#fantasy snippet

[thepenultimateword]

Pennnnn

Can I have a mermaid who gets really injured in a storm being saved by a Fisher and them falling in love :3 🧜‍♀️💜

My first contribution to our fantasy writing community!

Sorry, it took me so long to write this, Crewe! And I'm also sorry it's a little short, and we haven’t gotten to any sort of falling in love yet. I just really wanted to post and apparently I have to make a ridiculous amount of series. Also, my stupid brain always insists on going slow burn, so stay tuned for the actual falling in love part.

CW: Injuries, mention of captivity, implied abuse

The mermaid awoke to calloused hands.

Everything ached or burned, but for a moment, the warmth of those fingers, pressed flat against her back and clavicle as they turned her over, steadied her.

Then she woke up a little more.

Everything came crashing back, and she lurched out of the stranger's grip with a loud screech, only catching glimpses of tanned skin and sunbleached curls before flopping sideways off the rocks. Instead of splashing into the familiar depths of the ocean, her shoulder bashed into stone, and her belly scraped the gritty bottom of the shallows. Her face barely breached the surface and her body become loosely wedged between her previous resting place and another large boulder.

"Hey, hey, hey," a deep voice soothed. "It's ok. You're ok. Just stay still. You're a little....well... You're fine, but some bandages might do you some good. "

Mermaid blinked the sea salt from her eyes, taking in the speaker's rolled sleeves, braided beard, and tied-back hair. As she eyed his rolled trousers her heart sank.

Human.

She wanted to flee. If she couldn't flee, she wanted to die.

Her eyes flicked wildly around at her surroundings, much different in the morning light than they had seemed in the gray violence of the night before. The majority of her captors’ ship had already been swept back into the sea's magnificent embrace, but little splinters swirled around in the tidepools, just as caught in the garden of protruding rocks as she.

The mermaid twitched her tail against the rocks and instantly regretted it as a sharp pain coursed up her spine, followed by a dull ache beneath her patchy scales.

"Does it hurt much?" the man asked in a tone so concerned it made her sick. Once she believed in the sweet murmurs of humans, so seemingly weak and pathetic in the middle of the treacherous sea. No longer.

The mermaid gave a short hiss, baring the remains of her sharp, serrated teeth in warning.

A few days ago, when she gave her prayer, supplicating two gods had seemed the best choice. She figured if she couldn't inspire Cu's mercy, then maybe she could invoke Myr's terrible wrath. But...perhaps she got the words wrong. Or maybe her devotion thus split had been judged untrue--the elders had always encouraged her to choose only one. Or, and this felt painfully close to the truth, maybe she was so pathetic even the divine could not help her.

There seemed no other reason why she would escape one captor only to end up directly in the hands of another.

"Easy," the man said, holding out his hands in front of him. His palms were not particularly pretty, the skin hardened into thick hills and peeled in certain places, but they were tanned and strong. Another seaman. Even worse.

If only she'd ducked overboard when she had the chance instead of letting her temper get the better and trying... What had she been trying?

Perhaps it didn't matter. Even if she had ended up properly in the depths, she wasn't sure how well she would have got along. Back on the ship, she could barely move from one side of the tank to the other, let alone a whole ocean. On top of that, she didn't even know where she was.

Leftover sunshowers pattered softly against her bruised and bleeding back, but on account of its tenderness, they might as well have been needles. She kept her teeth firmly born, but her eyes brimmed with hot tears.

"Hey." The seaman crouched in front of her, water wetting the cuffs of his trousers, and tilted his head a little to the side to meet her gaze. "It's a lot."

"A lot" was an understatement. A lot was simply being shipwrecked and found by a stranger. It did not encapsulate the sheer terror of that stranger being a monster. If her throat didn't feel quite so raw, she may have shouted as much. Instead, her glaring silence allowed room for the man to continue.

"I'll have you know...I'm just as scared of you as you are of me." He averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "But I can't leave you here. As much as my good sense would like me to." His cerulean eyes turned back on her firmer. "I'm going to get you out, ok? Please don't bite me."

The mermaid had the sudden, defiant urge to sink her teeth directly into his reaching arm, but her better judgment stopped her short. She was stuck with this human whether she came quietly or not. If she'd learned anything from her time with her previous captors, if her situation seemed bad now, fighting back could make it so much worse. She may as well go along with him until she came up with a clear means of escape.

Once again, those rough hands found a home against her bruised skin, this time barely resting on her hips. His attempt at shimmying her loose sent flashes of white across the mermaid's vision, and her head dropped face-first beneath the surface.

"Worse than it looks, huh," he said, voice muffled by the water. The mermaid dug her chipped nails into the rocks and sand and braced herself for another try, but instead, the man returned to full height.

Should she be upset or relieved? It wasn't like she wanted him here, but she also didn't have any confidence in getting out on her own, especially with her tail in such bad condition.

She laid her cheek against the ground and watched his strange human feet as he moved to her side, sending up puffs of shell and sediment with each step. He crouched again, strong hands dipping under the surface and working under the edge of the stone on her right. His muscles corded and an instant later, he'd heaved the stone to the side. The next instant he'd scooped the mermaid up into his arms.

"Get away!" she shouted, shoving weakly against his warm chest. Her hands left wet prints on his cotton shirt.

"You talk." The notable effort to not make it an exclamation did not make it any less so.

"I'm not an animal!"

"I-I know."

Maybe it was true. Maybe she wasn't simply an animal. Maybe she was a turn of fate. A treasure to greed on. Or maybe, from the paling hue of his skin, she was as much a monster to him as he was to her. None were good predicaments.

She gave another halfhearted shove, but the pain wracking her body was too much to try any additional exertion. Eventually, she let herself go limp in his grasp and stared dead-eyed past his profile at the passing sky. It couldn't be helped if she caught a few glimpses of his stupid big head in between.

As he picked his way back to shore, his eyes searched the beach, as if suddenly apprehensive of his surroundings. His large arms crushed her, seemingly subconsciously, tighter to his chest. Her nose came just short of pressing against his throat, assaulting her with scents of sea salt and cod.

His next words slipped out as only a murmur, almost as if to himself. "Let's get you somewhere safe."

Edit:

Aaah! I forgot my master Taglist! Here it is!

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees s @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 i @freefallingup13 @i-am-a-story-goblin @ryunniez @rainy-knights-of-villany @distractedlydistracted @saspas-corner @echoednonny @perilous-dreamer mer @blood-enthusiast @randomfixation @alexkolaxe @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

[alilbatflies]

I took part in @thepenultimateword's song-story writing challenge. It was fun!

My assigned song was Scarborough Fair by Simon and Garfunkel, submitted by @wacko-weirdo.

...

The fire cracks and sways, warm against the cold night. The shadows of those gathered around it dance much like flowers in the wind, swaying calmly without hurry. A unique form of slow dancing.

The hunter watches from further away. They could listen in on the conversation if they wanted to, but the sounds all smudge in their head. They barely manage to thread the waters of their conflicting thoughts. They’re tired.

The tree against their back is grounding. It’s the hunter’s only comfort. They don’t think to ask for more. They couldn’t possibly.

The group seems so calm. As if they’ve forgotten that there are still soldiers hunting them. The conversation is light, flickering with laughter like the dancing flames, all-consuming.

…perhaps they wish to forget for a while.

The hunter would much like to forget, too.

“Are you going to join us?”

The hunter looks at their old friend. Old friend doesn’t quite cut it. Neither does lover. Neither does any other label that the hunter has tried over the years. Their friend is simply always there.

Their witch friend.

The witch meets their eyes. The fire reflects in the deep brown that is so familiar to the hunter. Its familiarity offers comfort—comfort, which the hunter is unable to accept.

The hunter can’t bear to look.

They turn back towards the fire. Staring into the light is a bad idea, the hunter knows, for one cannot monitor the shadows blinded. And yet, they look. The blazing flames seem to swallow their worries, to soothe. The fire gazes right into their soul and warms its darkest corners. It all feels alright for a little while.

The witch gently takes their hand. They tug the hunter along, towards the fire.

The hunter’s arm lifts to follow the movement but they do not budge. The tree they’re leaning against is their anchor then. They fear losing their ground. They fear getting lost entirely.

They want to go. They want to let themselves be pulled along, they want to join everyone, they want to belong. They want to belong, to finally, finally…

“I’ve killed too many.”

On someone else’s orders. Because of someone else’s ideals. They didn’t know better.

The blood is on their hands.

I might have killed you, too.

The witch steps closer to them, interlocking their fingers instead. They examine their hand, the knuckles, callouses and scars. Those little wounds that tell the stories, if one can read them well enough.

They run their fingers over the hunter’s bandaged forearm, a ghost of a touch. They were the one who tended to the hunter’s injury that day.

“You’ve helped us get away.” The witch meets the hunter’s gaze. “You’ll help us still, won’t you?”

“Of course.” For you.

The witch keeps staring into their eyes. They might be trying to look right past, into the hunter’s mind and soul. They might just be able to read each and every of the hunter’s thoughts.

The hunter has thoughts. The hunter has many thoughts, flying around in their head, possibly causing more harm than good. The hunter can’t seem to stop them.

The hunter knows nothing of herbs. They know nothing of healing. With each moment passing by, they learn that they know nothing of witches, either. They try to learn.

They were told witches are dangerous. They were told they were vicious, vile creatures, evil beings beyond salvation. They were told death was a witch’s only comfort.

It used to be their only truth. The only thing that could help them carry the weight of their sword somewhat, when all of the life seeped out of another pair of silver eyes. It was their shield when the weight of taking a life threatened to slit them open.

It has all shattered so easily.

The hunter vividly recalls the moment their friend’s eyes flashed silver. Their friend was pushed to the edge, looking to them for help. The pieces fit together perfectly. The soldier next to them lunged forward. Their blow never landed.

The hunter met the others a little later on. The other not so evil creatures, who just want to live.

The hunter knows a little better now.

Witches are curious about the world much like their friend has always been. They bear their own weight, the magic running silver in their blood. They desire to live. To be safe. To be understood. The hunter can relate perfectly.

They try to learn.

“Thank you,” the hunter says.

“For what?”

Thank you for opening my eyes. For trusting me. For not letting me stay in the clutches of their truth.

“Being such a pain in my ass.”

The witch laughs. The sound wraps over the hunter like a soft blanket. Nobody ever told them that a witch’s laugh could heal.

The witch lifts the hunter’s hand. They press a kiss to it, holding their gaze.

The hunter shivers.

“I should thank you,” the witch whispers, “for protecting us.”

“Always.”

The witch pulls them along again. Towards the fire. Towards their family.

This time, the hunter lets them.

[paladinsandruffians]

The God with Locks of Gold

"Every 1000 years all of the Gods get together for a contest to see who can collect the most souls with a single catastrophic event. Last time Poseidon broke the 1M mark with a Tsunami/earthquake combo. You’re up." Response to a prompt from @writing-prompt-s

You were a minor god, name known to few. You lacked a pantheon and the strength associated with it. You, like most gods, required worship to increase your strength, yet with little power you could hardly answer a prayer. You could not strengthen armies, nor could you ensure each arrow landed true. There was no ending famines nor ensuring plentiful bounties for you, for you were just the golden one, an awful little child. Who would pray to you?

The other gods from their mighty pantheons would barely spare you a glance, while the other outcast and isolated gods would derive mirth by mocking your pale, twig arms, and common clothes, and so frail a youthful face. The only thing they dare not mock was the golden mop upon your head, your only saving grace, for your golden curls were beauteous coils that only the divine could behold. And for that, they were jealous. How dare this weakling have hair so fair?

And so, you concealed it with a cap, ensuring that none other than yourself should see your locks again, yet each time they mock or tease, you see their eyes, whether they be reptilian or mammalian, birdlike or fish, attempting to catch a glimpse of your golden curls. Never do they look into your eyes.

Absorbed in your pitifulness it came as a shock to you when Posiden, the great Neptune, shaker of earth and sea, selected you. You, one of - if not - the weakest and most unassuming of the gods, was selected to upstage the god who had sent a million souls to his brother’s hall.

You knew why he picked you, once given the chance to think. The contrast, the juxtaposition, would make his victory all the more renowned when a millennium passed and the next god could barely harm a soul. He would see his glory upheld and untarnished, as the theological joke only continued to fall, slipping closer and ever closer towards oblivion.

So you set upon your duty in the only way you knew how. You scoured great libraries searching for clues while expanding your knowledge. Then you returned home, amongst the people. You spread your knowledge amongst them, bringing hope of better things. You saw the sparks of light in their eyes. You saw dreams and desires on the brink of fruition.

Then you vanished…yet your knowledge remained.

They knew of the lavish luxuries just out of reach. They knew how their not-so-distant neighbors were getting along. They knew how sweet the fruit had been and now suffer from the aftertaste. Nothing they had would ever seem so great again. And so they fought.

They fought from deep within their souls to correct a perceived wrong, for how dare they live with their eccentricities while I live with only my necessities?

And so it spread. A few dozen at first turned into a few hundred, turned into several thousand, hundreds of thousands, millions, billions of corrupted souls. Billions of mine.

Every time they thought of what others have, wanted deeply that which was not theirs, smiled through gritted teeth as someone complimented what they did have, they were worshiping me: Aurelius, god of animus.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Some of you asked (in response to this post) what were my favourite stories I'd posted on tumblr were. In no particular order, here are the top 5:

The Blue Key (I think it's the best standalone story I've written, except maybe this Medusa one that I haven't posted anywhere yet. It's pure me and my obsessions on the theme and I'm really proud of the writing itself. I genuinely think it's good. As writers we spend enough time doubting ourselves, so it's really nice to look at something you have done and be like 'huh, yeah, actually!!')

Villain locked up + treated badly (I really like the actual writing craft/descriptions in this one. Again, I think I did a genuinely good job. It makes me feel excited about my writing.)

Super beautiful villain (I can remember my thought process during writing this very clearly. E.g > I'm too ace for love at first sight based on purely physical attraction > so what's going on here? > ooh, ugly/beautiful themes and our stance on morality, plus foil characters, this is tapping into one of the things that fascinate me! I remember someone pointing out 'well, this character could just be ace and kill the villain' and me internally being like 'but I AM ace, do you think that makes you immune to wanting?' Anyway. If I was ever going to pick up a story to expand fully in my own time, it would probably be this one. It just brims with potential to me. Or the ace and the incubi one for a lighter version.)

Tired hero/Villain in cathedral (I often under-utilise setting in my tumblr posts, because they're just not to focus, but I really like how I quietly used the setting in this one. I just love cathedrals)

Princess/Demon Prince or Reincarnated wife of the monster king (oldies, but goldies. If I was ever going to write a me version of a more typical dark romance novel, I reckon it would stem from one of these. I don't know. There's something in the dynamic that I find interesting and dare-I-say mildly original. Worthy of sinking my teeth into.)

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Sleeping naked. Facedown. Windows unlocked.

Hopefully a monster wont come along and use my body for their own pleasure. I’m sure I wont get pregnant from such treatment and turned into a breeding slut for monster cock. Oh please don’t ruin my cunt forever from normal cock.

[iminkandpaper]

I have a thing for Villains in case you couldn't tell.

°•○

"I want her," Villain says, his eyes fixed on Princess, who glances at her father.

The king blanches, his eyes flicking between the two. "You can't-"

"I definitely can," Villain cut him off. "In return for your kingdom back, I want the princess."

She tilted her head to inspect him. Villain, despite his murderous tendencies, was... well, he was rather handsome, if she was being honest. His eyes bored into her father across the table, betraying his mask of indifference. He lounged in his seat while everyone else seemed on the edge of theirs.

Princess wasn't even supposed to be here. She had come only at Villains' request.

"Father," she started, "perhaps Villain and I can talk this through. Alone."

"Absolutely not," he spat. "You will not taint her with your darkness." The King looked to Villain again, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You will not have her."

Villain, with the slightest nod of his head, forced the king into silence. His burning stare moved to the Princess and he addressed her imperiously. "Come. We will discuss."

Not a soul stopped them. Not when he offered his arm. Not when she took it. Not when he led her through to the gardens.

They made their way to the entrance of the spiralling maze before Villain stopped. "You know my request already."

"You want me."

"I want you."

She extracted her arm from his to fiddle with the ring around her throat. "The last time I saw you, you went by Alias."

His jaw clenched. "My name is Villain."

She did not fight him on that. It wouldn't work. Princess stroked the petal of a lily thoughtfully. "You lied to me. You lied to everyone."

Villain remained silent at her back, and she made no move to speak. The silence lingered around them like a thick, suffocating fog. Her willingness to stagnate the conversation thawed at his resolve. Villain would have taken her in his arms and kissed her until she remembered she loved him had she not turned to face him.

"I have conditions," she said finally. He gestured for her to continue. "I will call you Alias. You will cease this ridiculous reign of terror that you have inflicted upon the land. You can keep Kingdom, that land it rightfully yours - but it will be restored to beauty. No more barren land or shaved forests. I want flowers. I want sunshine."

He was silent while she contemplated what else she wanted. He would give it to her. She was worth her weight in gold and more.

"And..." she hesitated.

"Name it and it is yours."

"I want a puppy."

"What?"

"A puppy. Father never let me have one. He said it would only distract me."

His eyes widened in alarm. "I-"

"You said anything," she countered fiercely. When he nodded in agreement, she turned away from him, satisfied.

His lips twisted. "You will have your puppy. And a wedding."

She whirled around, eyes alight.

"You will be my Queen," he said simply. "That is my only request."

"Deal."

They were a breath apart. His fingers reached out to stroke down her cheek, and Princess leaned into the touch.

"I have missed you," Villain murmured, pulling her close to him.

"What, all that power didn't satisfy you?" She taunted. Still, she was in his arms, not pulling away. His hand tangled in her hair, jerking her head backwards. Princess scowled at him. "Don't be mean."

Instead of claiming her mouth like he wished, he settled for a kiss to her temple, cupping the nape of her neck to hold her close.

"I've only ever wanted you," he said. "Everything else was simply an accessory."

She did not respond, cradled in his arms like something precious.

Like something he needed.

[scalpho]

bill wants fabian to be just like him, but the problem is that bill is aggressively self-centred, and fabian cannot emulate him (by prioritising himself) without putting bill's wishes on the backburner. and bill, being as self-centred as he is, can't stand the fact that him and his wants are not fabian's number 1 priority. family in flames gives us a great example of this: bill yells at fabian for not defending himself against bill's insults specifically because it's not how bill would react ("i would never let any man speak to me the way i’m speaking to you right now"), and in the same minute also yells at him for defending himself ("you'll raise your voice at me now, will you?"). fabian can't emulate bill without disrespecting him, but he's expected to figure out some impossible way to balance these two conflicting expectations!

the trick is that this contradiction doesn't exist as long as fabian's wants are synonymous with bill's, which is why shit only hits the fan after fabian starts spending time away from his family and discovers the magic of independent thinking. the cracks in the formula are still super easy to see early on, though - bill killed his own father, but threatens to kill fabian if he ever attempts the same move. kudos to him for managing to say something both hypocritical and, in hindsight, incredibly ironic

[winters-dream]

cw: suggestive

Soft silk wrapped around Hero's body, the beautiful fabric sliding gracefully across their skin as they secured the tie around their waist. They had just finished a bath Villain drew for them and Hero hated to admit it, but this was the most relaxed they've felt in months. Maybe even years.

Hero didn't know how they got here. One minute, they were fighting Villain, negotiating to find a compromise to prevent Villain from wreaking havoc on the city. Hero knew better than to compromise with Villain; they were sneaky and sly and always knew exactly what to say to get Hero to bend to their will.

And that's exactly what happened. Somehow Hero went from doing everything in their power to save the city to relaxing in a robe in one of the many rooms of Villain's home. Guilt wracked through them as they pondered over what the Villain could possibly be doing to the city whilst they sat here and did nothing.

The door to their room opened and  Villain poked their head through. Their eyes raked over Hero's body and a satisfied grin spread over their lips. They stepped fully inside the room and the weight of their gaze made Hero shiver. Though Hero wanted to believe it was the cold that sent goosebumps along their arms.

“What am I doing here?” Hero was the first to break the silence. “What are you planning?”

Villain sauntered forward, each step causing Hero to take a step back. Their legs hit the baseboard of the bed, causing them to stumble as they ended up sitting on the bed. Villain stopped a few feet away.

“Oh, Hero, you know the deal,” they said. “Your surrender for the safety of the city. I'll cease to destroy this city as long as you remain by my side.”

They reached out, their fingers brushing along the hero's jaw. Hero would be lying if they said they didn't want to lean into the touch. 

“You belong to me now.”

Villain smiled their signature sinister smile, one that usually sent a healthy jolt of fear through Hero's body. But Hero saw something else behind that smile. Something . . . softer? Their eyes bore into Hero, challenging them to argue back.

A pink flush colored Hero's cheeks, Villain no doubt could feel the heat radiating off them.

“This is humiliating,” Hero admitted. And Villain shushed them with a finger over their lips.

“Dolls aren't meant to talk, dear,” they chastised with a wag of their finger. Hero wanted to bite that finger off. Their face flushed a deeper red. 

“I'm not a doll,” they spoke louder, feigning confidence they didn't have. “And this was not part of the deal. I agreed to surrender. Not to become your  . . . pet.” 

They cringed at their own choice of words.

“Oh, but you are,” Villain insisted. Both hands came up this time, cupping the hero's face. Their hold was gentle, yet firm, a silent reminder of who was in charge. Who had the power here. 

“You are my most prized possession,” they mused. “And I would be a fool to let you go so easily.”

They leaned in. Hero found themself staring at Villain’s lips. Their soft, pink lips, mere inches away from Hero’s; they had fantasized about kissing those lips and becoming familiar with their taste far more often than Hero cared to admit. They wanted to kiss them now, their head dizzy with anticipation.

Villain backed away with a smirk, and something in Hero snapped. Like a spell has been broken, Hero was suddenly pulled back into reality. They blinked at Villain who studied Hero with a knowing smile. They knew all too well the effect they had on the hero. Hero was playing right into their hand.

“You're not going to get away with this,” Hero said as a final attempt at defiance. Villain shook their head with a chuckle. Hero knew they were toast. 

“Oh, darling. I already have.”

[naelmasn]

The child showed curiosity right away, with his mismatched eyes exploring the surroundings as if he had never set foot outside his front door. The world was so big and he was so small. He wanted to run and jump, wet his shoes in the stream, say hello to every being he encountered, and laugh as he rolled down the hills. He wanted to do so many things now that he was here, but at the same time he couldn't take his shaking hand off the hem of his mother's robes.

[avvail]

no thoughts just thinking a villain/supervillain with a harem of hero thralls

The hero had to bite back a pained hiss on their tongue as they were shoved down to their knees.

Fingers twisted into their hair and yanked their head up, just for them to see the supervillain seated on the throne, the one creature that they, and many other people, had been rebelling against for months.

The vampire was donned in lavish robes, seated upon their throne with their thralls surrounding them, in a sight that made them sick.

The supervillain hadn’t even given them any attention, instead gorging on a bloody feast from one nestled in their lap, their eyes closed and their arms wrapped comfortably around their neck. Others were draped over them in various places, some at their side and some at their legs.

When the hero tried to look away, the fingers yanked on their hair, forcing them to watch.

“What now?” The supervillain grumbled, pulling his teeth away from the thralls neck, just to slide his fingers down anothers arm and bring their wrist up to their mouth instead. The hero watched those deadly teeth sink into delicate flesh, and they shuddered.

“The rebels,” a guard announced, giving the hero’s hair another obnoxious pull. “Found them along the southern river. We managed to catch this one.”

The hero felt sorry for them - the thralls used to be heroes, too, just like them. Now, as willingly and happy as they all looked to be given attention from such a creature, their master, they didn’t want to imagine the sorts of things they were made to do.

The supervillain tilted their head back, licking the blood off their lips as their intense eyes fell to the hero. They tried not to tense, but they felt their body betraying them regardless.

One thrall moved up to kiss the supervillains neck. Why did they have to be so indecently dressed?

It felt like the vampire was analysing every little bit of their body, and a part them even wondered if they could hear what they were thinking. A deep sigh fell from their lips, finger brushing through another thralls hair, whose head was draped along their thigh.

“Bathe them,” they spoke, their words almost hypnotic. “I’ll decide what to do later.”

The hero’s heart hammered. In relief, or fear? They didn’t know. They had thought the vampire would kill them immediately. As they were hoisted into their feet, the hero stubbornly grit their teeth, refusing to even make a noise.

Some thralls glanced over at them, their red eyes almost standing out in the shadows, but once showered with more attention, their eyes wavered and they tangled themselves back with their master.

They could feel the supervillain’s cold eyes following them as they were roughly escorted out, and hoped they didn’t suffer the same fate as the others.

[ashiristic]

SNIPPET 16:

Warning;: Mentions of blood

The hero and villain challenge each other on who'll last longer in a kiss. Chaos ensues.

It was just a kiss, the hero's final thought before the villain's lips met his. Soft and intoxicating like poisoned red wine. This kiss wasn't filled with passion and hunger but was a fight for dignity and pride.

The hero's eyes remained open, occasionally biting and chewing on the villain's lips, just as his nemesis did. Their hands roamed each other's bodies, searching for something to hold onto in this battle. The hero's fist harshly gripped the villain's hair, pulling it downward, drowning in his nemesis' low grunts.

He always told himself the villain was ethereal beyond recognition. A siren luring him to the sea, making him lose control like a sculptor molding him anew. But he'd never admit it.

They eventually fell onto the mattress, staining the white sheets with congealed blood from their previous battle. Before all of this began, the villain struggled, breathing heavily as his chest lifted up and down. He wished to see the villain's debauched state, but he couldn't lose. Not yet.

It seemed the villain had a different idea. He hissed, feeling the villain's nails dig deeper into his wrist, drawing blood. The hero attempted to pull away, but the villain chased him, biting his reddened lips severely.

"Fuck," the hero muttered under his breath, catching a smirk from the villain.

The villain parted away from the hero, a string of saliva connecting them. He wiped his lips with his white long-sleeves, lolling his head a little on his shoulder. His bangs fell in place to cover his eyes, yet his debauched lips still displayed that irritating smirk.

"Funny," the villain said, taking advantage of the hero's trance state, pushing him away. "Can you even win against me—"

"You're the one who pulled away," the hero suddenly said, huffing a breath, trying to steady his rapid pulse.

The villain paused for a second, blinking his eyes. After a long ponder, he suddenly blushed, a profound crimson color dancing on his cheeks. His grip loosened on the hero's wrist, but an odd smile crept on his face, followed by a chuckle. He was certainly amused. On what? Then, he raised both of his hands in defeat.

"Right, I did," the villain stood up, walking towards the small white lamp in the corner of the room. He grabbed a candy randomly placed on the table, twisting it between his fingers. "And I admit defeat."

Odd. One word to describe it. He knew the villain was a person who would never admit defeat and would try to find a loophole. But today, he didn't do that. The hero wrapped his hand on his wounded lips, trying to wrap his head around the villain's action. Maybe he looked like a monstrous, sexually frustrated guy after he pulled away from him. That must be it (it's not).

"All of a sudden?" the hero leaned against the headboard, running his hand through his sweaty hair. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't confused. So, he asked, "Why?"

The villain halted before the open window. He bathed in silence, turning his head a little to the hero. "Why? What stupid question is that?"

And he continued unbuttoning his shirt with no care regarding the well-being of the person behind him. The sun had already set, but the warm light engraved on the dawn remained, embroidering the villain's skin with gold. Mesmerizing and otherworldly. That is what he is.

"Can't I be curious?"

"You wouldn't like it. You would be embarrassed if I told you," the villain shrugged, shaking his head a little.

The hero rolled his eyes, darting his gaze on the bookshelves, crossing his arms. He sat still for a few minutes, but his impatience lingered as he tapped his fingers against the side of the wooden cabinet beside the bed. And don't add the drowning sense of not knowing what to say to the villain once he finally breaks the silence. He should think of one now, for emergencies.

"It is because I pity you," the villain suddenly said, and smirked, before placing the candy on his tongue, savoring the sweetness. "You are such a bad kisser."

The audacity.

"Ten out of ten. Bravo joke."

"Oh, thank you," he placed his finger on his lips, laughing to himself. It was red with a fine line of deep rose on the middle of his bottom lip.

The hero watched the villain caressing his own lips before he froze and stopped, slapping his cheeks a little. What was wrong with him? And the villain veered towards the hero, fixing the collar of his shirt.

The villain grinned, "I have to go now—"

"We should do this again," he interrupted, blankly staring at the villain as he spoke. "You liked it, didn't you?"

The hero would lie to himself if he said that he didn't love it. Plus he was willing to sacrifice a few of his dignity to admit it. But the villain only smiled, his eyes not revealing anything on what he was thinking. The hero's heart plummeted in his chest, its hope bursting out of his chest cavity as he covered it with a smile.

"If you say so,"

Then he left. And the hero never felt happier.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

okay, this is a halfway to 7k unedited fantasy au snippet! Out Of Context as usual!

some warnings for this one: blood, gore, major character injury, graphic description of injury <3 i had fun w/ it not sorry <3

~

The front door slams open, stalling all conversation inside. A flash of lightning illuminates the two forms huddled in the doorway, one considerably larger than the other.

Barnaby staggers a half-step inside, dripping water all over the floor. That alone has Howdy putting down the glass and moving across the bar to better assess the situation. Eddie is struggling to support Barnaby’s listing weight, and both of them are clutching at Barnaby’s belly. They’re both soaked through.

Someone gasps, and the folks seated nearest to the door stand and back away, muttering in alarm. Howdy’s stomach plummets. Some of the water puddling on the floor is too dark to be just that. Barnaby’s front, under where his massive paw is clutched, is drenched dark as well. 

Eddie catches his eye - he looks wild with fear. 

“Out!” Howdy thunders. “Everyone out! I don’t care about your tabs or if you’re not done - if you have a room, go there, if you don’t, scram!”

Some people cast him and Eddie dirty looks, but they start to get up, grumbling all the while. Howdy couldn’t care less. Not when Barnaby is leaning so heavily on Eddie, his breathing so labored that Howdy can hear it amidst the shuffle and scrape of patrons leaving.

“What happened?” Julie yells, running across the room from the neighborhood booth. 

“Make sure everyone gets out,” Howdy says, redirecting her. Julie doesn’t look happy about it, but she complies. The patrons start to clear out faster with her aggressive ‘assistance’. Howdy throws his drying towel off to the side and nearly vaults over the bar to help support Barnaby. He reaches to sling Barnaby’s other arm over his shoulders-

“Don’t!” Eddie cries. He doesn’t let go from the wound, and Barnaby cringes away from Howdy with a breathy echo - “Don’t.”

“Why not?” Howdy says, panic rising in his throat. He looks closer at the wound Barnaby and Eddie are holding - this time he has to swallow down bile. Glistening, blood-slicked pink pulses under their hands. Barnaby whines softly. He’s terribly pale under his fur.

“Everyone’s gone!” Julie announces. 

Howdy snaps out of his horrified trance. He points at the bar. “Clear a spot on the floor for him on the floor, make sure we have room to work.”

Julie makes a frustrated noise but complies once again. Howdy slips around to Eddie’s side and trades places with him, but Eddie doesn’t let go of the wound. The sudden weight makes Howdy stumble, but he quickly widens his stance and starts shuffling them to the area Julie is clearing. They help Barnaby lower to the ground, and every pained whine and gasp is like an arrow to the heart. Eddie whispers apologies all the way down. Barnaby’s free paw leaves scratches in the bar’s cherry wood.

“Ed, I need you to get my supplies from my room,” Howdy says, rolling up his sleeves with quick, expert flicks.

Eddie looks at him like he’s crazy. “I can’t let go!” 

“I’m here to take your place - four arms are better than two, now get!” 

Eddie still hesitates, but slips away once Howdy puts all four of his hands where Eddie’s measly two were. It’s hot, and wet, and - and -

It becomes immediately clear that this is a wound they can’t fix, not without an extraordinarily talented healer. 

“Julie,” Howdy chokes out, “get Poppy.”

“Okay,” Julie says faintly, right behind him. She slowly backs away, and all at once sprints for the front door. A burst of fresh, rain-filled air blows inside before the door closes again. The cold shock makes Barnaby flinch and gasp. 

“Hold on, Barn.” Howdy forces himself to look at Barnaby’s face instead of the pulsing guts bulging from the gash someone sliced across his belly. The soaked fur under and around it looks purple. “Help will be here in a jiff, so don’t you go falling asleep on me.”

“Tryin’,” Barnaby wheezes, and his voice has never sounded so much like music, “tryin’ not to. It’s - stars, it hurts, Howdy-”

“I know, but you gotta hang in there, pal. Poppy will fix you right up.”

“I…” Barnaby makes a wretched noise that sounds like a sob, “I don’t wanna die.” He whines, a leg weakly kicking out as his guts twitch. “M’ not ready, Howds, m’ not…”

“You’re not going to die,” Howdy insists even as Barnaby’s blood soaks his hands and sleeves. 

He doesn’t want Barnaby to die, either, but who knows where Poppy is - there’s no guarantee that she’s home, and even if she is, her abode is clear across town. Julie is a fast runner, but in this weather… with such a distance…

Barnaby is going to die. 

Howdy will do his damned best to keep that from happening. 

Clattering precedes Eddie sprinting around the corner. He checks the bar hard, but doesn’t fall or flinch. He takes the hit and slides to his knees by Barnaby’s side and opens the pack. Howdy almost reaches out to rummage through it himself, but Barnaby’s paw starts to slip from the wound. 

“No no, none of that.” Howdy nudges it back into place with his knee and tries to jostle Barnaby with the same motion. “Eyes open and paw up, Barn.”

“Tryin’,” Barnaby whispers. His eyelids flutter in a vain attempt to stay open. His breathing rattles.

Howdy doesn’t need to tell Eddie what to look for, and thank the heavens for that, because Howdy doesn’t think he can look away from Barnaby’s pained features, much less form words that aren’t incoherent prayers to any god that will listen. Barnaby’s paw slips, and Howdy has to lunge to keep his insides from becoming his outsides. Just his hands aren’t enough - he needs to use his forearms. There’s so much of it. 

Eddie scoots forward and holds up a potion, and Howdy nearly howls in anguish. “Not that one! The healing potions - the red ones!”

“I know that!” Eddie snaps just as viciously, which is enough of a shock that Barnaby gains a moment of startled clarity. Eddie uses it to coax him to drink the golden energy potion. “I have some healin’ powers of my own - I can buy him more time than your bruise busters, and you’re fresh out of those, anyway!”

Out?

Howdy stares at his pack in horror. That’s right. He hasn’t restocked - oh, he’s a fool! He allowed himself to grow complacent and reliant on Eddie and Poppy’s healing. He has no time to thoroughly curse his inaction, as Barnaby’s paw comes back up to the wound, and his back arches as he wails his agony. The potion kicked in. Eddie quickly shoves his paw away again and holds his hands to the corner of the gash, his palms glowing orange.

“Oh, oh no,” Barnaby sobs, his boots and claws scraping wood, “Ed, stop-!”

“I’m sorry,” is all Eddie says. He shoves Barnaby’s paw aside when he tries to pry Eddie away. Barnaby grabs for the nearest thing with his other paw, which happens to be Howdy’s thigh. Howdy bites back a pained hiss at the feeling of claws digging sharp through his pants. The cold water saturating Barnaby’s paw soaks the fabric in seconds, creating a contrast to the pinpricks of hot welling up under the claws.

Howdy eyes the healing glow and the strain on Eddie’s face. It won’t be enough - Howdy doubts it will give Barnaby any time at all. The thin corner of the gash slowly knits together, but the rest of it is too wide, too deep. The only reason Eddie can heal any of it at all is due to how clean the slice is. The blade that created this wound must have been freshly sharpened, or enchanted. Howdy can tell at a glance that it cut through Barnaby like a knife through marmalade. 

Eddie heals the other tapered end. He and Howdy exchange a glance - Howdy sees it in his eyes that the healing is just a platitude. Blood continues to soak Barnaby’s pants, Howdy’s, their hands, Howdy’s clothes, the floor. 

Abruptly, Howdy is keenly aware of how quiet the tavern is. Rain drums on the roof and thunder rolls outside. The fireplace crackles. How long will it take to scrub the blood out of the wood flooring? How long will Howdy spend staring at the scratches etched into the bar?  

“How- Howdy,” Barnaby says. He isn’t gripping Howdy’s leg as hard anymore, but he gives it a weak squeeze. “Gotta tell ya - hng - somethin’. Shoulda… told ya sooner, but-”

“Save it for later,” Howdy says quickly. “You can gab all you want when you’re better.”

There likely won’t be a later, or better, and that’s half the problem. Call Howdy selfish, but he won’t let Barnaby make this hurt more than it already does. More than it will. He would rather live with a might’a than a could’a.

Barnaby knows it, because his eyes mist up and he nods weakly. “Yeah. When I’m… when I’m better. Can I ask a fa-favor?”

“Anythin’,” Eddie murmurs. Howdy had forgotten he’s there.

“Find Wally for me?”

Eddie lays a bloody hand on Barnaby’s arm, steely determination flashing in his eyes. “We will. I swear it on my patron’s light.”

“That’s a…” Barnaby pauses to grimace and swallow thickly, “a big promise, Ed.”

“I’ll make sure he keeps it,” Howdy says.

“M’ sure you will. But, but… if Wally really is gone… hey, I’ll say hi to ‘em for ya.” Barnaby manages a shaky half-smile. “At least that’d be one - one good thing ta’ come outta this, huh?”

Howdy’s composure cracks. He chokes down sobs as he slumps over Barnaby, uncaring of the awkward position or the insides sandwiched against his front, drenching his apron and shirt with blood. He hides his tears in Barnaby’s cold, waterlogged ear. Barnaby uses what little strength he has left to turn his head, weakly nuzzling the side of Howdy’s face. His breath is warm. Weak, but warm.

Distantly, Howdy hears Eddie curse and ask “Where are they?” The clink of his armor fades, and the door opens just enough to let in the scent of rain. Howdy hears more than feels Barnaby breathe it in. As close as they are, Howdy can hear the wet rattle in Barnaby’s chest.

Should Howdy do something to make him more comfortable? Would Barnaby’s herbs ease his pain? Even if it would, if anything would, Howdy can’t let go. That would hurt him more, and Howdy refuses to give up that tiny sliver of hope that something can be done. 

The door slams open to let in a thunder of footsteps. Howdy snaps upright, and he’s certain that if he didn’t have a job to do, he’d collapse. 

“Oh dear, oh-” Poppy squawks loud enough to make everyone cringe, her feathers fluffing up. “My feathers, that’s! Oh! That is much worse than what you told me!”

“One can hardly fault her,” Sally says before Julie can respond. She kneels by Howdy with Poppy right behind her. “Are you with us, Barnaby?”

No response. 

Howdy goes cold. “Barn?”

Sally briskly taps Barnaby’s cheek until he twitches, his eyelids barely lifting before falling shut once more. “Still with us!”

If Howdy wasn’t already crying, he’d start now.

“Can you fix it?” Eddie asks from off to the side.

Julie paces anxiously. “Of course she can! Poppy’s the best healer for miles, there’s nothing she can’t do. Right, Poppy? He’ll be up and joking in no time!”

“I.” Poppy’s feathers shake as she dances them over the open wound. “I will most certainly try, but I can’t do it on my own. It’s too severe for my magic to do much of anything. Sally, dear-”

“No,” Sally says immediately, her glow dimming. “You cannot be serious, I won’t - I simply will not-”

“You must. We all need to work together - Howdy and Eddie need to hold the wound shut. It won’t just be you.”

“We need to what now?” Eddie says, even as he settles on Howdy’s other side. “What’s going on?”

Howdy feels sick. “You and I have to make sure his insides stay inside, while Sally will-”

“Sally won’t,” Sally says. “As much of a nuisance as he likes to make himself, Barnaby is my friend! I could never-”

“Then you’re alright with losing him!”” Howdy snarls. “Perhaps you’d like to trade places with me and feel him die under your hands instead!”

Sally gapes at him, stricken. Her mouth flaps for a moment before she shuts it firmly and turns to the wound, lifting her hands. 

“What does she have to do?” Julie asks.

Everyone ignores her - not out of unkindness. Poppy nods to Eddie and Howdy. Eddie places his hands in the spaces where Howdy can’t completely reach. They exchange a glance and push.

There was a time when Howdy received an overpacked shipment of linked sausages. He had no room to store it yet, but the sack it arrived in tore. Shoving them back in - even with all four of his hands - was nigh impossible. It was impressive how the sausages had managed to fit at all, because the sack was certainly too small. 

Shoving Barnaby’s guts back into his stomach is a lot like that.

Barnaby cringes and moans in his nearly-unconscious state, feebly trying to get away from what is certainly agonizing pain. His brow bunches up, and he whines high in his throat. 

Howdy can’t spare a thought to it. Blood and organs squelch as Howdy and Eddie rush to cram it all inside - there’s no time for caution. As soon as the last slip of pink is inside - it’s so, so dark and red past the blue - they squeeze the wound shut to the best of their abilities. Barnaby sobs quietly.

“Now,” Poppy says, and Sally’s palms burn hot enough to make Howdy’s skin itch.

She holds her hands to the sealed gash, and Barnaby starts wailing. Too weak to thrash, he just writhes softly and keens, tears freely spilling down his face and carving dark tracks in his drying fur. His paw twitches around Howdy’s leg, claws digging in again like he wants to grab or yank or something.

“Almost there, Barn,” Howdy lies. Part of him wishes Barnaby would fall fully into unconsciousness. It would be dangerous, but at least he wouldn’t feel this. 

The acrid stench of burning fur and flesh fills Howdy’s nose. Sally and Eddie both gag. Heels rapidly click across the tavern as Julie sprints to the nearest waste bin, and she retches loudly into it. Howdy barely registers it - he’s barely breathing, himself. 

“Well done, all of you,” Poppy murmurs as Sally cauterizes. She holds her wingtips to the cooked flesh of the wound as Sally continues, and they glow coal red. The wound glows with it, the angry blistered flesh smooths and pales, and blue fur starts to grow back before their eyes. 

Barnaby’s paw falls from Howdy’s leg as he starts to slump, cries petering off into agonized whines. Poppy doesn’t seem alarmed, and Howdy just wants his pain to stop, so no one moves to keep him awake.

Soon, Sally has to shuffle in front of Howdy and Eddie to continue. They’re loath to move, so she awkwardly lies across their laps and reaches. As soon as she burns her way to the end that Eddie healed, Poppy gives them the all-clear. 

Eddie lets go first, slumping back on his heels. Sally is still draped across Howdy’s lap with her head pillowed on Eddie’s. The three of them catch their breath as they watch Poppy brush her healing feathers across Barnaby’s stomach. Julie staggers over to them and kneels next to Eddie. She leans against him, sniffling. Howdy doesn’t have it in him to protest when Eddie not only loops an arm around her shoulders, but around Howdy’s waist as well.

Barnaby is finally unconscious, his features slack  - Howdy places a hand on his chest to make sure, and the shallow rise and fall of it is more priceless than all the coin in the world. Howdy slowly sits. His hand trails down as Poppy pulls her wings back, and his fingertips dance on the silvery smooth line of a fresh scar. 

“I’ve done all I can,” Poppy says with a gusty sigh. “So have the rest of you - again, well done. You all did splendidly.”

“I don’t feel splendid,” Sally croaks.  

“Well… you are. Quite splendid. Let’s get him up and to a bed.” Poppy’s first attempt at standing fails. Sally all but leaps up to help support her, and she laughs nervously. “I’m afraid that took quite a bit out of me. There was more to heal than I expected, dear me.”

“Will he be okay?” Julie asks. 

Poppy looks at Barnaby with a soft, sad look in her eyes. “I can’t say for certain. It’s up to Barnaby, now… all we can do is make sure he’s comfortable. A-and keep a close eye on him! There could be, ah… complications. Infections, and the like. Mh, I’m sure it won’t come to that, though. Sally’s fire should have burned out anything nasty.”

Howdy belatedly realizes that he needs to help carry Barnaby. He kneels on shaky legs and gently maneuvers Barnaby’s dead wei- unconscious weight to the side. Howdy slips his upper arms under Barnaby’s, using his lower set to help support his back. Eddie takes one side, Sally and Julie take the other. Poppy does her best to help, but she can only lift Barnaby’s unbloodied leg with her beak. 

They shuffle their way to a ground floor room. There’s plenty, but Howdy once again chooses to be selfish and brings them to one near to his own. Near is subjective - Howdy lives on the second floor, but the staircase to his private suite is as close to Barnaby’s temporary room as it can get. Barnaby will be sleeping right below Howdy. If anything happens, he’ll hear.

They get Barnaby onto the bed, and all of them breathe sighs of relief - and mild pain, in Eddie’s case as he stretches his back. Poppy asks for Julie to stay and assist her with getting Barnaby adjusted. 

Howdy doesn’t wait for a dismissal. He stumbles his way out of the room with Sally and Eddie in tow, his heart jackrabbiting. It feels like he grabbed hot coals, or swallowed a bolt of lightning. He’s shaky and ill and he just held Barnaby’s intestines in his hands.

Howdy leans over the bar and blindly grabs a bottle from underneath it. He uncorks it with his mouth, spits the cork to the side, and starts chugging. The alcohol burns as it goes down. It’s cheap, bitter, and easy to focus on. He comes up for breath with a small gasp and coughs, wincing at the aftertaste.

Cleaning supplies clatter as Eddie brings them out of the supply closet - Howdy wasn’t aware he knew where that was. It’s just a bucket of water and a scrubber. Not that he’ll do much good. He’s still caked in blood and mud. Dishes clink as Sally cleans up the ample messes that the patrons left behind. Howdy takes another swig and stares blankly at the shelf behind the bar.

The blank eyes of the Wally-puppet stare back at him. At least the real Wally wasn’t here to see that. Howdy doesn’t know what he would have done, or how he would have reacted… best not to imagine. In any case, Howdy hopes that by the time they find Wally, this whole experience will be nothing but another story. 

Howdy goes to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand - oh. Right. It’s still covered in blood. All four of them are. The blood glistens when Howdy holds out his hands. It’s warm and tacky, clinging to his fingers like sap as he spreads them. 

It’s Barnaby’s blood. 

These hands were inside of Barnaby’s gutted stomach, and Howdy can still feel the sickening heat and the way it all pulsed and twitched and-

Howdy copies Julie’s example and vomits into the nearest acceptable receptacle. The alcohol tastes better going the other way, even if it burns worse. 

Once the dry heaving stops, Howdy sinks to the ground, shaking with silent sobs. His legs curl up and he presses the heels of his upper hands to his forehead, hugging himself with his lower arms. The crimson-soaked fabric of his shirt squishes and sticks to his skin.

Everything Sally carries rattles, and every few minutes something falls. Chipped cups, shattered plates, clattering platters. After each breakage, she picks up the shards and keeps clearing the tables. The constant swish, swish, swish of scrubber bristles on wood fill the silence between rattling dishware and rolls of thunder. Eddie scrubs at the one spot on the floor, where Barnaby sat. The water he pours and scrubs quickly turns pink, then red. 

The door opens, letting in yet another gust of air. It slowly closes, and Frank’s shrill voice cries out, “What in the heavens happened in here?”

Anger rises sharply in Howdy’s gut - and vanishes as soon as it came. There’s no use in being mad at Frank - they didn’t explicitly go with Eddie and Barnaby on their day trip. He was gathering information. There was no way he could have known what would happen. 

Frank belatedly notices the thick trail of blood on the floor, and sidesteps it before rushing to Eddie. “Is everyone okay? Who’s hurt? That’s not your blood, is it-”

“It’s not mine,” Eddie says, not looking away from his task. Swish, swish, swish. When Frank reaches for him, he waves them off. “Stay back, it’s a mess. I’ll take care of it - I’m taking care of it.”

He isn’t taking care of it.

Frank takes a step back, his eyes wide enough that Howdy can see the whites of them clear across the tavern. Frank looks over the trail of blood, the puddle, bootprints, the smeared handprints, and the sheer amount coating not only Eddie, but Howdy too. Sally doesn’t make a move to acknowledge Frank as she stacks wood platters and ceramic plates. More blood stains her from where she kneeled in it, and laid across Howdy and Eddie. 

A scraaaaape precedes Julie backing into the tavern proper with a large tub of steaming water. Howdy makes a desperate sound and scrambles over to it. He thrusts his arms into the water and scrubs furiously at his skin and sleeves, ignoring the burn of the slightly too-hot temperature. Julie’s stare sears into him for only a moment before she takes a shuddering breath and steps out of the splash zone. 

“Frank!” she says a touch too loudly, oozing false cheer. “You’re back! Did you find anything?”

“Did I - what does that matter! Julie, what’s going on?”

“Oh, Barnaby got a little hurt, but he’s resting now.”

Frank incredulously gestures to the tavern’s general state. “A little hurt?”

“Barnaby’s fine now,” Julie reiterates. “Poppy is taking care of him.”

“How did - why did - what -”

Howdy slowly stops scrubbing. His skin feels raw under his fuzz as he stands, water sluicing from his arms. He unties his apron as he returns to the bar and tosses it over a stool. He sits on the one next to it and snatches the open bottle of - whatever it is. It’s alcohol. That’s what matters. He rests his head in his hands between acrid swigs. 

“Everything is okay! Poppy is the best healer around, it’s nothing she can’t handle,” Julie chirps. No one calls her out on the proven lie. She starts collecting straggling dishes alongside Sally. “We’re just helping Howdy clean up.”

In his periphery, Howdy catches Frank side-eyeing him. He chugs from the bottle for a moment and slams it back down, if only to make a point. Frank is the only one to jolt at the sharp bang.

Frank slowly crouches by Eddie, frowning deeper than normal. He mutters something too quiet for Howdy to hear from the other end of the bar. Eddie says something back - Frank lays a hand on his shoulder, and Howdy scowls miserably into his drink. His thigh itches.

Swish, swish- the scrubber finally stills. Eddie shoots to his feet, his armor clattering loudly, and he steadies himself against the counter as his other hand flies to his forehead. “Oh no. Oh, no…”

Everyone stills, and the tension in the room thickens palpably. 

“What is it?” Frank asks.

Eddie looks at Howdy with horror in his eyes. “We lost Wormie. Barn dropped his hat when we were ambushed - there was no time to stop. We couldn’t…”

“Show me,” Howdy says, leaping off of his stool and charging for the door. Eddie follows hot on his heels.

The rain is freezing. It soaks Howdy through to the bone as soon as he steps out from under the tavern awning.

Howdy doesn’t dare go back to get a coat, even if all he has on are his thin work clothes. The cold nearly knocks the breath out of him, but he focuses on the alcohol warm in his stomach and plunges into the storm. He slows just enough to let Eddie - and, apparently, Sally - pass him. She carves a way through the pitch black night.

Mud saturates Howdy’s boots and the cuffs of his pants. It sticks unpleasantly to his skin and only worsens the chill as they run past dark buildings. Few windows glow orange, proving how late it’s gotten. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since Barnaby was injured. Even with Sally,’s light, it’s going to be impossible to find Wormie in this weather.

Howdy’s eyes burn as they leave the town’s muddy streets and plunge into the terribly dark forest. What if they don’t find her? The thought is almost too much to bear. Howdy doesn’t think he could face Barnaby when - if - he wakes up. They’ve already lost Wally, and that alone has had Barnaby in shambles. But if they lost his beloved little worm, too? 

It feels like they run through the woods for hours. Eddie keeps slipping and tripping, but manages to keep his legs under him. Howdy’s mind whirls with what-ifs and maybes and hows and whys. Eddie and Barnaby were ambushed so far away - why did they come to Howdy’s tavern instead of going right to Poppy’s? How horrible was it to go all the way into town in that state, in this weather? What if Wormie drowned, or was trampled, frozen, taken -

“I think it was here,” Eddie shouts over the thunder and rain. A flash of lightning illuminates the ground through the waving treetops. 

“You think?” Sally says. Howdy wishes he had said it first - now is not the time for Eddie’s navigational dysfunction! 

“I don’t know, Sally! I wasn’t really paying attention on account of keepin’ Barn’s insides from spillin’ everywhere!” Eddie doesn’t say it to be cruel, Howdy knows.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling unsteady all over again, or stop Sally’s glow from dimming. He glances around like he expects to see more blood, though even if this is the correct area, the rain has washed any evidence away. Howdy turns in a circle, tangling his upper hands in his hair. 

There’s no way of knowing. There’s no way of finding such a tiny, sweet little creature- lightning flashes, catching on leather outside of Sally’s glow.

Howdy lunges for the hat, uncaring of how his knees sink deep into frigid mud as he snatches it up. The hat is grimy, but undamaged. Even Ms. Beagle’s feather is intact. But when Howdy turns it over, his heart sinks.

Nothing inside.

Nothing on the ground around it either, even when he digs through the mud to make sure. Eddie hesitantly touches Howdy’s shoulder, and Sally’s warm glow envelops his back. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. He sniffles. “I should’ve grabbed her. I should’ve-”

“You prioritized our bard,” Sally says. “We can’t fault you for that.”

They can’t. Howdy… Howdy wants to, but he can’t find it in himself. He’s cold, he’s tired, he wants to go make sure Barnaby is being taken care of. He looks around a final time, blinking against the rainwater pouring over his eyes.

Nothing but muddy soil, bushes, trees, darkness. 

Howdy clutches the hat to his chest and stands, stumbling slightly. His friends steady him, and his face pinches. He shouldn’t have drank so much at once. It’s finally getting to him, and soon he’ll be of no use at all. He can already feel the faint buzz in his head.

“We’ll come back in the morning,” Sally promises, tugging gently on his lower arm.

Howdy makes a pained noise. She won’t make it to morning. It’s too cold, she’s too small. All they’ll find is her little frozen body. 

“Hold on.” Eddie holds out an arm to stop them. “Can you hear that?”

“It’s impossible to hear anything over this storm,” Sally says. 

“No, no… I’m sure I heard something. It was a - a little, it was a little…”

Peep.

Howdy’s waterlogged antennae snap upright, and he whips around to stare at a nearby tree. A past storm must have nearly blown it over, as half of the base seems uprooted. Gnarled roots arc and tangle out of the ground. Howdy falls to his knees in front of the dark hole under the trunk. 

Another peep comes from inside.

“Sal, I need your light,” Howdy says, fumbling for her. Her golden glow fills the space, and he nearly sobs. 

Wormie squints up at them, curled into a tiny ball and shaking like the wet leaves she lies on. Mud covers her colors - if her eyes weren’t open, one could mistake her for a twig. Her harness blends into the rest of her. She peeps again. 

“Hey, gal,” Howdy murmurs, reaching into the shelter. Her antennae make a feeble attempt at raising, and she stretches her neck out towards his fingers. He slips them underneath her and lifts her out, making sure to shield her from the rain with his body. 

“Thank the stars,” Eddie says wetly. “For a moment there I thought we lost her.”

Howdy curls his fingers around Wormie, his heart breaking at how violently she shakes. 

“Should I take her? She must be freezing, the poor thing” Sally says, holding out a hand. Howdy holds her out, and Wormie lifts her head as Sally’s warm glow washes over her. She blinks at the offered trade, then drops her head and nestles into Howdy’s palm. Sally retracts her hand. “Apparently not.”

Howdy hooks the hat over that hand, and Wormie lets out a mournful peep. He lets Sally and Eddie pull him through the forest, staying hunched over the hat and murmuring reassurances. He starts quietly crying again at some point. The rain washes away his tears and sounds. By the time they return to the tavern, he’s exhausted himself. They all stumble through the doorway as a soaked, grimy trio.

Julie and Frank flurry over to fuss over them, but Howdy staggers past their worries. All he knows through the cotton in his head is that he needs a hot bath. He leaves their chatter behind and makes his way down the hallway, only pausing to listen at Barnaby’s door. 

Poppy is humming to herself. Howdy sags against the wall for a moment, taking solace in how calm she sounds. For a moment, he imagines going inside and resting at Barnaby’s bedside, but… later, he promises himself. When he’s in clean clothes and feels less like collapsing. 

Climbing the stairs to his room is a feat in itself, but Howdy manages it without tripping over the steps. He closes his door behind him and sighs, tempted to just fall asleep on the floor and deal with everything later. But Wormie is still shivering in his hand, and he might as well kill two birds with one stone. 

The hat is placed on the table for cleaning. Howdy hates to let go of Wormie, but he places her on the crown while he runs a bath. Not for the first time he thanks his past self for investing in this revolutionary tech called plumbing. All he needs to do is turn a valve, and hot water pours right into a fixed tub in the corner of his large, open room. 

For a long moment he yanks at the valve, not understanding why it’s not working- ah. He’s turning it the wrong way. He blinks forcibly and twists the right way, and water pours out. He watches it drain until it registers that he should plug the tub. 

Oh, the headache he’s going to have when he wakes up…

Howdy strips as he makes his way back over to Wormie, leaving unsalvageable clothing items strewn about. It’s a blessing in disguise that he was drenched by the rain - it kept all of the blood from drying, so his shirt and pants come off easily instead of sticking to his skin. He’s still stained red underneath them. Howdy undoes his ponytail and picks up Wormie. He carefully loosens her harness and slides it off, revealing a patch of spring blue and green bands underneath. 

He holds her to his chest as he steps into the filling tub. Steam rises off of it, and it clears his stuffed sinuses. He inhales it grateful and sinks into the water, clenching his teeth when it laps over the punctures in his thigh. He closes the valve and settles with a groan.

Wormie peeps at him and looks over the side of his hand at the water with longing in her big eyes. Howdy carefully lowers her until the warm water pools over his palm. Wormie finally stretches out as he rubs his thumb over her. Mud flakes and sloughs off of her, and she wriggles happily. She dunks her face and thrashes a little to properly soak herself. He gently runs a soap bar over her until she’s nearly white from the suds, and lowers her into the water so only her head floats on the surface.

Once she’s clean, Howdy grabs a small hand towel off of a nearby shelf, soaks it, and piles it on the side of the tub. He places Wormie on it and she happily starts burrowing. It occurs to him that he could look for some sort of floatation device for her, so that she could splash around to her tiny heart’s content, but just the thought is exhausting. So, a waterlogged towel it is. 

Before Howdy completely ruins the water by scrubbing more blood and mud into it, he washes his hair. The rain had already undone the ‘do, so at least he doesn’t have to scrub out the styling paste. He squeezes the water out as best as he can and slicks it back.

Watching the red caking his skin dissipate into the water is nothing short of a relief. He stops when he gets to the minor injury Barnaby left him - he can’t tell if he bled or not. If he did, it was overshadowed by Barnaby’s blood. He sits on the edge of the tub to better inspect it.

The wounds are shallow and nothing to write home about. They don’t need bandaging, though even if they did, the time for that has long since passed. Barnaby must not be dulling his claws like he usually does. Thankfully they weren’t entirely sharp, or Howdy suspects he’d have much larger holes in his thigh. Three punctures on the outside, one on the inside. Howdy opens the water valve a smidge just to wet a fresh towelette and properly clean the wounds. It would help no one to get them infected - Poppy needs to save her energy for Barnaby.

By the time he’s satisfied with his cleanliness - if he weren’t so tired, he’d have gone for a fourth round of soap - Wormie is dozing in her damp towel. He opens the drain before grabbing a fresh hand towel, this one dry. He carefully lifts Wormie out of it and wraps her in the soft fabric. Her eyes open for only a moment before she settles again, purring. 

For a long few minutes, Howdy just sits and holds her, watching her antennae twitch as she falls asleep. He absentmindedly rubs the towel, and Wormie’s purring increases as she’s dried. 

The sound of the last of the water draining pulls Howdy’s attention away from the tiny animal. He carefully gets out of the tub and puts Wormie back on the table, still wrapped up. Once again, he looks longingly at his bed. 

Howdy dries off and dresses in loose sleep pants and leaves it at that, not wanting to bother with a shirt. He rarely sleeps with one on, anyway. Too much of a hassle. He slips Wormie out of her towel and brings her downstairs, once again having to move slowly with much paid attention as to not fall with his leaden legs.

Poppy emerges from the room as Howdy reaches the ground floor. She turns and startles. “Oh! Howdy, you startled me. You look much better… though your hair is still wet - you’ll catch a cold if you leave it like that.”

Is it? Howdy brushes his fingertips over cold strands plastered to his neck. Oops. 

“Are you alright? You look quite unsteady…” Poppy comes over to him and squawks softly, her neck pulling back. “Is that alcohol? Howdy, are you drunk?”

Howdy shrugs one shoulder. Talking takes focus and time, but he manages, “I may be a little tipsy. No worries.”

“Many worries, dear.” 

“How is he?” Howdy deflects as he walks past her, partially leaning against the wall. He nudges open the door and rests against the doorframe. The blankets cast over the small room’s bed rise and fall in stark contrast to how shallow Barnaby was breathing earlier. 

“On the mend,” Poppy murmurs, following him inside. He slumps into the armchair already pulled up to the bed. “He might sleep for some time… he’s been through quite an ordeal. Anyone would be tired after so much healing, let alone after… well.”

Howdy carefully places Wormie on Barnaby’s neck. She stirs, and starts forcibly purring as soon as she registers the shade of blue underneath her. She doesn’t perform her usual party-seizure like she usually does when seeing Barnaby - she just burrows into his fur. Howdy has to wonder if she’s simply exhausted, or if she can tell that something is wrong. 

“I don’t believe we’ll encounter any complications with his health, thank goodness” Poppy says. “By my estimates, he should be up and moving within the week. I’d like him to remain on bedrest for a few days more than strictly necessary, but I doubt he’ll want to stay put.”

If Howdy weren’t so worn out, he’d tear up yet again. 

Of course he won’t stay. Barnaby will charge out the door as soon as he’s able, hellbent as he is on finding Wally. No one can blame him. The others will likely continue the search tomorrow, if not the next day. All Howdy can hope is they find something promising for Barnaby to wake up to.

He crosses his upper arms on the bed and pillows his head on them. He fights to keep his eyelids open, watching Barnaby’s peaceful face. He looks calm, his features holding no hint of pain. A warm weight drapes over Howdy. 

He starts to lift his head, but Poppy says, “It’s just a blanket. Rest, Howdy, you need it. Barnaby will be here when you wake up.”

Howdy means to thank her, but the word comes out as a weary sigh. He lets his eyes slide shut, and slips into deep sleep a second later.

[inevitable-pretty-words]

Content – intimate whumper, hero x villain, villain with magical powers, fantasy whump, psychological whump, memory alteration, forced submission, dub-con kissing

"I'll probably have to erase your memories. Just as a precaution" Villain's calm voice rang out in the small room as he paced back and forth, not even looking at Hero.

"You're joking right?!"

Hero didn't want his voice to sound so hysterical. He also didn't want to endure Villain's serious look any longer, which only made him more aware of what a terrible situation he was in.

His eyes lingered on random objects, desperately searching for a way out. But he didn't find it. The Villain was blocking his path to the door and Hero realized painfully that there was no chance of getting past him and escaping through the narrow corridor. Not when he's like this. Not now. The only exit was the window he was standing next to. His heart skipped a beat as he thought about what this meant for him, but still, against all reason, his hand slowly moved towards the window handle.

"I don't advise it. You'll break your legs. And then I will come down to you and erase your memories anyway. You will only suffer unnecessarily" Villain said in an almost completely indifferent tone of voice, but there was a hint of concern in it.

Hero snorted, even though he knew Villain was right. And he hated him for it. He also hated the concern in his voice. As if he ever cared about his life and happiness.

"So I should just let you do it, right? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?!" Hero didn't want to scream, not again. But he couldn't help but be overcomed with emotions.

Villain stopped and looked at him for the first time since the incident.

"Yes. That will be better. For you. For me. I don't want to fight."

Villain continued to maintain his mask of indifference, and Hero hated the fact that he couldn't read his true emotions. He would have preferred anger because it was predictable, but now he had no idea what to expect.

"There must be another way. Anything else. I can stay silent and pretend I didn't see anything, I can..."

Villain interrupted him with a joyless laugh.

"We both know it won't work. You'll open your dirty mouth and blurt everything out at the end. Or worse, you'll try to help me. I won't let you do this." With each word, Villain got closer to Hero, who could no longer move back, pressed against the wall. He glanced out the window again, but quickly shook his head. The consequences would be too great.

So he risked looking into Villain's eyes and saw no uncertainty in them. He swallowed.

"I could at least try..." his voice was quieter this time, more shaky due to Villain's proximity. Great.

"Would you like to continue pretending to be a hero? It didn't work out last time."

Hero grimaced at the reference to recent events, but did not comment on his words, refusing to be provoked.

There was a sudden tension in the air, full of heavy memories that each of them preferred to keep silent for now.

“So you can see that I have no other choice, my dear,” Villain said after a long moment, breaking the silence.

Something about the way he said that endearment made Hero's heart skip a beat, but he quickly came to his senses, remembering his threat.

"You're an escapist, you know? You would do anything to avoid the consequences, to start over..."

Instead of the expected anger, Hero saw only calmness in Villain, with a hint of amusement at his feeble attempts to distract him to escape.

"What's wrong with escapism, hmm?" he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind Hero's ear.

Hero shuddered, his thoughts made no sense, and for a moment he focused only on the touch on his cheek, on the warmth of Villain's hand, on the knowledge that if only the situation was different, he could kiss him here and now.

"Don't try to avoid it," Villain whispered tenderly into his ear, aware of the effect it was having on him. "Just give up. Submit. It'll hurt you less than if I had to force you to do it."

But I don't want to have my memories deleted, Hero wanted to say, but the prepared words disappeared from his head as soon as Villain ran his hand through his hair. Hero sighed.

Villain suddenly pulled away to look into his eyes. Hero closed it in a sudden panic.

"What exactly do you want to delete? How many days?" he managed to say in a trembling voice.

"Just today," Villain assured him, smiling. "Removing more memories would affect you too much. And we don't want that, right?"

Hero just nodded, not noticing the strange gleam in Villain's eyes.

"And if you're going to forget anyway..." Villain approached him again and kissed him gently on the lips.

Hero had no idea what had just happened. His heart was racing and he felt that his cheeks were completely red. He kept repeating the question in his mind: why, why, why, why, why? But he received no answer.

Villain placed his hand on his blushed cheek again and stared into his eyes as if he wanted to remember the sight. And then he kissed him again, this time on the forehead.

"Sorry." Hero heard a quiet whisper and didn't know how to react. And if any of his reactions would have changed Villain's mind at all. Probably not.

That's why when Villain looked at him again, Hero didn't close his eyes.

A sharp, stabbing pain immediately shot through his head, and Hero couldn't help but hiss and crouch down as if it would protect him.

But Villain then moved his hand to his chin and forced him to straighten up and look him in the eye.

"You're unconsciously resisting, that's why it hurts. Stop it, Hero. Give up, enough of this fighting. It will be better for you this way" his sweet, calm voice made Hero start to calm down involuntarily. The feeling that he was going to cry disappeared. The pain subsided.

And then, as soon as he felt someone infiltrating his mind, searching through his memories, Hero submitted and everything went dark.

[the-modern-typewriter]

If you're looking for any prompts; hero/villain where the hero needs to get out of the villains grasp but can't and as a last ditch effort kisses the villain in a panic, hoping it'll startle them enough to let them go. Surprisingly it works. mlm if you're feeling up for it! (I ADORE you're hero/villain stuff and you're writing is a huge inspiration!!)

He kissed the villain.

It was a clumsy kiss, a mashing of lips, a bumping of noses and then -

The villain recoiled just as something sparked between them, so hard that he hit the opposite wall with a thud. He clamped a hand over his mouth.

The hero panted for breath. He should have taken the opportunity to run - that was why he'd kissed the villain in the first place - but something about the villain's expression froze him in place.

If the villain had looked disgusted, he might have laughed it off. If he'd looked dazed or distracted, the hero would already have gone. But he looked...

"Are you okay?" the hero asked.

The villain was shaking.

"Come on, I'm not that bad a kisser," the hero said. Maybe it was a trap. A con. He definitely should have already ran but...

"I'm sorry," the hero said.

"Why would you do that?"

"I - I just wanted to distract you. I panicked."

"You panicked?"

That was probably really offensive.

"Your panic reaction," the villain pressed, "is a kiss? Or, what, you just want to kiss me that bad that it was at the forefront of your mind?"

The hero swallowed. They floundered. "I'm sorry if I - are you okay?"

"It's rude to kiss people without consent," the villain said, a little closer to their normal tone. "You know that, yes?"

"It felt kinder than, I don't know, non-consensually kicking you in the balls."

The villain snorted.

The hero edged a step back, but, like a fool, still didn't run. The villain had let go of him, though. Running was a possibility without those steely, impossibly strong arms holding him in place.

Lord, why wasn't he running?

The villain's gaze roamed over his face, lingering on his lips.

"So I assume you're, like, seeing someone," the hero said, taking another step back. He ignored the weird feeling in his gut.

"No."

"You don't like kissing?"

"I don't owe you an explanation," the villain snapped. "You're not supposed to kiss me."

"You seemed like you were definitely enjoying it for a second there. Also, you're staring at my mouth, mate."

The villain's gaze shot away. His shoulders squared, jaw clenching.

"Just want to know that you're okay and that I haven't triggered a trauma or anything," the hero said. "I wasn't thinking. I - I really am sorry."

"This is the most I've ever heard you apologise."

The villain didn't normally look like that. He was still pressed against the wall, rather than lunging, even with the obvious conversation about distractions. His hand was still shaking slightly.

The villain stuffed his hand behind his back when he caught the hero watching.

Maybe the villain was stalling for time, and back up.

The hero didn't think he was stalling.

"I kill anyone I kiss," the villain said, after a moment. "Properly kiss. It takes a moment for the curse to take affect."

"...are you serious right now?"

The villain gave him a withering look.

"That's very scary and all," the hero said, "but it doesn't answer my question."

"Yes, I'm serious! Want me to kiss you so you can find out?"

The hero's brow furrowed. If that was true, then the villain's reaction, his shaking hands..."Oh my god you were worried about me. You're protecting me."

"If I wanted to kill you-" The villain began, testily.

"No, no, you don't need to get defensive. I know you're not - like - secretly a marshmallow."

They both eyed each other for a moment. The villain's gaze had paused on the hero's lips again, filled with enough longing that it made the hero's chest cleave and his mouth go dry.

"Is it just your mouth?" the hero asked.

"What?"

"The killer kissing thing. Just your mouth? Or, like, if anyone kisses you anywhere."

"Just my mouth. Not that it's any of your-"

The hero stepped close, and pressed a kiss to the villain's cheek.

The villain's breath hitched. He looked dazed. Distracted.

"Shame," the hero murmured, and brushed a thumb over the villain's lower lip, watching their eyes go doe-wide and wanting. "Because kissing you actually was on the forefront of my mind."

"O-oh."

He pressed another kiss to the villain's neck, feeling his pulse race, feeling his head tip back against the wall in offering.

"Thanks for not killing me," the hero said, against his ear. "Let's pick this up another time, yeah?"

Then, he ran.

He heard the villain curse and take chase.

But it felt better than before.

[thepenultimateword]

Sneak Peak...

...of something I'm writing right now.

"She doesn’t look particularly well-fed to me. Release her.”

The guards broke under the second order; the hold abruptly lifted, and having been half-supported by such, Bryony fell forward onto her hands.

“What is a vampire doing trespassing on Wulfhelm property? My guards think you’re here for me.” He fluffed the fur on one cheek. “I wouldn’t blame you. However, the unconventional manner of your break-in raises some doubts.”

“What break-in?” Bryony said. “I came up the walk like any other civilized person.”

“My point exactly.”

[cpt-winters]

Lil' Bit of Medieval Whump

Whumpee gasped for air as Whumper yanked at the chain, giving it no slack as they strutted across the feasting hall. Whumpee's fingers clenched around the collar tightened around his neck, a futile effort to ease it as Whumper tugged on the chain.

The heavy oak doors slammed closed behind the two, commanding the attention of each of the warriors filling the room.

Whumpee's cheeks flushed crimson at the humiliation as he stumbled behind Whumper, struggling to preserve a slither of dignity by avoiding being dragged toward the Warlord.

"You treat him like a dog," the Warlord sighed as Whumper approached and took their seat to his right, forcing Whumpee to kneel beside them.

"Why shouldn't I? He has been defeated,” Whumper declared proudly, shooting Whumpee a smile as he glared back from his spot on the floor.

"I will choke you with this chain..." Whumpee growled quietly. His gaze was abruptly pulled from the floor as Whumper jerked the chain, forcing their eyes to meet.

"What was that, Knight?" Whumper taunted.

"N-nothing," came the strangled reply.

"Where is your honour, Whumper? “ the Warlord questioned, shaking his head as he took a sip from his goblet. “He was a great warrior.”

"Was, Lord,” Whumper corrected, finally releasing Whumpee from their grip. “And now he may serve as a trophy. Nothing more.”