#hapless humanoids

[pegraham]

Now available at jms-books, on kindle, and everywhere ebooks are sold!

When rugby star Jesse Brannon buys the house of his dreams in the small coastal town he grew up in, the sea calls to him. While diving through the reefs and kelp forest of the private bay, he comes across something unexpected -- an injured merman. His late mother always told him there were mermaids in the water, but Jesse never thought she really meant it.

As Jesse does his best to help the lonely, injured merman recover, he finds himself falling in love. The two of them grow closer, learn how to communicate, and overcome their differences in anatomy, but the impossibility of a future together starts to weigh on Jesse. Time is running out and Jesse will have to leave the house by the bay as soon as the new season starts. Will his new mate understand and wait for him, or will he lose him forever?

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike pt 2

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” I did my best for an ace x ace relationship, based on personal experience. Both parties are moderately sex favorable since writing from my own experience is easiest, so I’m not sure if this counts as QPR. Written mostly in spite over all the Alastor smut. And overly innocent reader inserts. I don’t mind some smut but c’mon people.]

[Part 2/2 Word count 6520/12026]

[cw: blood, gore, violence, attempted sexual assault, fluff]

———————

You woke up. Had it been just a nightmare? You reached for Alastor next to you but your hand hit stone. Not even the sheets on your bed; stone. You bolted upright, eyes snapping open. You saw a vibrant red sky and a myriad of unfamiliar buildings. All the architecture had spikes or teeth or eyes incorporated. A sign nearby proclaimed Welcome to Hell! It’s terrible here!

Not a nightmare. You were dead, shot moments after Alastor. At least you took out the bastard that killed him. You hadn’t been a religious person but tracked you would end up here. If there was any mercy in the afterlife, you would find your husband nearby.

Of course he wouldn’t be. You were in Hell and it’s terrible here. You did see a number of…creatures around. Mostly humanoid but with additional features. Fur, feathers, tails, extra eyes, tentacles, scales, gears, wires, horns, flames. All that and more. Were these devils?

As you stood up you caught a glimpse of your own arm. Your taloned hands were red, before abruptly changing to a pale white on your upper arms. From what you could see of your shoulders they were covered in black feathers. Your legs were similar, red at the heeled feet that changed to white above the knee. You couldn’t tell what your torso looked like; you were wearing a silver dress with vermilion threads woven along the length. It looked like your favorite show outfit, just in a different color.

You steadied yourself, already missing Alastor’s presence. You felt a rustling sensation on your back; did you have something stuck there? Reaching back you found feathers. As you tried to brush them away, the odd sensation of something touching your hair made you jump.

Were those… your feathers? You walked along the street and got a look at yourself in a shop window. Sprouting from your back were wings, mostly black feathers with a white patch. Your face now had an avian look but was still recognizable as yours. It was mostly bright white with with a black mask over your eyes. Your hair was now a gleaming grey, with a red hat pinned on. To complete the look, you had a feathered tail sprouting above your buttocks.

You recognized the bird you resembled. The loggerhead shrike, the butcher-bird.

“Well lookie here, we got us a brand new little birdie.” A shark-like man slinked up to you. “A cute one too. Why don’t you come with us like a good birdie, we’ll treat you real nice.” He grinned, showing serrated teeth. Other creatures joined him with equally sadistic expressions.

Of course you had scum like this to deal with. You were in Hell and it’s terrible here. “Out of my way, lowlife. I don’t have time to deal with you.” You pushed him away with the back of your hand to walk past.

“It wasn’t a question bitch. You’re coming with us.” A clammy hand grabbed your wrist. Before you could even really think about it, you were swinging your other arm at him. You were suddenly holding a stiletto blade which you jabbed into his forearm. Black blood spurted out when you removed your blade.

You spun away as the shark shrieked. Now you had a stiletto in each hand. Your feathers were bristling, your wings spreading behind you. “Back OFF!” Your high pitched voice, louder than it ever was when you were alive, made all of them flinch. On instinct you hopped a bit and a flap of your wings slammed the hapless creatures into buildings from the downdraft.

It propelled you to the rooftops. Not ready to take full flight yet, you landed. The demons below were writhing in agony. You took another look at your hands, this time with almost delicate looking blades in your palms. “Ah, mais oui, a gal can get used to this.”

————

It took you five years to find Alastor. As it happened Hell, even just the Pride Ring where Sinners like yourself could be, was a very big place. But if you were here, able to survive, your husband had to be as well. You made a living (ha!) the same as before, singing for your supper. You had no interest in being an Overlord, but you did get a reputation for swift retribution to those that crossed you. Demons who tried to violate your boundaries quickly found out your stilettos were unending, razor sharp, and accurate. Whether they were alive to tell the tale depending on if they were smart enough to back away.

You got the nickname of “Singing Shrike” in Pentagram City. It suited you fine. Especially since you hoped Alastor would recognize it.

You survived the annual exterminations and steadily worked your way through the city. There were so many different districts and the population was ever changing. At least one area you didn’t have to explore was the Red Light District. You doubted death would change Alastor’s indifference to those activities.

When the radios started broadcasting tormented screams, you were surprised as any other demon. Not disturbed though, it was Hell and you’d heard similar ones in life. But the fact they went out over the radio made you wonder…

The broadcasts continued on as Overlords disappeared throughout the city. Then one day: “Salutations Sinners and welcome to the broadcast! I’m Alastor the Radio Demon, I’m so glad you’re all tuning in. I’d like to thank you all for listening to the previews of this broadcast’s main segment, ‘Overlords Overthrown.’ Without further ado, I’d like to present our newest participant!”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears. But there was no mistaking that voice or that demeanor. Of course your Alastor would be the “Radio Demon.” Now that you knew he was active in Hell, you just had to find him.

He would be at a broadcast tower right now. With a few strong flaps you launched into the red sky. There were multiple possibilities but if you had to guess, it would be the tallest one. It was near Cannibal Town, an area you hadn’t been to before. It was on the other side of the city and even with wings you took awhile to get there.

As you got close, you saw a tall lean demon exiting the station. He was a vibrant red from the tips of his ears to the hems of his well tailored suit. From above, you couldn’t see his face but his gait was all too familiar. It had to be him.

And to clinch it, another demon emerged from a nearby café. As blonde and as curvy as she had been in real life, Mimzy. You didn’t realize she was in Hell too. “Alastor, a fabulous show as usual, you never disappoint, doll face.”

He gave his theatrical laugh. “Ha ha! As you know, anything worth doing is worth doing well!” His voice sounded like it was still coming over a radio.

You landed a few yards in front of them, finally getting a good look at the male demon’s face. The features were sharper and his grin was filled with pointed teeth but that was your husband. His hairstyle was vastly different from life and he had tiny antlers peeking out from the red mop.

“Y/N? Cher?” The radio crackle on his voice disappeared for a moment.

“Alastor,” you breathed, but unable to get out more than that. In an instant he was sweeping you into his arms in a bridal carry, spinning joyfully.

“Ma cher, I never thought I’d see you again. The worst part of Hell has been knowing I left you alone.”

You couldn’t help but tear up. “Alastor, I’m so sorry about that night. If I hadn’t distracted you… maybe we’d still be alive.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I never blamed you Y/N. But this isn’t the proper place for a reunion between husband and wife.” To your surprise, green edged black energy enveloped you both. You could still feel Alastor’s arms around you but the rest of your senses disappeared. “Just a moment my dear, we’ll be home soon,” his voice echoed around you.

The darkness fell away, revealing a room inspired by your home in life. One jarring difference was a missing wall that instead led into a bayou. He kept you in his arms as he settled onto a couch. The familiar surroundings and relief at finding him proved to be too much. Face buried in his red jacket, you collapsed into tears.

Alastor held you as he had many times before. He knew the best thing was for you to let it all out and to be ready with a handkerchief when you needed it. Which he was, holding his out when you finally raised your head. You dabbed at your eyes carefully. He chuckled, “Well my dear, at least you don’t have to worry about ruining your makeup with your new look.”

You laughed despite yourself. “That is a relief. One less thing to worry about.” You leaned back into his embrace, unconsciously wrapping your wings around you both. His head whipped back and forth, taking in this new development.

“Sorry ma cher, should I put them down?”

“Hmm, I believe they’re fine. It was simply unexpected. It’s…actually pleasant for you to be wrapped around me for once.”

“It can’t be any more unexpected than being whisked away in shadows. Any other gal would have jumped out of her skin cher. Or feathers for that matter.”

That was enough to get the two of you talking about the last five years. You learned about how he started taking out Overlords for the pure challenge and entertainment of it. The result was he was becoming an Overlord, specifically of the area next to Cannibal Town. He demonstrated some of what his shadows could do for you.

For your part you told him the rest of what happened that final night. When he learned you killed the man who shot him within moments, his gleeful smile nearly split his face in two. “That’s my darling wife,” he praised you. Your exploration of the city and the reputation you had garnered seemed to pale in comparison to what Alastor had been up to. Nonetheless he listened in fascination. Evidently the perspective of the city you brought him was something he could use in his upcoming plans. You showed him what you had learned of the wind you controlled and the stilettos you produced from nothingness.

Soon the two of you were preparing dinner together. Jambalaya, it really was a favorite of his. He assured you the meat hadn’t come from Cannibal Town; while he indulged he wasn’t about to make you eat it as well.

You didn’t have any nightclothes with you, but this was your husband. He’d seen you in all states of dress and cleanliness. So you undressed, keeping just the dress slip on. Alastor stripped off his suit down to his drawers. The bed was a replica of what you had shared in life and you settled into it with him as naturally as before. The main differences were his claws brushing your feathers and your wing covering you both.

Sighing deeply, Alastor pressed his lips against against your hair. “Thank you for finding me, cher.” You couldn’t help but smile at how his words matched your wedding night. Relaxing into sleep, you murmured “I’ll always find you cher.”

Mimzy was the only demon you encountered that had known you both in life. Those familiar with Alastor or yourself in Hell were flabbergasted seeing you stroll together. Since you once again moved into his home most of the gawkers had experience with your husband.

Seeing a strange demon on his arm turned heads; first that the untouchable Radio Demon had a girl, second that she was happy holding her own with the Radio Demon. When you ventured to your old haunts the reaction were similar. The Singing Shrike was allowing anyone to touch her without ending up impaled and that the Shrike had a beau.

One of few that wasn’t terribly surprised was Rosie, the cheerful Overlord of Cannibal Town. Alastor brought you around to her Emporium, introducing you as his “darling life and death partner, Y/N.” Her blank black eyes widened in realization as her toothy smile grew.

You got along fabulously with Rosie, much better than your acquaintances when you were alive. Maybe because you felt freer in Hell, maybe because she never once questioned your relationship with Alastor. According to the residents in her district she was very perceptive about matters of the heart. Whatever the reason, you enjoyed relaxing and performing in Cannibal Town. It turned out you were fond of pinkie fingers; many times you’d be listening to Alastor’s broadcast while enjoying a cup of tea and your gruesome snack.

Power plays in the city came and went. You avoided the annual exterminations together. Not that they mattered much, there was always more Sinners dying. Some tried and succeeded in gaining a foothold and eventually a base of power in the city. Others…well they tried.

You still weren’t interested in being an Overlord yourself. Alastor wasn’t really either truth be told. It just sort of happened, with the deal making and killing various powerful demons. You both built alliances and rivalries over time, with the two states changing within moments on occasion.

One demon in particular became a pain in both your sides. Vox arrived in Hell a few decades after you and Alastor. The television headed demon was originally cordial with Alastor and charming to you. Alastor, despite not caring for technology developed after his death, recognized Vox’s ability and had a measure of respect for him. You found him amusing, so long as he understood your relationship with Alastor was non negotiable. As time passed, Alastor and Vox’s opinions of each other shifted. What started as friendly banter turned into hostile bickering and then outright violence. The first time they tussled, they both backed down when they realized how even the match was.

You of course helped your husband retreat. A newly dead creature, Valentino, assisted Vox. You hated him on sight; both of you were defending your counterparts when he started flirting with you, so blatantly that even you realized it. The scum blew a cloud of red smoke in your direction. A flicker of couple feathers summoned a harsh gust, destroying the smoke and tearing the hat and tinted glasses off his bug head. You followed up with a stiletto flying through the air, aimed to graze his coat directly over his groin. It tore a chunk of the fur lining off as it whizzed past, impaling the ground next to Vox’s head.

After that, hostilities between the four of you only increased. Valentino never approached you alone; maybe he found out what shrikes did to the bugs they killed. Vox, on the other hand, started making passes at you whenever he could. He knew very well how long lasting your relationship with Alastor was. He also knew how disinterested you were in anything approaching sex. It seemed he was trying to seduce you purely to make Alastor retaliate.

Your husband, although he seethed in private, never did. He didn’t have to after all. The day you had enough, you grabbed Vox’s tie with a smile. Thrilled that he finally wore you down, Vox didn’t notice you setting your feet. He towered over you and like so many others didn’t realize how strong you were. So when you spun and flipped him into the ground, he was surprised enough that his screen went blank. By the time his face returned, a dozen of your blades materialized to pin his clothes to the ground. You used the hilt of another to crack his screen.

“If you ever try that again, I’ll fill you with so many holes that every demon in the city will be able to use you as a power outlet.” You pressed a toe against his neck. “Do I make myself clear?” He couldn’t actually move his head but Vox made his face bob up and down on the screen. “Lovely.”

There was an uneasy stalemate for years. It wasn’t until after the turn of the century that Alastor and Vox clashed again. Maybe it was the influence of that aggressive new girl Velvette that prompted it, but Vox started going after your husband again. A fight as big as their first major match erupted one day. Predictably, the two were equally wounded. Unpredictably, you couldn’t locate Alastor after he retreated into his shadows.

You knew he wasn’t double dead. The two of you had created charms for each other that would let you know if the other died. With how uncertain the afterlife could be, it was one source of comfort. So the music note finial on your hat pin imbued with a bit of his shadows gave you that good news at least.

But you couldn’t find him. What could possibly have happened? Days stretched into months and years with no clue. The Vees (the trio called themselves now) were happy to flaunt Alastor’s absence, both to Hell and you in particular. You found yourself checking on that bit of shadow often, just as reassurance.

Seven years later, you had stepped up as Overlord in Alastor’s loose territory. The broadcast station became a recording studio under you, Songbird Studios. That was when you caught a glimpse of one of Vox’s shows. You were heading back after finishing a deal with a promising new voice when you heard “So the Radio Demon is back in town, why’s he hanging around, what does that mean for your family?” You glared at the screen. He was at Charlie Morningstar’s new venture, the Hazbin Hotel.

Furiously, leapt to the sky. Demons were knocked to the ground in your wake but you had more important things on your mind. The hotel itself was just outside the city proper. As you approached it, all the lights in Pentagram City blinked out. The hotel was unaffected and you could see a small broadcast tower with an ON AIR sign attached to the building. You could have burst into his studio. But the downside of being an Overlord is you had people to look after now. At least I know where you are cher, you thought, changing course for home.

It took a few weeks to get everything set up. You didn’t want everything to fall apart in what could be an extended absence. So you ensured both the studio and your territory would be fine with minimal input for at least a couple months.

Then you couldn’t wait any longer. But even as a demon you were a lady. Decorum then. So you entered through the front door. The slightly dilapidated building was contrasted by the sunny voice saying “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”

From the opposite direction you heard a familiar world weary voice. “Y/N! The fuck are you doing here?” Husk yelled upon seeing you. “Oh, do you know each other?” The chipper young woman introduced herself as Charlie Morningstar, the hotel owner.

“Wonderful to meet you Charlie. My name is Y/N and yes, Husk and I have known each other for a long time.”

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet one of your friends, Husk!”

“Ah, actually Charlie-“ he started to say but you hopped up on a barstool and gave the former Overlord a broad smile. “Husk dear, I feel parched. I don’t suppose you have some good whiskey here?” The poor man took the hint and shut his mouth. He poured you a drink while Charlie bounced away, saying she’d let you two catch up.

“Soooo, listened to any good radio shows lately?” Husk’s ears twitched in agitation at your question.

“Just the one,” he replied while wiping down glasses. “Look, Y/N, you’re not gonna…” he trailed off, not even sure how to continue. Despite having made a deal with Alastor and interacting with you both regularly, he’d never seen you two fight.

“Alors pas! I’m not here to make any trouble bon ami. But after seven years I deserve a little fun, yes?” Any response he would have made was cut off by Alastor himself coming downstairs. He froze at the bottom as he saw who was at the bar.

One of the demons in the parlor popped up. “Something wrong smiles? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or some tits,” the white spidery demon said suggestively. You finished your drink before hopping down.

“Alastor, ma cher! I’ve been so worried!” Another demon, a black snake also perked up and the two men looked back and forth between you two.

“Actually, she’s Alastor’s wife,” Husk informed everyone present as you trotted up to him. Predictably, the unfamiliar demons in earshot all yelled, “His WIFE?”

The last few feet you used your breezes to give you a foothold off the ground. Alastor had been taller than you in life and his elongated demonic form towered over you. With practice you’d figured this technique out. It was useful not only in a fight but to put yourself at eye level with others.

His smile never faded but you could tell he was nervous. “Y/N, cher…I…” he fell silent as you hooked a talon under his chin. “Seven years you’ve been gone darling. And nothing when you got back? Ma cher, you are in trouble.”

His ears flicked nervously as you propelled yourself slightly higher than him. You kept your talon in place. “Shall we discuss this elsewhere Alastor?” His hand shook slightly as he took yours. “Of course my dear, let's go somewhere with less of an audience.”

You hand in his arm, he led you to his suite. In the foyer you could hear “awww, they’re so cute! how the fuck is tall dark and spooky married? well…likely one proposssed and the other sssaid yesss-, not what I meant buddy, hey don’t look at me I ain’t their chaperone.”

Once in his room (which had the same house/bayou motif as your home) you hugged him tightly around the waist. His arms were frozen in surprise above you; it wasn’t in your nature to be this forward and spontaneous with physical touch. “Cher, I-“

“Shut up Alastor.” You dug your talons in just enough to give a bite to your words. “I’m angry with you and I missed you and I’ve been so worried and the only reason I knew you were here was because of that pissing contest you got into the other day. So shut up until I’m ready cher.” One of his hands lowered to your shoulder and patted a silent yes.

It was a few moments before you spoke again. “Take me to the couch and start explaining darling.” You could feel the amusement and relief from his posture as he scooped you up.

“Where should I start cher?”

“That fight seven years ago. You and Vox got into a fight, you went into your shadow, then nothing. I knew you were alive but I couldn’t find you. I said I’d always find you.”

“You did find me my dear. As to what occurred…” he explained how a third party had interfered with the fight, injuring both him and Vox. How that third party had followed his weakened shadow, cornering him. How he’d been forced into a deal with that third party. Who that party was and what little of the deal he could tell you.

“Well shit. And your being here has something to do with the deal?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you come home though?! Even after the deal was struck, at least I could have been there for you!”

“Y/N, I’d just been trapped like I’d done to so many others. They played me and I danced right along. How could I bear to face you then?”

“Mais la, cher! I wouldn’t have cared.” You sighed and leaned back to look at him. “C’est la mort. We’re together again now and I’m not letting you go it alone again.” He blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that. “I haven’t just been pining all this time you know. Someone had to take over your territory and I wasn’t about to let one of those bratty Vees have it.”

He brought your hand to his cheek and nuzzled it affectionately. “My dear shrike, you never disappoint.”

“I’m sure the young Miss Morningstar would welcome some more protection for the hotel. And it seems the place is lacking in entertainment.”

“Right you are on both counts my dear!” He sounded back to his old chipper self. “Shall we introduce you to this delightful collection of misfits and reassure them you haven’t flayed me alive?”

“One more thing.” He cocked an eyebrow in question. “May I kiss you first?” His smile softened as he nodded. You kissed him deeper than usual, stroking his hair as you did so. Alastor’s long arms wrapped around your back as he accepted the kiss. “Much better,” you said as you pulled back.

“I’d rather not go seven years between kisses my dear, but that was a nice reintroduction.” With that he escorted you back downstairs. You hadn’t been gone long and even if you had, Alastor’s unknown wife showing up to berate him was too good to miss.

Once again he introduced you as “darling life and death partner, Y/N.” Charlie, ever the bubbly hostess immediately shook your hand before introducing the residents. To no surprise Alastor had brought Niffty here to do the housekeeping. “Y/N!” She shrieked in a pure moment of Niffty mania and dashing around you. “I’ve missed you too ma petite!”

“So uhhhhh, how long you two been together?” The lanky spider called Angel Dust asked as Alastor helped you to a seat.

“Hmmm… how long has it been cher?” Alastor mused aloud.

“We did stop counting after the first fifty years or so but I believe it’s been nearly a century since the wedding.” Jaws dropped at your statement. Alastor kissed your knuckles gently. “And my dear husband is just as charming and gallant as ever.”

“Wow, that’s incredible! It’s so sweet you’ve been a couple for this long! How did the two of you meet anyway?” Charlie, in all her sweetness, asked innocently.

“It’s a tad embarrassing, but we killed a man together.” You could almost hear something pop in Charlie’s brain. Her girlfriend, Vaggie, looked thrilled.

“Yes indeedy! Some ne’er-do-well attacked her on her walk home. When I arrived to assist, the lout was distracted enough that Y/N was able to stab him in the eye. Why, I’d never seen anything quite so beautiful as such a lovely little thing jamming her hat pin into her assailant! I quickly finished dispatching the man before escorting her the rest of the way home.”

You looked at him with affection. “That led to him walking with me in the evening and one thing led to another until here we are!” Vaggie’s eye was shining, Charlie was frozen, the rest of the group could only blink in shock. “Husk, why are you so surprised, I thought we’d told you before!”

“About the attack, yeah, not that you killed him.”

“I would have thought that was implied, my good man,” your husband said dryly.

“Okay okay, murder as a date night activity aside,” Angel said, gesturing with his top set of arms. “Back to the important things. Ain’t Al…do ya…have ya ever…” not quite able to find the words he formed a circle with one hand. He inserted the pointer finger of another into it, making a back and forth motion. Both you and Alastor tilted your heads in confusion, not recognizing the gesture. “Aw geez there’s two a’ him and they’re married. D’you two fuck?”

“Ooooh! Is that what that means?” You experimented making the same gesture. “Now I get it! This finger is the penis and this is the vagina!”

“Hmm,” Alastor inspected your hands. “Shouldn’t this hand make more of an oval shape then?” He squished your hand slightly to elongate the shape. “I think it’s easier to just make a circle darling. And I suppose it could be other orifices.”

“But do you two have sssex?” Sir Pentious interjected, bringing things back to the original question.

“Of course we do!” Alastor chirped. Angel looked equally horrified and amused, Charlie was still frozen, the rest just looked stunned. “How?!” Angel finally asked, fighting back laughter.

“Infrequently and with great vigor,” you replied in a cheerful, succinct manner. Husk pulled his ears down groaning, “I don’t need to hear this, this is like hearing my parents behind the door.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough about Alastor and Y/N’s sex life!” Vaggie halted anything else you and your husband might have said. “Are you going to move in too Y/N?”

“That was the idea if you’ll have me. It seems like this place could use some entertainment and more security.”

“And my dear Y/N is a dab hand at both! She isn’t called the Singing Shrike for nothing.”

“Of course we’ll have you!” Charlie finally snapped out of her daze at the thought of a new resident. “Everyone’s welcome at the Hazbin Hotel!”

Moving into Alastor’s hotel suite was fairly simple. You grabbed a few items from home and made sure your subordinates knew how to reach you in an emergency. It would have felt like a bit of a vacation with the lack of Overlord responsibilities. But the updated extermination schedule did cast a pall over things.

After Charlie’s disastrous audience with Heaven, you and Alastor decided on your plans. He would work with Charlie to get support in exchange for a deal with him. Meanwhile you would head to your territory.

Fortunately everything looked in order when you arrived. Proper delegation had its perks. You requested everyone’s presence at one of the theaters. Most of the Sinners that followed you were some sort of forest creature; birds, rabbits, foxes, lizards, and the occasional deer. The majority were musicians or actors, performers of a multitude of genres. They were fiercely defensive, hurt one and the rest would destroy the offender.

Explaining the situation, you asked for volunteers. This wasn’t a turf war over home ground and you weren’t about to order anyone. Surprisingly, almost all you followers were ready to go. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising, almost everyone in Hell had beef with angels.

You appointed two of the strongest to stay back, along with half of the volunteers. If something happened to you or Alastor, you wouldn’t put it past those brats from the Vees to attempt a takeover. All of the demons you brought had flight abilities, which meant your songbirds could handle the aerial combat. Your contingent arrived just after the cannibals and Carmine’s weapon delivery.

“Ah there’s my darling and her flock!” You landed next to Alastor and Rosie, giving your friend a hug as you did. “Y/N! I was surprised you weren’t with your hubby but I see you’ve been busy too!”

“We have a lot to do and less time to do it, we can be attached at the hip after the fight,” you said as Alastor took your hand.

“Well I’m glad to see my favorite pair of aces back together. Let’s get all these fine demons settled, hm?” With your territories being neighbors, there was familiarity and even a few friends between the cannibals and your songbirds.

—————

Extermination Day. It didn’t matter how ready the defenders of Hell were, it was time. Almost everyone was in battle gear. You had traded in your sparkly flapper dress for a more practical A-line that reached your knees. You’d attempted a suit but the trousers just felt wrong. So a silvery grey dress with vibrant red pinstripes. The hem had long black points all along it, evocative of your blades. Since your summoned weaponry wouldn’t hurt an angel you had a rapier and half a dozen stilettos that would.

Alastor had requested a custom piece from Carmilla, a hat pin made of angelic steel. The finial had a spray of red feathers and he’d imbued it with a fragment of shadow. In return, you’d given him cufflinks shaped like vibrant red eyes. Of course they had a touch of your winds, not only to let him know you were okay but for you to track him if need be.

All too soon, the sky opened up and the exorcists spewed into Hell. At Vaggie’s war cry you and your followers took to the air. You looked for Alastor and saw him atop the hotel. No changes to his outfit, he looked impeccable as ever. His maniacal laugh echoed in the air as his shield formed an orb around the battle.

You and your flock were tasked with knocking angels out of the sky. Some did this by stooping like hawks, others used the angels own weapons to injure their wings. Your wind magick sent them tumbling into each other. Any that got too close to you were impaled or found you making the most of your momentum to fling them to the ground, mimicking how shrikes gave their prey whiplash.

A loud crack, golden light spreading through the black orb, and Alastor’s shield fell. He’d suspected that might happen and was ready to take Adam on. You didn’t concern yourself about their fight, even when your husband’s form grew. What did concern you was the slice of angelic power that dispersed it. Another swipe from Adam had Alastor flying across the rooftop.

“ALASTOR!” If all of Hell didn’t hear you then clearly they weren’t listening. No no no no not again I won’t lose him again. You stabbed the angel you were fighting in the throat and propelled yourself to his side. You landed protectively over his curled body. For the first time in decades you let your true form show.

Your wings turned metallic, silver and gold, and grew twice their size. They gained an art deco appearance but were as functional as ever. Your face became more avian. You had a hooked beak and your red limbs glowed as your talons sharpened. Dozens of your blades danced in the air around you and your husband.

“Back OFF!” You screeched at the angel’s leader. Wind kicked up by your voice tore at his clothes and wings.

“The fuck are you supposed to be crazy bitch?!” He launched a bolt of light at you; you parried it with stilettos but it was a near thing and it took out a third of what you had summoned.

“Y/N. His wife, you limp dicked bastard.” You launched the rest of your blades at him; they formed a rope like column that battered at him. You knew they wouldn’t be able to hurt him but you were looking for an opening with your rapier.

He fired wildly, yelling “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking bitch!” You moved to strike when three stray bolts peppered you. Two hit a wing, one your shoulder. With a screech you missed the opportunity and fell next to Alastor.

Suddenly your husband grabbed your arm. “Have to disagree with you there!” He said in a singsong. He made sure his grip on you was secure. “Radio’s not dead, but it is ending this broadcast.” His shadows wrapped around you both. As you were swept away you heard Adam say “Bye bitches!”

A tiny part of you felt bad, leaving everyone like that. The majority was grateful you and Alastor were alive. You were used to traveling in his shadow by now, so the sensory deprivation didn’t bother you like it once had.

But the loss of direction was unusual. “Alastor…?”

A moment passed. “I’m here cher.” He sounded in pain.

“Where are we going?” you managed to ask. You weren’t in great shape either honestly.

Another long moment. “I don’t know.” A shudder from the darkness around you. “I just had to get us away.” As much as you wanted to know what was happening beyond the shadow, you didn’t try to get out. You weren’t sure you’d be able to right now. Even if you did, you might just damage Alastor more.

Then a gold light showed even through the magick shadow. Immediately you were falling, still wrapped in darkness. You could feel Alastor’s desperation as the shadows stretched, trying to find…something! Some purchase or anchor to stop the fall. He managed to latch on a couple of times but couldn’t get a good enough grip. The last desperate grasp broke you both out of the darkness.

You found yourself falling down a chasm, pieces of the hotel falling with you. Alastor’s arms wrapped around you, his eyes shut tight as he braced for impact. Fuck! You struggled to flap your wings. The injured one didn’t work right. The other strained to support you both, unable to manage more than slowing the fall.

Wind! Come on come on! You focused, creating a cushion of swirling air around you. Just in time, it dampened the impact, turning a fatal fall into a bruising one.

The two of you landed in a parody of your sleeping positions. “Ow,” you said once you had enough air in your lungs.

Alastor couldn’t respond for a moment. “Ow indeed cher.” He winced as he sat up. “You saved us though my dear.” He helped you sit up slowly.

“Third time’s the charm.” At his quizzical look you clarified, “I couldn’t save you when you were shot or in that fight with Vox. But I managed it finally.”

“Saving it for when it counts cher.” The two of you could hear echoes from the battle above. A voice roaring “GO HOME” was followed by the specks of retreating angels and the portal to heaven closing.

“That sounded like Lucifer,” you mused.

“Ugh, the pipsqueak couldn’t be on time to defend his own realm?” He struggled up to his feet and held a hand out to help you. You used his support to steady yourself but mostly got up on your own power.

It took some effort but he located his broadcast tower crumpled in the bottom of the chasm. One emotional crisis later, while you examined the wreckage, he was a bit more composed. You found the last aid box and the pair of you patched each other up.

“We’ll get you out of the deal ma cher. And the one who holds your strings will find out what happens to those who come between us.”

Alastor’s smile turned vicious. “I’m not dying for anyone but you darling.” He grasped your chin to keep your gazes locked. “And don’t you dare think of doing otherwise.”

Your own lips stretched into a crazed grin. “That’s the spirit cher.” Laughing, he kissed your knuckles before pulling you both into his shadows to inform the rest of your survival.

A/N: This is all the main story for this fic I have until Season 2. I have a few one shots in mind, since there’s a century of potential content along with inserts into some episodes. I really hope this was validating for my fellow acespec Alastor fans. It definitely was for me. I know people are welcome to ship and be thirsty for characters as they like. But we seldomly get an asexual character, much less one that isn’t an emotionless robot.

In any case, thanks for reading! I’ve got a Helluva Boss AU that’s 27k words and counting if anyone needs more of my rambling stories. Smut content is clearly labeled and will be in contained portions as much as possible to limit the squick.

@edgyboi10000 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @deafsignifcantother @whitewolfsoldat @ch3sire-blu3

Part 1

[mistercrowbar]

Hello, mutual! <3 Question please! We know that Aldrin offers his neck to Astarion when needed for sustenance. But when Aldrin isn't available, which other crewmate volunteers to offer him a bit of human blood?

If Aldiirn isn't available for feeding, Astarion has to hunt down an enemy humanoid if he wants that sweet Happy status. I don't think the companions are quite so willing to offer their necks.

This only really happens regularly in Act 3, when the partial ceremorphosis makes Aldiirn's tummy hurty and he ends up losing weight. They still go through the motions of it but Astarion stops feeding on Aldiirn so he can save some calories, and Astarion makes up for it by doing a shitty batman vigilante thing at night. Like save a poor hapless soul from a bhaalist and then traumatize them by digging into the bhaalist's neck and decapitating them before a "thank you" can be uttered.

I wanna say, because he's always prepared, Aldiirn could keep some of his blood stored for Astarion, but it's prolly not good to drain extra when he's being drained every night already. Maybe just one emergency jar so Shadowheart doesn't have to be bothered more than she is already. 😂

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Parasite Kink, A Poorly Written Essay

I'm not sure how interested y'all are in an introspective essay of my parasite kink, but it's 12 AM and I got class tomorrow. I might as well.

Monsterfucker, as far as the word goes, is an umbrella term for sexual interest in non-human entities. In my opinion, the spectrum of Monterfuckery goes from nonhumanoids (tentacles, plants, insects, cosmic horrors, etc), (humanoids (werewolves, vampires, demons, robots, etc) and the very-humanoids (catboys, hucows, etc). All one needs to be a Monsterfucker is to have an interest in something distinctly nonhuman, whether that be through clear visual means or subtle mental and physical.

To that extent, parasites are a beloved monster of us fuckers, but rarely get the love they so deserve. Why is that? Well, across all monsters, parasites hold their own tropes that get covered just as well by others:

Want to be unknowingly corrupted against your will by a powerful foe that has no interest in your wellbeing? Demons, Cosmic horrors, Aliens, etc. got you covered.

Want to become a host to a growing population of critters within your womb? Any and all monsters can cover that front.

But what about carrying a disease that can be spread onto others, through sexual means with sexual side effects? Parasites are the only monsters that cover this within the Monsterfucker niche. (Though if you're willing to spread the Monsterfucker umbrella a little further, you got your Mad Scientist. But we're not talking about them here.) Regardless of prelude, you can have your Demons infect infect others with demonic STD's, an outbreak of tentacle monsters that can only survive within the innards of unsuspecting individuals, or even a lycanthropy parasite.

Though, that brings up the divide of the parasitism kink. On its own, it's a bit of an umbrella term as well. I personally count sex disease and parasites under the same niche (corruption and spread being the forefront of the appeal). Along with further division: its purpose.

Does it originate from a specific monster/place? A divine being looking to create worshipers regardless of consent? An asteroid some hapless individual happened to stumble upon? An insect species that only needs you for your body to grow its population?

Does it exist as a disease to take over the mind and body? Turn individuals into mooing cows that'll fuck themselves on the phallic object? Is it a demonic infestation to turn humans into proper cum factories?

Is the parasite mainly for spreading or corrupting? Is the victim unaware of their parasite? Do they care at all? Do they fight its corruption? Can they do it successfully?

Does the parasite want? Or is it as mindless as any virus in the real world?

All these questions. Because parasites are a rather vague monster. They can take on any origin and lore you could ever want. Though all monsters can have those similar qualities. However, monsters on their own don't take on the parasitism quality by default. But that's what makes monsters so lovely anyways. The ability to adapt them to your specific desires is what makes writing about them so fun. Why writing smut is so fun.

All this to say my enjoyment of parasites comes from my love of corruption of the self mixed with the corruption of others. A permanent change made against ones will by something using you for its own means while also focusing on changing others.

[skadren]

strifentine week day 3. aloof / hollow / "like we're missing something"

-

The demon's name, as it turns out, is Vincent.

When Cloud had asked him if that was actually his real name, numb enough to sound joking, it had startled a barking laugh out of him, flashing a full set of gleaming fangs in the process. And then, as if he'd been able to sense Cloud's stare, both Vincent and his laugh had vanished, leaving behind only a curt statement for Cloud to treat the manor as his own home.

After that, Cloud only stumbles across Vincent every so often: reading in the library, staring out the window, lounging on the couch. Like a desert mirage, the demon's appearance shifts each time. Some days he has a long, sweeping tail; others, elegantly arched wings. One day his form might be mostly humanoid, with odd markings on his face; the next Vincent might be entirely bestial, complete with a set of claws and horns. But the piercing quality of his eyes always remains the same.

As the days pass, it gets easier and easier to pick out the finer details of his appearance. Cloud isn't sure if Vincent is allowing it, knowing he will have another resident sharing his space for at least another decade, or if Cloud himself is growing used to it—that animal urge to shy away from something utterly dangerous.

Vincent himself is… strange. Sometimes he'll allow Cloud to sit in the library with him, making wry comments on the plot and prose of this-or-that book. More often, though, he's cold and aloof, retreating whenever Cloud enters the room and only giving one-word responses. Still, Cloud finds himself looking forward to his intermittent sightings of the manor's only other occupant; Vincent may not be the best conversationalist, but neither is Cloud.

The manor is awfully quiet. Lonely.

Time seems to remain suspended in this strange place, like a held breath never let go. Cloud doesn't feel any different from usual, but he finds that he never grows hungry or thirsty or tired. Without the worry of having to fend for himself to keep him occupied, Cloud finds himself restless, purposeless.

Sometimes, Cloud wonders what Vincent does when he doesn't have to deal with a hapless mortal on his property. Maybe Vincent gets lonely too, or more accurately, bored. After all, there are only so many books in the library, and eternity is a very long time.

"The estate grounds," Cloud says one day from where he lies supine on the couch, staring up at the high ceiling. Before this, he never would have thought he'd live in such opulence.

"Pardon?" Vincent glances up from where he sits with his book, head tilting. Today is a better day than usual; Vincent allows Cloud to be in the same room and deigns to answer him, but he'd retreated to the study desk when Cloud had made to sit beside him on the couch.

"You said I couldn't leave the estate grounds," Cloud says, "not the manor. How far do the grounds go?"

Vincent regards him for a long moment, something cool in his gaze. "Even if you know where the boundaries are, you will not be able to leave."

"I'm not asking because I wanna leave. I'm asking 'cause I'm gonna lose my mind if I stay inside any longer."

Maybe he shouldn't be so blunt. Vincent pauses for long enough that Cloud begins to regret it, an uncomfortable squirming sensation building in his chest.

Finally, thankfully, Vincent nods. "Very well. I will show you."

The sweep of his cloak as he rises is familiar by now, and Cloud follows easily as Vincent heads down the winding halls. Vincent pauses before the front entrance, though, with something almost like a falter in his step. Before Cloud can open his mouth to ask, the demon seems to shake himself out of it, effortlessly pushing the heavy doors open with a clawed hand.

Since the last time Cloud was outside, winter has fallen in earnest. Shades of white and gray blanket the world around them, and a deathly stillness muffles their steps as they cross the blank expanse of snow.

Despite their changed surroundings, Vincent leads them unerringly deeper and deeper into the woods, stripped bare and black by winter. Cloud's breath comes in quick, heavy puffs of white by the time they come to a halt in front of a nondescript tree.

"Here," Vincent says, the low gravel of his voice jarringly loud in the silence. "This is the furthest either of us may go."

He keeps his gaze steadily forward, but just like their first meeting, the prickle of his attention weighs heavily against Cloud's shoulders.

"Oh," Cloud says. "Okay."

He looks back the way they'd come, the deep imprints of their footsteps stark in the snow. From this perspective, one might think they'd walked here side by side.

When he turns back to face Vincent, he finds the demon's gaze already on him, red and piercing. The cool edge present since Cloud made his request has vanished, replaced by the barest hint of surprise.

"What?" Cloud asks dryly. "Thought I'd run? You already said neither of us can pass."

"And you would believe that on my word alone?"

The flick of his tail scatters the snow about their feet. Somehow, it feels like he's talking about more than just this moment as he stares hard at Cloud, as if trying to decipher a missing piece of an unknown puzzle.

Cloud just shrugs. "My ma told me I could."

Vincent doesn't seem to have anything else to say; neither does Cloud, really, and he shivers as their silence drags, the biting cold beginning to seep into his clothes. His sneeze sounds deathly loud in the open air.

Without a word, Vincent turns and begins leading the way back to the manor.

-

previous day | next day

[elacular-kink]

Hicvember 21: Fav Fandom

Believe it or not, I actually had some trouble figuring out what to write for before I abruptly remembered what my profile pic is.

As I warned you all yesterday, this is, in fact, the silliest shit I've ever written in my life. Bear that in mind before reading.

Content: Pokemon, Non-humanoids with hiccups, Cartoony nonsense, being a furry on main.

The GBC, Galar Broadcasting Corporation, presents Pokemon Earth.

Hiccups

Ashenbough: Hello. I'm Professor David Ashenbough. With me as always is field researcher Steve Rowan.

Rowan: G'day mates!

Ashenbough: And this is Pokemon Earth. Hiccups. All humans experience them. But strangely enough, all Pokemon do as well, despite branching out far beyond the mammalian in nature. To what extent and in what way they experience them is as varied as the Pokemon themselves, so Steven and I will be taking a look at some of them today. As always, the first half of our program will feature Pokemon both domestic and wild who have agreed to be on the show, while the second half will feature...attempted candid shots of Pokemon in their natural habitats.

Rowan: Now let's get right into–HICCUP!–it!

...

Ashenbough: Here we see a nest of Marill and Azumarill. Though this stream looks placid, beneath the surface the water runs swift and roiling. In spite of this, you can see these water mice and rabbits swimming upstream and playfully splashing both one another and our hapless camera people.

A POV camera is swum up to by a Marril which then turns around and uses its large, round tail to splash water on the camera.

Rowan: That's 'cause this lovely blue fur of theirs produces natural oils that repel water, making it easier for them to swim through currents, or even bounce along the river's bed! Now! Speaking of bouncing, we have here a nice little group of bubblers and some very very spicy pokeblocks. Here you go, little mates!

A group of Marill and Azumarill gather and nibble at the pokeblocks. Though some immediately run off, others start eating even more quickly.

Ashenbough: Hmm. It seems we have a few here who take quite well to this spiciness.

Rowan: Careful with those ones. Pokemon who like spice tend to be on the strong side! Now remember, even friendly Pokemon like these little guys can be dangerous. And the Marill family specifically is one you don't wanna underestimate! You never know when one of these round little fellas is actually hiding some huge power!

One Azumarill pauses in its eating, then squeaks loudly, bouncing up into the air as it does.

Rowan: Whoa! And speaking of huge power! You okay, little guy?

The Azumarill nods, though it's rapidly bounced again.

Rowan: These fellas got lungs that can hold onto air for hours at a time, so makes sense they got some powerful diaphragms to go with it! And this big girl seems like she knows the move Bounce pretty well! Not surprising, since they can learn it before they get tough enough to evolve.

Ashenbough: While the stronger Azumarill demonstrates her admirable elasticity and buoyancy, the Marills which have not yet trained enough to evolve demonstrate a far less chaotic but no less cute reaction.

The camera focuses in on a pair of Marills, both of which are hiccuping small clusters of bubbles, though one is still trying to eat more pokeblocks around them.

Rowan: Cute, it's true! But be careful! Not all bubbles are safe to pop. You can tell that this little guy's actually using bubblebeam 'cause his are glowing, but his friend's here should be safe.

Rowan pops the bubble over one Marill demonstratively, then steps back before throwing a rock at one of the glowing bubbles, which pops loudly, causing one Marill to jump into the water while the other continues eating. Even from under the water, bubbles rise up at regular intervals.

...

Ashenbough: That a mammalian Pokemon such as the Marill family can catch the hiccups is perhaps not all that surprising. More unusual are hiccups in those who more closely resemble reptiles.

Rowan: Here we've got a pair of performers from one of Galar's most popular Pokemon-fronted bands, Eddie and Michael the Toxtricities!

A pair of Toxtricity, one Amped, and one Low Key are visible. The Amped one is mugging for the camera as it chows down on bright red pokeblocks, while the Low Key one is lounging back on a couch, lazily tossing pokeblocks into the air and catching them in its mouth. The Low Key one is the first to start hiccuping, looking mildly surprised as its chest starts jolting and the four protrusions vibrate, creating the sound of a bass guitar. The Amped one sneers at the Low Key one, audibly laughing at it.

Rowan: Now, even though Low Keys are calmer, you oughta be careful around both types of Toxtricity. Just 'cause they aren't mad about it doesn't mean that a Low Key isn't liable to pick a fight. At least if an Amped one wants to fight, they'll let you know about it!

Ashenbough: Eddie clearly sees this as some sort of competition, though Michael doesn't seem interested in rising to the bait. With each of his hiccups, you hear the characteristic low register sound of a Low Key Toxtricity, greatly resembling the strum of a bass guitar. As it is now, those noises seem to have convinced Eddie that he's won, but hubris isn't always befitting of a rock star.

Abruptly, the Amped Toxtricity's laughter is cut off by a loud hiccup that judders the protrusions on its chest, making the sound of a wailing, screeching electric guitar. It begins rapidly hiccuping and making more screeching guitar sounds, and the Low Key Toxtricity smirks and chuckles between its own hiccups.

Ashenbough: Although both band members have their part in this duet, you would be forgiven for mistaking it for a solo by Eddie. As is often the case between strong egos, a performance of Dueling Guitars is never out of the question.

The Amped Toxtricity leaps at the Low Key one, which seems perfectly happy to indulge him in a fight, the two hiccuping loudly as they grapple, electricity and visible sweat spitting out of them as Rowan backs quickly away.

...

Ashenbough: Still in the realm of performance, we were approached by a friendly Mr. Mime who wanted some time in the spotlight herself, but refused our offer of pokeblocks.

A kantoan Mr. Mime is miming holding a bowl and rapidly stirring something in it. She then pours the invisible batter into nothing, mimes holding a baking pan and opening an oven before placing it in and crossing her arms, her foot tapping.

Rowan: What a talent she is! Mr. Mimes are tricksy, so you can never be sure whether they're doing their act, or if they've actually summoned up something invisible to work with, so never take the space in front of one for granted.

The Mr. Mime's ear twitches despite no obvious sound and she grins, opening the "oven" and reaching in before yanking her hand out and shaking it. She goes through a whole rigamarole of putting on "gloves" to get the "pan" and using "tongs" to remove the invisible nothing inside of it, blowing on it, and then popping it into her mouth. After chewing and swallowing, she stands still for a second, then jolts violently, her mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming out. She covers her mouth and jerks again, then a third time.

Ashenbough: It seems that our spicy pokeblocks weren't needed in this case. Although...it does beg the question. Steven, do you think that she actually has the hiccups?

The camera shows the Mr. Mime holding her breath and jolting before she exhales, pauses for a long second, then silently spasms again with a look of shock.

Rowan: ...honestly not sure, mate.

...

Ashenbough: And now we switch to our second segment. For the most part, we attempt to film wild Pokemon behaving candidly and do not try to interact with them. Here you'll see examples of Pokemon catching hiccups in their everyday lives without the assistance of extra spicy pokeblocks. Onto pre-filmed segments featuring Steve Rowan, with my commentary overlaid.

...

Rowan: Now here we see a Snorlax in her natural habitat: someplace that's as inconvenient as possible for her to be.

A Snorlax is visible in the middle of a bridge, currently lying on her stomach and yanking huge fistfuls of kelp and other river detritus out of the water and cramming them into her mouth.

Ashenbough: Nobody knows what draws Snorlax to areas that tend towards high foot traffic. There's a decent possibility that it's just where they're most often seen, for obvious reasons. Whether or not they prefer to be in the way, though, that's frequently where they end up.

Rowan: Now, maybe you look there and say "Arceus, that's a big girl!" And you're not wrong about that, but this lady's actually a bit on the petite side. We'll see if she's just got an unusually empty tummy or if she's just a dainty little thing once she's done having supper.

Ashenbough: Those of you familiar with this particular river might believe that this Snorlax's growth could be stunted by pollution, but while that is a problem the local environment is still dealing with, for Snorlax, it's no issue at all. A Pokemon that needs to eat nearly its body weight in food every day can't afford to be picky, especially with a body as weighty as a Snorlax, so their extremely omnivorous stomachs can handle even the most toxic of poison types, though they prefer food that isn't inclined to fight back.

Rowan: Hey editors, you'll probably wanna fast forward this part a Bergmite. When a Snorlax is asleep, the only thing you have to worry about is getting around the big bugger, but when it's awake and eating, any smart trainer'll stay the heck out of their way.

There's a brief montage of Rowan and various camera people fishing, getting B roll, and having a small Pokemon battle while the Snorlax continues eating in the background before the montage is abruptly stopped by a loud noise from the Snorlax.

Cameraperson (offscreen): What was that?

Ashenbough: It seems that a Snorlax's iron gut may not be quite immune to all ills.

The camera focuses on the Snorlax, who has stopped eating with a slight look of confusion. With a loud, deep grunt, she wobbles on top of her stomach, then does it again.

Rowan: Whoops! Looks like the sheila ate a little too fast there. Do we think she's gonna learn a lesson from it?

The Snorlax wobbles with a few more hiccups, then goes back to devouring from the river, still bouncing but ignoring them.

Rowan: Nope! Right back to work!

Ashenbough: Whether her hiccups were a factor in her decision we can't say, but it wasn't long after she caught them that this petite giant chose to go back to sleep. It seems that hiccups are one status effect that the move Rest can't cure.

The Snorlax lays on her back, still in the middle of the bridge, Snoring loudly and her massive gut bouncing with huge hiccups every few seconds.

Rowan: Like I said, once they're sleeping, they get so deep in that it's safe to even climb on 'em. Some people and Pokemon even like bouncing on their bellies. But in this case...

Rowan climbs up the Snorlax's arm, then hops onto her stomach between hiccups before being thrown into the air by her next hiccup. This happens a few times before he falls off on the same side he climbed up, looking mildly dizzy, but laughing.

Rowan: You might get a little more bounce than you bargained for!

...

Ashenbough: Many wouldn't expect an abandoned casino to be a place worth searching for Pokemon, but there are a large number of reasons it could be worth looking through.

Rowan: Right. If we find any ghosts of people's paychecks here, they might be on the nasty side, so we're gonna want to stay quiet and approach carefully if we approach at all.

A strange electrical sound is audible and Rowan motions for the camera people to be quiet. They slowly move in between old slot machines until they see a group of Porygon and Porygon2 all surrounding a single Porygon-Z whose head is repeatedly bouncing and spinning with noisy electrical hiccups.

Rowan (sotto voce): Ah! It's a zip of Porygons! You never see this many of 'em in most places, but since they're artificial and not found in the wild, unscrupulous casino runners would use 'em as prizes to keep people coming back.

Ashenbough: Porygon are not able to reproduce sexually, and the copy protection all members of the line share stops them from being replicated while inside of a computer, but just like every other Pokemon, if one encounters an accommodating Ditto...

The camera pans, showing that one of the Porygon2s has a set of beady black eyes instead of round googly ones.

Ashenbough: Life...finds a way.

Rowan (sotto voce): That middle one's looking like it's havin' some trouble there. What's it doing, is that...hah. I think it has the hiccups! Hey, make sure you get a shot of that!

The Porygon-Z continues hiccuping, its head flipping and tumbling with every hiccup as it waggles its arms and tail angrily. One of the Porygon2s moves forward and pokes its "chest" with its bill, at which point the Porygon-Z violently pecks its head.

Ashenbough: Perhaps it's not so surprising that a Porygon-Z, exposed to dubious programming as it has been, has more than a few glitches and idiosyncrasies in its behavior. Although, even from the simply-coded start of its line, Porygon have always had their quirks.

Rowan (sotto voce): Now remember, none of these little guys actually likes being on film. We're getting real lucky here, so let's—

There's a loud clunk and then the sound of spinning slots. The camera whips around and catches a glimpse of a snickering Haunter with its hand on a slot machine's arm before it fades away. Rowan yelps and something is bleeped out as the camera turns back around, briefly showing all the Porygons staring at them before static fills the screen and a set of Unown reading "TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES?!?" appear.

Ashenbough: This...is not a graphic that we made. That is, in fact, what was recorded by the camera until Rowan and his team left the casino a few minutes later.

The image futzes back in, showing a cameraperson adjusting the lens, then nodding before it's pointed at and focused back in on by Rowan, who has a Porygon on his arm.

Rowan (sotto voce): Well, seemed the little prankster back there managed to scare the hiccups out of the Porygon-Z, so they weren't too mad at us. Still, little guys are pretty camera-shy. This friendly fellow decided to let us get a good look though!

Ashenbough: You may recognize this footage from our episode on artificial Pokemon, so no need to use any more of it here. After all, our previous hiccuper was apparently cured by our ghostly interloper.

...

Ashenbough: Pokemon are mysterious creatures. Diverse in appearance, type, egg group, gender, nature, and just about every other way, there are many things about them that we'll never know.

A Falinks is shown marching along. The leader bounces with a hiccup, and then all five of its followers bounce in turn as they walk past the same spot.

Rowan: Do they actually all have the hiccups, or are they just following the Brass?

Ashenbough: Some things that bring one creature strength—

A Bellibolt is shown hiccuping, bouncing up and down as the hiccups expand and contract its body, visibly building up electricity in its stomach.

Ashenbough: —could be absolutely devastating for another.

A Primarina is seen singing on a stage before suddenly hiccing up a cluster of bubbles. They cover their mouth with their fins, hiccup again, and then dive into the fountain on stage behind them, vanishing.

Ashenbough: But even with all our differences, humans and Pokemon alike, there are some things that bring all of us together, even something as inconsequential as a hiccup.

A shot of Rowan and Ashenbough has Rowan staring expectantly at him. Ashenbough arches his eyebrows at him.

Ashenbough: No Steve, I'm not going to hiccup for you.

Rowan heaves a comically overwrought sigh, then smiles at the camera.

Rowan: Guess that's still my job then. Right! Until next time, mates! This has–HICCUP been Pok–HIC–mon Earth!

Brought to you by the GBC.

[finalskies]

Heart-Purr is another of my dnd characters that has a very unique build. She is a humble, traveling tabaxi bard who plays her enthralling hurdy-gurdy tunes to downtrodden souls. At least, that's how she appears on the surface. Her real name is Fuchsia, and behind her fluffy disguise is a monstrous thri-kreen hypnotic illusionist, a form she trusts very few to see.

In a past life she used her bewitching powers to amass wealth through a host of hapless victims. But in time she realized her ability to pierce into people's minds could be used to help instead of hurt; She could soothe and heal anxious, troubled, haunted minds, a task that felt infinitely more fulfilling than scrambling their brains for coin. Unfortunately, Fuchsia's life of manipulation caught up to her (she may have extorted a wealthy crime syndicate), and was forced to flee from her homeland. From there, "Heart-Purr" found herself in a foreign nation and thrust into a harrowing adventure where the fate of the world hung in the balance. Also, evil clowns.

Now I'm gonna rattle off some fun facts about her build because honestly I'm still proud of it...

Fuchsia is a 3rd Level Eloquence Bard / 2nd Level Archfey Warlock multiclass.

Thanks to class bonuses, the lowest she can possibly roll on a Deception Check is 19.

She has the Mask of Many Faces Invocation, allowing her to maintain her "Heart-Purr" form indefinitely. She also had the Duel Personalities background feature, further bolstering her ruse. The other players did not know she was a Thri-kreen was she joined the party, and Fuchsia managed to go entirely undetected during the campaign. Ultimately, she chose to willingly reveal her true form to the party.

Because her Heart-Purr form lacks the extra arms of her Thri-kreen form, when she dual-wields daggers with those arms, the daggers appear to just hover in midair (she claims to have telekinetic powers to explain this).

Fuchsia prefers to be a "hands off" sort of combatant though; she has low damage output herself, but has several spells and abilities that force the Charmed condition on enemies, making her foes do the dirty work for her.

With the right combination of spells and abilities, she can give enemies anywhere from -3 to -14 to their saving throws, making it extremely difficult for them to resist her mental manipulations. And with her Eldritch Mind, she is also good at maintaining those Charms.

Because she's a Monstrosity, she's protected from a number status spells that only affect Humanoids (notably Charm Person), making her difficult to Charm herself.

My favorite combat moment in the campaign was when she mind controlled a massive, eldritch Iron Maiden that was destroying a city. But then an enemy spellcaster wrested control by Charming it themself, which Heart-Purr did not stand for and Charmed it right back, and from there the encounter spiraled into those two fighting a mental battle for control over the metal monster. It was legit one of the coolest things I've ever experienced in a combat.

[dndfantasygirl]

Little Red Rogue (Chapter 14: These Are the Times)

Rating: Mature Word count: 4.4k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, major character near-death experience

Summary: Astarion realizes the depths of his feelings for Ruby when she's on her deathbed.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

These are the times we find out who we really are This will be when a true friend stands at your side Someone like me who wants to Believe in the days of high times and innocence Drawing the lines and shouting back to the night Someone like me who wants you to live

~These Are the Times, Styx

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It was a well-known fact among their group that Ruby's insatiable curiosity often led her into precarious situations, much to everyone's chagrin. She had a knack for finding trouble even in the most innocuous of circumstances, a trait that both amused and exasperated Astarion.

But today was different. Today, her wanderlust had led them, especially herself, into the heart of danger.

They were navigating the treacherous depths of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. With Shadowheart and Karlach by their side, they had embarked on a mission around the eerie mausoleum, where they had recently encountered Raphael.

Astarion couldn't shake off the feeling of impending trouble as he watched Ruby's ear twitch, a telltale sign of her curiosity. Despite her proficiency as a rogue and her ability to detect traps, there was always an element of unpredictability when she was involved. He recalled a past incident where her overzealous exploration had led to her triggering a net trap, leaving her suspended from a tree like a hapless prey. It had been amusing, albeit slightly embarrassing, but today's circumstances seemed far graver.

Raphael had made a solemn vow to Astarion, promising to reveal the scars on his back if he managed to dispatch the formidable orthon known as Yurgir. The task lay ahead of them, looming like a shadowy specter, yet before they could even set foot inside the foreboding mausoleum, Ruby's sharp senses detected something amiss.

"Did you guys hear that?" she whispered.

Astarion let out a small whine. "Darlinggggg, it was probably just the wind."

"Let's just get going before something ambushes us," Shadowheart urged, her stance indicating a readiness to move forward, to confront whatever dangers awaited them head-on.

But Ruby, ever the embodiment of curiosity and defiance, refused to yield to their pragmatic concerns. "No, it was something else," she insisted, her voice firm as she unsheathed her father's dagger. The blade glimmered with an otherworldly radiance, casting a soft, ethereal glow in the dimness of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

"Ruby! Get back here!" Astarion's admonishment was sharp, his voice a low, urgent whisper as he tried to rein in the impulsive rogue. He couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration coursing through him, like a relentless tide threatening to pull them all into the depths of danger. "You foolish girl," he muttered under his breath, the words a begrudging acknowledgment of both Ruby's audacity and his own exasperation.

Reluctantly, Astarion followed in Ruby's wake, his steps measured yet tinged with a hint of resignation. Behind him, he sensed Shadowheart and Karlach trailing close behind.

As they descended down the slope, Astarion's keen eyes caught sight of a sizable group of kua toa ahead, their bizarre forms resembling a twisted fusion of fish and humanoid features.

Dispatching the kua toa proved to be a relatively straightforward task, their movements fluid and coordinated as they swiftly eliminated the threat. Yet, Astarion couldn't shake off the feeling that this encounter was merely a prelude to something far more ominous. Ruby's insistence on pressing forward only heightened his sense of unease, her determination bordering on reckless as she marched ahead, heedless of the potential dangers lurking in the shadows.

It wasn't until they reached the edge of a foreboding crevice, its depths shrouded in an eerie green glow, that Astarion's apprehensions were fully realized. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sulfur, a tangible reminder of the malevolent forces at play in this forsaken realm.

Astarion's fingers closed around Ruby's arm with more force than he had intended, a gesture born out of equal parts frustration and concern. He could feel the tension thrumming through her slender frame as he pulled her back, his grip firm yet strangely gentle despite the urgency of his words.

"Ruby, this is a bad idea," he murmured. "Let's get back so I can finally learn what these scars mean," he implored, his gaze locking with hers in a silent plea for reason.

But Ruby's resolve remained unyielding. The pleading look in her eyes tugged at something deep within him, stirring a sense of empathy that remained foreign.

"The sound I heard was the kua toa," she confessed, her voice tinged with pain as she winced slightly. A flicker of concern crossed Astarion's features at the sight. "But I think there's something in there my parents want me to find."

Astarion couldn't help but feel a surge of exasperation as he acquiesced to Ruby's stubborn insistence. With a resigned sigh, he relented. "Fine, but at the first sight of imminent danger, we're leaving," he declared, his tone brooking no argument. He knew the risks they faced delving deeper into the unknown, and he was determined to ensure his safety...her safety...no matter the cost.

She gave him a soft smile that he could've sworn kickstarted his heart into beating again.

It was a fleeting moment, a mere flicker of warmth amidst the encroaching shadows, yet it stirred something within him. It was a feeling that he couldn't quite put into words, a strange mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability that left him feeling oddly exposed.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the unsettling thoughts that threatened to cloud his judgment. He was so reluctant to delay their quest for answers, to put his own desires on hold in favor of Ruby's reckless whims. Yet, he couldn't deny the pull she exerted on him, a force that defied all logic and reason.

Why did she make him feel this way? It was a question that haunted him, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness like a persistent shadow. But for now, he pushed aside his doubts and fears, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Turning his head towards Karlach and Shadowheart, he gestured for them to follow as they ventured into the eerie depths of the crevice. With each step, Astarion couldn't shake off the sense of foreboding that hung heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the dangers that lay in wait.

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As they navigated through the winding corridors of the crevice, Astarion couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. There wasn't much trouble...not at first, at least. They encountered the occasional obstacle—animated armor and a few oozes—but nothing they couldn't handle with their combined skills and prowess.

However, as they ascended to the ledge leading to the ominous chamber ahead, a sense of dread settled over them like a heavy shroud. A chill wind seemed to whisper through the narrow passageway, sending shivers cascading down their spines in unison.

"What the fuck was that?" Karlach's voice cut through the silence, echoing off the walls of the chamber and sending a flurry of bats scattering into the darkness beyond. Astarion couldn't help but share in her apprehension, his senses on high alert for any signs of impending danger.

But Ruby, ever the embodiment of determination and defiance, pressed forward, driven by the insistent voices that echoed in her mind. Despite her companions' urgent pleas to turn back, she forged ahead, her steps resolute as she approached the chamber door.

With a swift motion, Ruby pushed open the door and stepped inside, her crimson cloak billowing behind her like a dark shadow against the dimly lit chamber. Astarion watched in concern as she threw up the hood of her cloak, a futile attempt to ward off the bone-chilling cold that seemed to seep into their very bones.

Even in the face of imminent danger, Ruby's resolve remained unshaken. Her enhanced vision caught sight of something shiny on the ground before her, a glimmer of light amidst the encroaching darkness. Without hesitation, she reached down and picked it up, her fingers closing around the object with a sense of purpose that belied the uncertainty that lurked in the depths of the chamber.

As Ruby delicately retrieved the circlet from the chamber floor, Astarion couldn't help but admire its craftsmanship, his keen eyes tracing the intricate carvings that adorned its surface. The darkened silver glinted in the dim light, casting strange shadows against the walls of the chamber. But it was the deep crimson gemstone at its center that captured his attention, pulsating with an otherworldly glow that sent a shiver down his spine.

"The Bloodmoon Circlet," Ruby whispered, her voice barely more than a breath as she cradled the artifact in her hands.

"RUBY!" Astarion's warning erupted from his lips in a frantic shout, but it was already too late. From the darkness emerged a grotesque figure, its rotted flesh clinging to bone as it shambled forward with an unnatural gait. With horrifying speed, the zombie's claws slashed through the air, finding their mark on Ruby's unsuspecting back and sending her tumbling to the ground with a pained cry.

A surge of adrenaline flooded through Astarion's veins as he moved to intervene. But before he could even take a step forward, Shadowheart sprang into action, her voice ringing out as she summoned her spirit guardians to smite their undead assailant with radiant fury.

The chamber erupted into chaos as more zombies emerged from the shadows, their lifeless eyes fixed hungrily on their prey. Karlach's battle cry cut through the din as she waded into the fray with ferocious determination, her battleaxe cleaving through rotting flesh with each powerful swing.

As chaos unfolded around him, Astarion's attention zeroed in on the one person who had ever shown him an ounce of kindness in this harsh and unforgiving world. With a mixture of frustration and concern, he hurried over to Ruby's side, his movements swift and purposeful despite the turmoil that surrounded them.

"Damn you, Ruby," he hissed through clenched teeth. Despite his irritation, there was an underlying note of genuine worry in his voice as he surveyed her prone form. "Can you move?" he asked, his gaze searching hers for any sign of injury or distress.

Ruby's attempt to rise was met with a small whimper of pain, and she faltered, sinking back to the ground with a pained expression. Astarion cursed softly under his breath, a surge of protectiveness welling up within him as he knelt beside her.

With a decisive gesture, he swept her up into his arms with effortless grace, cradling her against his chest in a bridal hold. Despite the urgency of their predicament, there was a tenderness in his touch—a rare display of vulnerability that spoke volumes of the bond they shared.

With Ruby nestled securely in his arms, Astarion spared a fleeting glance over his shoulder, his gaze locking with Shadowheart's in a silent plea for assistance. "Shadowheart! We need you!" he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle with urgency. He knew that they couldn't afford to linger in the midst of danger, not when Ruby's safety hung in the balance.

As he hurriedly made his way out of the chamber, his unbeating heart pounded in his chest.

As the door swung shut behind them, Astarion wasted no time in setting Ruby gently down on the ground, his movements swift and efficient despite the storm of emotions raging within him. He watched Shadowheart and Karlach kneel beside her, their expressions a mirror of his own concern.

"All of this for a FUCKING circlet, Ruby?!" Astarion's voice trembled with a barely contained rage. Beyond upset, he struggled to contain the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. How dare she risk her life for a mere trinket—a crown that held no significance compared to the precious gift of her own existence.

Yet, as Ruby whimpered in pain, Astarion felt a flicker of remorse tugging at the edges of his anger. He knew that his outburst was driven by fear more than anything else—a fear of losing her, of being left alone once again in a world devoid of kindness and compassion.

"It's the Bloodmoon Circlet, Astarion," she pleaded, her words a desperate attempt to justify her actions. "It will enhance the wearer's vampiric abilities. I got it for you for when we go up against Cazador."

Astarion's anger faltered, replaced by a sense of disbelief at her selflessness. Despite his initial outrage, he couldn't deny the sincerity in her voice, nor the genuine concern that shone in her eyes.

As Shadowheart carefully shifted Ruby onto her stomach to assess her wounds, Astarion's heart clenched with anguish at the sight of her pain. He winced at the loud cry that escaped Ruby's lips, each sound like a dagger piercing through his own undead heart. Despite his usual facade of indifference, Astarion found himself unable to maintain his mask in the face of Ruby's suffering.

His gaze remained fixed on Ruby's trembling form as Shadowheart uttered a few incantations, her hands glowing with a soft blue energy as she attempted to heal the slash wounds that marred Ruby's back. But to Astarion's dismay, the magic seemed to have little effect, the wounds stubbornly refusing to close.

"Shit," the half-elf muttered under her breath. A sense of helplessness washed over Astarion as he watched, his fists clenching at his sides. He couldn't bear the thought of Ruby suffering.

In that moment, Astarion's mask slipped away, revealing the raw vulnerability that lay beneath his carefully crafted facade. His heart ached with a fierce intensity, his own fears and insecurities laid bare in the face of Ruby's unwavering resolve.

"Heal her, damn you!" Astarion's voice cracked with emotion. He knew that time was of the essence, that every moment they wasted brought Ruby closer to the brink of irreversible harm.

But Shadowheart's glare cut through his anguish like a blade, her own frustration mirroring his own. "I'm trying!" she snapped.

"Why isn't it working?" Karlach's voice trembled with uncertainty, her usually stoic demeanor faltering in the face of their companion's suffering.

Frustration etched lines of anguish across Shadowheart's brow as tears glistened in her eyes. "She's suffering from necrosis," she explained. "I can't heal her until it goes away."

Astarion's mind reeled with disbelief at the severity of Ruby's condition. Necrosis—a dreaded affliction that threatened to consume her from within. He had witnessed the ravages of such dark magic before, but to see it inflicted upon someone he cared for sent a chill down his spine.

"She's half-vamp though. It shouldn't affect her, right?" Karlach's voice broke through the heavy silence, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

But Shadowheart's response shattered any hope they might have harbored. "It's the other half it's affecting. The humane side of her," she explained, her words weighted with sorrow. Astarion felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach at the realization. Ruby's dual nature—a blessing and a curse—had always been a source of fascination and mystery, but now it seemed to be her greatest vulnerability.

A surge of guilt washed over him as he looked upon Ruby's pale, pain-stricken face. He cursed himself for failing to protect her, for allowing her to walk into danger. In that moment, he vowed to do whatever it took to save her.

"How long?" the vampire spawn's voice cracked as he interjected, his attempts to hold back the tears proving futile against the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to consume him. He felt a sharp pang in his chest as he watched Ruby's pale form writhing in agony, her cries echoing through the chamber like a haunting melody.

"I don't know. Necrosis could last for days," Shadowheart explained, her words heavy with uncertainty. "That's if it doesn't..."

Astarion's blood ran cold at the unspoken implications of her words, his mind reeling with the horrifying possibilities that lay ahead. He hissed in frustration, running trembling fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to dispel the overwhelming sense of helplessness that engulfed him.

There had to be something they could do, some way to ease Ruby's suffering and halt the insidious progression of the necrosis that threatened to consume her from within. His thoughts raced as he desperately searched for a solution, his mind alighting on the possibility of seeking aid from someone more knowledgeable.

Maybe Jaheira could think of something, he mused. She had always been a font of wisdom and guidance. With a newfound sense of determination, Astarion resolved to seek out the druidess's counsel, whatever the cost.

But first, they had to leave this accursed place. With a sense of urgency that bordered on panic, Astarion swept Ruby up into his arms once more, cradling her fragile form against his chest as he whispered soothing words into her ear. Her cries of pain continued to tear at his heart, fueling his resolve to get her to safety at any cost.

"We have to leave. Now," he declared, his voice firm despite the trembling of his hands. With a final glance back at Shadowheart and Karlach, he turned and began to make his way towards the exit, his steps quickening with each passing moment. They couldn't afford to waste another second—Ruby's life depended on it.

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As they arrived at the Last Light, Astarion's heart sank with a leaden weight as he watched Ruby's condition deteriorate before his very eyes. It wasn't long before she fell unconscious, the tendrils of necrosis tightening their grip around her fragile form with each passing moment. Her once vibrant features now seemed drained of life.

Her pale face, usually flushed with vitality, was now even paler, devoid of any color save for the sickly pallor that marked the onset of her affliction. Astarion's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight, his chest constricting with a suffocating sense of despair. He had never seen Ruby look so frail, so vulnerable, and the sight tore at his very soul.

Her apple-red lips, usually parted in a mischievous grin or a playful retort, were now almost blue, a stark contrast to the vibrant hue that had once captivated him with its allure. And those big violet eyes, usually alight with mischief and vitality, remained closed, refusing to open to the world around her.

Not for anyone. Not for him.

Astarion felt a surge of anguish welling up within him as he sat beside her. He brushed a stray lock of golden hair from her forehead as he whispered words of comfort into the silence of the room. But there was no response, no flicker of recognition to reassure him that she could hear him.

The rest of the party had no choice but to press forward, to delve deeper into the mysteries of Moonrise Towers in search of answers that seemed increasingly elusive. As much as they didn't want to leave Ruby behind, they knew they had no other option. But for Astarion, the thought of abandoning her in her time of need was unbearable.

So, he stayed.

Jaheira's presence provided a flicker of solace amidst the despair that engulfed Astarion as he kept his vigil by Ruby's side. She would check in on them frequently, her calm demeanor a balm to Astarion's frayed nerves. And when she brought him vials of her own blood, knowing full well of his vampiric state, Astarion couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards the druidess.

But even Jaheira's efforts proved futile in the face of the relentless onslaught of necrosis that threatened to consume Ruby from within. Every few hours, she would turn Ruby's still form over to check on the wounds on her back, only to be met with the same heartbreaking sight—the festering wounds refusing to heal, the necrosis slowly devouring her from the inside out.

And as the hours stretched into days, Astarion's resolve began to waver. Despite his best efforts to remain strong, the weight of their situation bore down upon him with an unbearable intensity. He watched helplessly as Ruby's condition continued to deteriorate, her once vibrant spirit dimming with each passing moment.

After two agonizing days of sitting there and waiting—for something, anything, even just the faintest glimmer of hope—Astarion reached his breaking point. The despair that had been simmering beneath the surface finally boiled over.

"Why are you so stupid, Ruby?" he whispered once Jaheira had left them alone. He stared down at her unmoving body, taking in her ever-present beauty as if she was sleeping. "You marched in there like nothing could faze you. You acted like you were invincible. You're not invincible, Ruby.

"You might think you're brave, but you're foolish. You can't just go waltzing in like nothing was going to happen. We're in a land of shadows and undead. It's not all sunshine and rainbows.

"And I don't need some fancy diadem. Not if it costs you your life. Because believe it or not, darling, I actually care about you."

The admission hung in the air between them. For the first time, Astarion allowed himself to acknowledge the depth of his feelings for Ruby, the fear of losing her driving him to the brink of desperation.

"I need...you."

As Astarion sat there, he felt a strange sensation on his cheek—a wetness that trickled down his skin, leaving a trail in its wake. At first, he thought he was bleeding. But when he felt another drop fall onto Ruby's still face, he realized the truth—he was crying.

The realization struck him like a physical blow, his chest tightening with the weight of his sorrow. How had he, a creature so accustomed to solitude and self-preservation, come to care so deeply for another? It was a question he had long avoided, burying it beneath layers of indifference and detachment. But now, faced with the prospect of losing the one person who had managed to breach the walls around his heart, he found himself grappling with an overwhelming wave of despair.

"I went from not caring about anyone but myself to caring about you...somewhat more than myself," Astarion confessed with a trembling voice.

"You can't die! You can't leave me here, Ruby! Wake up!" he pleaded, his voice rising in desperation as he clung to the fragile hope that she would somehow hear his words and return to him.

Astarion wiped away the tears that blurred his vision. He leaned closer to Ruby, searching her face for any sign of life, any glimmer of hope that she would awaken from her slumber. But she remained silent, her heartbeat a faint echo in the stillness of the chamber.

With a sense of resignation, he crawled in beside Ruby, his arms enfolding her fragile form in a desperate embrace. He held her close, as if by sheer force of will he could somehow shield her from the relentless grip of death that threatened to consume her.

As tears streamed down his cheeks, Astarion buried his face into the softness of her chest, his sobs wracking his body with an intensity that bordered on agony. He sobbed and sobbed, the weight of his despair crushing him beneath its relentless weight. In that moment of utter vulnerability, he prayed to all of the gods—prayed that some higher power would finally hear his pleas and grant him the one thing he desired above all else: to save her.

But his prayers were not for himself. No, they were for Ruby—for the woman who had become his guiding light in a world consumed by darkness, for the one person who had shown him kindness when all others had turned their backs on him. She didn't deserve to end like this, to fade away into the abyss without so much as a fighting chance.

Time seemed to blur into a hazy, indistinct fog as Astarion sat there, his arms wrapped tightly around Ruby's still form. He lost track of the minutes, the hours, lost in the swirling maelstrom of his own thoughts and emotions. But despite the trance-like state that enveloped him, his body remained hyper-aware of the slightest movement beneath him, attuned to every subtle shift in Ruby's unconscious form.

Then, in a heartbeat, everything changed.

Astarion's eyes shot open as he felt a faint stirring beneath him. He turned his gaze to Ruby, an unnecessary breath catching in his throat at the sight of her fluttering eyelids. "Ruby?" he whispered.

And then, like a bolt of lightning tearing through the darkness, her voice reached him—a fragile whisper that sent a surge of relief coursing through his veins. "Astarion?"

If his heart could beat, it would have thundered in his chest. With a wave of overwhelming relief washing over him, Astarion wasted no time in crashing his lips into hers. He trailed pecks all over her face, his lips brushing against her skin with a tenderness born from the sheer magnitude of his relief.

"Don't you ever do that again," he whispered against her lips, his voice a fervent plea as he held her close, unwilling to let her slip away from him once more.

And she held him in return, her grasp weak but filled with an undeniable strength born from the depths of her resilience. Astarion felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he held her, his fingers brushing against her arm in a silent gesture of comfort and reassurance. She was alive. She was safe.

[ghostlightgamers]

Hagspawn

Dai Bakemono by Alex Konstad

Hagspawn

The sons of malicious, predatory hag mothers, hagspawn are an unfortunate people, despised by both parent of their kind. Hags continue their awful lineage by taking human males for mates,usually murdering and devouring the hapless captive later. The female children of a hag are changelings, and often quickly grow into hags like that of their mothers, but in rare circumstances, a son is born to the hag. These male children are hagspawn, half-human out-casts. Feared and hated by normal humans, and abused and neglected by their hag mothers, hagspawn must make their way in the world by dint of their strength, hardiness, and sheer determination.

     All too often, hagspawn are filled with the malice, violence, and resentment of their monstrous parent. They are quick to take offense and view even the most in-nocent remark as a hidden slight. People regard them as ill-tempered monsters, and many hagspawn perpetuate distrust of their kind by behaving exactly as expected. They look out for themselves first and regard companions as temporary allies that will abandon them when convenient. If they remain with their mothers, they are treated as bodyguards and minions rather than children, and those that leave often become mercenaries and thugs. Hagspawn are capable of working furiously to achieve a desired end and do not shy away from physical hardship or danger if the reward seems worth the risk.

     Bulky creatures, Hagspawn tend to be around 6’ and weighs around 200 lbs.

Stats

+2 Strength, +2 Constitution, –2 Charisma: Hagspawn are strong and hardy, but are sullen and ill-tempered. (1 RP)

Medium: Hagspawn are Medium creatures and have no bonuses or penalties due to their size. (0 RP)

Monstrous Humanoid: Hagspawn are Monstrous Humanoids. (3 RP)

Base Speed: Hagspawn have a base speed of 30 ft. (0 RP)

Senses: Hagspawn have Darkvision 60ft. (- RP)

Gatecrasher: Being shunned as they are, hagspawn tend to build up a lot of aggression, and try to find outlets on the possessions of their tormentors. Hagspawn gains a +2 racial bonus on Strength checks to break objects and a +2 racial bonus on combat maneuver checks to sunder. (2 RP)

Lesser Spell Resistance: Hagspawn have a spell resistance equal to 6 + their character level. (3 RP)

Thick Hide: Hagspawn gains a +2 natural armor bonus to Armor Class. (3 RP)

Languages: Hagspawn begins play speaking Common and Giant. Hagspawn with high Intelligence scores can choose from the following: Abyssal, Aklo, Draconic, Infernal, Goblin, Sylvan, and Undercommon. (0 RP)

[kupkate04]

A Hapless Endearment || Creepypasta x F. Reader || Ch. 4 - The Clock Is Ticking

The morning eventually comes, and it brings the bright, cheerful sunlight with it, much to Y/n’s relief. The golden rays shine in through her window pane, forcing her to press a hand to her eyes and provide herself with a chance to adjust to the attack on her vision. She’s kept herself awake for the entirety of the night, starting from when she woke up from that horrific nightmare at around eleven-thirty and absolutely, under any circumstances, refused to go back to sleep.

Troubling subjects have been laying heavy on her mind for the past six hours, and no matter what she does to rid herself of them, it never works. Well, it hasn’t yet. She’s scrolled through the internet, watched YouTube videos—she even started another painting, though she only managed a few brush strokes before she scrapped it altogether and fell to the floor in a tired rage.

She won’t deny the fact that she’s mentally exhausted, from both the lack of sleep and from the anxiety that’s been creeping through her nerves the whole day. After around two hours of laying in bed, she wanted to get up and go downstairs for a glass of water. Then she decided against it, mainly because she already had a perfectly suitable bottle of water sitting right beside her bed. She considered wandering down to watch TV, eat some food, or virtually anything she could do to get her mind off of what had happened, but also blew off those ideas fairly quickly.

She didn’t want to be the reason for her grandparents waking up, especially because of a stupid little dream. Even though she, herself, knows that it wasn’t just a 'stupid little dream'. Whether it has a deeper meaning or not, it terrified her, and that’s all the conviction she needs to not want to have another like it, or one exceedingly worse. She fears she would be scolded for having such childish agitation over something that, in all reality, can’t even physically hurt her.

Well...the things in her head can’t hurt her. But what she saw... Was that really in her head? Sure, one could blame paranoia, panicked delusions, a tired, frantic state that made her hallucinate something that wasn’t really there. Like sleep paralysis, though she knows for a fact that she wasn’t experiencing sleep paralysis.

So what was it? Maybe a strangely-shaped tree bent by the light in the right way to make it look scary? Some type of humanoid animal? Or perhaps it was her imagination playing tricks on her, after all? She isn’t sure, but she does know that whatever it was, it was unsettling and very out of place.

Then there’s the nightmare. That’s the second time in barely three days that she’s had a nightmare like that. Sure, bad dreams are no stranger to her; she’s been facing them since she was a little kid, though they became more common after her life started to fall apart. But none of them were like that. Her mind has never been in such a gut-wrenching, sinister state before, and it deeply concerns her.

What would make her think up such a scenario? Her cousin, one of her very best childhood friends, being dead? Right before her eyes? She’s thought, maybe it has something to do with the odd conversation that she shared with her grandfather just a day prior. But he didn’t say anything that should ever make her think anyone was murdered. Especially Wyatt. 

Although it’s still a mystery to her, she’s confident that nothing like that could’ve happened during her long absence...right? If it had, someone would have called her dad to inform him, then he would have told her. He isn’t the most upstanding person or the best father by any stretch, but surely he wouldn’t keep her in the dark about something so horrific.

She’s tried to forget about it and settle down, even though she knows that it’s likely going to be something that sticks with her for quite a while. It was just a dream—nothing more. She hasn’t anything to worry about. It was a startling vision that her mind created to scare her. It’s all of the stress finally getting to her, that’s all.

A feeling of dread and terror has garnered inside of her stomach, and though it has faded considerably since she awoke, it remains there, plaguing her mind, replaying the nightmare over and over again in her head, making her miserable. As if it’s saying, “The worst has yet to come."

She will ask Nana and Pops. She will get to the bottom of why her aunt, uncle, and Wyatt never, supposedly, come down to visit. Once they answer and she finds out why her grandpa was acting so suspicious yesterday, gets it through her head that it isn’t as bad as she’s made herself think it is, then maybe, just maybe, she won’t be bombarded with such terrible thoughts each time she tries to sleep.

She blinks, adjusting to the bright, bulbous orb that slowly appears from behind the trees, and watches the stars fade away, the moon following close behind them. The sky changes from a deep, royal blue to a vivid cerulean in the span of only a few minutes.

Her eyelids feel heavy, and even without checking the time she knows it has to be around six-thirty or seven in the morning based on the low place that the sun rests in the sky. She leans her back against the wall, letting out a soft, uneasy sigh and allowing her eyes to shut for but a brief moment. Any more and she would drift back to sleep, and she doesn’t want to do that. Not anytime soon. Not until she’s been reassured that nothing like what her dream suggested actually happened.

Rubbing her eyes to rid herself of the drowsy feeling still messing with her senses, she sits up fully in her bed, finally able to convince herself that now would be a good time to go downstairs and start her day. Quietly, of course, so she doesn’t wake her grandparents.

Maybe she can make them breakfast like Nana has done for her so many times, recently and in the past. She’s never been a skilled cook, but she can make simple things like scrambled eggs, bacon, and French toast. What’s the worst that can happen? Okay, she could set the kitchen on fire, make the stove explode, or overcook/undercook everything and give the residents of the household food poisoning, but she prefers not to think of those unlikely (still possible) outcomes.

With a small mental protest, she wearily rises out of bed, walking over to her closet to find some decent clothes for the day and changing into the aforementioned clothes before heading toward the bathroom, somewhat cautiously. She’s still on edge about the events that took place, and she figures that she probably will be until she can get another, more lighthearted subject on her mind. Like making breakfast for two people she loves. It sounds like a fool-proof plan to her and she fully intends to stick to it.

She isn’t exactly sure what time they wake up, but her guess is somewhere between seven-thirty to eight—or past that, even. The hall is still considerably dark, thanks to there being no windows around to illuminate it, and it makes her nerves spike as she hurries to the targeted room.

Once there, she closes the door quietly and turns on the light, her eyes falling on the mirror straight in front of her, and she leans against the sink, studying her reflection with a blank mind. Her hair has most definitely seen better days, though that’s something easily fixable. Her eyes are the problem.

They look almost completely drained of energy, and the dark rings right beneath them make it clear that she didn’t rest well the night before. She dips her head after turning on the faucet and splashes cool water against her face, hoping to get rid of some of that ‘I just woke up and I’m exhausted’ look that her reflection stares back at her with.

Her eyes get wider, and already, she feels more alert and aware of her surroundings; the exact thing she was aiming to accomplish. She then does everything she deems necessary before she exits, snatching her phone from off of her bed, along with her Bluetooth wireless earbuds, and treks down the stairs, taking joy in the fact that natural, bright light is shooting through the windows and seeping across the majority of the main floor.

She spots Marshmallow sitting atop a chair, seemingly content grooming himself and only sparing her a short, unfazed glance as she appears at the bottom of the staircase. Smiling lightly, she makes her way over to him and squats to his level, currently not caring if she interrupts his self-given bath, stroking his head in greeting and giving him an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, little buddy,” she says, her voice lowered as she gingerly scratches his chin. “You having a good morning?” His mouth latches around her finger, not hard enough to make her bleed but she’s certain his sharp teeth will leave indents for a few minutes once they’ve left. She pulls her hand back and wipes the residual saliva on her pants. “Yeah? That goes double for me.”

She stands back up and straightens her posture, catching a glimpse of the front door before she looks back down at him curiously.

“You ready to go out?” She points at the door, and he seems to get the gist of what she’s saying because he releases a meow of protest and stretches his body. “Well, I know it’s early.” She crosses her arms. “That doesn’t mean you can’t go hunting or whatever it is you do.” Marshmallow jumps from his position on the chair and walks toward his empty food bowl, looking back at Y/n expectantly. “Oh, c’mon. You’re perfectly capable of going out and getting your own food.”

She’s met with a loud and, frankly impatient, meow, and she huffs but begins her small journey to the pantry nonetheless.

“Fine, fine. You win.” When she arrives, she gazes idly through the various cans of food, bags of flour, and boxes of cereal and rice and beans, trying to locate the bag of branded cat food she knows has to be stored inside somewhere. “Last time I was here, they kept it in this room...” she mutters to herself, bending down to look beneath the shelves. Her eyes land on a red and white bag, the top ripped open and a metal scoop resting inside.

Instantly recognizing it as her desired item thanks to the large face of a cat printed on the front, she takes the handle of the scoop and dips it farther into the dully colored pellets of cat food, walking back out soon after and dumping it in Marshmallow’s bowl. He lets out a satisfied meow and sticks his nose into it briefly, as if checking that it isn’t fake, before seeming content enough and beginning to eat it.

Y/n pats him on the head and returns the scoop to its rightful place inside the pantry, closing the door behind her and going to the kitchen. She turns on the overhead light, enabling her to see a lot better than she could previously, and grabs different ingredients from the fridge, including a carton of large eggs, cheese, water, vanilla extract, syrup, and a pack of bacon. Then she moves to collect salt and pepper, a loaf of bread, cooking oil, a whisk, a mixing bowl, three separate skillets, and three plates.

Satisfied that Nana has all of the stuff that she needs in order to create this easy and, hopefully, good-quality breakfast, she puts in her earbuds, turns on some music, and begins by mixing up the scrambled eggs and putting a few strips of bacon on a skillet. Not having made breakfast in quite a while, she’s a bit rusty, and it takes a few moments to remember what exactly she’s supposed to do, though she gets the hang of it pretty quickly, and in around thirty-five minutes, she has the food all ready to eat and is washing up the used dishes after dividing everything up and pouring them onto plates.

I wonder when they’ll get up... She thinks, glancing at the food and then at the staircase that leads up to their bedroom. Breakfast will get cold if they don’t come down soon. As if on cue, she hears a set of heavy footsteps from upstairs as they stop by and go into what she assumes to be the bathroom. Drying her hands, she grabs two of the three plates, walks into the dining room, and sets them on the rectangular table before going to get the third one. As she passes the door again, she sees Marshmallow sitting and pawing at its surface, not-so-subtly implying what he expects of her.

She inwardly sighs and looks down at him with a raised brow, resting a hand on her hip. “Really? Now you want to go out?” She receives a mew in response, and she rolls her eyes but unlocks the door nonetheless. Marshmallow stands and backs away to ensure he doesn’t get hit when it swings toward him and then waits for her to push the screen open. On his way out, he rubs against her leg and flicks his tail in her direction; a gesture she takes as appreciation before he jumps off the porch and disappears around the corner of the house.

Around that time, she hears a door on the second floor open and that same pair of footsteps walking closer to the staircase, and she turns her head to look behind her, seeing her grandpa cautiously make his way down, grasping the wooden rail for support. She shuts the door and plasters a smile across her face, stepping forward to greet him once he reaches the floor, though he speaks before she can.

“Hey, hummingbird!” he says, glancing at the clock hung on the wall beside the door to check the time before meeting her gaze. “What are you doin’ up? It’s only seven-forty-eight.” Her smile turns slightly timid and she fights a yawn, instead opting to keep her response simple so she doesn’t make him worry, and shrugs her shoulders.

“Uh, well...I just, thought I’d get up early. Make breakfast...” Then her eyes widen and she signals toward the dining table on the opposite side of the living room. “Oh yeah, I made breakfast! Is Nana gonna be up soon, too?” He shakes his head in the negative, giving Y/n a friendly pat on her shoulder and walking toward the table.

“Nah. She didn’t sleep very well last night. She probably won’t be up for a couple'a hours yet.” Y/n glances at the plate of food laying on the island in the center of the kitchen, feeling a pang of pity erupt throughout her chest. She grabs it, places a sheet of plastic wrap over it diligently, and puts it on a shelf in the fridge, hoping that the bread won’t get too soggy in case Nana feels like eating when she does finally get up.

She fills two glasses with milk and brings them back into the dining room, giving one to Phil and the other she keeps, taking a seat in one of the four identical chairs placed around the table. “How come? Was she having bad dreams?” Part of her wonders if her grandma is suffering the same symptoms as herself, though she seriously doubts it. It never hurts to ask, she supposes.

“Heh, no.” He takes a bite of eggs, taking his time to finish his reply, and she takes his silence as an opportunity to eat, as it seems like she won’t have to be in any hurry to say anything for a few moments. She has to admit, she didn’t do a bad job of making the food. The eggs could use a bit more salt, but other than that, she’s quite proud of how it all turned out, especially since she hasn’t made a proper meal in several months. “Just aching joints, mostly. That and stress.”

She lifts her eyes curiously at this and he continues looking down at his plate, taking steady bites and not acknowledging her question-brimmed gaze, or what he had said. Around thirty seconds of silence passes when she breaks it, wanting to know what might stress her grandmother out to where it interferes with her sleep. “What do you mean ‘stress’? Is there something wrong?”

Now he meets her eyes, his face morphing into one of realization, and he furrows his brows. “Well, yes...” His voice wavers ever-so-slightly, and it’s so precise that even Y/n almost doesn’t notice it. “I mean, w-with your parents, and everything.”

“Why would my parents stress you guys out?” She can tell that at least part of his statement isn’t 100% true, though she doesn’t want to pressure him. After all, if he wants to tell her, he’ll tell her. “They’re my problem, not yours.”

“Darlin’, if your parents aren’t treating you right, that makes them our problem, too. Especially your dad.” Perhaps she isn’t used to people willingly getting involved in her personal life, but those two sentences sound so strange to her. They also sound touching, so much so her heartbeat speeds up. “We ain't gonna stand aside and let you get neglected and mistreated.”

She swallows, trying to keep the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes at bay, and takes a shaky breath. “Well...thanks, Pops.” Her tone is soft and genuine, probably the most genuine it’s been in quite a while, and she sends him a grateful smile. He briefly returns it, turning his attention back to his food and continuing to eat.

A couple of minutes later, silence is all that’s heard as the two enjoy the meal, Y/n’s mind swarming with thoughts. How could she have forgotten how pure her grandparents are? How has she gone nearly half of her life without their wholesome influence? How could her father regretlessly throw almost all connections with them into the fire and then have the nerve to act like they don’t even exist? It’s a totally shameful thing to do, and that fact is only now making itself fully apparent to her. How could he? After they raised him? After they gave him and Aunt Darcy all of their love? How could he just stop talking to them like that?

It’s bad enough that he refuses to visit with them, but then he goes and forces her to do the same thing? How could her father be so utterly egocentric that he abandons what should be two of the most important people in his life? It doesn’t make any sense to her. Then again, her father hasn’t really made much sense since all of this pointless drama started, so she guesses his reasoning won’t get much more rational from here on out.

At least her aunt still treats them like her parents. Or...she did the last time Y/n was here. It’s unknown what she does now, which makes the dream she had flash into her mind. Just what happened between her aunt and her grandparents? Taking a breath of composure through her nose and biting the inside of her cheek nervously, she speaks again. “Pops...can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Y/n. Ya don’t have to be shy around me.” She moves her gaze to a wall, gathering her thoughts and attempting to form a coherent sentence.

“Well...you said, yesterday when I asked about Aunt Darcy, that you’d tell me later.” She tries to keep her voice raised enough so he can hear her well, as his ears 'aren’t what they used to be', or so he’s told her. “And...well, it’s later, so...”

She sees him stiffen and stare down as if trying to sort through his thoughts, and she waits patiently—or anxiously—for his response. It’s clearly a serious matter that he feels hesitant to discuss, but surely it can’t be anything like what her dreams suggested, right? No, absolutely not. She would’ve been informed a long time ago if something like that had happened. They probably just lost touch. Maybe they moved far away from here and Nana and Pops feel sad talking about it.

“N/n...” He catches her full attention when he starts and almost seems to crumble under her apprehensive gaze. “I think you should wait and talk about this with your grandmother. I’m afraid I don’t, uh...” He rubs the stubble on his chin and releases a humorless laugh. “I’m not really a master with the words.”

“Please?” She doesn’t want to resort to begging, but she has to know. If her mind is going to be put to ease, it needs to know that her dream is nothing more than that—a dream. What she saw isn’t real, and it will never be. So she can relax and enjoy the rest of her vacation with her grandparents. He opens his mouth like he’s about to further argue his point, but she beats him to it. “It doesn’t matter if you aren’t the best at explaining. Just tell me, in whatever way you can? Please?”

He stares across the table at her for a good minute before finally letting out a defeated sigh and sliding his now-empty plate to the side to give him room to rest his arms comfortably across the wooden surface in front of him, muttering something about how she’d have to know, eventually.

“Look, Y/n...” he looks like he’s currently straining himself for the correct wording, and she doesn’t take her eyes off of him, “...around a year and a half, two years ago...” He meets her e/c irises, his own holding great pain and hesitation. She subconsciously squeezes the fork in her hand, her lips parting with anticipation. What happened? Did they get into a fight? Did Aunt Darcy and Uncle Marvin get divorced? “...Wyatt disappeared. And...and Darcy and Marvin were murdered.”

Her breath hitches as her mind tries to comprehend this newly delivered information. No, no... That can’t be right. All of it was a dream, nothing more. Her mind predicted nothing. It couldn’t have. No, Pops has to be joking... But what if he isn’t? She leans forward, shocked, eyebrows raised and heart skipping a beat as she forces one word out of her mouth. “W...what...?” It emerges as a whisper, and he runs his fingers through his white, thin hair.

“I—I really shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“How...?” She fights the tears in her eyes and gulps, nervous to hear his answer. He shakes his head.

“That’s awfully descriptive, I don’t think you need to—”

“Were they stabbed? S-strangled? Shot?” She isn’t sure why she wants to know. Despite how painful it will be. She tilts her head in distress and considers the way he stares at her, contemplating what she said. Her eyes are pleading, desperate, and her bottom lip quivers vaguely.

“They...they were stabbed. Probably by the javelin that Marvin kept in the living room, because it was missing, a-and the wounds were...messy, they said.” She drops her fork and shoves her plate aside, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands as she fathoms all of this. How could this have happened? These are things that are only supposed to take place in movies, on crime shows, not in real life. It isn’t supposed to happen to her family.

“And...and Wyatt?” Her voice is muffled and quiet and her stomach becomes queasy.

“Nobody knows. He just...vanished.” Her heart gets caught in her throat and she releases a small sound similar to a whimper. “There are theories that he...that he killed them and then took off to get away from the law.” She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping strands of her hair.

“He—he wouldn’t. He loves them...”

“I know. I think that’s an absurd theory, myself.” He rests a consoling hand on her arm to bring her an ounce of comfort. She barely even registers the touch and focuses on the gory images running rampant through her brain. How could her aunt and uncle be dead? How could her cousin be missing? How could anybody think he had anything at all to do with it? “I knew this would be a lot to handle. I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?” She lifts her head enough to meet his eyes, her voice unsteady. “If it happened that long ago, why was I kept in the dark?”

“Trust me, we tried to tell you. We tried to tell your dad, your mom, but neither of them listened to us. They ignored our calls and wouldn’t let us get on the phone with you. You deserved to know, and I’m sorry it’s taken us this long to tell you.” She can’t stop her hands from shaking as a tear rolls down her cheek.

“Y-you mean Dad...Dad didn’t care that his sister was dead?” Bitterness and a form of disbelief lace her voice as her eyes try their best to bare holes in the table in front of her.

“He didn’t wanna believe it. I think he convinced himself it didn’t actually happen and refused to acknowledge any of it.” A rich, overwhelming fear washes over her and makes her want to throw up as she bites her lip, so hard it almost draws blood, though she doesn’t pay attention to the pain. Her eyes narrow in on Phil and she removes her hands from her face to get a better view of him, her words no longer indistinct.

“You... You’re not kidding, are you?” He shakes his head slowly and goosebumps form along the skin of her arms.

“No... I’m so sorry. I know you were close with them...”

“I, uh...” She jumps to her feet and grabs her dishes, since she lacks the stomach to finish her breakfast. “I’m gonna...go. Out, f-for a walk.” As she steps around the table and past Phil, he lightly takes hold of her wrist to get her attention, and she glances down at him with glossy eyes.

“I didn’t want to scare you or make you feel so bad, Y/n. I just...didn’t want to lie to you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, though her tone implies otherwise. “Thank you. I—I wanted to know.” Before he can say anything else, she easily pulls away from his grasp and heads toward the kitchen, dumping her scraps in the large trash can before washing the dishes, putting them in the drainer to dry, pocketing her phone, and going toward the front door once again. “Um, i-if Nana wakes up before I’m back, please tell her that there’s food in the fridge.”

Not sticking around for a reply, she exits the home, shutting the screen behind her and speed-walking toward the white gate. She finds herself in a hurry to be in solitude so she can express herself more clearly without fear of being judged. Though tears now stream freely down her cheeks, she tries to hold them back until she’s concealed in the thick greenery of the forest, and she takes the same path she did yesterday—and many instances prior—this time neglecting to pay attention to what she steps on and what she doesn’t.

She stumbles several times over the thorny plants and uncut weeds until she eventually reaches a tamer area of the trail, wrapping her arms around herself and letting out squeaky sobs. Is it just a terrible coincidence? Her dreaming about Wyatt dying and then finding out someone murdered his parents, and he’s gone missing? Or is there something deeper going on? She can’t summon the energy to think past the fact that her aunt and uncle are dead, or that her cousin apparently vanished without a trace and has yet to return.

Since she arrived here, her dreams have had a menacing, eerie atmosphere to them, though she assumed it was just the stress of everything manifesting itself into the form of something specifically created to put trepidation in her heart. She didn’t think they meant anything more, not to the point of invading her mind during the day, every day, without end. But...was she wrong?

How can they be gone? Just like that? Her brows knit together and her eyes narrow in both incredulity and anger. And how could Dad know but not tell me? I’m his freaking daughter, for crying out loud! And that’s his sister, his brother-in-law! His nephew! How could he just pretend nothing happened!?

A pathetic whimper escapes and she shakes her head, quickening her pace and keeping an eye out for a connecting path in particular that she and Wyatt used to take to get to the river. They used to take that path, together, when they were kids. That will never happen again. Because he’s missing and probably won’t ever come back.

Oh... This means Nana and Pops are the only ones left... She sniffles and sucks in shallow, sharp breaths as she comes to this realization, slowing down absentmindedly. She was my only aunt, he was my only cousin, Marvin was my only uncle... They were my closest relatives that actually give a crap about me.

Seeing as how her mother’s parents disowned her when she was only seventeen because she got impregnated by a man (now her husband) who was, at the time, twenty-two, she never got to meet them and didn’t hear too much about them, outside of insults and general hate. Her mom’s sister, Giana, visited little, and when she did she was always snobby, uptight, and it was apparent to Y/n that she didn’t really care for her niece very much. She was only after the money that Y/n’s father and mom had in their grasp.

In other words, her mother’s family left much to be desired. At least her dad’s side of the family loves her, which is something she’s beyond grateful for. But now most them are gone. Only her grandparents remain. Does her father even care about that? Has he ever stopped and thought, ‘ya know, maybe I should stop acting like a scumbag and spend time with my parents before it’s too late’, or, ‘should I maybe suck up my childish tendencies for once and be there for my sister’s funeral’? Doubtful. If he did, it was a mere idea that he quickly brushed aside and labeled as ‘ridiculous’.

Y/n wouldn’t be so angry with him had he at least let her still see them, at least twice a year, maybe on holidays, but that simply isn’t the case. If she was allowed back here years ago, she would’ve been able to spend quality time with all of them before that horrible event occurred. But now it’s too late. All thanks to her selfish jerk for a father.

She releases an infuriated scream and turns to kick the nearest tree, prompting a bird sitting on a branch to fly away in alarm, likely under the impression that it’s under siege. She couldn’t care less about the sapphire-hued ave at the moment, however, and kicks the tree a total of three more times before she collapses on her knees in a sobbing, shaking, heartbroken heap.

Even if she tried, she’d be unable to keep her negative emotions to herself. But she doesn’t want to. She wants to cry, cry until she can’t anymore. Nobody’s around; she’s completely alone. What harm will it bring? Salty tears slide down her face and hit the ground with a tiny splash each time, and she leans forward and rests her forearms on the grass beneath her for some sort of stability.

She can hardly believe this information, no matter how many times it runs through her head. It seems surreal, almost like a dream. But this isn’t a dream. Right? It would be amazing to wake up and find out that Marvin and Darcy are alive, that Wyatt is still here, and that they’re all living happy lives. But that scenario is unlikely to be true. Still, she hopes. Maybe it’s all in her mind. She pinches the skin of her arm and winces, waiting to wake up in her bed.

She doesn’t.

She crashes further to the ground and her pained wails become louder. Why them? Why some of the sweetest people in her life? Why did they have to go? Why couldn’t it have been a bad person? Someone whose only goal in life is to make others suffer? Why couldn’t it have been her own parents instead of Wyatt’s? As terrible of a thought as it sounds, she can’t chase it out of her mind.

Who would do such a thing? Who would murder somebody with a family that they love, who loves them in return? Have they no empathy? No compassion, no remorse? Obviously not. The sudden snap of a twig draws her out of her stupor and she cranes her neck to the side, gazing through swollen, glassy eyes and trying to see past the trees and detect whatever the source of the noise is. Seeing nothing and brushing it off as an animal or her imagination, she turns back toward the ground, attempting to gather her bearings to continue her stroll in peace.

After a couple of minutes, she catches her breath, calms herself down enough to be aware of her surroundings, and leisurely rises to her feet, wiping the rest of the tears away with the back of her arm and beginning to walk forward, once again.

She spots a familiar trail, shrouded by an abundance of briars and thick plants, that she remembers leads to her and Wyatt’s old Hangout, as they had dubbed it in the past, where the water is just clear enough to be considered clean, where a small mountain covered with boulders rests, where a large oak had been planted beside the river dozens of years ago and made the perfect place to sit and play cards, share stories, or stare down below into the beautiful scenery and beyond.

That was the way it used to be, almost eight years ago, and that’s the way she hopes it is now. Maybe it will share similarities to a painting frozen in time. Maybe it hasn’t changed at all. Guess I’ll find out...

She struggles to swat away the plants and duck under branches, looking closely for low-hanging spiderwebs that are in the direct path of her head. Her heart aches, there isn’t a doubt about that. But below that aching, below the pain, there’s anger. Pure vexation, all directed at her father. Yes, she knows he wasn’t the one who killed them, but he’s the one who kept her from seeing them. Perhaps she should focus all her negative energy on the actual person who caused their deaths. But she can’t; not right now. The real villain, in her eyes, is the man whose self-centered personality, along with his total disregard for other peoples’ feelings, made the last of her childhood and the beginning and onward of her teenage years miserable.

Her mother isn’t innocent in this either. Her cheating on her own husband, not acknowledging that her daughter even exists most days anymore, and overall disloyalty to her family angers Y/n; makes her strongly dislike her. But her mother had almost nothing to do with these family issues, no. Her father caused that all on his own. She’s sure the only reason her mom never communicated with them is because her husband told her not to.

Y/n recalls turning to her mother for answers when she couldn’t get anything out of her dad, and she responded with, “You’ll have to ask your father”, or, “I’m not the one you should question about that”. Every single time. So she stopped; after all, what’s the point in asking about something if all you get are vague, pointless answers in response?

She looks back when she gets the inkling that she’s being followed, and flinches in surprise when she meets the chestnut eyes of a boy, with messy brown hair draping over his forehead, fair skin, and an attractive, youthful face. He appears to be around her age and is several inches taller than average, meaning she has to tilt her head to see his face properly. He puts his hands up in defense as if taken off-guard by her startled reaction.

She claims a single, cautious step back when he speaks. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice is deep and mature-sounding, and she furrows her eyebrows in suspicion. Who is this guy? How long has he been there?

“Were you...following me?” Her tone cradles wariness, and he sends her a friendly smile to show her he means well, though she gets the feeling that maybe it isn’t as sincere as he makes it seem.

“Uhh...yes? But, you don’t have to get creeped out or anything, I’m not a stalker.” She raises an eyebrow and further stretches the distance between them in case he took a notion to attack. “I just moved here and decided to explore around, then I saw you walking by and figured I’d say ‘hello’.”

She considers his posture, his appearance, and his upright demeanor, before meeting his eyes again, her muscles relaxing. She concludes he seems genuine enough, though she won’t let her guard down completely. To her relief, he isn’t commenting on the frazzled way she must look—not that she would have much of a reason to be concerned with that, anyway. “...Really? Where do you live?”

“About a mile north from here, with my little sister and mom.” He nods his head in that direction and sticks his hands into his hoodie pocket habitually. “She thought I should get out and get familiar with the area.”

“And...how do you like it?” She tilts her head, crossing her arms over her chest protectively. He shrugs.

“It’s nice. Pretty quiet most of the time, but it’s a good area to unwind, I guess.” She nods in response, and he takes a step closer, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by her. “What about you?”

“I’m here visiting some family while my parents are away on business.” She says the term ‘family’ instead of ‘grandparents’ without paying any thought to it first, and it makes her chest tighten when she realizes that very thing.

“Cool. You been here before?”

“Not since I was a kid.”

“How come?” Her eyes form slits and her voice hardens, not willing nor eager to give a stranger a load of personal information. Perhaps it’s the fact that she has interacted little with anyone outside what was necessary for quite a while and it’s making her feel overly cautious about meeting new people, but something about this person hits her as strange. She can’t quite put her finger on it—all she knows is that she feels weird around him.

“Family issues.” There’s a certain tension that looms between the two of them, and she shuffles on her feet uncomfortably, unsure if this guy wants to maintain some type of conversation with her. She was never the best at reading people and knowing what they were thinking. A few moments pass.

“So...where are you going?”

“Um...” She glances behind her, to the unconquered trail that she was taking before he showed up, and jabs her thumb backward to show him. “There’s a river and a tree and stuff down there. I was just seeing if it’s the same as I remember it being.”

“I don’t mean to be the annoying know-it-all, but...” He uses his eyes to signal around them in an evident manner. “There are trees everywhere.” A huff exits her nose, and she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, well. There is one tree there that’s more special than the ones here.” He chuckles faintly and nods.

“Fair enough. Mind if I tag along?” She presses her lips together after hearing this seemingly harmless request, thinking it over. “Hey, I know that face. Don’t worry; I’m not gonna slaughter you or anything when we get there.”

“Heh, no, I wasn’t—” She runs her hand through her hair and grapples for words that won’t make her seem paranoid or stupid.

“You were.” He grins mischievously, walking closer to her, and she steps to the edge of the path in response, still not fully trusting this patently nice individual. “It’s okay. Look, I’ll even go first so I can’t stab you when you're not looking.” She bites the inside of her cheek and watches as he passes her effortlessly, then stops a few inches ahead. “You were following the trail, right?” She nods. “Then c’mon and we’ll ‘get familiar with the area’ together.”

“I’m already familiar with the area,” she corrects, hesitantly following behind him when he walks.

“Okay, okay, then let me get familiar with the area and you can just make sure I don’t get lost.” She can’t stop the amused smirk that etches itself across her face as she falls in place next to him, keeping a respectable distance between them—as ‘respectable’ as the distance can be, at least. She’s content that she’s found something that will hopefully distract her for a little while so she won’t have to think about the current horrors in her life. “So what’s your name?”

“Y/n.” She briefly meets his eyes and repeats his own inquiry. “You?”

“Nice to meet you, Y/n. I’m Jack.”

[pegraham]

M/M monsterromance now available at jms-books.com or on amazon.

Sir Willem Byrdsall was once the proud captain of the Queen’s Guard. Now he’s retired, struggling with an old injury that never healed right, and feeling every one of his forty-two years. Never married, his closest family is his sister and his ailing niece Alice. When physicians give up hope and predict that the next winter might be the little girl’s last, Will takes up one final quest -- to slay an elusive unicorn for its blood which is said to cure any illness.

His hunt takes an unexpected turn when a naked, terrified young man stumbles into his camp on a dark and stormy night, chased to the point of exhaustion by slavers. Will saves him and is forced to put his quest on hold when he realizes the young man is injured and stranded, lost in a strange land, and in desperate need of protection.

Percy is unlike any other person Will has ever met. His beauty is second to none, his sincerity is refreshing, and his kisses are the sweetest Will has tasted. But Percy isn’t what he seems, and Will’s quest for a cure becomes far more complicated once his heart is involved.

[nohdragonshere]

8, 9, and 49! :D (romeowfr)

8. Dragon with lore (or that i wish had lore) Actually! Quite a few of my dragons have lore! :) Some of my lore is intertwined with a pair of friends I joined with too--honestly making Lore is one of my favorite things to do on the site. That said....ones with lore I've properly written up in their bios....that's another story, haha. To share a snippet though! (from a dragon whose lore IS written in his bio, though it needs a bit of an update):

This is Whistle! A nonverbal Wildclaw who was adopted by Harpies when he was just an egg. He's absolutely enamored by birds and has learned to mimic their chirps and calls...which is what earned him his nickname (Whistle)! He's rather nomadic and tends to travel around without planting roots, fending for himself, hunting, and collecting shiny Bits and Baubles from clockwork creatures. He also knows sign language! And of course, he does visit his Harpy family back home from time to time. :) 9. Dragon with art (or that i wish has art)

I'm actually a gijinka artist so I do have art I've done of my dragons, though not often in dragon form. 😔However! I did draw one of my dragons in dragon form once (in my lore, they can switch between humanoid form and dragon form through 'glamouring') so I can share that one!

This is Katz, a Veilspun prince who was cursed to effectively be a hapless housecat until someone breaks the curse. However, they didn't anticipate that he'd actually really enjoy the lifestyle, free from all of his responsibilities and basically spending all his days in a little old lady's garden treating himself to whatever Treats growing there that he likes, and spending his evenings curled by a fireplace...he's evaded the Curse Breaking Parameters for some time now. (He was inspired by a fat orange cat stray that kept bumbling around outside my window and waking me up with all his clattering around...thinking, I should probably give this picture it's own post for a Fat Dragon Friday contribution, I feel people may appreciate him, haha)

and finally! 49. Best and Worst achievments

This one I'm not toooo sure how to answer because I admittedly don't pay too much attention to my achievements, but the worst is probably...this one:

tragedy... 😔 As for the best, while not an official achievement (just a personal one), when eye variations first came out (and before the vials were released) I'd Really wanted to get both the Primal eye and the Multi-eye from one of my nests...and there was a pair I tended to nest often (mostly because they're a very loving couple in lore, not because they made particularly pretty dragons, haha) and they ended up giving me my first Multi-gaze! And then in their very next nest, two months later, they gave me my first Primal too! I had been so stoked at the time and it still is something I find as a cool achievement. (The couple in question, Iari and Kiril! They have a trophy in my heart...they are powerful...):

(Oh boy I rambled a lot...hope it was a nice read! And thank you for sending in the questions! I hope today is a good one for you! :) )

[who-canceled-roger-rabbit]

Some of you remember the Spiderwick Chronicles by DiTerlizzi and Black, but have you heard of the sequel series?

It's called Beyond The Spiderwick Chronicles, and it's set in Florida where these kids (starting with stepsiblings Nick and Laurie Vargas—I'm pretty sure their last name was Vargas?) encounter some of the creatures that the authors couldn't find room for in the original 5-book series. Eventually they meet the Grace family, the kids from the original books.

CW: mention of implied sexual assault of a fictional teenager below the cut (also tagging @thatonemushroom here; they said I could tag them in this post)

Anyway I bring this up because I recently remembered that Nick's older brother (and Laurie's older stepbrother), Jules Vargas, is captured by merfolk in the second book (A Giant Problem) and possibly sexually assaulted?

Okay, that's subtle enough that I didn't pick up on it when I first read it. My initial read was that he's dazed in the second two excerpts (pp. 122 and 129) because the residual mer-magic is still wearing off, which is still plausible enough that I'm not entirely sure even today that it's not just my pervy imagination jumping to conclusions.

BUT THEN THE FOLLOWING YEAR the final installment (The Wyrm King) came out and:

That sounds a bit more pointed; if it's not implying straightforward sexual assault, it's implying an unspecified supernatural experience that's violating enough to leave comparable trauma.

It's interesting to compare this to the fifth installment in a certain, uh, other bestselling children's fantasy series from the '00s. That installment has a character (played in the movies by Imelda Staunton) dragged offscreen by partly humanoid, partly animal beings that are known in the original myths for their often-predatory lust for hapless humans. (The Mars Needs Women trope is both ancient and, as mermaids and nymphs and such demonstrate, surprisingly gender-neutral.) Like Jules, when Staunton's character is rescued, she appears physically fine but remains traumatized from whatever she endured offscreen.

Yet unlike Spiderwick, this other series plays the implied assault totally for laughs, because that character is presented as so despicable that she obviously had it coming. Add that to the "reasons why She Who Must Not Be Named is a lousy feminist and not even the best children's author of the '90s/'00s" file.

[acetypeface]

Thanks for the tags, @childlikegoblinqueen @unniebeans and @willowsz-plantsz!! (It’s so fun having so many fic writer moots!!)

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

~

The Quest for the Keys of Death — A TOH/PJO crossover that’s currently on hiatus, but I have 8 chapters up on ao3! Follows Luz Noceda the demigod as she goes on a quest to find a missing child of Hades, and fix the gods’ newest mess.

The Haunting of Gravesfield — A Stranger Things inspired 80s AU. Willow Park has just graduated high school, but she can’t get her bosses at the local paper to take her seriously. In order to catch their eye, she decides to take on one of Gravesfield’s greatest unsolved mysteries… the murder of Caleb Wittebane. With the help of Caleb’s son, the reclusive Hunter Wittebane, Willow dives into a world of murder, monsters, and unholy plots. I haven’t started this one yet, but I’ve been planning it.

Ghostling — An original story that I’m currently planning. Stella Cho is a supernatural—a humanoid with miraculous powers. She can peer through the veil and communicate with the realm of spirits. But supernaturals have always been persecuted, and laws against them are only becoming stricter. After saving a hapless changeling from his abusive stepfather, Stella decides to fight back against the humans and the supernaturals who would seek to harm her brethren. And maybe, just maybe, she can make a difference.

Assorted One-Shots — All TOH (mostly Huntlow) that I have ideas for but having written yet. Still waiting for the time… rehearsals have been a nightmare.

~

Tags for… @oh-cramity-its-amity @slightecho @pookha

[lacytumbles]

Turtle and Dork

“This is a robbery!!” are words that often come out of the blue. The presence of a humanoid turtle smashing through the window with those words increased the surrealism exponentially.

My smile froze on my face, chopsticks poised mid-air to point at my girlfriend across the table. The noodles I had been slurping did not freeze, slapping gently onto my chin before I hastily slurped them up, coughing. Ruby, who had half-turned around to look at the disturbance, wheeled back at my coughing, scowl rapidly changing to concern. “You okay, Leia?”

I waved my hand, thumping my chest with the other fist as the turtle barreled through the Chinese restaurant. It was huge, maybe eight feet tall, with stubby hands and feet poking out of a circular shell that ensconced most of its body, giving it an uneven, waddling gait. Other diners were screaming and darting out of the way as it plowed through tables, chairs smashed underfoot and food slapping wetly against the floor. The turtle came to a halt in front of the serving counter, cashier shrinking against the wall, the bobbing light fixture behind him casting a looming shadow over the hapless man.

“That doesn’t look fine.” She reached out, cupping my cheek. “Need me to do anything?”

I shook my head again, working the noodles down my throat as the turtle started shouting again. “You! Give me all the cash in the register!”

“Y-yes!” A mechanical clack was followed by the rattle of coins. “H-here, I have nothing else, I swear!”

“Is that all?!” Out of the corner of my vision, I saw one of the turtle’s clawed fingers glow green and a blip of energy flashed out, searing the wall behind the screaming cashier. “Surely you have more than this?!”

“I-I swear this is all we have!”

My esophagus finally cleared and I got out, “I’m good, just went down the wrong pipe there, I think.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, in the background hearing the turtle shout, “Surely you have more!! Is this not one of those vile places that serves up my comrades as meals?! Are our lives worth that little to you?!”

“I -” the cashier choked on his words until he offered up a measly, “We don’t serve turtle soup here.”

Ruby sighed. “If you say so.”

I waved my hand. “I’m fine, really, no need to -”

“Don’t bullshit me! Sox News clearly said -”

“Wait.” My girlfriend turned her head around to glare at the interrupting turtle, her hand rising in tune with her hair, streaks of red and silver and blue and yellow and white flashing through each strand in a psychedelic display of color. “You interrupted my date because of some bullshit Sox News spewed?”

“Huh?” The turtle turned angrily, then its eyes widened at the bubbling mass of energy hovering in front of my girlfriend’s palm and the hair lashing out behind her head? “Ai-Ailements?!?! What’re you doing here -”

“Wait -”

My words were cut off as my girlfriend intoned, “Fever Freeze.”

With a rush of cold air, the turtle was instantly ensconced in a layer of ice, its face a picture of befuddlement. The cashier and remaining customers gawked at the new sculpture in the room.

“Rubyyyyyyy.” I rubbed my forehead in exasperation.

Her cold face shook, and she turned to me. “Wait, i-it’s not like I killed him or anything. He’ll thaw out, get a cold, it’ll be okay -”

“People.” I gestured pointedly at the civilians now slowly turning their gaze to the $500,000,000-bounty supervillain sitting in the corner.

“Ah.” She coughed, then twirled her finger. “Amnesia Air.”

A gray mist twirled from her finger, growing monstrously large in an instant before sweeping over the establishment. “Sorry,” she muttered sheepishly. “They’ll forget the past few minutes, nothing more.”

I nodded with satisfaction. “I know it’s not your fault, but don’t go losing your temper and exposing yourself again, all right? You promised no repeat of the Dr. Eutropes situation.”

“I knooooow.” She rubbed her forehead, hair returning to its normal brown shade and settling back onto her shoulders and staring at the half-eaten bowls on the table. “Um, movie, I guess? Your choice, I’ll pay?”

I gave a thumbs up, rifling through my wallet and depositing payment for the food on the table. “Sounds good.”

“You’re not mad?”

I sighed, reached over, and booped her forehead. “I’m not. Dork.”

Her face flushed. “I-I’m not -”

I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “D-o-r-k. Now movie, let’s book it before the heroes get here.”

She nodded sheepishly. “Ok.”

We began to tip-toe through the dinner, avoiding the diners standing there listlessly among the fog. “But really, Fever Freeze that leaves them with a cold?” I giggled. “Works perfectly for Ailements, I’d say.”

“Puns are the best form of humor!!”

“Dork.”

[letstalktea]

Married at Sea

Content: Fem!Harpy x Reader, abductions, mentions of rape, hallucinations, oral sex, implied death Word Count: 1.1k

"Do these men respect you as they should? Or are you only a hapless prisoner in their arrogant eyes?" A voice calls from beyond the waves licking against the side of the ship. "Don't you desire more than to simply be the prize earned for razing your home and people to the ground?"

You sit up from the hard wooden floor, the thin fabric of your gown – an inadequate barrier to block the damp, frigid sea air from seeping deep into your bones – falling back into place from where it had been bunched up after the last of your captors had come to visit you for a nightly trist.

The voice from beyond continues, "Come. I shall show you freedom." 

It feels like a dream as you rise to your bare feet, the grain of the wood scratching along your soles as you stagger toward the stairs leading toward the main deck. The hatch separating you from the fresh air of the deck is weighed down as you try to push up on it; likely to keep you exactly where you are.

The small foreign spark of longing within you flickers for a brief moment before fading as your senses begin to clear and you wonder what you are trying to do. To rebel is to be hit and whipped. To wish for more is to be disappointed. To remember your home is to have to acknowledge all that has been stolen from you.

"I can end your hurt and repay your captors in kind," the voice sings.

The daze in your mind begins to crescendo once again, but this time you feel as if it isn't just the voice speaking hollow words, but weaving promises.

"Shall I show you desire beyond imagining? That which you long for most?" The voice whispers directly into your ear and you feel as if you are suddenly somewhere else entirely while also somehow being nowhere at all. 

You are laid bare in the nothingness, naked as the day you were born and completely open to some other power coiling itself around you. Warm fingertips, calloused and rough, rake down your midsection until they are dipping between your legs as something long, wet, and hungry gingerly licks up the side of your neck.

It isn't the same as when those men touch you. Their grip is possessive, commanding, and forceful. The way these hands caress you is far more gentle, more tender than even your fantasies.

"What a beautiful creature you are." The voice continues to sing, but this time it is coming from right in front of you and spoken by a figure slowly fading into existence.

Whatever she is, she isn't human. She is humanoid in shape, but where there should be skin there are only feathers. Her legs are distinctly avion in that they bend the wrong way at the knee and end in sharp talons. Her hands are the only thing familiar about her forelimbs, as everything past her wrist evolves into wings. But the most haunting aspect is the way her yellow sclera glow even in the darkness of wherever your mind has wandered.

"Beautiful creature, won't you let me embrace you?"

She is a monster. You can see that clearly even through the fog in your head, but – as she trails her lips down your chest and stops to kiss your stomach while her rough fingers continue to rub between your legs – you don't mind. Even as a monster, she is the least monstrous of all the people who have touched your body as of late. She is certainly the only one that cared to ask you for permission rather than acting entitled to it.

Without giving her a verbal answer, as if she heard your very thoughts longing for her, she finishes kissing her way down between your legs. Her tongue laps at your sex as her hands move to explore the rest of your body. 

There's something comforting in the way she touches you. In another life, you would have liked to take a lover like her, to be held and adored in the bed you may have shared. If given the chance you would still like that. The thought of it, how gentle and loving she is even with such a fearsome appearance, makes you wonder if she is the answer to prayer you'd stopped voicing the moment you had been taken from your bed and onto this ship. It sparks the flames of desire in you anew.

Her mouth retreats from your body just as quickly as it had latched onto it. You stare at her smiling face, full of teeth so sharp that the mere sight of them feels like they are cutting you to pieces. "Follow my voice and you shall have this and your escape. I eagerly await you."

You want to reach out for her, to tell her to stay by your side if even for a moment longer, but she is quickly gone. Even her song sounds far away through the wood of the ship keeping you from her.

You have to find her.

You stare up at the hatch keeping you locked below deck and curse it. You curse it so vehemently that the gods must shudder at your rage. You curse it so thoroughly for keeping you barred that you barely feel the first whinge of pain as you smack your shoulder against it. The second time you smash yourself into the hatch, you ignore the pain. The third time, your shoulder has gone numb and the pain means nothing anymore. It all means nothing as you try to break yourself free. 

By the time the hatch finally came off its hinges, your shoulder had turned black from bruises. But you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you were finally out of the ship’s hull and could walk barefooted across the deck.

The wood felt wet and sticky below your feet, like walking through syrup. All you could focus on, however, was the quiet of the night broken only by the song calling out to you from the distant rocky shore. The men who had captured you laid limp and immobile on the deck floor, but none stirred as you walked past them toward the wheel of the ship.

“You’ve done so well, Beautiful,” the melodic voice hummed in your ear. It felt like that avian woman grabbed your hands and placed them against the ship wheel even though she was nowhere to be seen. “Now come to me and be free.”

With no experience but drive buzzing at the back of your skull, you smiled and jerked the wheel to the side to turn the ship toward the rocky cliffs from where the voice came.