protected by iron?”

“I- I don’t-”

“The fairies take you in. They teach you how to live with nature, how to talk with animals, how to make music that binds the listeners to the will of the musician, and to end curses.”

With that, the rat catcher delicately took the leg of the frog prince into his hand, and kissed it three times. A golden mist appeared around the beast, then went away, revealing a young man with emerald skin. The prince used his new legs to throw himself against the rat catcher, his arms feeling the iron bands under the soft blue silk.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

“The years have changed me, your Majesty. I didn’t recognize you at first, either. I also thought you died.”

“Then why coming back?”

There was no answer. The prince gently got free from the embrace to look at the surroundings.

“You brought the rats here,” he said. “Didn’t you?”

The flute player was silent.

“You never were going to be satisfied with the reward they had for you.”

The flute player was silent.

“You were going to burn this kingdom.”

“I cursed them,” slowly said the rat catcher. “I cursed them all, with all my hate. The rats were just the first stage. I wanted them to beg me before I crushed them. I wanted-”

The prince took his hands:

“What if you wouldn’t?”

“It can’t be stopped.”

“Can it be changed?”

The flute player looked at him. The prince put a hand on his chest. His touch was soft, but the three iron bands broke under his fingers. The rat catch took a deep breath, feeling his heart beating fast for the first time since three years.

“I’m sure we can find something”, said the prince. “Now that we’re both here.”

*

The kingdom stood. The castle is still there. The houses have not caught fire. It’s silent, though. Maybe it’s because the people are mourning.

Maybe it’s because the children are gone, all of them.

The kids hold the hands of the toddlers who are carrying babies. They follow a man transformed by hate, and a man transformed by love.

People said they were all damned. Then again, happy endings can take such strange forms.

*

Additional notes:

- Read The Frog Prince here: https://www.worldoftales.com/fairy_tales/Brothers_Grimm/Grimm_fairy_stories/The_Frog_Prince.html#gsc.tab=0 and many versions of the Pipe Piper here: https://sites.pitt.edu/~dash/hameln.html

- Yes, the servant who bounded his chest with iron was in the Grimm version (with zero impact on the plot, that’s why he was deleted from most modern versions), and come on...

- Yes, frogs have three eyelids and they can hear with their skin and lungs, etc. The more you know.

- The Pied Piper might have been based on a real story that happened in the Middle Ages. In the 13th century, 130 children disappeared in Hamelin. No one knows why or how. Sweet dreams!

*

Back to Fantasy Masterlist

[world-of-fire-and-flight]

An Excerpt from Creature of Unknown Origin

“I’m gonna go and see if Delia wants help with her leg.” He paused in the doorframe and turned to look back at me. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened today, okay? You saved our lives, and I’ll never turn my back on someone who does that.”

“Even if they’re a monster?” I asked quietly, all too interested in the dated wallpaper of the bathroom.

“Monsters don’t save people,” Spencer started, edging toward me carefully. “They don’t care about the aftermath, or protecting those around them.”

Despite the blood and the grime that covered me, Spencer wrapped his arms around me in a fierce hug that nearly broke me. “You are not a monster, Av, you’re a saving grace.”

I'm kinda feeling the spooky vibes this year and thought I'd share a quote from my shifter novella, Creature of Unknown Origin where hardest secrets are the ones we hide from ourselves. Read CoUO for free here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/kayewhqks6.

More about CoUO:

The hardest secrets are the ones we hide from ourselves.

Memories are a fickle thing, especially when all you remember are a few hushed words swept away by careening chaos and the fading of your consciousness. When I next opened my eyes, I was in a room I didn’t know, in a world I realized with crushing certainty I didn’t belong in, that couldn’t be real. But there’s one thing I do remember: I was running from something, and that something, that monster, was strikingly real, despite Spencer’s reassurances of my safety. Every day is a battle, but how long can someone fight themselves?

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

“Can you repeat ?”

The woman before you adjusts her glasses. You hate her. You hate her since she has come into your house. You hate her more when she opens her mouth to say:

“Frankly sir, I don’t know why that seems so surprising to you. The facts are damning. Every year on Earth, the number of cartoonish villains is on the rise. You have evil CEOs and corrupt politicians that would make children scoff if they were in a movie. Civilians protests are...fine, I suppose, but we spirits of the earth have decided to help. Magical girls is the only logical solution to that evil. I am the representative of the Dawn goddess, and I have come to bless someone in your family to save your world.”

She doesn’t say “whether you want it or not”, but somehow the way she pronounces her last sentence makes her intention more than clear. Her glasses shine. You clench your fist, but your wife breaks first:

“Maybe when gods will stop being so condescending towards us and clean their own mess we will listen to them, but I am not going to let any of my daughters near you.”

“They’re both eight year old,” you add.

“It’s a traditional age to begin.”

“Tradition can change, in fact I’m all for putting your glasses in a nontraditional place in your -”

“It doesn't have to be your daughters. You could do it.”

Your wife stops her menacing walk, surprised:

“Who, me ? But I have a full-time job !”

“Your husband, then.”

You tilt your head, confused:

“Me ? But I’m…”

You point to yourself, a thirty-seven-year-old, arguably quite muscular guy:

“I mean...I don’t think I fit the picture. I’m a man, to begin with.”

“Oh, don’t be stereotypical. Men can make very decent magical girls if they want to, just as they can be princesses.”

“He does get grumpy if there’s something bumpy under the mattress”, helpfully offers your wife, while you glare at her.

You bite your lip. It’s been a couple of years since you’ve been unemployed. You’re very happy to spend your time with your daughters, but the cost of living is what it is and your spouse works way too much to support your family.

“How much is it paid ?”

The woman with the glasses says the price. Your jaw falls on the floor and you say yes before you have the time to think more.

It’s hard at first. You don’t know much about magical girls to begin with, but you live under the same roof as some experts. Your daughters are very happy to brief you on the subject. You spend hours of intensive training watching old anime on the couch together, while you stuff yourselves with pop-corn (everyone knows that fighting with an empty stomach can do no good. All these girls running with their toasts in their mouths must have a lot of trouble digesting.) You take notes while your daughters explain to you the potential risks, reenacting situations with their toys (you don’t want to notice most of them have lost a limb too much).

The transformation...is nice. Your don’t feel any pain in your joints anymore. Suddenly gravity had no hold on you, no matter how much Training Pop-corn you ate. You can make huge leaps, you feel an ancient power running in your limbs, and your skin is suddenly extremely smooth and glittery. Your main complain is the suit. You desperately try to find a compromise, but the woman and her boss don’t budge an inch: everyone knows that the costume is the most important part to strike terror into your foes’ heart. You don’t know how a weird tutu can do that, but the fluffy skirt is now your nemesis. As you represent the Dawn spirit, it is all pink and orange, and it sparkles so much you want to bring sunglasses with you. The wand shines just as much. The only part you really like is your necklace – a lot of pink hearts made in modeling clay assembled together by a string stolen in the kitchen – because it’s not part of your official costume, but your daughters made it for you. You couldn’t be more proud of it, because if your girls think you’re cool, you’re doing something right. Maybe you’re rocking this costume after all. That’s what’s your wife pretends anyway (even if she changes the subject when you ask if she’d like to wear it someday, the traitor.)

You begin your actual work. It’s the simplest job in the world. At night, you go after a cartoonish villain on your list, break into their lair, point the finger at them dramatically, and if they haven’t changed their lifestyle somehow after your impassioned speech about virtue, you fight them in a duel. (That’s the part you like best. Punching them in the face is your special move. You found this all by yourself.)

To everyone’s surprise, it turns out that an actual trained adult makes better results that a fifth-grader. You win fights in a row, your popularity rises, until the dreaded day when the cartoonish villains decide to counterattack. They invoke their own dark gods, and one dreary night a magical girl all dressed in black rises from the shadows to meet you. You have equal magical powers. But...she’s a teen. She’s literally a teen. You’re not going to raise a hand on a fourteen-year-old who looks like she needs twelve hours of sleep. So you take your scariest voice, the one you use when you discover someone has somehow stuck a pink unicorn on the ceiling (you’re still shivering about that), and you ask if she has done her homework. If not, she’s going to have a lot of problems in life, and she’d better study ! She says no, that she doesn’t care about homework, that you’re cringe and just a mean sexist who doesn’t understand her, and she charges.

Two months later, you sign the adoption papers. Twilight still thinks you’re cringe, but now she says it with a mouth full of pop-corn on your couch (you make very good Training Pop-Corn). To go with your costume, you wear the black ear-clips she gifted you for your birthday. The villains, being cartoonish, thinks that it’s all her fault, and try again. The next year, you have eight daughters.

You still have problems with money.

*

Back to Fantasy Masterlist

magical girls are real, and you have been chosen by a magical creature to become one. The only problem is your a full grown man with 2 kids and a wife.

[watercolorfreckles]

hi, thank you so much for your wonderful writing :))

I've especially loved reading Deep Blue and I was wondering if you...do continuations? if not that's totally okay, just thought I'd ask :)

have some ice cream :) 🍦

Thank you, thank you! Sorry for taking so long to get to this request. Hope you like it!

Deep Blue - Pt. 4

siren x pirate

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

When his eyelids parted again, the midday sun split the room, haloing the sleeping siren in a honey blaze. Her hair pooled around her head in golden spires where she'd sunken against the cotton pillow during the night.

Her shoulders swam beneath the gauzy knit of the pirate's shirt, pearl-pink skin peeking free. She smelled of the ocean, all salted breezes and chalky sands.

She seemed peaceful, chest swelling with even breaths. An outsider may have labeled her harmless.

The pirate knew better.

His fingers itched to caress the delicate curls framing the siren's forehead all the same. The supernatural charm of a siren, he told himself. He caught his hand when it twitched halfway to action.

He stood up, tearing himself away from the magnetic pull of her. He turned around, shaking out the clumped waves of his hair. His clothes, too, were scratchy with the crust of dried salt. The folds of fabric creased like paper.

He stepped outside and cranked out several pumps of water from the rusted spigot, scrubbing it over his face and hair. The cool droplets streamed fissures down his neck and chest. He pumped fresh palm-fulls to spread over the rest of his exposed skin.

"If you're trying to drown yourself, I can do a much better job of it."

The pirate startled, straightening. "Golden. You're...- How are you feeling?"

Clinging to the open door, the siren stood awkwardly on foreign limbs. The hem of his shirt hung a few inches above her knees; a curtain brushing against his clumsy first aid.

Though her posture painted her a wounded damsel, her eyes were predator-sharp. It set his teeth on edge and sent something primal in his instincts jangling.

The siren's nose crinkled, scanning their surroundings. He tracked her gaze as it roamed over every rock and tree and bump of the earth. "What is that smell?"

The cabin boy snorted, cranking fresh water into his hands to dump over his head. "Dirt."

"Repugnant.”

"Yeah, well... As much as I love it, the smell of salt water and fish can get old as well."

When he glanced up again, he studied the siren more closely. Instead of itchy, irritated skin--sun-dried and chapped--she was glowing as ever. Her golden hair hung in silken waves hardly so much as mussed by his rough sheets, not gritty and salt-riddled as his own locks had been. Her skin faintly shimmered in the daylight.

The only thing about her that wasn't perfect was the red stain weeping through the muddied fabric of her bandage.

Her eyes followed the drip drops puddling beneath the spigot. She wet her lips.

The cabin boy watched her. "Are you thirsty?"

As he'd learned from his hours of curious reading, most sea creatures didn't drink water. They gained their hydration through the food they ate, or their bodies were designed to filter out the harmful sully of salt from the seas they swam in.

Though, his siren was a sea creature no more.

Her feet twitched, seemingly with the urge to take a step, but she hesitated, toeing the wooden step's treacherous edge without letting go of the door.

A small smile cracked the pirate's lips. This creature who had held his life in her hands mere hours prior, capable of capsizing ships and carving out the hearts of men, was afraid to walk. Afraid to fall.

Gravity did have an unforgiving vice above water that it didn't below, weightless and languid in all its honeyed drifting.

He found himself standing in front of her. Ever drawn to her as a moth to its fiery death.

She hissed at him when he offered his hands toward her, sounding like a startled housecat. Jerking back, her heels snagged the rim of the top stair and she fell with a yelp. "Don't touch me!"

Though the cabin boy held up his palms in surrender, the mermaid swiped at him with dull, paddy fingers for good measure.

"Easy," he said, "I was only going to help you."

"Why?"

His brow creased. "...Why?"

"Why are you trying to help me at all?" she demanded.

"You saved my life."

"I tried to drown you! You should have left me there, I would have been better off! Your 'help' is a scourge, a curse!" She pushed herself up onto wobbly feet, smacking his hand away when the pirate reached out again, reflexively, to assist her.

He heaved a sigh, stepping back. “You would have bled to death.”

“It would have been better!” There was something terribly broken in her voice. A windchime once ringing melodic lullabies now cracked and shrieking. She staggered down the remaining two steps, swaying unsteadily on her heels. Her voice softened. “It would have been better than this.”

Guilt twisted the cabin boy’s stomach. “Golden…”

“No. I am now a prisoner in this…weak, defiled body. I have been stripped of every last thread of my identity. My tail, my strength– The ocean has disowned me, I am cursed to die a fumbling human. There is no greater disgrace! I want nothing more from you.” She shoved past him, limping and teetering as she went.

“Where are you going? You’re injured, hungry, and wearing nothing more than my shirt,” the pirate protested, following after her. “You can’t venture into town like that. Many men would take that as an invitation–”

The siren rounded on him, promptly stumbling and catching herself against his shoulders. Her eyes were alight like an August day.

“I know perfectly well what your kind feels entitled to when they come upon a beautiful woman. That is the very foundation of why you are so easily captured under our sway,” she spat. “Your desires overwhelm you, and our songs coax you to believe you can have all you want if only you surrender to us. I cannot make you believe what you do not already want to. You invade our home and hunt us in our own waters, you take and take and take, then call us monsters when we do not let you have us too. As if we are sunken treasure for you to pluck from the seafloor and sell to the next hungry pirate.”

Any response he had readied died behind the cabin boy’s teeth. He wanted to protest that they ‘weren’t all like that.’ That some pirates led with honor, and that many men were decent. He was decent, wasn’t he?

And yet… He still felt homesick for his captain, his crew, his ship. The very ones who cast him to his death for the mutinous act of having a heart.

He swallowed. “I freed you.”

“And for that alone, I spared you. Yet you damned me. Spare me further humiliation and leave me alone.” The siren gave his shoulders a sharp squeeze before letting go, limping away again in the direction she had chosen.

His eyes followed her, clumsy and graceless, all the way to the start of the dirt road that led into the village.

She would certainly be a spectacle there. With shimmery skin and perfect hair of spun gold, eyes like winter fire and only half dressed, she would steal the attention of every human she passed.

She might be found out for what she was. She might be overpowered and hurt, or taken advantage of.

The possibilities burned through him.

She’d begged him to stay away…

The siren’s bare feet kicked up dust along the path that sent her coughing, batting at the air with the same fury she’d faced him with moments prior.

The sight coaxed a tentative smile from the pirate’s mouth. Cursing the sky, the earth, the gods of sea and shore and everything else, he followed after the grounded mermaid.

He would not be responsible for any more of her misfortune. Even if it cemented his own.

He’d always thought the ocean to be fair, even in all its cruelty. It did not shrink itself for the convenience of others. Its crashing swells that swallowed ships whole did not ask for any less from the creatures within it.

He had to believe that there was hope for her, his siren, creature of water and night and song. She would be whole again. He had to try.

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[writing-on-the-wahl]

Dai Discovers Part 1: Happy Dai

A/N: Hi hi friends! Just a couple important things to know going in: First, this series is about Dai, a half mage/half Dragon who’s been hibernating for a LONG time and has just woken up in the modern world.😇 Second, the wolves and mages in the region are on the brink of war.😈

(For more on my version of Dragons, see this world building post)

Vincent: 

I frowned as I crossed out an entire paragraph of text from the document I’d been editing for hours, wishing the Elders hadn’t felt the need to insert their opinions into my negotiations with the mages. 

Now not only were they insisting we uphold the ancient tradition that a treaty was only credible if accompanied by a marriage between the two sides, they wanted to include all of the wolves’ ancient marriage traditions as well. I’d agree to marry under the light of the full moon, but there was no way I would be wearing a four foot tall headpiece. 

I just wanted our people to stop fighting each other. Why did everyone have to make it so complicated? 

I glanced longingly at the slit of night sky visible through the crack in the heavy hotel curtains, but there was no time for even a quick jaunt in the moonlight. 

Tomorrow morning the leaders of all the mages and wolves in the region would gather for the official opening of the peace summit, the meeting where I would see for the first time the mage who’d agreed to marry me to seal the treaty between our people.

My future wife had arrived at the hotel mere hours ago. Simon and Tori had seen her enter with her brother, Lord Jasper, but she’d been bundled in so many hooded layers the only description they’d been able to give was “average height and reeked of gold.” 

Sighing, I turned back to the long list of potential stipulations for the treaty. The next one was a heavy paragraph outlining how the mages must provide a volunteer to live with and perform spells at our bidding. I rolled my eyes and reached for my pen. The mages made their livelihood by providing their magical services for a fee, why would any of them ever agree to offer them for free?

I was crossing out the ridiculous stipulation when the door to the hotel room beeped open. 

I stayed bent over the thick document, making a note in the margins.  “What is it, Daman?” 

“We think she ran, sir.” 

My head shot up. “How do you know?” 

The quiet blond shifted uncomfortably. “Well, sir, we’ve been keeping an eye on their hallway like you ordered and, well, the shower is still on.” 

I raised a brow. “And?’ 

“It’s just well, we heard it turn on at seven.” 

I checked my watch. 

9:17

I ran a hand through my hair. “You think she climbed out the bathroom window, 13 stories up?” 

Daman shrugged. “They did say she was half Dragon.” That didn’t mean she had wings. 

Did she truly consider a 13 story drop less terrifying than me? Was it this marriage of alliance or the treaty itself that she was more opposed to? I closed my eyes at the thought of this treaty failing, and was assaulted by the vivid memory of acrid smoke and ash-filled air. The charred remnants of Aiza’s house crumbling around me. 

I refused to let one mage’s trepidation destroy everything I’d been working for. I would not let my people fall to this senseless violence. I was halfway to the elevator before I made the conscious decision to move. Daman trailed behind me. 

“And the other mages?” I pressed. Surely they hadn’t all fled. 

“None of the other mages were brave enough to book rooms in the same hotel as us,” Daman reminded me. “They’re all across the street. So we didn’t have to worry about being caught spying.” Daman added, and I recalled that the mage lord had been surprisingly unconcerned about staying alone a mere elevator ride away from a company of wolves. 

Samuel met us as the elevator opened on the 13th floor, the scowl on his face carrying into his gruff words. “It’s still running.” 

I led the way to room 1307. The doors were placed farther apart on this floor—luxury suites. We passed 1310, and even with the thick walls, it was easy for my sharpened sense of hearing to pick up the dialogue of the movie playing in the room. In 1309 a mother hushed a fussing baby, the sound rising over the low snores of a second child. 

The front desk had offered to upgrade my party to this VIP floor at no charge, but I was content with our double set of rooms on the second floor. I liked knowing I could jump off the balcony if I needed a quick exit.

Slowing to a stop outside another identical polished dark wood door, I cocked my head to the side and listened. 

But no voices came from 1307. 

Just the constant white noise of the running shower, and the faintest traces of background music. Like a TV left on at its lowest volume. 

My fist connected with the door a little too loudly, my tapping foot continuing the impatient beat as I waited for the door to swing open. A long moment passed. 

I knocked again, louder. 

No response. 

It was strange. Worrying. Lord Jasper should have been in the room as well. He’d been less than thrilled to offer up his sister as a sacrificial lamb, and tension coiled within me at the thought of him secreting her away. 

“No one left the room?” I confirmed as I pounded my fist against the door once more. 

Daman shook his head. “We’ve had eyes on it all night.” 

It had been easy with no other mages around to catch us spying. I’d been secretly pleased when I learned they’d be staying somewhere else, though in truth, Lord Jasper had looked nearly happy when the other mages had announced their intention to stay in the sister hotel across the road. His reaction baffled me at the time, because it hinted at either a misplaced willingness to trust his enemies or an over exaggerated confidence in his power. Neither of which matched my initial impression of the leader of the mages. 

In our interactions thus far, the mage lord had appeared to be level-headed and optimistic. Which hinted at ulterior reasons for wanting to be separate from the others. 

At the moment, I didn't much care what his motives were, I just wanted him to answer the door. 

They were both gone? If so, there would definitely be no peace treaty. 

What if he’d planned to sneak his sister out? Perhaps that was why he’d chosen to stay in this hotel. It could have been his plan all along. 

Hot anger flared in my chest and I rammed my shoulder into the door. Wood splintered and metal bent as the door flew open at the force of the blow. Across the room, Lord Jasper bolted to his feet, pulling his large headphones down around his neck. The peaceful--yet loud--instrumentals of the Planet Earth theme song filled the room in sharp contrast to the tension hanging in the air. 

A quick touch to the headphones and the music cut off abruptly. 

The typically cheerful mage eyed me, and I wondered what sort of picture I made-- standing uninvited in his hotel room, my two best warriors hovering in the cracked door frame behind me. 

“Vincent.” His eyes flitted to the bathroom door, opposite his position in front of the couch. His fingers twitched but his voice was steady as he ignored our violent entry. “Our meeting is set for nine in the morning.” 

It was a gracious statement, a way to let me back down without losing face. There was a small noise from the bathroom, and the shower cut off. 

“Jasper?” The warm, gentle voice resonated through the door. 

The mage’s eyes bobbed between the door and the imposing wolves. “Yes?” 

“I heard voices. Do we have visitors?” The words were tinted with the timbre of a language too old for names. 

“I-No. They were just leaving?” He shot a questioning glance my way. 

I remained where I stood, confused but pleasantly surprised at the excitement in her words. Up until this moment, my future wife had been an impersonal figurehead to stand at my side and ensure peace between our people. I hadn’t allowed myself the luxury of hoping for anything more than that. Now I lingered in the calm left behind the warm voice, strangely impatient to meet its owner. 

Though if any of the elders were here they’d be yapping about breaches in tradition and not seeing my betrothed until the official introductions. 

Jasper’s shoulders stiffened and he kept his eyes on me as he reluctantly called to his sister, “Would you like to greet them?” 

“Yes!” 

The enthusiastic answer made Jasper sigh. 

“One minute! Don’t let them leave!!” 

I had been so distracted by the rich timbre and heavy accent of the girl behind the door I’d forgotten the reason for my impulsive entry. 

She was obviously still here. I should have taken the exit Jasper offered. But it was too late to back down, and a part of me was glad of the opportunity to meet she-of-the-beautiful-voice. 

I eyed the broken doorway regretfully. Not the first impression I’d wanted to make. 

Jasper let out another sigh. “Allow me.” 

I caught his careful wording as clattering sounded from behind the bathroom door, reminding me she could hear just as much as us. 

I dipped my head in gratitude and stepped to the side as the mage carefully crossed through the kitchen and approached the doorway. His hands flew through the air, blue light illuminating his fingers in a soft glow as he made the intricate mage symbols and then ran his finger along the cracked door and splintered frame. A moment later, Jasper closed the perfect door. 

He’d barely done so when the bathroom door whipped open and a cloud of steam filled the room. Daman let out a cough and Samuel fanned the air in front of his face, trying to clear his field of vision. 

“Ohhh sorry, sorry!” The steam vanished just as quickly as it had come, leaving behind the Lady Daiiryn Rensalus, my future wife. 

If someone had asked me to pick Lord Jasper’s Dragon half-sister out of a hundred people, she would have been my last guess. 

It wasn’t just that she looked nothing like her brother. While he was golden haired and tan, her hair was several shades lighter; her skin several shades darker. 

Jasper the Mage Lord looked a dozen times more like a fierce Dragon of legend. His features were sharp and eyes cunning. Her features were soft, eyes wide and bright, hair a mass of damp waves that messily framed her round face. 

Her hands had fallen back to her sides after completing whatever spell she’d cast to dissipate the steam, and I was briefly distracted by the too-long sleeves of the oversized pink pajama shirt completely enveloping her fingers, along with the matching bottoms that were rolled up and bunched around her ankles. They looked like the type of soft but cheap material you’d find in a superstore, though I couldn’t imagine how Lord Jasper had managed to get her size that utterly wrong. 

She looked about as dangerous as a fluffy white kitten, but I had no doubt her claws would be just as sharp. 

“Hello!” Her voice was rich, and her face filled with genuine delight. I’d just broken into their hotel room under the assumption she’d run away from our arranged marriage in terror, and she was looking at me like I’d just bought her a puppy. 

Lord Jasper crossed quickly to her side. “Gentleman, allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Daiiryn Ren--” 

Her quick elbow to the side had Lord Jasper doubled over, clutching his ribs. “Dai!” She stepped forward, roughly shoving her hair out of her face before extending her hand to me. “I’m Dai.” 

I stared at her hand, then glanced back at Lord Jasper, who had recovered enough to straighten. When he’d been reluctant to involve his sister, I’d assumed she was a timid, fragile thing, and that, perhaps, he was ashamed of her. 

“I thought you said people now shake hands rather than bowing…” She’d followed my gaze to her brother, and she was glaring at him with as much force as a kitten gazing at a laser beam that was just out of reach. 

“They do?” Lord Jasper’s breaths were still coming in pained wheezes, and I made a mental note to avoid the Lady Kitten’s deadly elbows. Lord Jasper seemed torn between glaring at his sister for the elbow and staring at me like I was an imbecile for not shaking her hand. 

I jumped forward, catching Lady Daiiryn’s still outstretched hand in mine.  “Forgive me, my lady, I was too distracted by your beauty to obey proper social customs.” 

WHAT. IN THE WORLD. DID I. JUST SAY. 

Then to make matters worse, I brought her fingers to my lips and kissed them. 

All the dignity and pride I carried as leader of the largest wolf territory on the continent vanished faster than the steam from the shower, and I was struck with the desire to find a nice dark hole to go die in. 

Behind me, Daman smothered a cough, and the lady in question’s eyebrows rose until they disappeared into her hair. She slowly withdrew her hand from mine. Her hands both rose to cover her mouth. 

“Oh that was nearly quite perfect!” She whirled to face Lord Jasper. “Jaz, did you teach him that?” 

Jaz shot me a look before smiling at his sister. “No. I imagine he simply wanted to make you feel more at home.” 

“It was quite like something Lord Midan once said to me, do you recall? At the ba--” She trailed off, turning back to me. I wondered if all the spinning was making her dizzy. 

“Forgive me, I didn’t give you a chance to introduce yourselves!” 

A deep feeling of dread welled up at the possibility her friendliness was only because she did not know who I was. 

But then she leaned to the side and offered the wolves behind me a tiny wave. “If you’re Lord Vincent’s men, I should know you.” Her bright smile turned on me. Lord Vincent, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your companions?” 

I stared at her for a moment as relief washed away the panicked adrenaline, too grateful she knew who I was to explain that I wasn’t really a ‘lord’ of anything. 

Lady Daiiryn blinked expectantly up at me, and I jolted out of my thoughts enough to answer her question. “Yes. My companions.” I cleared my throat and gestured to my two best fighters. “This is Samuel and Daman.” 

I froze in place as the Lady Kitten stepped around me, her arm brushing mine in the narrow entry as she warmly shook hands with my bewildered men. “Lord Daman, Lord Samuel, what a pleasure to meet you.” 

From a tactical standpoint, the move was a dangerous one. Placing herself in the middle of potential enemies while cutting herself off from her brother. Yet the cheerful Dragon didn’t seem to notice. Her brother, however, stood stiffly, hands flexed at his sides, as though preparing to cast a spell. 

The tension in the room ratcheted up a thousand degrees as the small Dragon placed herself in the midst of the wolves. I stepped sideways, turning so I had a clear view of both siblings. 

The sister froze, her hand still clasped in Daman’s, finally sensing the building tension in the room. 

“Ohsa.” The word came out a voiceless breath on a sigh, the verbal equivalent of a heavy eye roll. Without turning from Daman, whose hand she released after giving it a little pat, Lady Daiiryn--Dai-- continued,  “Jasper, brother dear, If they came here to kill us, they would have tried already.” 

Samuel raised a hand to cover his snort of surprise while Lord Jasper meaningfully eyed the newly fixed door frame. “Just being cautious, sister dear.” 

Dai finally turned around, a tiny smirk on her pink lips. “I believe the word you're looking for is ‘overprotective.’”

Lord Jasper shook his head. “It is well within my rights, little sister.” 

She snorted, though her eyes danced with amusement. “Perhaps I should be the one being cautious then, little brother.” 

“I’m at least three hands taller than you.” 

“And I’m at least three years older than you.” 

Daman, Samuel, and I watched the exchange, our heads bobbing back and forth like spectators at a tennis match. 

“Well, they will just have to forgive me for being overprotective of my only remaining family member.” Jasper met my gaze as he said it. 

Dai shook her head and shifted so she faced me, though it was her brother she addressed. “If you’re done with the not-subtle threats, perhaps we can get to why my betrothed is here tonight instead of in the morning?” 

Ah. 

Jasper, Samuel and Daman all scrambled to speak at once. 

“He mixed up the time?” 

“--was too excited to meet you?”

“--needed to borrow some milk?”

Every head in the room turned to look at Daman as he trailed off. 

Somehow his excuse made Jasper and Samuel’s seem absurd as well. 

One pale eyebrow rose, though the pink lips beneath it were quirked up in poorly concealed amusement. “And does one typically break down the door to borrow milk?” 

Of course I hadn't been lucky enough to have the shower block out the sound of our crashing entrance to her Dragon’s hearing.

“I thought you’d run away.” 

The admission spilled from my mouth and I jammed my lips shut. I hadn’t meant to say it that bluntly. 

“Why?” She looked bewildered. But not, to my relief, offended.

“The shower was on.” 

“Yes?” Her brows drew together, an adorable pucker between them.

“For two hours.” Samuel cut in. 

Her eyes lightened. “I know! And the water was hot the whole time!” Her oversized sleeves slipped down to her elbows as she held up wrinkled fingers for display. “They look like prunes!” 

I looked up from her in time to see Daman and Samuel exchange a glance behind her back. 

“It’s just--” I made my voice gentle, suddenly afraid to hurt this enthusiastic ball of energy. “People usually don’t shower for hours at a time.” 

“Oh?” She looked utterly baffled at that, and I found myself scrambling for an explanation that wouldn’t cast judgment on her bathing habits- which were definitely none of my business. 

“We thought you turned it on to mask the sound of you leaving.” As I spoke, I realized I was admitting we’d been spying on them, but neither sibling looked surprised. 

“Oh!” The sound was brighter. A flash of intelligence sparked in her eyes, but there was no malice as she cheerfully accepted my explanation.  “No, I’m still here!” 

She smiled widely, as though she was happy to be here, happy to be marrying me, rather angry or dismayed at being woken from years of hibernation and forced to accept the hand of a stranger--an enemy--to stop a war she wasn’t a part of. 

The air filled with silence after her proclamation. Before I could think of a way to express my relief that she was, well, the way she was, her head cocked to the side. I recognized the motion, and now that I was paying attention, I could hear a set of footsteps making their way down the hall, so I wasn’t surprised by the ratatat-tat at the door. 

Lord Jasper jumped forward with a tense look at his sister. “I’ll get it.” His pinched expression showed more concern than it had when we’d broken down his door, and I subtly shifted my jacket to make it easier to draw my weapon. 

The smell of teriyaki chicken and sauteed vegetables wafted into the room as Lord Jasper opened the door and accepted two large bags of takeout from a gangly delivery boy. 

Dai stepped up to my side as I straightened my jacket. The mirth dancing in her eyes told me she hadn't missed the movement. “Would you like to eat with us?” 

                                          ____

Special thanks to @im-a-wonderling for all her amazing insights and edits! Love you seester! 

Taglist: 

UM do I need a separate taglist for fantasci? Maybeeee?!? Haha comment/reblog with your requests to be added to my fantasci taglist. 

[thepenultimateword]

Old Bones Part Six

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

CW: Blood, cannibalism, abduction and being trapped, starving, death, undead description

Vampire smelt blood. Not the sweet or savory scents they were accustomed to, but a bland, metallic flavor that simply...existed.

Ah.

Their own.

As soon as they registered that truth, the lacerations on their ankles began to burn, sliced by the sharp edges of the snow as each step shattered the icy top layer.

Didn't matter. Run!

Footsteps crashed behind them.

But where next? They didn't know the way. They had not left Lav's cabin in weeks. And it was earlier in the morning than they'd originally thought. No later than 4 as the sun still hadn't come up. And it had begun to snow again.

"Vampire!"

Didn't matter. Run!

Anywhere. Anytime. Any place safe and lavender-scented and before all this happened.

Something heavy crashed into them from behind. The ice cut their cheek as they fell; a half-second later, their nose was filled with cold, stale powder. The weight lifted slightly as rough hands rolled them onto their back. Vampire blinked against the snow, making out a blur of red, and the weight plopped back on their chest.

“Vampire!"

"No, no, no!" Vampire warded them away with clawing hands, but the villager's beefy fists clasped them tight, drawing them in against their warm breast.

" It’s me! It’s me!" They kissed Vampire's knuckles. "It's Lav."

Vampire's eyes welled. "You don't-- You don't look like Lav. You don't... Your eyes...but not... What are you?"

The villager--Lav-- drew back as if slapped. Their yellow eyes drifted away from Vampire's face, fixing instead just past their shoulder. "Let me explain."

Vampire swallowed. Lav's grip had grown tight, almost painful. Worse because they couldn't seem to stop trembling, though, from the fear or the snow, they didn't know. "W-when you're done...can I go?"

Another slap. This time enough to make them drop Vampire's hands. "Yes. In fact...I've been quite expecting it. Should we go back to the house?"

Vampire shook their head rapidly. It felt like a trap. Walls they could be cornered against and kept behind. They couldn't imagine sitting down in the living room with that face across from them. They couldn't even make sense of what was going on. Was Lav even really their friend?

"Ok..." Lav said, shifting a little in the snow. Their new ruddy face was turning a bright shade of red in the cold, but they didn't even shudder. "You know I'm undead. Not like you though. You're beautiful. I'm... desecrated. You didn't have a choice in your transformation. And mine...well, it's only possible with some degree of choice."

"What are you?" Vampire said firmly, frankly tired of all this beating around the bush.

"I call myself an abomination. You'd call me a ghoul."

"A...ghoul?" Vampire blinked.

Lav thumbed away the cold dribble of blood rolling down their cheek. "You're smart. All those books. You've heard of ghouls."

Not a question, a certainty. And a correct one. Vampire had read about ghouls. They simply couldn't correlate the hideous illustrations from their books with the seeming human in front of them. The face they wore now may appear monstrous after last night, but If it weren't for those predatory eyes and the bone-chilling wrongness of their air, Vampire wouldn't have guessed anything supernatural about them.

Lav must have seen the recognition in their face and the wheels turning behind their eyes because they said, "What do you know?"

"Y-you live in graveyards," Vampire said. "You eat the dead."

"I eat the dead, true. As for the graveyard, it's more a hunting ground than a home. I much prefer my cabin. But I've never acquainted myself with another of my kind, so what do I know of others' habits. Anything else?"

Vampire shook their head. Since ghouls were apparently one of the less common creatures one could run into, the book hadn't dedicated much page space to them. And they weren't about to tell Lav the unflattering details of the entry's description. Especially when it had also offered no defenses.

"Ah." Lav's smile looked more like a grimace. "Then, unfortunately, I must be the one to give you the disturbing history of ghoulish birth."

Vampire grimaced. They weren't sure they wanted to know. There had to be a reason why Lav had kept it veiled for so long.

"I once told you my kind are not quite so simple as a bite. There are several parts to it. One, the moon: the process must last a full cycle, beginning and ending on a new moon. Two, the subject must willingly cannibalize. Three, the subject must die and with that death, make a choice: pass on permanently or return to life."

Vampire shuddered. Their death had been no picnic. Bloody. Nightmarish. Agonizing. But at least it had been quick. "So, y-you wanted to become a ghoul?"

Lav's eyes flashed. Vampire immediately shrank away, but Lav snatched them close again. It seemed meant as a comfort, but their digging grip and cold voice set Vampire's heart pounding.

"When I was 23 years old," Lav hissed in their ear. "I was abducted from my home and locked inside a tomb for thirty days. A sacrifice for a death god rumored to be plaguing our town. They were the cause of all their misfortunes, and my death would surely save them all in time for the next harvest. For four days, I starved in the dark, surrounded by the quiet dead. But, enough time passes, and anything begins looking like food. I survived on corpses' bones and spoiled flesh until the cold and the stomach sick killed me all on their own. But when the death god came for my soul, he gave me a choice. Most people don't know there's a choice. And that there's a reason almost no one chooses to stay.

"I didn't want to die. I had barely lived. I chose life. At first, it seemed like the right choice. I had escaped certain demise without consequences. Yes, something was wrong; anyone could tell that. Any extended amount of time with other people ended with their discomfort and avoidance. But I still looked like me. Sounded like me. Lived like me. And that was enough."

Lav's nails dug unconciously vicious into Vampire's shoulders. Vampire bit back a yelp. They leaned paralyzed on the again-stranger's chest, half frozen in horror, half captivated. Though Lav spoke rapidly, the words obviously came out with some difficulty. Any movement, any sound, seemed likely to send them back into silence.

Lav swallowed hard, throat bobbing against Vampire's resting head. "But I was dead. I couldn't stop the decay. Or the hunger. The craving for the things I had only eaten out of desperation before. My being twisted into something other, something monstrous. And soon enough...I was gone."

Vampire slowly pulled back, and Lav's hands slipped off them, settling in their own lap. They smiled vaguely at their snow-crusted knees, a sort of pasted-on, empty thing without any real feeling behind it. At least, not any of the good ones.

"So you...the real you..." Vampire trailed off, not exactly sure how to finish the question. It seemed insensitive to pry after such a confession. And yet so many questions churned in their head. Did Lav have a body? Were they a spirit that took others' bodies? What did Lav really look like?

Luckily, Lav seemed to understand where the thought was going.

"There's nothing left of me but old bones."

"Ah."

They couldn’t think of another response. This was all happening so fast. A few hours ago they were almost killed. A few hours ago Lav saved their life in a horrifying display. And now all this… Did they care that Lav had changed?

"I can shift my shape into the last human I consumed," Lav continued. "A facade for myself as much as others. I've done it enough times for it to have become commonplace, but each one still takes some getting used to. However, this body...was a less-than-savory choice."

Vampire cocked their head. Did a difference in appearance even count as a real change? They were still the same person. Even with this bulkier body, their mannerisms hadn't changed. The delicate way they folded their hands. The elegant tone of speech, so different from the villager’s harsh voice at the door last night.

Lav mistook their thoughtful look for further inquiry and rushed on. "I mostly survive on animal flesh, but every few months I must eat something human or I fall ill...as you witnessed yourself. I grew too weak on the way to the cemetery, and I needed to return to you...so I did what I must. It made you terribly uncomfortable. For that, I'm sorry."

Yesterday's conversation drifted back to them.

'Should you be getting fevers?'

'Sometimes. I’ve put something off too long, that’s all.'

So that's what they had been referring to. A few months, huh? Vampire had been with them for a few weeks, so they must have had their other form for a while. Had they been refraining for Vampire's sake? But why? They'd never hidden the fact that they ate things outside of Vampire's own comfort zone.

"So the way you looked before...when we met..."

"A traveling noble."

Vampire grimaced involuntarily.

"You don't need to look at me that way; I wasn't the one who killed them. I don't kill any of them if I can help it. From the looks of the carriage and the body, it was bandits. But who was I to waste a fresh body?"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you let yourself fall ill?"

Lav's shoulder sank, and they folded their arms tight against their chest. For truly the first time since they'd met, they seemed small. "Because I've been alone so long. And you were the first person who ever chose to stay. Even if it was out of convenience. With you around, I could pretend I was normal, like a real host with a real guest who both really enjoyed each other's company. I knew once the truth was out, you would want to leave, and I... I just wanted to pretend a little longer."

Vampire paused. The immediate denial of Lav's words dying on their tongue. They had run. And they had wanted to leave. And part of that had been because of Lav's choice of body, but the rest... They couldn't deny that a part of them had recognized Lav immediately. And they'd still run. Maybe had even been looking for excuses to do so. Lav was easy to love when they were making tea or dozing on the sofa. It was a whole different story when they were ripping people apart. Or when they looked like something Vampire had decided they shouldn't. It was the wrongness that made them run. The predator part of their friend that their instincts had always told them to flee from.

They could keep ignoring it or...

"Lav...can I see you?"

The ghoul's yellow eyes flicked unblinkingly to their own. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I don't care. I...I want to see you. The real you. I think I have to."

If they didn't, it would keep eating at them. They'd always know they were only pretending to accept what they refused to even see. And the distrust would curdle any remains of their relationship.

Lav wet their lips. For a long while, they were quiet, the only sounds the ghostly whistle of the wind through the naked trees and the creaking of the branches as they became overladen with snow. Vampire expected them to refuse again when they said, "Can I ask one thing?"

Vampire nodded.

"Don't run. I want to say goodbye properly."

Vampire's heart skipped an uncertain beat, but they nodded again. "I won't run."

Lav rose brusquely to their feet, thoroughly patting themselves off and taking a long, deep breath.

Vampire's chest tightened. They only knew they were breathing from the faint cloud puffing in front of their face. They gripped the snow on either side of them in handfuls the icy bite grounding them just enough to keep them still.

Lav gave Vampire one last mournful glance and squeezed their eyes shut. Then their face began to melt.

Freckles and hair and ruddy skin, it all dripped away like candle wax. There was no blood or terrible cracking of bone Vampire had imagined in shapeshifting; it was liquid illusion, wet watercolor running off the page, exposing the pale paper beneath.

Vampire bit back their gasp, but a strangled whimper still escaped through their teeth.

The creature was ghastly. A skeletal thing with only dried sinews holding them together. Their tunic, once pulled taught against a broad chest, now hung like drapes off their bony frame. Exposed teeth trapped their expression in an eerie eternal grin, while their yellow eyes, bigger without lids, seemed to roll in their sockets as they looked to Vampire for a reaction.

Run.

The thought wasn't so much verbal as it was a visceral reaction.

Vampire slowly rose, legs shaking.

The creature shielded their face with a grayed hand, nails discomfortingly long and claw-like

Run.

Their instincts had always been wary around Lav, but now they were screaming.

Run!

Vampire stepped forward.

The snow had deepened since the start of their conversation, and with their legs already unsteady, the drift immediately tripped them. Lav lurched forward, catching them in cadaverous arms. In turn, Vampire slid up their hands to hold their desiccated face.

It was much colder and stiffer than while tending their fever, but Vampire stroked the raw cheekbones and haggard brow. So terrible. So familiar. They knew these bones.

"Vampire--"

"I'll stay with you."

Lav's breath hitched. Immediately, they were fleshy and warm again, buried in Vampire's neck in a fit of stifled sobs. Vampire could have gone longer; they didn't think they'd made any hint for them return to a living guise. Maybe Lav was the one uncomfortable in their own skin.

Vampire ran their fingers through the stolen red hair. "But we can't stay here."

Lav spoke muffled into their shoulder. "I'll keep you safe. If we stay in the cabin--"

Vampire forced Lav's face toward them. "Three villagers gone missing after visiting your house? They'll come investigating. And they'll find the bodies soon enough." They squirmed a little. "...Whatever you've done with them. We can't fight them all. And I don't want to. I don't think you do either."

Lav opened their mouth, eyes roiling with a surge of emotions, but the protest died on their lips.

"You can't travel in the day," they said instead.

"They'll be back before nightfall. I'll...I'll wrap up tight."

Lav frowned.

"Besides, it's winter," Vampire rushed. "The sun doesn't rise for a few more hours. Maybe we can at least get the other edge of the wood before they come looking. Find a tavern or inn to hide out in until nightfall."

"And then?" Lav said.

Vampire's brain stuttered to a stop. What was next? They'd barely survived here, and what they had managed had been mostly from hiding. Not much chance of that on the open road. But there would be more information available. More rumors. More people, maybe the inhuman variety.

"Find a clan," they said more firmly than they felt. "For the both of us.

Lav mouth pulled into a skeptical line, but they simply pulled the collar of Vampire's tunic closer around their throat. "We can talk more inside. You're not going anywhere until you've warmed up."

Vampire was suddenly aware of their aching toes, bare and several feet deep in snow. The wind whipped their cheeks and snuck up their shirt sleeves, prompting a violent shiver.

Lav hoisted them into their arms. "You really are the strangest vampire I've ever met."

"H-hey!"

"Darling, I chased you all the way out here; I'm not chasing you home."

Vampire stuttered incoherently but eventually settled tiredly against their brawny chest. They’d been through too many traumatic things in the last 24 hours, and having Lav so close was steadying, even if their outer packaging still unsettled them. They closed their eyes and concentrated on what they could feel beneath the skin, ribs, sternum, collarbones, shoulders…

They could get used to old bones.

Part Seven

Me after finishing this section:

I know it’s not the typical attractive love interest love story, but I think it’s important for Vampire to love Lav for who and what they truly are even if it’s ugly. And it not like they’re suddenly completely ok with it all either, more they’re comfortable enough with it at the moment to move forward. They’re still going to have to accustom to the idea that the physical attraction they’ve had up to this point has all been fake. And they’re going to have to be ok with an ever changing appearance and be confident in their love for what’s on the inside. Anyway, as I finished up this section I was thinking, “this might come off kinda weird for some people” but I enjoyed writing it so that’s what matters haha

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees-deactivated @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @ghostfacepepper @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @inkbirdie @vuvulia @bouncyartist @lunatic-moss-studio @breilobrealdi @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolax @pksnowie @blessupblessup @wolfeyedwitch @thedeepvoidinmyheart @cornflower-cowboy @bestblob @a-chaotic-gremlin @espresso-depresso-system @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @paleassprince @takingawildbreath @yindo @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @harpycartoons @pickleking8 @urmyhopeeee @goldenflame2516 @tobeornottobeateacher @talesofurbania1 @sweetsigyn

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

@pettyprompts

The young knight looked at the old man with disbelief. It was true that the latter seemed on the verge of dying. At first glance, she’d mistaken him for a bunch of rags, then for a corpse, but he was still breathing. The question was how he could do it. This old, forbidden palace had not been made for humans – or rather, for keeping humans alive. All the food she’d found on the banquet table was poisoned, so was the water of the indoors fountain. There was nothing in this room, only the walls and the door that were drenched in blood. Apparently, the man was confused about her presence too.

“How did you get here ? I tried to keep people from entering in.”

Her eyes wandered on the massive door that would have been so easy to access if only it had wanted to open. But the demonic door of the demonic palace had been satisfied with the offering of blood, and no force on Earth could have forced it.

“There’s another way in,” she said. “There’s a tunnel and an underground river that leads to the cave…”

He stared at her.

“Don’t worry”, she said quickly. “That is well hidden. I had to succeed a whole bunch of quests to find a passage. You, uh...you’ve shut down the main gate for good. I’m sure no human but me could get in.”

“Then why risking your life, young knight ? That castle is a death trap. Demons use it to lure their preys into it so they can eat them. All I could do is seal the door from inside.”

“I know, I wanted to find a way to stop the demons altogether. Or...something. I didn’t have much of a plan”, she admitted with embarrassment.

“And now you’ve warned the demons that someone new was in. They must have smelled your flesh.”

She flinched. He had a mirthless laugh:

“That’s all very well. All these years for nothing...and I could protect no one…”

His head tilted to the side, he closed his eyes and he stopped moving. The knight thought for a moment, her mind racing. That stranger was suspicious on all accounts. No human could have survived in this room all those years, with most of their blood on the walls. It was a trap. It had to be a trap. Then again, he looked so defenseless and helpless – in the end, her heart went out to him and she crouched to check if he still lived. He did, but maybe not for much longer. The pulse was slow and irregular. Either his frail appearance was an illusion, either he couldn’t hurt her that much. In any case, she needed a break. She sat, removed her helmet, and began to clean her sword. The room was devoid of furniture, which was good; that meant nothing could hide in there. There was only her, the agonizing old man, and the blood-staining walls. None of this was really comforting, though. As she wiped the sword with an oily rag, she nervously hummed the first song that passed through her mind.

“Nightmares loom, death is near

Closing trap, a thousand cuts

Agony is but a phase”

1-2-3 1-2-3, 1-2-3 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3 1-2-3-4. She was singing off-key, but the familiar rhythm was soothing, and so she repeated the first verse once then twice, and when she raised her head, she realized that the old man was awake.

“I’m sorry”, she said.

“What is this song ?”

“Candle’s light ? It’s a song that became famous these last years. At least in our village. It sounds gloomy, but actually the whole song is quite comforting. I don’t trust people who tell me that all is right in the world anyway.”

“No, I mean – how – famous, you say ?”

“Maybe it wasn’t when you were still outside the palace.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s my mother’s lullaby.”

“What ? No it’s not.”

“Really ? Does the next verse sound like this ?”

And he sang in a hoarse but in-tune whisper:

“Candle’s light, dawn’s breaking

Raise your head, o striving heart,

We’re alive, your hand in mine”

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Well...yes. Maybe it’s more ancient that I’ve thought ?”

“I tell you, my mother made it up for me.”

“I thought he’d composed it.”

“Who ?”

She grinned:

“My favorite !”

She put down her sword and told him:

“That was before I was born. There was the fifty years war – but I’m stupid, you must have lived it.”

“I did, child. My mother sang to me while people were killing each other outside. There was always a candle by my side, that’s why it’s called like that.”

“Well, we lost. There were great warriors from our side who were revered though, and there are many stories about them. That’s why I became a knight. My mother said to me that there’s nothing nobler than fighting to protect the people. But you see, the warriors weren’t my favorite. I don’t dislike what I do, but all in all I only hit people and smash things. It’s not very subtle. But there was a...someone else in the stories. He wasn’t really a fighter, maybe more of a mage. Or a bard.”

“What was his name ?”

“Linus.”

“I – I don’t understand. I know the war stories you’re talking about, but they’ve never mentioned him.”

“I think they’re more recent. His tale begins after the war. There was a lot of fights and bandits ravaged the country. Linus had a lyre, you see. When he played, he had the reality at his whim. Enemies shuddered. Beast were tamed. Rain ceased. When he danced, flowers grew at his feet. He drifted from village to village, until he came to mine. There had been a storm that had destroyed half the houses. We were starving. He stayed there for a while and did not stop until all was rebuild. He defended us from the bandits, too. The stories said he sang a lot of songs, but Candle’s light most of all.”

“Yes, because his mother sang it to him.”

“You’re related to him ?”

“What is your name ?”

“Elena.”

“Elena. Come on. I sang it because if I remembered correctly, there was a lot of children in this village. If I’m your favorite, you should recognize me.”

The young knight had to pick up her jaw on the floor.

“No. You can’t be…”

“The stories must have stopped abruptly, I suppose”

“No. It can’t be. You are not -”

“You weren’t told how it ended, right ?”

“No. No ! I’m sorry, I refuse to believe it !”

“Believe it, child.”

Elena took a deep breath, closed her eyes and massaged her temples.

“What’s your favorite snack ?” she ended to ask.

“Excuse me ?”

“I know everything about him. I’ll prove you’re not him.”

“Err...dried grapes ?”

“What wood did you use for your lyre ?”

“An enchanted tree that grew near my childhood hut and died in a fire.”

“What was your last words after the fight against the twenty-one bandits ?”

“How could I remember ? It’s been a long time.”

“What were you wearing during the day of the storm where -”

“Really ? I can’t recall that !”

“Ha ! Told you.”

“You want proof ? How did you think I’ve survived during a decade without water or food ?”

He rummaged through his rags to pull out a crudely carved flute.

“I made this from what I could find in the castle; it’s not my lyre, but there’s enough magic inside to keep me alive.”

“How could you have lost your lyre ?”

“I didn’t lost it. It was taken from me. Look, I’m...I’m very tired.”

His eyes closed again. Elena gave him a look of suspicion, then examined him attentively. He had nothing in common with the descriptions in the stories – but a decade in isolation would do that to a person. So, if it was him – what happened ? She looked in her bag. She didn’t have much provisions left, but she still had water. She put the flash to his lips, and after a little cough, he drank avidly.

“Thank you. First drink in a decade.”

There was a spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Without a word, he gripped the flute and played. The lullaby resonated in the room. Elena shuddered. The atmosphere had shifted. The room that had been so cold became warmer. There was a warmth and a sweetness in the melody that was almost tangible. It was like being embraced by a loved one. With her fingers, she tapped the rhythm. 1-2-3 1-2-3, 1-2-3 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3 1-2-3-4.

“Sing if you want. I know you know the lyrics.”

“I am a bad singer !

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Candle’s light...”

A gush of wind tickled her lips. It was like singing in an invisible tube. The sounds that went out on the other side were still her voice, but it was in tune. Exhilarated, she sang louder, and she saw the old man smile against his flute. When they finished the verse, she was radiant, and she noticed he definitively looked in better health. He didn’t need the wall to support his weight anymore.

“Thank you,” he simply said. “Do you believe me now ?”

“I – I think I do. But sir, what happened to you ? You were -”

“Very much not a hero, believe that. After the war, everything was a mess, and I tended not to warn about whatever I was doing. When the people who asked for help received mine, they were treated by the soldiers as liars. I made many enemies. If anything, I was considered as a villain. An inconvenience at best. I disturbed the order.”

“But that’s unfair ! You helped – you’ve helped so much -”

“And it wasn’t ever enough. If I had been a mercenary, maybe they could have handled it, but a musician ? People didn’t know how to react. And in these times, people handle weird events worse than usual.”

“What then ?”

“I was ambushed one night. They took my lyre away and sent me here to be a sacrifice, I suppose. They thought that my instrument held all my magic, but as you could see, it wasn’t quite true.”

He winced at the memory.

“I was not strong enough to escape, but I could survive until now. I miss my lyre. Without it, I am weak.”

Elena blushed.

“I have...No, never mind, it’s silly.”

“Tell me.”

“You’re gonna laugh at me. It’s a bit dumb. I've never had the time to study music. But I've loved the stories about you so much, and there was a merchant on the way, and she was very convincing, so I have – oh, you’re gonna laugh -”

Biting her lip, she sheepishly pulled out of her bag a small triangular instrument.

“I mean, it’s...it’s nothing like yours. It sounds bad, it has only twelve strings and I think two already snapped. It was so silly of me, I can’t play it, but just thinking about it was comforting, you know -”

“I know very well.”

There was a silence.

“I’m an old man”, he said softly. “I’ve suffered much. Do I have to beg for it ?”

“Oh – oh no, no of course ! It’s all yours !”

She offered it to him, and he took it with the delicate softness of a mother receiving a child in her arms. He pinched a string, then two, played some chords, then began to sing.

His voice wasn’t hoarse anymore. It was low, vibrating, perfectly controlled and yet full of emotions. Once he finished, he smiled at her, and it was the most genuine smile he had since the beginning.

“Should we get out of this place ?”

*

Back to Fantasy Masterlist

“It’s been about a decade since anyone’s been in here.”

“Woah. I wonder where all this blood came from.”

“It’s mine. I was the last one in here and I’m the one who sealed it shut.”

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Prompt from @unboundprompts: "The door never led to the same place twice."

Nothing is ever really lost

(Tw: quick mention of death, illness and war)

The door never leads to the same place twice.

You don’t know where it comes from. It’s just there.

Sometimes, it materializes out of thin air in your room, and won’t go until you open it.

The first time, when you were much younger, it was made of white porcelain and just big enough to let you pass. You were scared of course, but curiosity got the better of you, and you went to the other side.

You have a clear memory of that day. What a happy travel this time! It'd led you to a quiet beach, at dawn. You’d taken out your shoes and let the sea go to your ankles, watching the sun rise, listening to the waves, and oh how you’d missed that sound. When people had started coming in, notably a couple wearing weird clothes and short haircuts, you’d come towards them, your naked feet running on the sand, and told them excitedly where you were coming from. They'd smiled, thinking you were a charming little liar, but they’d invited you under their beach umbrella. You’d spent the day talking, eating sandwiches full of fish paste, and exchanging stories. You didn’t speak the same language, but somehow you understood each other. At the end of the day, you'd waved goodbye to them, and you'd come home.

The door had disappeared right after, gently fading into nothing, but it'd come back.

You’re okay with that.

You are used to it by now. Eventually, it turns up again, and when you’re ready, you go through.

It never looks the same way. The porcelain from the first time has become wood or metal, and sometimes it’s made of things even stranger, that you can barely describe. Either way, it’s always warm to the touch. It brings you into strange little villages where you see cottages with roofs and beds made of straw. You visit towns full of half-timbered buildings, built on hills, nested on a plain or around a large river. Sometimes you see huge megalopolis with shining bridges and steel blue skyscrapers.

At first, you just wandered through. Since you can’t control the destination though, and you’re pretty sure you can never go back in the same place, you’re now prepared. Each time you step in, you bring a bag full of notebooks and boxes and a camera picture. You interview each inhabitant who wants to. They’re not deep questions: what tools they use to make their food, what they like to do, how hard their work is, how they feel about their families, and so on. You collect meaningless trinkets, pocket change, leaves, and seeds. You take pictures of everything. The constructions, the people, the food on their table, the bugs sleeping on plants, the night sky – everything.

Strangely, you’re never scared. You’d never dare to be so bold in your original world. The deep feeling that this is not your world keeps you strong. No matter how many times you’ve crossed the threshold, it never feels quite real. It's like a dream, and you've left your fears behind. You can do whatever you want, talk and behave however you want, and nobody can punish you for that. You’ve discovered that if you call it during your travel, the door comes in front of you. Home is always close and no one can follow you there. People have tried, but the knob refuses to work for anyone else but you. You’re safe.

When you’re back, you organize your findings in your shelves. Your room begins to look like a crow’s nest, full of shiny things.

You’re okay with that.

However, not all travels are pleasant. Sometimes, villages are full of starving people with eyes too big and too shiny. You meet young men and women whose bodies are full of spots, their limbs smelling like rotten flesh already. Children about to be hanged for stealing apples. Soldiers killing inhabitants in summer clothes. And sometimes, there are only ruins, where all you can hear is crying.

The first time, you thought you were in hell. The door was huge and ebony that day. You don’t want to remember what you saw behind, but you do. Someone died in your arms that time. Once you were back, running away and sobbing, you’ve thrown yourself into your bed and did not touch the door for months. It waited and you hated it. You hated everything in the world, including yourself. Your eyes were closed tight not to see anything.

You can’t keep the memories out of your brain, though. You can’t help but feel guilty. It’s not like you could bring anyone with you, but still. There must be something you can do. After some time, you prepare another bag. This one is full of things you’ve already collected. The next time you meet another devastated city, you clench your teeth and go through. You share seeds to grow food. You leave behind machines plans that were used to heal or to help build houses again.

When you're done, you tell stories. You’re full of them now. The families and their kids who don’t know about tomorrow hear about the people you’ve met, their hopes and their desires. You tell about the shining skyscrapers and the bugs, the way the sun shone on the hills and the roofs of cities, how warm and light was the breeze the day you saw the ocean, and so many things you forgot.

And then, when there’s nothing left to share, you go home. The door will bring you far, far away next time, because the only thing you know for sure is that it never leads to the same place twice.

Of course, if you asked the people from the other worlds, they would tell you another story. They’d say that the door only leads to one place, where a witch lives. They’d tell you about how she walks the earth through time and space. Some pretend she’s a bringer of apocalypse, always there in troubled times, taunting poor souls, speaking of blessings they couldn’t get. Some pretend it’s a beneficent fairy, always there with little helps and little comforts.

It doesn’t matter much to you. You know that all your life, there will be the door.

And you’re okay with that.

*

Back to Fantasy Masterlist

[amethystpath-writes]

Between Mice and Magic

NOT A PR0MPT

Spicy (but not explicit- and only for a short bit, really)

******

“I hate to admit it, little mouse, but you are becoming quite the nuisance.”

Hero ignored Villain as best she could as she fought with the ropes which bound her. Her wrists stung behind her back and her ankles were screaming from another over-the-top restraint.

As anyone would know it, Hero was weak. Her skillsets relied on nimbleness. Being small and lightweight meant she was the best sneak anyone could afford, but it came at a cost.

This wasn’t to say she couldn’t fight. Swords were no match for her when they were easily knocked to the ground. And after then, it was only a matter of pushes and pulls in just the right places of her opponent’s body.

However, hand-to-hand combat meant nothing in the face of magic. Hero thought such a force was an outdated source of combat- after so many wars, so many imprisonments...as far as the world knew it, magic was a thing of the past, buried so deeply in earth that it could never be found again. It would remain unknown, even to the gods, many had thought.

Yet here she was, trapped.

Of course, ropes were far from magic, but the deadly, deafening pulsing of the room when she had snuck through the window hadn’t been. Hero figured the use of ropes had been within reason; she just wasn’t sure how.

Maybe it was to belittle her- Hero didn’t know magic, and perhaps Villain thought she would want magic. Would feel lesser for not having it.

Or maybe it was to frighten her- magic was so poorly thought of that anyone, even a king, would be scared to witness it. And, if Hero couldn’t escape regular restraints, what would make her think she could face Villain’s magic? He could snap his fingers and she would fall to one knee, or both.

Though, if Villain had been trying to scare Hero with his magic, it wasn’t working. She was more bothered with the scratchy ropes than breath of old gods.

“What should I do with you?” Villain wondered aloud.

Clearly, it was meant to be a rhetorical question, but Hero answered anyway. “If I am such a pest, would it not be easiest to kill me?” She didn’t consider the absurdity of joking with Villain as she continued to pull uselessly at her wrists. “Then again, I could never fit in a mouse trap, so if playing is another option, then I guess I should take that instead.”

“I could play with you, if that is what you wanted.”

The confinements were weighing less on Hero’s mind. There was peril in the game she was playing- this Cat & Mouse- but she was confident. She shrugged, as much as she could manage. “Maybe if you untied me-”

Villain laughed, a sound so gaudy and aggravatingly alluring. Like any lord, he was attractive, but Hero was willing to bet it was a guise made by magic.

“But you look so nice all tied up for me.” His voice was mocking now, playful. Just as Hero intended when she started this charade.

“Please,” she scoffed, understanding perfectly well what he was implying- what she implied first. “What could I do to you that you could not do to yourself? I am sure your magic has a better hand than mine.” She rolled her eyes, still in her seat, still in her restraints.

Eventually, she hoped, the lord would tire of this banter. He would untie her, thinking he could make a toy out of a mouse, and she would make her escape.

“You know what I think?” Hero taunted.

Villain hummed, expectantly.

“I think a game is all you ever wanted,” she admitted, and for once, she wasn’t playing a survivor’s role. “If I were such a nuisance, you would have done this already.” She nodded, a gesture to herself. “You wanted me all along; you just wanted a chase first. Am I not right, cat?”

“You think you know me better than myself.”

“An easy observation when you think about it,” she tutted. “You are becoming predictable after so many of my break-ins.”

His eyebrows went flat- unamused. “Tell me again,” Villain said.

Hero stayed silent. There was a stone-cold edge to Villain’s voice. It changed so frequently that Hero almost felt dizzy despite her stillness. At first, he was calculated, then playful, now dangerous. He was insulted, and as scary as he could be.

“Go on. Tell me how predictable I am. Tell me all the secrets I have up my sleeve and how easily you know I could tear this world apart if only I had the patience and will to do so. Tell me how well you know me.”

The air was heavy, and Hero found herself swallowing, before daring to say, “I know that it is neither patience, nor will, which stops you from doing as you say.”

“Is that right?”

She swallowed. Nodded. “Even with all your magic,” Hero said, silently reciting the countless letters she found hidden in the lord’s manor, “you are afraid you will never be enough- that somehow your image will never outgrow your father’s. You fear judgement, Villain.”

“I was so certain you wanted to play”- he admired his hand, turning it as if he held something in it- ”but now I wonder if you-”

Something was glowing in his hand- something so close to a flame that Hero exclaimed, “I do! I do want to play.” The game was no longer about flirting; it was about fear and desperation, chasing each other like a fox and a rabbit.

Please do not kill me. It was such a quiet request, even in her own head, but she knew the urgency which she spoke in was real. Hero was desperate, and she knew Villain understood that by the grin he wore.

“Then run,” Villain spoke.

A weight dropped from Hero’s wrists and ankles but she didn’t make a move. “You are tricking me,” she whispered. He wouldn’t let her go that easily. The moment she stood, Villain would slam her back down with the breath of his nose, or he would spring roots from the ground to drag her into the ground...

“Please.”

“Play the game, or I will end it right now.”

******

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Intertwined and Worlds Apart

Note: This is probably going to be a series. Alien x human to be specific, a little different from my usual hero x villain. Doesn't mean I'll stop doing hxv though!

TW: Blood, some gore, dismemberment, death mentioned, gross fantasy monster is described, weapon usage, violence (i swear it's not too horrible)

When Human had first joined the Intergalactic Crew, they were everyone's new favourite topic of conversation.

It wasn't about them being a different species; the teams prided themselves on harbouring a vast and diverse array of species. But none, not even the most powerful of said species even had half the formidable reputation that humans did. They were the stuff of legends, defying limits the others had deemed inevitably unbreakable and turning what most saw as a literal hellscape into their home.

So naturally, when one arrived, most, if not all of the Station's inhabitants were itching to get a good look at them.

Supposedly, Human was tall and well-muscled for their species, in spite of their somewhat overall slender frame. Some of the aliens were easily taller and much larger, but that only served to increase both the fear and awe factors. If this being, with a measly total of four appendages, that wasn't the biggest around and had a significant lack of a tail, quills or any logical defense mechanism was still capable of dealing out all that damage, then they were truly a force to be reckoned with.

Strangely enough, Human's allure quickly faded, revealing what most of the crew considered a rather lacklustre image. They completed the basic training, and they all soon got used to their ability to consume poisons everyday for breakfast. Something they called "coffee" that they claimed to "be a zombie without." Whatever a zombie was.

The human was fairly quiet and kept to themselves, never speaking unless addressed, rapidly earning them the reputation of a snob. They were expecting some kind of mythical hero, something to do justice to the epic tales woven about Earth's fearsome inhabitants. Ironically, no one was interested in Human anymore.

No one except Alien.

Their colleagues and friends would continuously make light-hearted jabs about Alien being infatuated with Human, but they'd just wave them off. They certainly were intrigued by the foreigner, but they honestly didn't know if they felt anything more than that for them. Love amongst aliens, specifically the romantic kind, although not non-existant, was somewhat a rarity. Marriage was usually for convenience, whether to start a family, (as in the case of Alien's parents), a union between two races or just marriage for the sake of it. It explained why they lasted longer, and if the relationships came to an end it was usually respectful and clean-cut.

But Alien had heard that with humans, it was a whole different story. Love for them had a powerful, iron-like grip only attributed to a force of nature. It started wars, it ended them. It pushed people into trance-like states of madness. It was a lot like fire, beautiful and mesmerizing, but also destructive and untamable when allowed to be out of control.

Their curiosity had finally overcame their shy nature, and they decided to go talk to Human about a week ago. They'd been told that they were just a snob, but that's exactly how Alien was labelled before others discovered that they were just an introvert by nature, and it had taken them years to make friends. Maybe Human was like that too.

Their heart hammered in their chest so rapidly, they thought their heartstrings would get ripped apart from the effort. They were grateful that their clothes covered the stripes along their arms that changed colour based on their mood. They didn't need Human to know that they were scared out of their wits.

"Hi. It was Human, right?"

The human looked up from their food, seemingly a little taken aback. They cleared their throat, "Yes, I'm Human. Is there something required of me?"

"I just wanted to talk to you. Not about anything in particular." They bit their lip nervously.

"Oh." Human shifted in their seat, fidgeting with the straps of their dark hoodie.

"It's okay if you're not interested." Alien's voice is laced with just the tiniest bit of disappointment.

"Wait! It's just that no one here was ever interested in talking to me after the first two weeks. I seem to have disappointed them somehow."

Alien whipped around, gesturing to the bench in front of the table Human was sitting behind, and the newest Crew member nodded their approval. They sit down, surveying the human with an almost inquisitive gaze. "Do you like it here?"

Taking small sips from their drink, the human shrugs. "I mean, I like being in space, I'm passionate about my job. Maybe it's not ideal that everyone thinks I'm too haughty to talk to them, but I'm used to it. It's a lot like that on Earth too. I don't fit the basic "cute" description of an introvert."

Alien's teal eyes widened, a little confused by Human's statement which earned them a light laugh from their companion. For some reason, they decided that they rather liked the soft, musical sound.

They gesture to their figure. "I know this might not be a big deal here, but on Earth, this is considered intimidating enough. And this doesn't help either." They traced one, long finger along a jagged, pink scar drawn across their left cheekbone.

"I do not think it is scary," Alien stated rather bluntly. Always honest about everything was how their friends would describe them.

"Do you?"Human laughed again, but it was much softer and shorter than the first time.

"Yes I do?" Did Human not think they were being sincere?

Human did not laugh this time, instead choosing to let the corner of their lip twitch up. A smile. They had been told it was horrendously scary, but instead it just looked nice? Even when their sharp fangs were bared, it didn't look at all predatorial.

"That was a rhetorical question. Meaning a question you don't expect an answer to. It's just sort of there for effect. Ugh, I'm crap at articulating my thoughts into words," they groaned, taking their head into their hands.

"I apologise." Alien's clothes come to their rescue once again hiding their stripes that they were sure were glowing a bold, embarrassed crimson.

"It's fine. Culture gap between species. I'm sure I've got a lot to learn too."

Human and Alien conversed almost everyday when they got the chance. Alien grew to find that the human had one too many things in common with them; introversion, a love of astronomy and a sweet tooth just to name a few.

But in the process, Alien keeps experiencing a set of strange, nonsensical symptoms, especially when they were around Human. A racing heartbeat, a fluttery feeling in their digestive tract, a warm flush through their body and the strange sensation that they're in a trance, Human being the only thing that wasn't foggy in their mind.

"There is nothing wrong with you," the medic reassured. "Physiologically. Your vitals are fine and you appear to be in excellent health. There is, however, a rise in neurotransmitter levels. It could just be stress. If so, then try your best to calm down. If the symptoms persist, then it may be time to ask the Captain for a few days off maybe?"

The alien thanks the doctor, but they're not exactly sure they're stressed. What they do know is that they catch themselves thinking of Human unprompted. Was all this some sort of bizarre side-effect of being in contact with a human for one lunar rotation? They'd never know. . .

Speaking of Human, the foreigner taps them lightly on the shoulder. "Hey!" they chirp with a smile. They hand them a small, glossy, royal blue box with a sliver lid and a matching blue ribbon.

"Go on, open it!"

Inspecting it carefully, Alien slowly slides the lid off with their long, slender fingers. Inside, there is a hard sort of mineral with a smooth surface in all the colours of the galaxy, striking shades of blue, violet, pink, turquoise and even black all woven together on one stone in a sparkling array of beauty, much like a painting on a canvas. The mineral hung on a polished metal chain.

"It's for you to wear around your neck. It's a geode from Earth. Mineral formation. Oh, and happy birthday! I don't know if you celebrate in your culture, but us humans do. I hope this isn't too presumptuous."

"How did you know about the day I was born?" Alien's voice is barely above a whisper, too surprised to be able to speak clearly.

The human shrugs. "I asked the Captain. Is this offending you?"

"No! Quite the opposite. Thank you, Human. This is beautiful. I promise to take wonderful care of it." Alien's heartbeat accelerates dramatically, and their whole world seems to have come to a halt. How is Human so effortlessly thoughtful? They'd known Alien for such a short time and were already keen on finding out about their birthday and getting them a gift. Whatever they feel for Human just keeps getting more intense.

*

There were no alarms sounding or a rumbling of the ground or any warnings of the like. The Silent Wraith hadn't gotten its infamous nickname without reason. So no one knew it was among them until deafening screams filled the Station, and the once pristine floors were slick with blood.

"Everyone, cover your mouth, nose and skin if you breathe through it and evacuate! The Wraith produces deadly gas and can easily rip the strongest of you to shreds," the Captain yelled over the alarmed screeching.

The monster, with its many, many limbs and horrendous-looking maw, stacked with rows upon rows of sharp, yellowing fangs, now covered in blood attacks without mercy, creeping up on its unfortunate victim and leaving them nothing but a mess of bloodied flesh, scales, wings and bones. It thrashes around with its tail, covered in sharp spikes that released the toxin into the air, choking some of the Crew members.

They all try to flee from it. All except for Human.

"Human! Have you lost your mind? The Silent Wraith is no laughing matter!" Alien cries, voice breaking with desperation.

"You wanted to know where all those legends about my kind came from? Well, let me show you!"

The alien's desperate pleas fall on deaf ears. Human completely ignores them and saunters forward. They pick up a long chain from their locker and jump atop one of the tables and use it as a makeshift springboard to throw themselves off of and they successfully land on top of the creature's back. They wrap the chain around its neck, puling hard, obviously straining with the effort.

It seems to work, until the chain snaps around the creature's neck. The human lets out a stream of profanities as the creature throws them onto the ground. They pull out a knife and try their hardest to jab it into the beast's thick hide near its chest but to no avail. It's too fast. It scratches Human's shoulder with its metre-long sharp claws, making them hiss in pain.

Alien, no matter how terrified they are right now, can't just leave Human like that for dead. They rush forward, paying no regard to the warnings screamed at them by others. They attempt to distract the Wraith, to divert their attention away from the human and to try and use one of the quills rolled up in their back to attack the creature. But instead, the beast sinks its fangs into the alien's leg viciously.

It burns like fire and acid mixed into one to deal out a harrowing sensation of absolute torture climbing up Alien's leg. They can barely move themselves away from the creature as they cry out in pain.

If Human was wild a few moments prior, currently they are feral.

They scream, running up to the beast and swiftly tear one of its fangs straight out of its mouth. They use it as a makeshift blade, stabbing it into its hide so many times, they lose count. The creature in turn mars the human with its own attacks; riddling their body with scratches and burns and trying to gas them.

None of that deters the human. Fueled by some kind of ferocious rage, they ruthlessly attack the beast, finally tearing off its tail with its own fang.

The Silent Wraith was dead at the hands of a single human.

"Human? How did you do that?' Alien asks weakly.

"It hurt you. That's all I could think of. The rest was hysterical strength. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, it's only my leg that's been hurt."

When everyone else shuffles back in, seeing the Wraith's corpse and dismembered tail and the human's bloodied hands, all they feel is a mixture of fear and awe.

Alien, on the other hand, is in a completely different world. Seeing Human with blood streaked across their cheekbones and jawline, their short, raven hair mussed up, clothes ripped to shreds, exposing battered skin, but also the human's taut muscles knocks the air out of the alien's lungs, but not in a bad way. The most entrancing of all is that fierce, passionate look in their stormy grey eyes. Human, in their disheveled state, has never been as alluring as they are now.

Gingerly, Human scoops them up, holding them against their chest. Alien's now completely exposed arm stripes glow a bold magenta, a colour they'd never seen before on their body.

And they are certain, more than ever in their life that they are in love with Human, their heart alight with the bright flames that this ultimately consuming feeling brought.

Notes: I am going to be honest. I am exhausted. This is not edited because I finished it late at night and I still have homework to do. Also, I apologise for the horrendously written fight scene you had to bear through. Sorry for not posting for so long, I blame high school. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed reading this ridiculously long fic. Love you guys! 💙💙

[coonhoundcat]

|| This is maybe not the continuation anyone was expecting, but by golly, it's the one I wanted to write (albeit messily). I highly encourage anyone reading this to also check out the version of this prompt that @hobbyistauthor ran with, because it is amazing and beautiful. :3 Also, this is written in a more 'removed' style than I generally use for snippets, because sometimes it's fun to play narrator. ||

Dead leaves skittered across the decrepit road, a few loose shingles flapping along the roofs of the row of run-down houses. A light frost crusted the pavement weeds and the asphalt puddles had gone crisp.

Thames considered the carnage outside their front door.

Black fur, and red. Quite a lot of red.

The sweater-clad individual took a step back, and closed the door.

They turned around.

A chilly draft crept up behind them.

They turned back, and opened the door again.

It had pointed ears.

Thames left the door open and retreated to the kitchen, where they hesitated just long enough to mourn the life of the perfectly good (if a bit molded) mop stood up in the corner of the closet-pantry. They returned to the porch.

Mrs. Hamashaw was not the next-door neighbor; nor, in fact, the next-door neighbor's neighbor-- though any casual observer (or careless resident) of Mayford Street could be forgiven for believing otherwise.

She was precisely the type of person who would appear on the pavement outside of a house at the most inopportune moments, and whilst wearing ankle warmers, a beanie, and very short, very grey hair.

She was also the type of person to give very little warning.

"Beautiful morning! Isn't it, dear?"

"Jesus-" The tired creature fumbled with the mop handle, swore again, and made a rather violent kicking motion before jerking around to face the visitor; grimace only deepening at the loud, slick thump of something landing heavily in the dirt.

Thames attempted their best impression of a smile, hands fisted painfully tight around the aged wood.

"…… Mrs. Hamashaw. Didn't-" they shuffled a little inconspicuously to the left, "-didn't expect to see you, this morning."

Mrs. Hamashaw smiled brightly, entirely unbothered. "Well, you didn't think a bit of chill could keep me indoors, did you? I'm not that far gone yet, dear-" she cupped a hand to her cheek conspiratorially, leaning in with all the flourish of a back gone bad two decades ago, "Though I have told the kids to stop bringing me green bananas, if you know what I mean… One of these days I'm simply not going to get up-- and what with Charlie out on his bed rest, that'll make two of us, and I'm simply not paying for in-house care…"

Thames inched carefully away from the edge of the porch, toward the steps.

"But that's why two of the kids are moving back in, you see-- and not a moment too soon, really; not with the wildlife acting up-" she patted her hip firmly, drawing attention to what appeared to be a full bottle of mace, "I'm comfortable enough on my little walks, but it's much safer living with company."

Mrs. Hamashaw stared at them pointedly, and Thames stiffened appropriately.

"Er-"

"You're all alone, dear, and I'm concerned for your safety--not to mention your well-being."

Thames placed the mop gingerly to the side, "I don't-"

"Out all day, every day, by yourself, no protection what-so-ever-"

They gestured appeasingly, "The work's part-time, actually-"

"-And no-one at home to make sure you come back in one piece; you know I can't keep checking in as often when winter well and truly hits-"

"Mrs. Hamashaw, I'm perfectly-"

"-And if something were to happen to a tenant, I really don't know what I would tell the agencies!"

Thames took a deep breath in, waiting a moment to ensure she was done. Their fingers steepled carefully in front of their face, lightly brushing their chin.

"I told you, Mrs. Hamashaw," they began slowly, "I'm not worried. I'm perfectly fine as-is."

The old woman regarded Thames quietly. Their palms itched.

"Charlie mentioned it might be a bear."

Thames' brow furrowed. "Why would- oh. Right." They frowned deeper.

Mrs. Hamashaw stared the middle-aged creature down, and Thames redoubled their scowl-- hands folding neatly behind their back-- before fidgeting, and moving to tuck themselves in front of their chest instead.

"I've got a firearm somewhere," Thames tried.

Mrs. Hamashaw raised an eyebrow.

"…. I think."

"Look," the bedraggled renter struggled, "What are the odds that I, specifically, am going to encounter a bear, of all things?"

The elderly lady patted Thames' arm kindly. "Dear, there's blood dripping off your porch."

Prompt? 7 | You Know Better

It is inadviseable to leave food out for wild animals.

Hero, for their part, had meant to feed the churchyard dog. It was simply habit that they did not stop after the dog's dissappearance, and it brought a strange kind of comfort that the stained, molded bowl came up empty night after night. In their more religious moments, Hero even imagined that the dog was still visiting the porch-- in whatever etherial, ghostly way a dog of God could, or would.

In their more realistic moments, Hero kicked the bowl under the deck, ashamed that someone might see, or afraid that they might be confronted about the increasing thickness of the resident raccoons.

They knew they'd fucked up when the carcasses of said raccoons started showing up around the nearby properties, heads shredded and ripped into-- but with their organs carefully removed and laid out side-by-side, a neat-and-tidy display; and prominent enough for the neighbors to start noticing. And notice, they did.

[puddleslimewrites]

Toothache (Part 2)

Part 1

Dentist watched the dragon circle the building a few times before landing in front of him again. He didn't flinch - though it was a near thing - when its snout came into contact with his side. It took a painfully long moment for him to realize this was a sign of affection. Ever so carefully he extended an arm to pat the creature's snout as far up as he could reach.

Dragons weren't known to be social creatures. Easily aggravated, they preferred to live in isolation, though occasionally they could be found hunting in groups of two or three.

Yet here one was peering through the window of his office to watch him work. It unnerved his assistants, no doubt, but neither said a word as they helped him take stock of the supplies and clean the used instruments. Once done, Dentist sent his assistants home early and he knew from the sag of their shoulders that they were ever so relieved to go. He didn't blame them.

The dragon stayed until nightfall. Dentist was almost afraid the creature would follow him home when he stepped out of the building. But, when the lights went off, there was a distinct whoosh from outside - the same sound he'd heard earlier when the dragon took off to do a lap above the building.

The dentist let out a heavy sigh as he stepped out into the cool night air. He took a deep breath, held it, and started the long walk home.

~

It came back in the morning. Dentist wasn't as scared to approach it this time, but preserved caution in every step. His assistant stood in the doorway, cart fully stocked and at the ready. As soon as he got near, the behemoth of a monster opened it's mouth...and dropped something. Dentist stumbled backward as a pile of gleaming metals tumbled out of the creature's maw.

"For...me?" Dentist didn't know what to make of the gift. He squeezed his eyes shut, muscles seizing, as a puff of steam was blown in his face. When he dared look again he stared into one of its yellow eyes. It blinked, ever so slowly, then used its head to pushed the metal heap closer.

Dentist smiled weakly and asked his assistants to help him move the mound inside. He didn't know where he would put it - perhaps, later, they could ask an enchantress to expand a room to store it in - but for now all he needed to do was accept the payment (for that was what he assumed this to be).

Apparently satisfied once the offering was out of sight, the dragon settled down outside the office. It seemed content to lay there, lazing in the morning sun right in front of their door. Dentist didn't dare risk asking the beast to move, and so silently accepted the new terrifying guard.

Tagging: @thepenultimateword and @world-of-fire-and-flight, since you've both expressed interest in this story c: