#not a rare toy but one of my most treasured

[creatingblackcharacters]

here's a threefer if that's okay, all from Codename: Kids Next Door (early 2000s cartoon network show about kids with wacky technology who fight against adult tyranny)—since their stories are pretty well intertwined, and i can't really talk about just one without including the others here's Numbuh 5/Abigail Lincoln, one of the 5 main characters (Sector V of the titular Kids Next Door organization). she's the voice of reason and the "cool" one of the group.

she's the one who holds the group together most of the time, and has great leadership skills—though she refused to be the official leader of Sector V due to an Incident when she was younger. at the end of the show, though, when the actual leader Numbuh 1 leaves for space, he requests that she become the leader of the sector again. she accepts, and eventually then goes on to become the Supreme Leader of the entire KND. love to see a girlboss winning!!

she also has an adventurous side—there's an arc where she goes on various treasure hunts for rare, mystical candies, and i think that's hella cool.

then there's her older sister, Cree. (yes, named after Cree Summer! she voices both her and Abigail.)

cree is a recurring villain—a teenager, one of the natural enemies of the KND. what's unique about her compared to the other villains is that she used to be a member of the KND herself, before betraying the organization on her 13th birthday and escaping "decommissioning" (the process through which all KND operatives have their memories of the organization removed when they turn 13, i.e. are no longer kids).

aside from being just as cool and skilled in combat as her sister, she and her sister have an incredibly compelling dynamic. back when she was a kid, she and numbuh 5 used to be good friends and partners in adult-tyranny-fighting. in fact, 5's signature hat used to be cree's, which she gave to her out of pride for 5 having completed her second mission. in the present, though, their relationship has done a complete 180˚. they're at each other's throats constantly, now that cree had grown into the very type of person she used to be fighting against, WITHOUT memory alteration to boot.

...or so it seemed. in the episode OPERATION: VIRUS when cree was infected with the KND's "unpoppable zit" virus on the night of her prom, 5 actually went to lengths to get the antidote for her because even she thought it was "too far". in 5's words, "you may be my archenemy, but you're still my sister."

so yeah! they actually still care about each other deep down. aughhhhhh. this is just a headcanon but i imagine that to numbuh 5, her hat is a reminder of the good days when she worked together with cree. perhaps she holds on to it as hope that they can reconcile someday? idk

and finally, here's numbuh 9/Maurice. he was also on abby and cree's team back in the days.

his episode literally made me cry, man. it's focused around his 13th birthday and his decommissioning, which everyone in the KND is tearful about since he was one of the greatest and most beloved operatives in the organization's history. seeing him going from a cool kid operative, dedicated to his organization's mission, to an average, kinda dickish teenager was a bit heartbreaking when i watched it at first

one thing i love about this show is how it's a satire of the childhood experience and the pains of growing up that imo is best understood by ppl who've actually gone through it. the trope of decommissioning, as well as the whole conflict between teens and kids, really hammers in the pain of the end of childhood and how fast things change for you as you grow up. how so many decomm'd operatives had unfinished business that they never get to finish. in real life it's like, there was a moment when you put down your favorite toys or hung out with that one childhood friend for the last time, but never knew it was the last at the time. it's so tragic and juicy aughhhh. a line numbuh 5 says to cree during this episode illustrates it best: "you're a teen...maurice's a teen...soon i'm gonna be a teen...why keep fighting it"

however, it turns out he wasn't actually decommissioned! but rather he kept all his memories and was brought on as a secret undercover teen operative, thanks to all he accomplished while he was in the KND. no one is supposed to know about this except the highest of the higher-ups in the KND, but he trusts numbuh 5 with this info thanks to the bond they had. so he continues his legacy as a heroic figure. i really, really love his character, his dynamics with both numbuh 5 and cree (the latter of whom he pretends to ally with and date), and all the show's themes he represents.

also fun fact he's voiced by Khary Payton, who also did Cyborg from Teen Titans!

Hot Chocolate loves this show, so imma pass it off to him. Though first imma say that I do remember how as a kid I was shocked that it was allowed for your character to have your real name lol, I always thought that was so groundbreaking and taboo. Like aww! Her name is Cree, and so is her character! Now to him:

Hot Chocolate: SOMEONE GETS IT. These three black kids had me ready to join KND, kick butt, and steal ice cream. Numbuh 5 was my favorite! Always cool, and a fantastic leader. I forgot about her becoming supreme leader though, so you know what that meeeeeaans- time for a rewatch. Anyway, her relationship with Cree was so interesting and sad like come on, we were homies! It doesn't have to be this way! 😭😭 Especially because even though Cree was "evil" my young self has a crush on her 🤣.

Anyway the commentary on growing up and becoming old and boring caught me for a while, so I made sure I had as much fun as I could. But then they showed Maurice's episode and I was ready to take on the world. Anything to remain a cool agent of the KND. That being said everyone should give that show a try, it's old but still funny. Think I'll start it again for the Eleventynth time

[manysketchbook]

Ogilvy Springer Spaniel | Douglas Cuddle Toys, 2018, Discontinued

Thrifted this a few months ago because she looks exactly like my childhood dog, a liver and white English Springer Spaniel. I love the details of the fur, it is similar to the way Springer Spaniels are groomed. Even has a docked tail!

This was really dirty when I got it. I had to wash the whole thing and use stain remover. Cleaned up nicely though, and the long fur brushed out without issue.

[atzaurora]

first… I love your writing so much ^^♡ ♡ ♡ u always have me kicking my feet and giggling

request: i cannot get out of my mind husband!mingi (w a nastyyyy breeding kink) sending the kids away for the weekend and now that you have alone time, him begging and begginggg to fill you up again and have another one of his babies ;; he’s been extra lovey and kissy and touchy on you and lately it’s been especially hard to keep yourself off him and so you take him up on his offer and you fuck like rabbits to make a new baby (/-\)

thankuuu <3

[˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗] seed of affection

❥ 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓: Mingi

➤ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: fem!wife!mom!reader x husband!dad!mingi

➤ 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆: imagine (smut)

➤ 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑: married

.ᐟ.ᐟ𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.ᐟ.ᐟ: 18+/smut/suggestive content, breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral sex, manual stimulation, slight overstimulation

➤ 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Sending the kids away and having the house all to themselves...Mingi can't resist his desire of putting another baby in her...

➤ 𝒘/𝒄: 2.3k

➤ 𝒂/𝒏: Thanks so much! I'm glad you enjoy my work :33 loved writing this one a lot so I hope you like it as well! enjoyyy

if you have any ideas or wishes let me know, requests are open

here's my [𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕]!

[𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕] here!

[about me] + [guidelines]!

Mingi watched as the car pulled away, carrying your kids off for a weekend adventure at their grandparents’. The excitement of having a few days of uninterrupted time together buzzed between you and your husband, a rare and precious opportunity in the midst of your busy lives. A smile tugged at the corners of Mingi’s mouth as he turned back to you, his eyes darkening with a hunger that had been building for weeks. It had been obvious in the way he sought your touch constantly—resting his hand on your thigh, holding your hand at every opportunity, and stealing kisses whenever he could.

As if unable to resist, Mingi’s hand found yours, his fingers interlocking with yours in a silent declaration of intent. The living room was a mess, strewn with half-packed bags and toys scattered about, remnants of your children’s presence. But none of that mattered now. All that existed was the delicious anticipation crackling in the air between you and him, a tension that had been simmering for far too long.

Without a word, you both moved toward the bedroom, the familiar path feeling charged with new possibilities. The moment you stepped inside, Mingi couldn’t hold back any longer. He pinned you against the wall, his mouth claiming yours in a fiery kiss that sent shockwaves of desire through your body. His hands roamed over your curves with a familiarity that was both comforting and thrilling, each touch sending your pulse racing. You could feel his hardness pressing insistently against your stomach, a silent plea growing more insistent with every second that passed.

Between heated kisses, Mingi’s voice was a low murmur in your ear, sweet nothings mixed with the raggedness of his breath. His fingers worked deftly on the buttons of your blouse, each one undone with a reverence that made your heart flutter. As the fabric slipped from your shoulders and fell to the floor, he paused to drink in the sight of you. His gaze lingered on the swell of your breasts, the gentle curve of your waist, and the desire in his eyes was unmistakable.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and need. "I want to fill you up. I want to put another baby inside you."

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, the idea of carrying another piece of him within you, growing closer with every breath, was intoxicating. You looked up at him and nodded, your eyes reflecting the depth of your agreement, unable to find words for the feelings surging through you. With a soft groan, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bed with the care of a man who knew exactly how to cherish his most precious treasure.

As he laid you down, the mattress dipped beneath your weight, its softness enveloping you like a lover’s embrace. Mingi hovered over you, his eyes locked onto yours as he removed the last barriers between you. His kisses grew more urgent, his touch more demanding, yet still filled with the love that had always been the foundation of your relationship.

His hands slid down to your thighs, pushing them apart with a gentle force that made your breath hitch. His fingers traced the delicate lace of your underwear, teasing you with light touches before finally sliding the fabric off, revealing your slick, waiting folds. He groaned against your neck, his breath hot and ragged as he took in the sight of you laid bare before him.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through your entire body. He began kissing a path down your stomach, his lips brushing over your skin in a way that made you squirm with anticipation. His breath was warm and damp against your inner thighs, heightening the tension that was already winding tight within you.

You reached for his belt, eager to return the favor, your hands trembling slightly as you unbuckled it. With a quick tug, his pants fell to the floor, and his erection sprang free, thick and hard. Wrapping your hand around him, you felt him pulse in your grip, his eyes closing briefly before snapping back to yours, a silent challenge that made your heart race.

Mingi settled between your legs, his mouth tracing a line of kisses from your navel down to your inner thigh. His breath hovered over your core, the anticipation nearly unbearable. When his tongue finally met your clit, you gasped, your back arching off the bed as pleasure flooded your senses. He took his time, savoring every taste, every reaction, his movements slow and deliberate, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge.

With a growl of satisfaction, he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just so to hit that spot that made you see stars. You bit down on your bottom lip to keep from crying out, your eyes squeezed shut as you focused on the sensations building within you. His thumb circled your clit, applying just enough pressure to send you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath him.

But Mingi wasn’t finished. He kissed his way back up your body, leaving a trail of hickeys along your neck and chest, each one a claim, a reminder of this moment. When he reached your mouth, he claimed it again, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his fingers as they moved within you, driving you wild with need. You could feel the urgency of his desire, his erection pressing insistently against your thigh.

With a wicked grin, he pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, tasting you with a hum of approval. "So sweet," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, his cock slick with your arousal. With one deep, slow thrust, he filled you completely, making you gasp at the sudden fullness.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he began to move. Each stroke was deep and deliberate, his hips rolling in a rhythm that had you panting and moaning his name. His eyes never wavered from yours, the intensity of his gaze sending bolts of pleasure through your body. You could feel another climax building within you, your muscles tightening around him, pulling him deeper.

Mingi leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was as possessive as it was loving. His hand found your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple into a tight peak as he continued to thrust into you. "You’re going to take every drop," he whispered, his voice a dark promise that sent shivers down your spine. "I’m going to fill you up and make sure you carry my baby."

His words pushed you closer to the brink, the idea of him filling you, of creating another life together, sending you spiraling into another orgasm. You shattered beneath him, your walls clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless.

Mingi’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his own release. "That’s it, baby," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. "Gonna fill you up nicely, alright?" He thrusted into you one last time, his cock twitching as his orgasm hit, his cum spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan. "Oh, fuck, there we go, angel," he whimpered, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

As the intensity of the moment began to fade, Mingi slowly pulled out, his eyes never leaving yours. But instead of collapsing beside you, he flipped you over gently, guiding you onto all fours. His hand caressed your cheek, urging you to look back at him. "I’m not done with you yet," he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

He entered you again, his cum still inside you, and pushed it back in with each thrust. His grip on your hips was firm, his pace unrelenting as he drove into you from behind. The new angle heightened the sensation, each thrust deeper and more intense, sending you climbing toward another peak.

His hand slid around to your front, his fingers finding your clit once more. He worked it with the same skill that had brought you to the edge before, each touch pushing you closer to another climax. "You’re so tight," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "So wet for me." His praises fueled your desire, making you push back against him, eager for more.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your moans and his grunts of pleasure. The pressure within you built rapidly, and as he pounded into you, the warmth of his seed filling you again sent you spiraling over the edge once more. Your body shuddered with the force of your release, and you collapsed onto the bed, spent but utterly satisfied.

Mingi lowered himself next to you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through you.

You nestled into his embrace, the feeling of the stickiness between your legs a reminder of the passion you had just shared. "I love you too," you replied, your voice soft, filled with the same depth of emotion that you saw reflected in his eyes.

Mingi’s hands continued to roam over your body, his touch feather-light as he traced the contours of your curves. His thumb brushed over your clit, still sensitive from your recent orgasms, and you jumped slightly, gasping at the sudden spark of pleasure. He chuckled, his breath warm against your neck, and kissed you gently. "I can’t get enough of you," Mingi whispered against your skin, his voice filled with adoration and a lingering hunger that made your heart race. "Your taste, your scent, the way you feel around me—everything about you drives me wild."

A playful smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "Then take me again," you dared, your voice dropping to a seductive purr, challenging him with the depth of your desire.

Mingi’s eyes darkened with renewed intensity, the playful grin on his face replaced by a look of sheer determination. He didn’t need any more encouragement. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth with a hunger that matched your own. As he devoured your lips, his hand slid down to grasp his still-hard cock, guiding it back to your entrance.

With one smooth motion, he pushed back inside you, his thick length filling you completely once more. This time, the pace was slower, more intimate. Mingi moved with deliberate care, each thrust deep and measured, his gaze never leaving yours as he sought to connect with you on every possible level. His eyes searched yours, watching as your pupils dilated with pleasure, as your breath hitched with every movement.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest. Your hands roamed over his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the way they flexed beneath your fingertips with each thrust. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even deeper, making him drive his cock into you with an intensity that sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body.

"Mhm, right there," you moaned, your mouth falling open as he found your sweet spot again, hitting it with perfect precision. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure building rapidly as his hips rocked against yours in a rhythm that made you see stars.

The tension within you grew, winding tighter and tighter until it felt like a coil ready to snap. Mingi’s movements became more urgent, his breath ragged as he felt you tighten around him, your body reacting to his every touch. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue mimicking the movements of his cock, driving you both closer to the edge.

"You’re going to take my cum, okay?" Mingi growled, his voice rough with need, his words sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "Be my good girl and let me fill you up again."

His words were your undoing. The tight coil of pleasure within you snapped, and you came with a low moan, your body convulsing around his cock, pulling him deeper as your orgasm washed over you in powerful waves. Your nails dug into his back, clinging to him as you rode out the intense pleasure, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Mingi followed soon after, his own release a hot rush that filled you to the brim. He thrusted into you one last time, his body tensing as he spilled his seed deep inside you, his grip on your hips tightening as he let out a guttural moan of satisfaction. The feeling of his warmth spreading through you was intoxicating, leaving you both breathless and sated.

He collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting presence as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper that reverberated through your soul, filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell with love.

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with the same adoration. "I love you too," you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words heavy with meaning.

Mingi smiled down at you, his fingers gently grazing over your stomach as he spoke again, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and longing. "I can’t wait to see your tummy growing again, my love," he whispered, his eyes reflecting the depth of his desire to see you carry another piece of him within you.

[miraitrunks]

okay, so… here it is: a larger post of most of the treasure planet merch i’ve received but haven’t shared here. this stuff gets more and more niche/rare the further you scroll, so check it all out! let’s start from the top:

first up— we’ve got my complete collection of all the loungefly products. each one has jim on it so it was a must <3 personally the first release (middle) is my favorite but i think the pink backpack is prettier

second up— my 20th anniversary pin as well as my cursed concepts pin. such lovely grabs <3 then we have the pin i bought off the artist Dean Grayson from his “Heroic Rides” series on etsy. it’s fricken huge!

third— probably one of my favorites, my hallmark treasure planet cups. i got these off ebay and i have absolutely no idea what year they’re from. aren’t they so cool?! i got so many and they’re brand new. the print of jim on the cup is just top tier. “honey, we’ve got guests. bring out the fine china!” 10/10.

number four— my jim & silver keychain toys. these are olddd! if you know me though, you know i don’t keep stuff in the packages. silver could stay, but jim definitely had to come out. he zooms forward like a toy car when you pull him back and then let him go!

item number five— treasure planet for the playstation 2. i’m especially fond of this one considering the ps2 was my first ever gaming console that i owned myself. so many fun memories!

number six— my japanese art promo book featuring some of the japanese voice casting! as an anime fan, collecting japanese promotional material for american media is something that i’ve always wanted to do. i haven’t gotten my hands on a japanese movie poster yet, but it’s on my list for sure. this is a pretty close runner up though! i love all the pngs used for this booklet! (sorry for my weird hand placement in some of these, as the pages folded out and it was hard to photograph with one hand)

number seven— last one for now! i think i saved the best for last personally, but this is my disney adventures collector’s edition magazine for treasure planet back from 2002, the movie’s release year. let me tell you, this thing is such a throwback from the events of the year to the ads that come in the thing.

…AND THERE’S A WHOLE CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE COMIC IN HERE?! i had no idea! it was like striking gold! this is also one of my favorites of all the things i own. can we get a load of how cute he looks on the cover? he almost looks like he’s aware he’s posing for a magazine cover. so adorable!

…wow, that’s all from me for now! while it’s definitely not all i own, this is just some of the newer stuff i’ve gotten since i’ve been away and/or some of the stuff i think is cooler. did you recognize any of this stuff? find anything new? lemme know!

[chocoloveaatcocoalovea]

Sweetened Interruption

mammon x reader, crack, fluff, tickle fights, kissing

Mammon and you relax in the HOL but then a tickle fight break out between the two of you.

Today was an uneventful day.

Contrary to popular belief, the House of Lamentations did have some off days, if you could call them that. They were just... rare. Extremely rare.

Well, you did have to try to wrestle Beel away from the fridge. And stop Solomon from 'helping' the angels cook. And calm Luke down because somebody called him the dog name that started with a C. And... scratch that, today was quite possibly at most, ordinary at a minimum level.

And yet, you treasured these moments a great deal; after all most of the time you were either giving therapy to god's problem children or caught up in both godly and devildom magical, supernatural drama.

So, to be just lying on the bed, having a slow day with Mammon? That was basically a dream come true.

Mammon was reading a comic book on his bed, pillow propped behind his back and humming a little tune as he leisurely scrolled through the pages.

You sat up on the bed with a yawn. You were bored. Sleepy. You needed something to do. Trying to count pink sheep to fall asleep didn't work so not knowing what to do, you dragged yourself towards Mammon.

You moved his hands so you can rest your head on his lap, then tried to cover your eyes and face with the jacket he was wearing; the lights were a little too bright in this part of the room.

However, it was short and you failed miserably and in the process, saw Mammon's concentrated look as he was reading the comic book.

A hint of pink was dusted on his cheeks - goodness, this man knew you liked him and he liked you but still blushed like a teenager with a crush. How fricking damn loveable.

You smiled at his reaction and flapped the two sides of the open jacket, meddling and playing with them like they were a toy.

" . . . "

You let out a content sigh at the cozy silence.

"What are you doing?" Mammon asked in a teasing lilt.

Though your face was covered by the jacket, you could hear the grin in his voice.

You heard him put his book on the bed, to his side.

You said nothing, just continued flapping the jacket with a happy smile, like you were a bat and they were your wings.

"Yer weird, ya know?" Mammon said, gently tracing the smile lines on your cheek with one hand.

This is nice, you thought to yourself.

"It's like a tent. For your face. Head," you said, tugging the lapels of the jacket close to show him your 'weird' logic.

Mammon shook his head with a chuckle, picking the comic book from the page he left off and continuing to read.

You jabbed a finger onto his side.

Poke.

Poke. Poke.

Poke. Poke. Poke.

Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke.

"Ehe."

Mammon's smile fell once he realized you both heard the sound that escaped from him.

Oh boy. Uh oh.

With a menacing smile growing on your face, you positively tackled him to the bed.

Before Mammon could choke out a protest, you grinned at him, delighted giggles bubbling up from your lips as you tickled his sides. The maroon sheets under you both rustled with the demon's frantic movements to escape from you.

"AHAHAHAHAH- TREASURE, NO- STOP TICKLE-"

You did not stop.

"No, no, no, wait- "

Laughter.

"Stop!"

More laughter.

Mammon, still writhering on the bed like a worm trying to swim, tried to tackle you and probably, tickle you too.

"Eek."

He didn't succeed but fell from his bed onto the wooden floor with a thud.

"Aaah!"

"Oh my- "

Initial shock turned to worry as you rushed to his side.

"ARE YOU OK?"

"Got you!" Mammon said, impish smile growing, wrapping you in his arms and tickling your sides.

"Oh, please, no- "

You were now giggling uncontrollably.

"Hey! Hey, no, wait- "

"Nope."

You tried to escape but your efforts were in vain. You were guffawing, flailing your arms desperately like some odd creature, struggling miserably, until...

Until... you had an idea.

You kissed Mammon.

The hands that were tickling your sides rested on your waist as Mammon leaned into the kiss.

At first you were giggling. Then you relaxed, both of you melting into the embrace.

"Hmmm." Mammon sighed out once you parted, "That's not going to work."

"It already did," you said cheekily.

And just like that, you turned to leave.

Mammon gaped at you. His face turned pink, perhaps from the boldness you just displayed.

"You can't just do that and leave!"

You, like the mature adult you are, stuck your tongue out.

"Watch me."

"You know what?" Brows furrowed and deep in thought, Mammon stared at the floor, as if debating himself.

When he saw you walking away, he snapped out of it and caught up to you.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no. You do not," Mammon huffed, standing beside you with folded arms.

"What?" you asked innocently.

"Where are you going? "

Your response was a shrug and nonchalant hum.

"You can't just leave!"

"Why not?"

"Cause- "

Creases in your eyes from the smug smile, you took this as an opportunity to plant a kiss on his lips again, leaving him breathless when you were done.

Mammon blinked owlishly. He was still trying to realize what just happened, mouth still slightly agape slightly from disbelief.

You just smiled, waved your hand with a 'Bye!' like he usually did and turned to leave.

Mammon let out something between a groan and a whine. With a gentle yank of your hand, you were back in his arms again, him pressing your lips together a little forcefully in mild frustration, then breaking the kiss but instantly pressing your lips back together, the gestures so soft, so gentle but leaving you breathless nonetheless.

Mammon stroked your cheek before you parted from another kiss and as he cupped your face he spoke softly, blue eyes starstruck and golden, "You can't leave now."

"I thought you wanted to finish the comics?" You asked, giving him an amused look and tilting your head in the direction the book laid.

After a mischievous shake of his head and a chuckle, Mammon leaned in close to you and whispered softly, "This is better."

And with that reply, he connected your lips once more, silencing your smug laughter with his sweet kiss.

heart divider - @/kimjiho1

heart gif - @/pastelwalks

support divider - @/benkeibear

[shunin-gumis]

As Master Joe Wishes - Track 02

Seasonal Team Event - L4mps

Thank you Jelly for handling this chapter!

~~~(flashback)

Toi: Wawawaa! The exterior was lovely, but the interior is also wonderful! It looks like the kind of place where the main character falls in love with the love interests, or have major misunderstandings... It’s so heart pounding!

Ryui: Oi, ‘sit okay to take pictures here? I wanna take pictures of Toi.

Samejima: It should be fine, I think.

Daniel: …The way you say that means this ain’t your house?

Netaro: Sammy lives in much cheaper accommodation than this.

Samejima: Hahaha, but after 30 years, my loan will—... Hey, wait a sec!

Yodaka: Apologies for the sudden question, Samejima-san, but how exactly are you acquainted with Netaro?

Samejima: Well after a certain case, he's started to help me with some of my investigations. Only occasionally, though.

Nagi: …By a certain case, do you mean the one with the missing heart and flowers*?

Yodaka: I see, so it was then… I understand.

Ryui: And? Can we get back on track? Don’ tell me we came in just to have a fuckin’ tea party? If it’s that then I’m headin’ home.

Samejima: Haha, that would put me in a tight spot so let's get started.

Samejima: Uhh, we called everyone here today to this remote location because of a certain request. —Hiramei, the documents.

Hiramei: Sup, I’m Samejima-san’s subordinate, Hiramei, nice to meet you. Here are the holo-documents!

Daniel: …A guard for this manor’s master?

Samejima: Yes. That being said, the original owner of this place passed of senility a few days ago.

Samejima: Her name was “Brunhild Senba.” She was a megastar of the acting world and a German residing in Japan.

Yodaka: In that case, who will we be acting as guards for?

Samejima: That’s the thing. You see, she didn’t have any family members, so through the will, the enormous inheritance she possessed was transferred to a different person…, no, a different child…took it all. That child… is the one you must protect.

Ryui: …This shit seems kinda convoluted.

Samejima: Ahh yeah… I’m not too sure how to explain that part. ...Nevermind that, let’s move on.

Samejima: So, Brunhild-shi was a famous gem collector. She collected many exotic and rare gems.

Samejima: But after her death, rumors that she poured most of her wealth into a custom made “secret treasure” began to circulate about.

Samejima: That’s when we received news that the internationally wanted criminal organization, “Anonymous,” had set their sights on it. Well, they’re called a criminal organization, but they’re honestly just a ragtag bunch of troublemakers… That being said, we can’t let down our guards

Samejima: And amidst that, a world famous phantom thief also got wrapped up in it…

Daniel: Ahh, what the hell, I'm going home.

Toi: Ehhh!? Why!? Danny-san, we’re about to get to the good part!!

Daniel: My dead grandma always told me to never stick my nose into trouble.

Nagi: Trouble……? But it’s like a scene outta a cool drama.

Yodaka: Putting that aside, I think it would be a bit difficult for amateurs like us to go against a criminal organization.

Ryui: I agree with Natsume. Couldn’t give two shits about Hachinoya, but I don’t want Toi to be put in danger.

Daniel: And that’s that. See ya.

Netaro: I won’t let you! You shall not pass, you shall not pass~~~!

Daniel: Woah……. Oi, Netaro, be a good boy and let me go.

Netaro: Nopes, no goesies. If you want to pass, you’ll have to do it over my dead body.

Samejima: Hahaha, sorry, but can you hear me out until the end?

Samejima: And so, well, as you can all guess, we want to use that secret treasure as bait and lure “Anonymous” out in order to round them all up in one go.

Ryui: And like I said, why’s it gotta be us? The police should just do their own thing.

Netaro: Is Ryui a dumb dumb? It’s because they can’t, which is why I was consulted♪

Ryui: You wanna fucking go?

Netaro: And that’s ‘cause, the one we’ll be guarding~, is the “secret treasure” itself~.

Netaro: It’s a very Kawaii and pretty thing after all♪

Ryui: Huh……? The fuck you——

??: May I have your attention please~~~~~~!!!!!!!!!

Notes:

The missing heart and flower case is from Netaro's novel

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Dear Domestic Dragons Trust. I’m writing as I’m in need of some help with my newest companion.

I’ve recently acquired a pocket dragon from my elderly neighbors, they’ve recently gone to nursing home and couldn’t care for her any longer. She’s a beautiful little dragon with lovely rose scales. She’s been adjusting to the move well but there is one very serious problem with her, her weight. She’s extremely obese, to the point of looking like a giant pink ball. She has trouble walking and cannot fly at all. She’s always demanding food even just after being fed and worse yet is constantly demanding human food. How do I curb this food behavior and help her lose weight?

Hello!

How sad your neighbours were not able to take their little companion along, but how wonderful that you were willing to adopt her! We deal with a lot of dragons with various health conditions in our shelters and while the solution is rarely one-size-fits-all we can certainly give you some tips:

Focus on your relationship with your new dragon first. It's very good to read that she has adjusted well to the changes in her life, but dragon's tend to get very attached to their owners and it takes them time to switch those affections over to someone else. It's important that you and your dragon bond properly before you start extensively correcting her behaviour. Dragons hold grudges.

Provide enrichment and encourage exercise. Perhaps her former caretakers were not often able to play and travel with their dragon anymore. Excitement and movement are healthy for all dragons and will usually be met with much more enthusiasm than restricting their food. Different dragons like different activities, but you could try setting up a treasure hunt for her with her favourite hoard items, get her a dragon puzzle box, or build a nice lair for her in a hard to reach place. Taking her along with you when you go somewhere is a great way to add enrichment to her life as well! (Some people have enchanted toys for their dragon to chase, but we generally do not recommend this, because not all dragons are able to distinguish between a magically animated toy and actual living creatures.)

Encourage your dragon's natural diet. Most north-western pocket dragons are flying land dragons who are happiest and healthiest on a diet of fruit and cream. They are omnivores, however, and often end up liking human treats. You wrote that she demands human food a lot and that is generally not great for them. So we recommend starting out by giving her plenty of her natural diet while preventing her from eating your food.

With a bit of luck her adjusting to her new life with you, will already have a positive effect on her habits! If you are very worried and would like a proper plan to manage her health, we recommend making an appointment with an occult veterinarian once you have gained her trust. They will be able to give you more specialised advice.

Best of luck!

~ The Domestic Dragon Trust

[elsewhereuniversity]

The RA Immunity Treaty, and the one night it was broken

The spirit of the RA Immunity Treaty has only ever been truly violated once, in a 2021 incident that shook the core of every Elsewhere RA. While the nature of the Fair Folk and young people sometimes meant that the treaty’s exact wording was taken advantage of (at least once a year someone’s final exam schedule would be altered at the last minute or a musically talented RA not wearing their pin would be offered a quick trip under the hill) the mutual understanding of the RA’s role and importance was a sacred trust earning respect from the Fair Folk and students alike.

The incident took shape when the seventh daughter of one of Elsewhere’s most beloved RAs took up her mother’s old mantle in her final year of study. The mother was a 1992 grad, and held the distinction of being the only Elsewhere RA to negotiate the return every single one of her residents, every single semester, for her three years as an RA (and two years as a grad student). “The Fey were easier to negotiate with than our girls.” She’d bemoan to her partner when the girls became teenagers. The mother had passed her RA pin down to each daughter and then she pined it one final time on her youngest’s favorite jean jacket. The pin had tarnished some over the 30 years, but its luster still shone brightly and pushed each daughter’s heart in beating “bring them home. bring them home. bring them home.” The Fair Folk found each daughter to be as joyfully tenacious and verbally gifted as their mother, and delighted in their end of semester ventures under the hill. No daughter was exactly like her mother, and no sister was like the one who had proceeded her, but all loved the residents and changelings in their care. 

The seventh daughter wore her pin with pride, but she struggled with balancing her identity in her role, as new RAs and seventh daughters often do. The pin was affixed to her rain jacket as she completed her rounds that fateful night. As the clock struck 12, a mix of curiosity and perhaps a note of cruelty caused four water spirits to carry the RA under the hill. By 1am, the Head RA was aware she was missing. By 3am, every RA was at their post, pins affixed, salt packets out, and ready to defend their residents, including changelings, from whatever was coming. By 6am, the call had gone out, and the mother had returned. Six daughters walked behind the mother and their hearts beat out "bring her home. bring her home. bring her home.“ By 8am, every past RA within a two hours drive of campus stood at the base of the athletics building. Alumni from the past graduating class, all through the 1960s, more than 300 of them. Anger and confusion burned in their eyes. Current RAs ran up to the mother with toys from the dollar store, cream cheese packets, and Dunkin Doughnuts coffee. She waved them off. This was not a time for bartering. 

Their procession entered the tennis court, and greeted the Fey court as old friends. 

The mother stood before the Fey Queen. The Queen smiled, noting the mother’s salt earrings and silver wedding band. The mother did not return her smile. 

"30 years ago, I protected each and every one of your people as they passed through my halls. I was not unique. I was one link in the chain. Why violate it now?”

“A seventh daughter is a rare treasure.”

“My daughter is a treasure. She is loved beyond measure back in our world. Return her now, and we will continue to love and protect each of your children as they journey through our world. Do not gamble all of their safety against my one daughter." 

"You would risk every changeling for one daughter?" 

"I would risk everything for my daughter. Such is the oath every parent takes on, and such is the promise of being an RA at Elsewhere.”

“You are no longer an RA. You have no power here.” The Queen offered. Her tone placid, and gentle. The mother threw back her head and laughed.

“When I was 19, I swore an oath to bring them all home, to love those who deemed themselves unloveable, and to safeguard those behind me on their own journey. It’s true, I no longer complete rounds here but I have never turned my back on a lost child in a grocery store, I have loved those around me when they said they were unloveable, I have spoken for justice and built community wherever I went. I have not broken my oath. We are RAs from our first duty day to our last breath. We bring them home, and when needed, we bring home to them.”

The Queen nodded in understanding. Diplomacy was a fraught game, the mother had always been one of the better players. The mother spoke again.

“Return my child. Return the RA to her post. Return to the treaty.”

“I agree.” The Queen waved her hands and the daughter materialized. She sprinted to the arms of her sisters. The mother nodded her thanks, for she could not speak it lest she incur a debt, but turned and began to point the procession home.

The seventh daughter paused to hug her mother, then addressed the court. “I will see you in a month,” She promised. “You have three of my residents. I will bring them home.” And arm in arm with her sisters and mother, they went home.

-nameless

[yuurei20]

Malleus Info Compilation part 12: Malleus, Deuce and Riddle

Malleus and Deuce have the occasional overlap: In a Halloween voice over Deuce describes Malleus as “even more gallant than usual" in his costume, and Deuce is Malleus’ judge in Culinary Crucible.

In a vignette Cater sends Malleus to Deuce to fix a technological issue that Malleus has and Deuce, initially, prepares to brawl.

(Note: when Malleus summons fire to help dry out the damp inner workings of the device, the color of the flames are orange on NA but they were originally blue on JP. Visual changes are usually corrections of mistakes made on JP due to oversight or time constrictions. It is my theory that the blue fire is supposed to be unique to Grim, Idia and Ortho because it is not normal fire, making it a continuity error that Malleus had been able to summon whatever it is with plain fire magic. Hence the correction for NA.)

Deuce successfully fixes Malleus’ device and Malleus explains how fully mechanical objects are rare in Briar Valley, as “most of what we use is technomancy”, and how he barely remembers any of his childhood. Malleus gifts deuce with a rare ore for his help.

Malleus’ treasure is revealed to be a tamagotchi-style digital toy called “Roaring Drago” that Lilia got for him as a souvenir “during one of his sojourns to another land”, and his wish in the “Wish Upon a Star” event is “for Roaring Drago to make a friend”.

Idia grants this wish by ordering another one online. Roaring Drago is name-dropped in the Firelit Sky event as well. (Twisted Wonderland equivalents of Roaring Drago were released in January of 2021)

Malleus is also Deuce's interviewer for his third birthday vignette.

Like Malleus and Deuce, Malleus and Riddle also have the occasional overlap. While Deuce is Malleus' Culinary Crucible judge, Malleus is Riddle’s judge.

On the subject of Riddle's cooking Malleus says “the flavor and plating are both entirely pedestrian. Perhaps I expected too much.”

Malleus visits Riddle during Phantom Bride to thank him for fighting to save Lilia and Sebek in a conversation where we learn about “a classic Thorn Fairy anecdote” to do with frost and roses.

(this is covered in slightly more detail in novel, where Deuce shares a rumor that Malleus went to Heartslabyul on an errand and after he left, all the roses in the rose maze were found to be frosted over and wilted. It is also mentioned in FanBook 2, which says, "This is a reference to the part in Sleeping Beauty where the fairy Flora recommends disguising Aurora as a flower to hide her from Maleficent, but Merryweather cautions that Maleficient may send out a frost to kill all flowers in the land if they were to do so."

When Malleus says he suspects that Riddle must consider his conduct to be unbeffiting a leader Riddle responds, “Your position as prince of your land must come before your position as housewarden”.

Malleus concedes that as Briar Vallery’s heir apparent he “cannot enter into an engagement lightly, even on false pretense” (even to save Lilia and Sebek), but says Riddle lacks “a certain…majesty”.

Malleus fastens one of the roses that Riddle had pruned onto Riddle’s lapel, saying, “If you are king of this rose garden, you must carry yourself with a rose’s strength and nobility”.

When Silver expresses concern for Lilia and Sebek, Malleus says he has full confidence in Riddle. Silver is surprised at how much faith Malleus has in Riddle’s abilities and Malleus says, “Faith? I am merely acknowledging the truth. After all, he is…the king of Heartslabyul.”

[ghoulfriendfangs]

Febuwhump 23 - “Let Me Be Nice to You Just Because”

Day Six: “Kind Words” with Wanderer (Genshin Impact)

You try to comfort your traveling companion after a severe injury, but he doesn’t exactly make it easy for you.

{WC: ~1,600} {Wanderer x reader, but could be read as platonic or romantic, traveler!reader, injury, body horror}

@febuwhump

  “Let me see that arm,” you tried, starting off in a soothing and warm tone. You’ll try honey before you try vinegar.

  Wanderer gripped his sleeve, covering the arm in question as he turned away from you. “It’s fine- nothing worth stopping over. We need to get out of here.”

  Bullshit. Both of you knew the risk of going this deep in the abyss- how even a minor injury could snowball into near death. Even for someone as resilient as the Wanderer, it wasn’t worth risking his life to save face.

  Especially considering what had happened.

  Your heart still feels like it’s been struck by lightening. You felt a new kind of powerlessness when the lawchurl suddenly grabbed him out of the air by the arm, sending torrents of electricity through your companion. He threw him across the chamber like a rag doll- and he struck the wall, sinking to the floor like a discarded toy. He didn’t move- you had thought for a moment you lost him- but now the lawchurl’s attention was on you and you had to fight for both of your lives.

  By the time you staggered- exhausted but with only superficial wounds and covered in the beast’s blood- over to your traveling companion, he had returned to consciousness. You know for a fact the impact knocked him unconscious because he was wiping his eyes. You know he still cries in his sleep. He recovered inhumanly quickly, coming to his feet and rushing over to you. You watches his eyes flicker over your body- not doing a good job at all of hiding his concern. That’s when you noticed the way his left arm was hanging limply.

  Back in the present, you tried some not so subtle tactics.

  “Wanderer I swear to the Gods that if you don’t show me your arm…”

  “We’re in the Abyss- the Gods aren’t listening.”

  “Wanderer!”

  “It’s not Important.”

  “That’s your arm! ‘Oooh it’s not important’ you cast spells with that arm!”

  He looks at you with a surprised, detached expression. His lips contort into an awful scowl. “I assure you, this isn’t going to interfere with our expedition.” His words are cold, robotic, rehearsed. “I can keep fighting- there’s no need to reprimand me.”

  “No- no that’s not what I meant. That’s not what this is about- I don’t care if you can fight or not!”

  He won’t make eye contact with you. You try again.

  “I’m worried that my closest friend is hurt.”

  That surprises him- he looks up at you with poorly disguised shock. He laughs.

  “You know, it’s just the two of us down here. I wasn’t kidding about the Gods not hearing you- and I’m certainly not going to judge you for making the most optimal decisions. You don’t have to put on a morality play… I ruined your whole treasure hunt. It’s only expected that you’d be angry with me for my failure.”

  “There’s always going to be more treasure- but there’s not going to be another you.”

  “Wow, that’s.. actually disgustingly sappy. Please- I’d rather you be blunt with me if the alternative is so saccharine. What’s are you, a bard?”

  “Then how’s this- Nahida and I practically had to dig you out of Irmunsul and I’m not letting you throw it away over a fucking lawchurl.”

  He laughs- still forced, but more real than the one before (he rarely really laughs). “See? Doesn’t that feel a lot better?” He finally turns so you can see his arm. “It’s not like your words are gonna hurt me, anyways.”

  Something is wrong.

  Whatever has happened is covered by his sleeve- but already your stomach is sick. His arm is… hanging lower than it should be- and at an odd angle. At first, you think he’s pulled his elbow out of socket or something. Maybe his shoulder. He lets you pull up his sleeve- and flinches as you jump in shock.

  His arm is shattered above the elbow. Shattered. The space between the curve of his arm and his shoulder is just splintered- it looks like teeth or a cracked geode. If you peer into the wound (is that even the right word) you can see some sort of cable or rope. You suppose that’s what moves his body in place of muscles, and perhaps the only thing keeping his forearm somewhat attached. You don’t know- you don’t want to keep staring because he’s noticing your staring.

  “Don’t touch that,” he warns. “You’ll get cut- the edges are like glass.”

  “You say that like this has happened before?”

  “Plenty of times. Especially back when I joined the harbingers. That’s when I first broke my arm- it’s been weak ever since.”

  “Then it can be fixed?”

  “Not really. Not back to how it’s supposed to be.”

  “…tell me,” you ask. Wanderer doesn’t usually open up about his past, but lately you’ve realized he rarely turns down whatever you ask him to do.

  He sits on the polished blue floor by your side. “…you know, up until I received divine knowledge, I wasn’t even sure what I was made of. I still remember the first time I broke my arm- It was actually in the abyss, too. I had never even had a scratch before- and suddenly my body was coming apart. I actually thought I was ruined.”

  He picks up the remains of his arm, and starts to fiddle with the strings. You aren’t sure if he’d feel more comfortable if you look away, or more normal if you watch.

  “…my body is supposed to be a divine vessel. It isn’t meant to break or crack- but it did. Typical, isn’t it? And the cherry on top- mortals don’t have any way of recreating this… “shell.” The doctor managed to come up with something kind of close- enough to seal the cracks and put my body back together plenty of times.”

  “And… what do you do without him?”

  He looks away in shame. He utters it like a dirty word.

  “Plaster.”

  He pulls aside his robe- this time showing off a spiderweb above his collar bone. You can see where his original body stops and is replaced by the plaster- it’s a bit more rugged, and less convincing in it’s imitation of human flesh. When you touch Wanderer’s skin, it’s colder and less elastic than your own, but still stretchy. You can’t imagine how imbedding plaster into the cracks would feel.

  “It’s cheap, I can find it anywhere, and I’ve gotten pretty decent at applying it. It holds me together ok… but it’s imperfect. And once I’ve broken something, it’s never going to be as good as it was. In that way… it kind of fits me perfectly.”

  He forcibly laughs again, but frowns when you make the most horrified face ever. Fuck- he thought laughing would put you more at ease, it usually does… Why can’t humans just be straightforward?

  …you pull up your own shirt, revealing a deep puncture wound

  “An arrow hit me really bad here. Paimon freaked out about it, so I just pretended it didn’t hurt. I don’t like showing anyone the scar because it’s weird.”

  “…I don’t think that’s on the same level as my arm. It doesn’t look bad at all-“

  “And this,” you interrupt, pointing to one over your forearm, “I actually got this one in the abyss, too. Pyro abyss mage. Set my arm hairs on fire. Looks kind of like raw chicken, right?”

  “Only if you say it does, now I can’t help but see it… but you-“

  “This is from a hilichurl ambush, this one’s from a fatui debt collector, don’t ask me how but I got it from a slime, this one is from breaking my ankle trying to glide from Dragonpine to Mondstat Cathedral…”

  You carried on, revealing every scar you’d earned on the road.

 “You know, most adventurers would retire after just one near death experience. I can’t say if that makes you brave or especially foolish.”

  “I’m just trying to say, everyone has scars. Doesn’t mean they’re broken.”

  “…do your scars maker your body weaker?”

  “Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “..some of them affect my abilities. Some of them… still hurt. But it doesn’t make anyone broken- that’s just what scars do. And hey- anyone who tells you otherwise probably has slime for brains.”

  He contemplates it for a minute, then he moves closer to you. He looks from the spiderweb pattern on his chest… to the arrow puncture in your stomach. Both look painful, both are painful, and both carry a story with them.

  “And here I thought this was just another thing that made me less divine, and less human… at least its only one of the two. Only a hopeless optimist like you could ever make me feel better about cracking my arm off.”

  “That’s the Wanderer I like to hear. No more saying awful things about yourself- lets go find someone else to bitch about.”

  “You don’t want to finish this floor?”

  “Pfft- the floor can wait. Hey, I know this alchemist in Mondstat- maybe he can cook up something for your arm. I’m sure he can at least make decent quality plaster!”

  “Fine. But you need to eat before we head back to Mondstat. I’m not carrying you there with one arm- but don’t worry. I can still cook just fine.”

  “Wait a minute… I thought it was my turn to cook?” You tease.

  “So much for trying to be subtle… I want to cook for you…”

  You help him to his feet.

  “I need to repay you for… all of this.”

  “No, you don’t. I can be nice to you just because, remember? You don’t owe me anything for it.”

  “…then let me be nice to you just because.”

[pianokantzart]

I lied. You get THREE chapters of my original story (about 4k words under the cut):

Chapter 1.

Once upon a time there was an old couple that lived in a cottage on the furthest edge of their isolated village within a stones throw of an ancient forest. Behind their home they grew a patch of cabbages they gathered and sold in the fall, and in their front yard they tended a garden of flowers that they cut and sold in the spring. To make ends meet Escrit, the man of the house, worked as a woodcarver while his wife, Realia, worked as a seamstress, spending many an hour repairing, patching, and embroidering whatever was handed to her. When time allowed Escrit and Realia combined their talents to create the most beautiful little toys; for they were without child, and had longed for one since the day they were wed.

Dollhouses, rocking horses, pull toys, tiny sailboats, wooden soldiers, and all sorts of lovingly crafted treasures were stacked high in an unused bedroom, kept clean and carefully dusted in ever-present hope. Many visitors observed the toys with great admiration, sometimes wishing to buy them, but the old couple were loath to part with their creations. Only at Christmas did they make an exception, when they handed out toys to the poorer village children.

As time wore on, Realia took up the habit of placing dolls they made in the window sill, each dressed in their most beautiful gowns so that passersby may note her sewing skills and commission her. One morning Realia awoke to find one of the little dolls robbed of a pretty yellow sundress, and upon examining the doll she was surprised to discover a lovely scarlet ribbon had been tied around her golden hair of straw. 

Confused, but pleased to be in possession of such a pretty little ribbon in such a rare and vibrant color, the old woman redressed the doll and placed it back on the window sill while dropping the glittering gift in her own pocket. The next morning two more dolls were stripped of their clothes, one with a silver chain around their wrist while the other bore miniature golden rings on each of her fingers.

Realia went to Escrit with the gifts in hand. She explained the situation and asked for his thoughts on the matter, for he was a man of the woods, well versed in many strange things.

“No doubt something from the forest has taken a liking to your sewing,” he said, lifting the little crimson ribbon in his calloused fingers, “But I suspect they’re friendly if they pay you out of their own volition. Keep an eye on what dresses they like and try to tailor their tastes. I will leave food upon the table to let them know they are welcome.”

And so Realia stayed up a little later each night, sewing dresses to replace every one that went missing while the woodcarver left little meals in the kitchen. She learned that the mysterious visitors preferred dresses of bright colors, loose and flowing, never touching anything in shades of grey or brown, nor anything with tight corsets or buttoned collars. Meanwhile, Escrit discovered that while buttered toast and cups of brandy were only lightly nibbled or sipped, saucers of thick cream and berries were eagerly devoured. Honey proved to be a favorite, and whenever he could get ahold of it he put a little dollop on whatever morsels he left out. 

Little bits of treasure continued to show up on the dolls, while household luck took a turn for the better. The cupboard moths and mice disappeared, and the slugs that they had struggled to keep off their garden seemed to all at once lose their taste for cabbage and violets. All the flowers they had seeded bloomed more vibrantly than ever before, and costumers wondered aloud what rich, dark soil laid beneath their cottage to create such incredible colors.

One fair evening, when the moon was full and a bout of warm weather allowed the old couple to leave their window shutters wide open, Escrit stood in the kitchen pouring a fresh dish of cream while his wife sat in the rocking chair by the fireplace, adding the final stitches to a doll’s pea green apron dress. Suddenly, a great flock of magpies soared in from the open window, carrying behind them a float of bluebells and gardenias upon which sat a beautiful fae. Her grand wings, the points of her ears, and the slight lilt to her eyes gave little doubt to her species, but she was far larger than any fae either of them had ever heard of, standing as tall as a two year old child despite being a grown woman in face and figure.

“Ah! The dressmakers!” The fae declared as her chariot slowed to a halt. She sprung to her feet, and the old couple looked upon her in wide-eyed wonder.

“Who are you?” Escrit asked at length. The fae let out a jolly laugh, laying a pearl-white hand upon her chest. “Me? Me!? Why, I am the queen of the fae! And I suggest you kneel and ask forgiveness for asking stupid questions, before I call upon the birds to pluck out your eyes!”

Despite the violence of the threat, her tone was so jovial that it was hard to tell if she was being sincere. Escrit and his wife knelt anyway, for the suggestion of a royal was rarely something to be disregarded. 

“A thousand pardons,” Realia said with an extra bow of her head, “we just never expected our humble home to be blessed with the presence of a queen.”

“Well you should have! I had no choice, given you continue to make nothing that fits my size.” The fae queen stomped a little bare foot upon the floorboards. “It is not fair! All of my subjects keep appearing before me in adorable little dresses, and yet I have none for myself!”

And so it was. Beneath her little crown of daisies, a gown of chestnut leaves and bluestem grass clung precariously to her body by spiderweb seams. The whole attire– thrown together for sake of formality – was already on the verge of falling apart.

“We never before needed clothes, so none of us know a thing about sewing.” The fae queen explained, “But the moment your dresses were spotted in the window and carried to the fen, my subjects couldn’t talk about anything else, and yet I alone could not have any part of their fun!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t intend for you to feel neglected.” The old seamstress apologized, “I could make something your size if you wish. Just tell me what sort of dress you would like, and I will get to work right away.”

The Fae queen smiled wide, her giant blue eyes shimmering until they almost glowed.

“Oh! My dress must be elegant, yet grandiose! With a long train and a tall collar!” She declared, “It must be a purple so deep that it makes the cornflowers look grey! It must be stitched and embroidered with thread of pure silver, so I may shine as bright as the stars!”

Realia was silent for a moment. She wrung her hands, then spoke again.

“Begging your pardon, your majesty. I would like nothing more than to make you a gown so beautiful, but the only ones who can create purple cloth are the royal dressmakers, and I doubt they would sell the dye to a commoner. Moreover, I have never heard of a workable thread made of pure silver, I don’t even begin to know where to get it or how one would make it!”

But the fairy queen would hear none of it. Giving another stomp, she cried out.

“It must be! It must be! I must have the entire forest enchanted by the beauty, wealth, and purity, represented by my gown. Since it is the beginning of May, I’ll give you until the end of September. Finish by then, and I will happily grant you any wish your heart desires!”

At this, the woodcutter and his wife looked at each other with knowing eyes, silently agreeing on the same desire that had plagued their every waking moment since the day they wed.

“If your are certain you can grant any wish,” Escrit began, “My wife and I have been trying for a child for some time–”

“Oh, that old ask!” The fae queen interrupted with a giggle, waving her hand dismissively. “Yes yes. If you make the dress to my liking, you will have your baby.” 

So it was done. Realia took the fae queen’s measurements while her husband fed the royal magpies from sacks of barley grain. Then, the queen left the way she came in a flutter of sparks, so sudden that the couple may have thought it nothing but a dream had it not been for the piles of petals and feathers she had left on the floor in her wake.

Chapter 2.

When morning broke the next day Escrit dressed in his sturdiest clothes, packed a sack of supplies, gave Realiah a kiss, and set off on his journey with many tears and goodbyes between them. He moved Northward at a hurried pace, and when the sunset fell he set up camp at the roadside and slept deeply until the next day. At dawn he took to the road with an aching back, but marched on through the forest that only grew denser by the time night fell again. On the third day he marched along with a growing homesickness. He spoke with whatever animal crossed his path in hopes of finding company– but the squirrels and sparrows that happened his way dared not linger long at the roadside, bidding him farewell as soon as he said “hello.” At length, Escrit was greatly pleased to come across the lone figure of a man just off the path, gathering firewood in a grassy clearing. “Hello!” Escrit hailed, “How much further to the next town?” 

The stranger stood up and turned to face him. The man was dressed in a robe of goat’s hair, and bore a long untrimmed beard that hung down to his waist. He placed a finger against his lips, signaling his unwillingness to speak, but signed a blessing over Escrit as he walked past. Escrit quickly recognized the man as a hermit, and though it was a great disappointment he dared not talk to him further in honor of his vow of silence.

Later on, Escrit considered the brief glimpse of human life, and decided to veer off of the winding path and forge straight north through the trees, hoping to reconnect to the path further along. But the dense forest was nothing like the open oaks that surrounded his little cottage at home, and the hostile brambles both slowed his steps and twisted him around in all directions. By the time the sun was starting to set Escrit was hopelessly lost.

Forlorn, he sat down upon a fallen log, placed his head in his hands, and wondered what to do.

“You best getta’ move on old one!” Chittered a voice from the canopy. Escrit looked up to see a barn swallow in a nearby tree. “Night’s gettin’ on.” The swallow called, “You best head back to your home before the wolves come ‘round.”

“I would if that were possible.” The Woodcarver admitted, “For the past three nights I have camped by the road where the wolves rarely venture, but I left the path some time back. Now I have no option but to find a safe place to hide myself away until morning.”

The barn swallow curiously cocked her little head.

“Poor, silly man.” She tittered “What took ya’ down that long road to begin with?”

“My wife has been commissioned by the fae queen to make her a dress.” Escrit explained, “Her highness wants a gown of purple fabric, sewn and embroidered with silver thread. There are no such materials where I live, so I am traveling to the capital in hopes of finding everything she needs.”

“Hmm, well, I don’t know anythin’ about fabrics.” The swallow admitted, “but I have nested in the porch ceilin’ of an old hut, and in the window I happen to spot the homeowner spinnin’ silver into spools of thread.”

With that, the barn swallow leapt from its perch and flitted from bow to bow, heading deeper into the woods. “Follow me, traveler, seein’ as I’m heading home anyways,” it called over its shoulder. “That hut should at least serve as a shelter from the wolves.”

Escrit plucked up his pack and hurried after the bird. He weaved through undergrowth, the barn swallow pausing every few moments to allow the old man to catch up until the two broke from the line of trees into a clearing beneath a broad orange sky, where a rickety gate surrounded a swath of land, and at its center sat the promised thatch hut with a jagged, smoking chimney stretching up toward the sky. The barn swallow chirped proudly, then darted forward out of sight to return to her nest. The Woodcarver carefully creaked the gate open. He tiptoed along, wishing to call out to the homeowner, but an innate fear gripped his heart and held his tongue with each new oddity he spied. Every tree within the fence-line was long dead and all covered in frowning poppets, held to the bark by headless pins. The only signs of life were the henbane, hogweed, and nightshade that grew in wild clumps along the path toward the hut, and the black beetles that scuttled about until a wicked cackle rang through the air, followed by a wind that smelled of sulfur and rot. Nearly knocked off of his feet, Escrit looked skyward as a witch rode through the air atop a broomstick. He turned and tried to run, but the enchanted broom overtook him with the speed of lightning, a bony hand plucked him by the shirt collar with a grip of iron, and he was carried through the air and hung up on a long, black tree branch. “Who goes? The devil knows!” The Witch laughed as she dismounted, tickled by the sight of her dangling captive. She sniffed the air with a needly nose, and grimaced a mouth of corn-yellow teeth. “It is neither little boy, nor little girl, but an old man! What good does he serve except as a bit of meat to add to a cooking pot!”

Escrit shook in terror, writhing in his effort to free himself from the tree branch. “Please don’t eat me!” He pled, “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I am a skilled woodcarver. I will gladly build you whatever you like if you will only spare my life.”

The Witch examined The Woodcarver up and down, her hungry expression pinching into one of thought.

“Ah, then providence brings you to my doorstep!” she said. “Count yourself lucky that your talents are specific to my wishes, or I would make a broth of your bones.” The witch clapped her hands. The branch that held The Woodcarver snapped, dropping him to the ground. Before he could recover himself The Witch took his arm with the speed of a spirit and wrapped a length of thistles around his wrist. The moment the plant’s thorns dug into his skin The Woodcarver felt himself shrink. His teeth shifted and grew, the hair of his body thickened and spread, and next he knew he was no longer a woodcarver at all, but a scraggly beaver.

“What is this?” Escrit asked, looking himself over with wide eyes. “What good can I be to you as a beaver?” The Witch didn’t answer at first. She grabbed him by his tail and lifted him from the ground, staring into his face with flashing eyes as she spoke an enchantment:

“I am Dirga of the deep dark wood. I spare no bed, I share no food. While the sun still lights the day, you may wander where you may to dig and forage, hunt and feast– the same as any wild beast. But when darkness falls across the land, you’ll once again become a man and if you still roam about at night, or if you dare speak of your plight your flesh of thorns will round you rend, to halt your heart and mark your end.”

As she spoke the final line, The Witch ran a long yellow fingernail over the enchanted thistles still clinging to The Beaver’s wrist, marking her threat.

Dirga carried Escrit to a rickety shed behind her hut, and flung the door open. In one corner was a large table bearing a whittling knife, a chisel, and an old oil lamp. In the opposite corner was a large pile of little wooden statuettes, all shoddily carved and barely comprehensible, bearing strange shapes with long snouts and spiny tails. Before Escrit could question the strange carvings, The Witch asked a question of her own as she tossed the beaver carelessly onto a pile of ash-wood trimmings and sawdust.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” Escrit shook his furry little head as he collected himself. “No. Never.”

“There is a dragon who reigns at the eastern bay who I wish to seize by force.” Dirga continued, “There are many a man I can control with a simple cloth doll, but dragons are a far different breed that require a perfect recreation. To control one would be a power most sublime! So carve me a statue in the dragon’s likeness, and if it works as my poppet I shall remove my thistles and set you free.”

“But I know nothing about either dragons or poppets!” Escrit pled. “This is the price of your life. Take it or leave it. You have until the end of the month to please me, or I dine on Boiled Acorns and Beaver Tail.” With that, the final thread of golden light disappeared over the horizon, and The Woodcarver felt his bones stretch and his fur shrink as he returned to his human form. Dirga did not need to even glance back to ensure her charms worked, but simply slipped out of the shed and locked the door behind her, leaving the old man to his tools.

Chapter. 3

By night The Woodcarver kept to the rickety shed, squinting in the light of the oil lamp as he carefully carved away at blocks of ash wood, trying to piece together a dragon’s image from childhood tales and the vague songs of passing minstrels. Whenever he declared a carving finished, Dirga would tie one of her thistles around its neck and stare eagerly into the dragon’s face with her beady black eyes. The results were never to her liking. Every failed carving caused her to fly into violent rage, spitting and screeching as she bashed the wooden dragon into splinters.

“And what if, by some miracle, I succeed in recreating the beast?” Escrit asked himself as he returned to the shed, sitting back down upon his heap of wood shavings and starting over again, “Even if The Witch keeps her word, how could I contend with granting that wicked woman dominion over a dragon?”

The sunlit hours were far kinder to him, even though he was a beaver all throughout. He often wandered to a nearby brook where clovers and crabapples grew, and his mind always returned home. He often worried about how his wife fared, and the idea of her waiting endlessly at the window of their old cottage inspired him to persevere as he inquired with the other animals about what all they knew about the dragon that resided at the eastern bay. The Crow said it flew through the air on great leathery wings. The Mole said that it dug through rock and slithered across the ground on its belly. The Porcupine said it was spiny and stout. The Water Rat said it was smooth and scrawny. The Rabbit shuddered and ran to its burrow at the mere mention of dragons, while The Badger tutted and advised all who would listen to turn their minds to more wholesome things. 

“Don’t ya’ mind them.” Called a little voice from the trees, “In these lands, the smartest animal knows less about dragons than the dumbest man.” The Beaver looked up, and there was the barn swallow, pecking at cherries in a tart tree. Amidst his troubles he had nearly forgotten the little bird altogether, and now he wondered whether or not they– being at fault for his current trial– were in cahoots with the witch.

“Little swallow!” He called, “Do you recognize me?”

“I do!” It answered back, “Though ya’ are a good deal smaller and furrier than ya’ were.”

“Then you owe me an apology, if there is enough goodness within you to grant me one.”

“I apologize for your situation, if that counts for anything.” Escrit huffed, “It does not.” “But you are not within the stomach of a wolf, and that is somethin’ to be thankful for.”

“I would rather be the dinner of a wolf than the pawn of a witch.”

The barn swallow let loose a sharp chirp and bounced excitedly upon her branch.

“Careful, careful! Do not speak of your situation, even to one as little as me.” She hushed “Do not forget the nettles!”

So it was, for even as Escrit had begun speaking of his sorrows he felt the pinprick of the thorns creep upward along his arm toward his heart. He held his tongue, and the pain subsided, contented with his obedience.

“Do not die now, you have not yet seen The Witch spin her silver thread!” The Barn Swallow tittered, “Tonight! Tonight! Come to the hut and look inside, but take care not to touch the door, walls, or window frames, for they are enchanted to strike down anything that dares draw near without her bidding.”

Before Escrit could inquire any further, the little bird took a couple of cherries in her beak and disappeared once more into the leafy canopy.

That evening, Escrit returned to The Witch’s yard. Once the sun set and he became human once more, he quietly crept from the woodshed to the glowing window of Dirga’s abode, wondering if he was a fool to dare take the swallow's advice a second time. He kept low to the ground to avoid detection, taking care not to brush against any part of the hut. Looking in he saw a large round room filled with all the trappings of the forbidden arts: bottles, herb bundles, jars of animal parts, and long ropes of thistles hung up to dry. In the center of it all was The Witch at a spinning wheel. Glittering rocks rested upon her lap as she gently tugged at the beautiful silver thread, building upon the bobbin until its starlike glow filled the room. 

But The Witch was not the only member of the household. In one candlelit corner, where a cauldron and a kitchenette sat, a little girl no older than ten swept the floor. Her brown hair and grey clothes were ragged with cinders and sweat, but her little face was bright with an odd cheeriness as she tossed the contents of her dustpan out the door, leaned the broom against the wall, draped a towel over her hands, and pulled a piping hot pie from the oven. She set upon the stovetop to cool, filling the hut with the smell of baked cherries.

Escrit found his gaze fixed the little girl with a far greater curiosity than with the mystical silver thread. As the child waved a towel over the pie to help it cool, she looked up to lock her gaze with Escrit, and before he could duck his head any lower he recognized the little dark brown eyes that glinted like the glass-black gaze of a bird.

Then the rattling of the spinning wheel stopped. Escrit carefully buried himself deep into the prickly branches of the dead bush as The Witch stood up from the spinning wheel, and tied the end of silver thread around her thumb.

“Rekindle the fire in the chimney, child,” she commanded. The girl obediently glided to the fireplace of black stone and began building the flames back up from the smoldering coals.

While she worked, Dirga conducted her spell: she paced her hut three times, pulling the silver thread longer and longer until it was taught against the bobbin. Then she doubled back to her bundles of strange-smelling herbs hanging from the wall, and picked out one tied together with a black ribbon to carry back to the fireplace, now filled with a roaring orange flame.

Dirga threw the bundle on the fire. As it crackled the child lost her blithe cheer, fleeing to the far corner of the room where she crouched down and buried her face in her arms to shield herself from the red smoke that began to fill the room. The Witch chanted a strange incantation as the smoke engulfed her, her voice growing steadily louder and more shrill until a second voice called back from the fireplace, horrifying and incomprehensible. Escrit, sensing the risk he was taking had suddenly crossed over into a world of cosmic peril, backed silently from his hiding place. He crept back to the woodshed, holding his breath for fear of making the slightest sound, only daring to breathe once he was safely closed in amongst the tools and the ash wood. He sat on the floor, jittery and wide-eyed all throughout the night with nothing to comfort him but the murmuring of prayers, and the cold wooden eyes of a half-dozen unfinished dragons.

[soylent-crocodile]

Stag Dragon (Monster)

(model by Safari ltd)

(My partner is really into animal toy collecting; they particularly like dinosaurs, but exposure to Safari has since got me exposed to their dragon line. Which has some genuinely cool, interesting design!

Anyway, a long-term theme you'll see in this blog is Cool Mounts, quadrupedal Large creatures that can be ridden by creatures of various levels. This one, I imagine, is perfect for a druid or ranger in a forest's hour of need.)

CR11 CG Large Dragon (Air)

Dazzling creatures of the forest, stag dragons are rarely seen by humanoids, preferring invisibility or the guise of a fey shape to keep themselves hidden. They are herbivores, browsing on high foliage and fast-growing ferns, although they are deliberately careful not to overgraze in any one tree or spot.

Stag dragons are guardians of the local ecology of their region. They monitor the wellbeing of their undergrowth, of the deer they run with, and the many small creatures from insects to songbirds that live in their home. They tend to allow forage and subsistence hunting, understanding humanoids as part of the ecology, but do not permit civilization's encroach.

In times of crisis, stag dragons are known to take valorous and trustworthy heroes as riders, although this agreement typically lasts as long as the danger.

This beautiful creature is clearly draconic in nature, but its graceful legs and branching horns call to mind a noble stag.

Misc- CR11 CG Large Dragon (Air) HD13 Init:+11 Senses: Perception:+17, Darkvision 60ft, Blindsense 60ft Stats- Str:28(+9) Dex:25(+7) Con:18(+4) Int:15(+2) Wis:16(+3) Cha:20(+5) BAB:+13/+8/+3 Space:10ft Reach:5ft Defense- HP:136(13d12+52) AC:27(-1 Size, +7 Dexterity, +6 Natural, +5 Deflection) Fort:+12 Ref:+15 Will:+13 CMD:40 Resist: Immunity: Acid, Dragon Traits, Slow Weakness: Special Defenses: SR24, DR5/cold iron, Eldritch Grace Offense- Gore +19(3d6+9 plus Illumination), Tail +19(2d6+9), 2 Hooves +17(1d8+5) CMB:+23 Speed:50ft Special Attacks: Breath Weapon (13d6 damage plus illumination, 60ft line, Will DC20 for half, useable every 1d4 rounds) Feats- Multiattack, Improved Initiative, Power Attack (-4/+8), Iron Will, Run, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Sunder Skills- Acrobatics +11, Climb +14, Diplomacy +14, Escape Artist +18, Heal +10, Intimidate +15, Knowledge (geography) +6, Knowledge (local) +6, Knowledge (nature) +11, Perception +17, Sense Motive +17, Stealth +21, Survival +17, Swim +14 Spell-like Abilities-  Freedom of Movement /constant Invisibility, Plant Growth /at-will Greenmist 3/day Special Qualities- Change Shape (A single fey form, Fey Form I) Ecology- Environment- Forests (Temperate) Languages- Common, Draconic, Sylvan, Elvan Organization- Solitary Treasure- None Special Abilities- Breath Weapon- A stag dragon’s breath weapon is a blast of searing light. A creature that fails its save against is blinded for 1 round; all creatures hit are then subject to the stag dragon’s illumination. The breath weapon also destroys all fog it hits, although most magical fogs will return a round after being dispersed. Eldritch Grace- A stag dragon gets a deflection bonus to AC equal to its charisma modifier. Illumination- A creature dealt damage by a stag dragon’s horns or breath weapon must make a DC23 Will save or be illuminated for 1 hour. A creature illuminated this way glows with silvery light; they take a -20 circumstance penalty to Stealth checks against seeing creatures and cannot benefit from concealment, even if invisible.

[doing-something-unholy]

well, i did as you asked.

last night i came so many times i lost count. i thought, why not pay a small tribute to the father and fast along with him for a little. except of course i can break it whenever i want. just the pressure of my palm on my dick was enough to make me convulse. i came as soon as i entered myself, and then i just kept going. it’d be harder to find you a moment when i wasn’t coming. 

so of course that session wasn’t enough. i work from home, and i’m not on camera often. i had my hand down my pants the whole day. when i finally got a free moment, i fucked myself again. on my knees, then ass up. thought about saying a little prayer while i did it, just for you, but my mind was otherwise occupied. 

i miss dick. you could say i’m addicted. toys and fingers are great, but they’re not quite cutting it right now. there’s this guy i keep seeing on sniffies. really hot. one of the rare face pics. lots of stubble, chest hair, treasure trail. you know. all that good stuff. uncut. that’s on his profile too, obviously. i don’t know him, but i’ve seen him around town, and every time i do, i seize up. i just want him on me. i want to know what his dick tastes like. but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you.

there’s a bet going around town that you’re not gonna make it through lent. your escapades have had consequences, father. why do you think i came to church at all? i’d heard about the young pastor down the road whose congregation kept coming out of confessional walking funny. sometimes he’d come out walking funny himself. sometimes he’d have bruises poking out in weird places. sometimes the church wasn’t as empty as he thought it was, and he wasn’t being quiet enough. 

do you think someone’s out there right now? do you think they can hear me? think they’re getting off to this?

there was a small stain on your chasuble once. i guess you forgot to clean it off. i know, these things can be so hard to remember when you’re getting fucked stupid. poor little cumrag. was that yours or someone else’s? you’ve been wearing your robes a lot more often. it’s not hard to put two and two together. it’s lent, and you’re hiding something. how many times have you led mass with a boner under your alb? this past month? this past week?

and how many people in your congregation, do you think, are just sitting there waiting for you to pop? how many would stay to watch if i fucked you over the altar, or on those marble steps? we could all take turns.

unlike most of my neighbors, i do have faith in you. you’ll make it through lent. it’s only a few more weeks. it should be easy. 

but just to make it easier: do not touch yourself any time you hear my voice. and if you were touching yourself, stop. now. and if you can’t do it for the sake of your fast, father, then do it so i can get my money’s worth.

bitch anon :)

Ohh you're back. With quite a story to share as well. I- well- oh, Lord, where to start... I don't think you're sorry at all, and... at this point I can't blame you. Would you still say a Hail Mary for your penance at least? Any other circumstance I would ask for more but I did lead you into this.

And that man does sound... very handsome.

Uh, anyway-- I- There's really that many rumors around? Oh God I am in so much trouble. Please, this can't spread further. I'll be more subtle. How many times have I been caught?

There's a stain on the chasuble? Where did-- oh. Ohh no. I- I deserve to be called a cumrag. It... it was someone else's. And I was hoping people would see me wearing the cassock more often as a sign of respect for tradition, but... yes, it's true, it's to hide my body's reactions. The layers of the vestments hide my sin but apparently the act of hiding at all was too suspicious.

"Take turns?" I- Oh. Hmm. Would- would like to hear a confession of mine? I've thought about that so much. That if this repression went on much longer I'd- I'd whore myself out in the church and offer my body to the congregation, taking on their sins and letting them take it out on me and use me. Reversing my vows from celibacy to free use. I wish I could get "fucked stupid" more often if I'm completely honest with myself.

I wasn't touching, I promise. I know you have no reason to believe that but I promise you I wasn't. It's only a few more weeks, just a little bit longer. I appreciate your faith in me.

[mello-when-hi]

A little Drabble for cDnF week! Day 1- Early SMP days

Dream thinks he would like to live forever.

Not as some all-knowing deity or cursed hero, no. That’d be a tragic life to bear.

No, what Dream craves is infinity. To live forever as one with the earth, forever watching over the lands he has brought into existence.

His hand roams over sweet smelling grass, and he thinks that maybe he’d like to be a tree, having his roots become tangled with the earth.

Content with his place in the world, he collapses onto the soft grass, face straining towards the sun as a flower would. His eyes fall shut, the sun bathing his face in a dazzling light. He sighs. Content.

Though the world is still young, Dream knows that he holds a deeper connection with it than Georege or Sapnap or Callahan. He feels tied to the world, some invisible lead wrapped firmly around his heart, proclaiming him to the land.

He’s toyed with the sensation in his heart before, probing it, searching for a reaction. But no matter how hard he concentrates or how earnestly he spins the sensation around within him, it always ends with nothing spectacular happening.

Dream wonders if he should share this idea with George, but he already knows the reaction it will earn out of his boyfriend. An enamored smile accompanied by a sigh. George has long-since become accustomed to Dream’s wild assumptions. It is rare that Dream can take him by surprise.

In the end, Dream caves in and shares his secret hope whilst cuddled up against George. They sit on a fallen log, a flickering fire, courtesy of Sapnap, crackles warmly before them.

Mindlessly, Dream links their hands together before whispering, “Would you love me if I was a tree?”

A smile has already bloomed on Dream’s face, and he waits for George to turn to face him so that they can smile together under the stars. The joy between them is infectious. Dream knows it’s only moments until he hears George’s tinkling laugh, and he grips tighter on the smaller hand kept safely in his.

Rather than laughing immediately, George looks curiously as Dream before a grin cracks along the surface of his pale face.

“What?” He asks, amused.

Without missing a beat, Dream quickly begins his spiel, elaborately explaining the concept of becoming one with the earth, inseparable from the thing he treasures most.

By the time he’s finished, George is listening intently, giving serious thought to the matter Dream has presented.

“I think I understand what you’re saying, but how will you become a tree?” A asks, intrigue in his voice.

Dream only shrugs, attention drawn to the way the moonlight reflects off of George’s pale skin.

“That’s a problem for future Dream. I have my whole life to figure it out.” He says dismissively.

Now that he’s freed his idea into the world, his mind finally knows calm. He relaxes against George’s back, tilting his head so it rests on his shoulder. The position puts an uncomfortable amount of strain on his neck, but it allows him to see his two favorite things simultaneously, so he silently endures.

George scoffs, stars twinkling brightly behind him.

“As long as you don’t become like, obsessed with your pursuit of immortality.”

Dream laughs.

“Yeah no.”

George smiles at him.

“One really good life with you is all I need.” Dream admits, earnest.

He visibly sees George soften, his gaze bearing such tender fondness that Dream fears he may seep into the earth.

George presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, lips warm. Dream sighs.

Life is perfect.

[amplifyme]

In a rare fit of self-promotion, I'm going to post a few passages from a Beauty and the Beast 4th Season novel I wrote back in 2012. No apologies here. I think it's one of the best things I've ever written and it makes me sad that more people haven't read it. I guess that's the risk you take when you write fanfic for a very small subset of a now very small fandom. I won't give away any plot details because none are really necessary to read this. It's simply one of my favorite passages. But if you're at all intrigued...

@randomfoggytiger you're not allowed to read the entire novel - if you choose to - until you've made it through S3. No cheating!

The Possibility of Being - Book 5: Never Diminish

Vincent was at the table in Father's study, a book held open in his right hand. He was looking down at the words, but they might as well have been written in Aramaic, for all the sense he could make of them just now.

He'd come here with the unquestioned need to be in his father's presence. Not to talk, as he’d summarily explained upon arriving and had then apologized for, but simply because. Father had listened with attentive concern and then waved away his appeal for forgiveness, taking him at his word and resuming whatever chore the pile of papers on his desk required of him.

It was the quietest part of the afternoon and Vincent had taken the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the study in all its complexities and treasures; its odds and ends and how, by tenuous threads, he was connected to every one of them. He was certain he'd opened every book there at least once; had blown or brushed off dust from and examined every knick-knack, statue, tapestry, candelabra, instrument, picture, toy and tool there. And it had taken him the better part of his life to do it.

He found an odd reassurance in the thought. And poking around the chamber helped keep at bay his increasing awareness of a pull; a calling that urged him to a place he didn't want to go. That was half the time. The other half he found himself more than willing - simply wanting to be done with it. But not yet: he wasn't quite ready.

Cognizant of Father's occasional assessing glances as he'd moved about the chamber, Vincent sensed in him a patient waiting, and as such felt no urgent need to speak thoughts he couldn't yet form into words. If the words needed to be spoken, they'd come in their own time. Father had always allowed him sufficient room and time to think over matters weighing on his mind. It was a gift, one borne of unconditional acceptance and love. A vast and expansive thing, yet close enough to be felt as comforting, protective arms.

He'd wandered up to the balcony and poked through the dusty and precariously stacked piles of books there, pausing as his hand passed over and then grasped the book of poetry he now held. This is the one, he'd told himself, without checking the spine to be certain, and had carried it back down the spiral staircase and to the table, where he'd settled in and begun thumbing through the pages, looking for a section of a particular poem. Having found and read it twice, he'd drifted from the clarity of the written words to indistinct thoughts.

Apparently having decided enough time had passed without conversation, Father casually mentioned, "I took a small group of youngsters to the Mirror Pool last night. We had our first lesson in astronomy. The sky was particularly clear; there seemed to be no end to the number of stars to be seen. Remarkable, really. Did you happen to notice, Vincent?"

"No, Father," he admitted quietly. "I'm afraid I didn't."

"Well, there'll be other nights and other stars to gaze upon. Ursula asked me to elaborate on the meaning of infinity, of a universe that goes on forever. It seems she, and most of the children in fact, had difficulty grasping the concept. I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job of it: they seemed more confused than ever when I'd finished. How would you go about explaining it to children that age?"

Father was wearing his teacher's face, as if this were a quiz. Vincent found himself ill-prepared. Nevertheless, he closed the book over a thumb to mark his place and tried to give the question his full attention.

"I'm not certain I can conceive of it myself, let alone explain it to anyone else. It's easier to imagine, I think, of all things having an ending. That, at least, one can envision. Everyone has experienced endings… and beginnings, as well. But forever… endless…? That is something we must take on faith… and not always," he sighed, "as easily."

He raised his head to find Father's placid eyes on him, his chin cupped in a gloved hand.

"And where do you suppose that faith comes from, Vincent, hmm?"

"I'm not sure," he conceded. "I don't think I'm the best person to be asking – not now anyway."

Father thought that over for a minute and then tipped his head at the book. "What've you there?"

"Something that came to mind last evening," he answered, closing his eyes briefly to recapture the memory of waking already joined with Diana, and of the lines that'd served as his thoughts until he'd stopped thinking and had only felt. "I needed… to see the words."

"Will you share them with me?" Father inquired lightly, feigning idle curiosity that was anything but.

Vincent's initial thought was to decline. It felt like an invasion of the privacy he and Diana deserved, this request to know what he'd been thinking as they'd made love. But that was silly. Father couldn't know under what circumstances the lines had been recalled. He opened the book, found his place, and began to recite softly.

Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you. Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you. And without feet I can make my way to you, without a mouth I can swear your name.

Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you with my heart as with a hand. Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat. And if you consume my brain with fire,

I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.

"Ah, Love Poems to God," Father said after a medium silence, one just long enough to allow the words their full impact. "Well, there you have it, then: your answer."

He glanced over, puzzled, and found a contented smile on Father's face. Vincent's brow furrowed as he looked him a question.

"There is your forever, your endless," Father explained, again nodding at the book. "Do you feel those words, Vincent? Do they… resonate?"

"Very much so," he admitted.

"Then love is the infinity of which you claim you cannot conceive. And the very same which allows one the faith to believe in it. So, is it true… or don't you believe in love as something infinite?"

"Of course I do. It's what you've taught me from as far back as I can remember. And what I've learned through experience myself, over and again. 'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,'" he finished, quoting Shakespeare - a favorite of theirs and a touchstone.

"Just so," Father heartily agreed, "but I also think the line that directly precedes those should be included, as well: 'And yet I wish but for the thing I have.' Ah, yes, and isn't that what we do, Vincent, as the flawed human beings we are? We always wish for more, not stopping to realize what we have may already be everything. As if the eternal things can measured, like so much flour in one of William's bowls."

Vincent found himself remembering saying something similar to Stosh when they'd met in Diana's loft several weeks past. And he wondered now at how easily the words had left his mouth, without the least thought of whether he truly believed them or not. Had such things become rote, especially since Catherine's death; a declaration simply mimicked instead of being certain knowledge?

But, no, that wasn't so. He knew it to be true. And yet something about the thought nudged him at an angle he hadn't expected and gave rise to other less contemplated and incomplete notions. Finding them vaguely unsettling, he put the book aside and caught Father's eye.

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If given the chance… if you could have Margaret back, would you? If it meant giving up everything else: your life as it is now?"

Father sat back and cast an appraising, angled look his way. His cheeks puffed out and he expelled a breath through pursed lips.

"I dare not even hazard a guess at why you'd ask such a thing, Vincent." That came with an eyebrow lifted in invitation to relieve him of the task of having to speculate – which they both knew he would most certainly dare to do, despite his words to the contrary.

He hadn't told Father that he'd be returning to the prison he'd left only days ago. He'd told him very little and meant to keep it that way. Though he found the silence hard, he knew it was for the best.

Judging by how difficult Diana had found his predicament to comprehend, he feared Father's incredulity would be twice that. Vincent was also aware Diana would tell Father - if and when it became necessary, if he himself wasn't able to, for whatever reason. He readily admitted the evasion was cowardly and the height of selfishness, but he was in no state to do anything about it.

Eventually deciding he'd get no response to his invitation, Father began thinking about the question, his eyes focused upward as though his thoughts were balloons drifting about the ceiling of the chamber, and he need only pluck the right string to bring down the answer. Vincent sat patiently as he could considering that, within, he felt as though he were spinning like the animated Tasmanian Devil he and Jacob had watched on Diana's television early one Saturday morning.

"It's a difficult question," Father ultimately decided. "I loved Margaret dearly, you know that. We had such little time together, she and I; and what I grieve most I think, as I look back on my life. But had things not happened as they did," he said, his eyes sweeping the room, "just look at all I would never have had. My home… my community. My family. And you," he said, his eyes lighting on Vincent and holding there, "you, most of all.

"Would I have Margaret back at the cost of the life I've built here? No, I honestly don't think I would. Because you see, Vincent, the love we felt for each other, Margaret and I, is a part of me and always shall be. I need only close my eyes and think of her, and she is here with me. So in essence I never lost her and can lay claim to the best of both worlds. One needn't make a choice where there is none to be made."

"But what if…" Vincent paused, finding it difficult to ask what he wanted without further muddying the waters of the conversation and piquing Father's curiosity exponentially. "What if you could no longer feel the presence of her love? What then?"

"Then I should think I'm not looking in the right place or hard enough." He crooked an eyebrow, vaguely amused. "Or perhaps, conversely, looking too hard."

"What do you mean?"

Father’s features shifted to a familiar, professorial look.

"Vincent, it is only when we try to grasp and hold the larger mysteries of life that we lose our ability to comprehend them: love; compassion; hope; death. One cannot hold in a fist that which requires freedom in order to be understood. Some things do not call for our examination but only… only our faith."

"That's an odd thing for a man of science to say," he remarked. Meanwhile, he was recalling Narcissa's words to him the day before: Do you truly believe such a boundless thing can be grasped within a fist?

Father shrugged, his arms lifting high. "'I am large, I contain multitudes.'"

"You and Mr. Whitman."

"All of us, Vincent," Father rejoined warmly. "All of us."

[meekmice]

PDA

You grab me from around the waist

& I raise up my arms to caress your sweet face,

I have crumbled today

& for that,

I am sorry.

“You never need to apologize for feeling

however your feeling.”

Another foreign phrase

that blows my mind,

that melts my brain.

I kiss you

In the middle of a main walkway

between soda & juice

& the toy section…

You don’t even think twice to kiss me

the same way you always do—

As if it’s the first time.

I am in love with your miniature moans

as I kiss your neck &

run my fingers through your hair.

I am in love with the rarity of you

saying my name at the end of an

“I love you.”

I imagine I feel the same way

someone mining feels

when they finally find a precious stone.

I am in love with the way you look me

like I am found treasure,

& the way you once told me after

jumping onto me

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

My eyes melt like butter when I ask,

“Is that real?”

There are rare moments when I feel

comfortable in my own skin,

When I can look in a mirror &

Think “you are beautiful today.”

But you make me believe it.

Not that I am beautiful,

But that you see me as beautiful in your eyes.

And that’s enough for me to feel good

even if just for a day,

even if just for a moment.

You say I beam with confidence,

& that is wild to me.

You say the way I move, act, & dress

all speak volumes to

The way I carry myself,

That I do that with confidence.

What a lovely compliment,

to feel I can carry myself well

when I feel like crumbled pieces.

The way you see me

registers in levels of my heart & mind

that have never been reached.

We’re in your car now…

We just left target…

I don’t remember what I asked,

But you tell me you’ve never been one for

PDA.

Not even really holding hands.

I think of the way you just

caressed my face inside target

& kissed me back like no one was watching.

What an incredible feeling it is,

to know our love can change something like that.

I still think about that kiss.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

-T.R