#perfect little nibble worms

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Hunt - a Malevolent fic

Catch it, she thought, exhaling.

Hunt it, she thought, inhaling.

Her shadow crossed the thing, and it went very still.

Now! she thought, and swung the noose.

Part of the Surrogate series.

AO3

-------

It was an ugly little thing.

A hand long, thin as a carrot, writhing like some kind of carrion worm, it was a strange black with mottled gray shadows. It had five legs with uneven, clever fingers, thin like string, perfect for wriggling into secret places, breaking locks, injecting infection.

The ugly thing scrabbled outside Arthur’s door, trying and failing to get through the many layered spells of protection and repulsion Hastur maintained there. Faroe eyed the intruder, breathing through her mouth to stay quiet, feeling her breath warm the sphere she’d warded around herself. 

How dare it go after her Arthur.

Her fist clenched. She wanted to kill it, to just lunge out and stomp it to death. Beside her, Nibbles shifted, similarly impatient. Dis placed one hand on each of her charges, on Nibble’s side, on Faroe’s back, and tapped her fingers twice in the wait signal.

The ugly thing climbed higher, trying a different spot. It had no chance of getting through. It wasn’t even truly sapient—an automated spell, seeking Arthur for who knew what—and would simply follow its pre-programmed orders until it was caught or faded in the light of dawn.

Nibbles made an unhappy sound, soft.

Their noises were covered thanks to Dis’ wards, but that wasn’t the point. This was not just hunting; this was training to hunt , and that meant being fucking quiet because there were beings out there who’d hear them no matter what spells they used.

Faroe made the shh sign at Nibbles, who dared to look bashful.

Dis nodded. She lightly tapped Faroe’s back thrice. Time to move.

Faroe crouched down, breathing deep and slow, absolutely silent on her soft leather soles. In her right hand, she held a small, dully glowing noose, a horrifying and tiny version of a hangman’s tool; in her left, a backup, she held her wooden knife.

Catch it, she thought, exhaling.

Hunt it, she thought, inhaling.

Her shadow crossed the thing, and it went very still.

Now! she thought, and swung the noose.

The creature was not alive, and had been given specific orders for being caught : it tried to run.

Faroe was practically ten (almost), and was ready. She slammed her wooden knife down in front of the thing, sending it scurrying (automatic) in the reverse direction, right at her little noose—which activated its spell, and it looped around the thing’s form, cinching so tightly it twisted that nasty, charcoal skin. She yanked the intruder off the floor.

It twisted wildly, but made no sound.

Dis tapped Nibbles three times.

Nibbles lunged, mouths open, and snagged the creature—not biting it in half, but holding it so it could not slip away.

Dis dissolved the spells around them. “Well done,” she said, approaching. 

“I want who sent this,” said Faroe in a low voice, rough.

“So do we all,” said Dis, tone flat. “Unfortunately, it probably has its signature hidden like the rest.”

“I want to check, anyway.”

“Sure. We can check. Come on. Good practice,” Dis said, and started down the hall.

Faroe jogged to keep up, sheathing her wooden knife, leaving the noose dangling around the creature’s waist.

Nibbles wanted to kill it so badly , but Faroe needed it alive, so. She satisfied herself by stomping on and popping the three better-spelled things that Faroe couldn’t see—all trying to get into Arthur’s room, too—and then trotted after her charge with a pleased skip in her step.

#

It wasn't carrying poison. It wasn't carrying a curse. It was designed to take, not give.

“Why do they keep going after Arthur?” Faroe murmured as they tossed the hideous thing into the crystal observation tank.

Dis secured the lid. “I have some ideas, but nothing sure. What I do know is him coming into the limelight like he has is a direct cause.”

“Correlation is not causation,” Faroe quoted at her, chin raised.

Dis’ lips twitched. Fuck, she liked this kid. “True. But in this case, I really think they’re linked.”

“Why?”

“Timing, first. Which can be coincidence, but here’s what we’ve observed: these things started after his reveal as host for… uh. Hastur’s spawn.” Dis cleared her throat. “They increased after the poisoning, and Hastur moved heaven and hell to save him.”

Faroe frowned. “What do they want?”

“One of these things will eventually have more instructions,” said Dis, waving her hands over several gems inset in the container’s base. “So far, we haven’t caught anything more complex than ‘gather sample,’ but we will in time.”

Faroe didn’t like in time . It always made her do what Dis thought of as her unhappy dance: foot to foot, shifting her weight, hands lightly clenched, as though preparing to leap at some eventual resolution and punch it in the nuts.

The container hummed.

Inside it, the horrible dark creature shuddered, shed its shadow-disguise, and went a strangely fleshy white, unpleasant and shiny. It whipped, undulating, unable to free itself.

Faroe had asked once if they felt pain.

Dis hadn’t known if they had or not. Then one had gotten loose and attacked Nibbles, trying (and failing) to burrow into her, between her wooden plates.

Faroe had gone dead pale, looked at Arthur’s door (behind which Arthur slept, unaware and vulnerable), and stopped caring whether or not these things could feel pain.

“Same as the others,” Dis murmured, studying the gems. “Signature completely erased. Whoever’s sending these is big, princess. Maybe equal to your dad.”

“Fuck,” Faroe whispered, then peeked to see if Dis heard.

Dis heard. And did not particularly care. “Looks like it’s hollow again.”

“For samples,” said Faroe.

“Yeah. Hate those teeth.”

Faroe shuddered. She didn’t like them either, and given the monsters she’d grown up around, that was saying something.

The creature’s teeth were sharp, needle-thin at their tips, widening shockingly to triangular bases as if designed to bite and scoop what they’d bitten. The thing was lined with these mouths, all over, asymmetrical.

Faroe was clearly still thinking. “But that doesn’t prove it’s connected to his reveal.”

Dis smiled. “Good. You’re right, it doesn’t.”

“So what convinced you?”

And this was the part Dis didn’t want to explain because it probably meant Hastur would have to get involved—and would be none too pleased the three of them had been sneaking around, playing assassin. “Did you set up the alarm wards the way I said in your room?”

Faroe looked caught. “Um. I’m going to?”

“I know Nibbles watches for you,” Dis said gently. “But in the end, your safety is always in your own hands. Set them up tonight.”

Faroe huffed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Nibbles huffed.

“I know, old girl,” said Dis, patting Nibbles’ wooden plates. “Nobody can protect her like you. But even you’re not omnipresent. Right?”

Another huff, this one more agreeable.

“You’ll have your answer tomorrow,” said Dis, and snapped her fingers in front of the gems.

The creature in the container froze, stiffened, and exploded into a puff of white dust.

#

The day went as planned, all signs normal. She caught Parker and Sunny sneaking back from a dip in the lake before dawn (and reminded herself it wasn’t her problem). Heard about minor incursions out in the field—reports of battles in the Dreamlands, scuffles over Hastur’s newly acquired properties. Picked up weird news about ghouls and some kind of underground excursion (she couldn’t get more information). Saw all manner of beings coming to Court who had no business being there, no business with Carcosa, no business with Hastur, but just wanted to see what was going on. 

Hastur was making waves, and Dis didn’t like it. “You’re not the damned head of security anymore,” she reminded herself, then kept reading stolen reports, anyway.

Lester bitched through his training.

Parker laughed when he got knocked down.

Faroe excelled (not that Dis let her know just how well she was doing, lest she slow her progress) at every exercise she was given.

And night came, and everyone went to bed, and Hastur left (which was the only reason they could all sneak around uncaught), and Dis met up with Faroe, prepared.

Very prepared.

Faroe looked spooked, and that was expected. “Another one,” she said. “Just like outside Arthur’s door. But this one… this one was outside mine.” She indicated the creature wriggling in Nibbles’ jaws.

“Correct,” said Dis. “Nibbles has been eating them and not telling you, which is great for safety, but… not great for learning much.”

Nibbles huffed.

“You did good,” Dis assured her, patting. “This is just a new thing, not condemnation of the old thing. You did good.”

Nibbles preened a little.

“So?” said Dis. “What have you found?”

Faroe was a little pale as she held up a fishbowl-like container, and Nibbles spat the invader into it. “They’re only at Arthur’s door and mine. This specific thing.”

“Yes,” said Dis. “And?”

Faroe swallowed. “Why would they want samples from me and him?”

“Work it out, princess,” said Dis. “You can do it.”

“Everybody knows what Arthur looks like now,” Faore said slowly. “Not just the dignitaries invited to the galas. Everybody. And everybody knows what I look like, too.”

“Good. Now, think broadly,” said Dis. “What are the circumstances of his revelation to court?”

“John,” said Faroe. “Whom… everybody thinks is my dad’s spawn.”

Gods, this kid was smart. Dis was proud of her. “Almost there.”

Faroe swallowed. “So that makes Arthur tied—however lightly—to two of my dad’s kids, one spawned, and one not. Though… though he’s never told anyone where I came from.” Faroe looked up. “Are they trying to hurt Arthur to get to him?”

“Close,” said Dis. “I think they’re trying to prove a connection between you.”

Faroe’s eyes popped. “You mean… that we’re related.”

“I overheard some rumors,” said Dis. “And rumors don’t usually mean shit; they grow wild, they interbreed, they’re nutso. But this one was that you were obviously Hastur’s spawn, too, just… made with someone, rather than, uh. Produced.”

“Agamogenesis,” said Faroe, distracted and completely unbothered by concepts she’d known all her life. “They want to know dad made me with Arthur. But why?”

“That, I don’t really know,” said Dis. “It’s not like that knowledge could really be used. Everybody already knows he’s got it bad for his ‘court composer,’ but Hastur would just smash whoever tried to blackmail him.”

Faroe bit her lower lip.

Dis waited.

“Do we need to tell dad?” said Faroe slowly.

“If I were still captain of security, I already would have,” said Dis. “But I’m not.”

And now the look Faroe gave was not that of a practically-ten-year-old. It was hard, firm, and a little grim. “So you’ll do as I order—tell or not tell.”

“Correct.”

Faroe took a deep breath and held it.

Nibbles bleated and bonked her lightly, a helpful nuzzle.

“Yeah,” whispered Faroe. “We’ve already gone too far to avoid getting in trouble over this. So. At this point, we might as well see it through.”

“To what end?”

Faroe frowned. “I don’t know yet.”

“I think, princess,” said Dis slowly, “you’ll need to figure that out soon. Whatever you choose to do here, if you make it decisive , an extension of your will as the daughter of the King in Yellow, Duchess of Ythill, it’ll alter how Hastur responds. You know. As lord of Carcosa, instead of just an overprotective father.”

That seemingly had never occurred to Faroe before. “Ooooh,” she said, eyes wide, lips pursed.

Dis hoped she hadn’t planted a terrible idea too early for Faroe to handle it.

“All right,” said Faroe quietly. “By tomorrow, I will have made my decision.” She sounded… grown. Like this decision mattered. Like she felt the weight of choices that affected more than just herself.

Dis nodded. “Good. Go on and take the night.”

“But we haven’t hunted yet,” Faroe whined, flipping right back into practically-ten.

“You have a big tangle to think through,” said Dis. “Tonight, that’s your practice. Connotations and all, you have to think through it.”

“Fine,” Faroe sighed. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Good night.”

Faroe closed her bedroom door, and Dis heard her feed the captured thing to Nibbles while complaining about tonight’s change of plans.

Dis laughed quietly to herself. Kids.

#

The day was normal. Parker sneaking back from the lake (again). Passive-aggressive foolishness from visitors, never quite loud enough to catch someone’s wrath. The cooks freaking out and getting into little panicky arguments before serving any food; Arthur and John arguing like an old married couple while writing ethereal music.

More talk of the ghouls doing something weird, but it was unsubstantiated and vague, so Dis just logged it away.

(“You’re not head of security,” she reminded herself.)

Normal.

Faroe said not one word to her father about their excursions. Not one word about what they’d found. That told Dis what the decision had been even before evening fell.

Dis checked. The wards in front of both Lester doors were still quite solid. Honestly, it worried her; whoever was sending these things had the patience and foresight not to send anything that might set off an alarm, but relied on a moment of distraction from their creator. That felt like strategy.

After dinner, after they all went to bed, after Hastur left (and after Dis caught Parker and Sunny sneaking out for an illicit dip in the Lake again ), Faroe was ready.

It turned out Dis had not predicted Faroe’s response, after all.

#

“I have come to my decision,” said Faroe upon opening her door, already in her role as daughter of a god and not child. “Here is the one we captured tonight.”

Dis eyed the hideous creature, writhing uselessly in its bowl, asymmetrical mouths chomping nothing. “And?”

“Do you have tracking spells that can’t be detected?” said Faroe.

Dis frowned. “To a certain level. Yes.” To most levels, but she couldn’t admit that, lest it lead to questions.

“Then I suggest we hunt the hunter,” said Faroe, and did something Dis was not at all prepared for. She handed the bowl to Nibbles, who held it via an enormous mouth created for the occasion. Then she opened the lid and put her hand in its place.

Oh, what the fuck— “Wait!” said Dis.

The creature leaped up, super quick, and bit.

Faroe did not wince or cry out.

It dropped back down and went nuts, trying to dig through the glass, mindlessly trying to take its bloody prize in one direction without any reasoning ability to consider the exit past Faroe’s hand.

“There,” said Faroe, healing the small bite. “Cast the tracker and let it go.”

“Faroe!” Dis’ tone was sharper than she liked, but what she wanted to do was curse the girl out (would have, if this had been a soldier under her), and socially, she couldn’t. “You better have a good explanation for this. That could have been venomous. At the least, some kind of infection—”

“It was already thoroughly disinfected before you arrived,” said Faroe, chin raised. “It’s an equivalent wound to a deep blister from an uneven spear handle. We’re fine.”

Dis stared. She sighed. “You’re sure about this. I don’t love the idea of giving this guy what he wants, whoever they are.”

“The only reason it doesn’t have samples of our blood, sweat, and some flesh already is they haven’t gone to the training grounds,” said Faroe.

Smart, smart girl. “That’s… a good point.”

“Also, Arthur has bled all over the palace, for one reason or another,” said Faroe. “Again—they should already have it, if they knew the inner workings of this place. They don’t. All they were able to discover was our bedrooms.”

“They can do a lot with blood, Faroe,” said Dis quietly. “Especially willingly given.”

Faroe hadn’t thought of that. She froze.

“You did well here,” said Dis. “I think you have the right idea. The thing I want to do is make sure it’s not your blood and flesh they get. I don’t care about the training grounds. Someone can be good at picking locks; it doesn’t mean you give up and leave the back door open.”

Faroe wrinkled her nose. Sighed. “You’re right.”

“You’re a smart kid,” said Dis. “The only advantage I have here is experience. This plan can still work—but not with this one. We have to take it out… and I think I know just whose blood to give them in your place.”

“All right,” said Faroe, still deflated, and fed the thing to Nibbles.

#

It was an ugly little thing. Long and wiry, slick and slimy, unevenly constructed and sufficient for one night’s use. It got lucky tonight (or so its owner assumed, and had been counting on), catching the princess as she opened her door to go for a walk for whatever human reason.

It got in one good bite and ran, disappearing (luckier still) before the goat-thing could catch it. Through the pipes, through the sewers, through places so warded and deadly that no living thing could manage, and indeed, it was already shaking and barely whole by the time it reached the portal outside Carcosa and far from Hastur’s purview.

The sample was tested.

“False. This is some adult human male, blond, suffused with non-Carcosan magic, willingly given,” complained the Mi-go checking it. “Not the girl’s.”

“What?” said Pers, leaning in.

“Impossible,” said Cthaeghya, flapping her wings in anger. “That design was perfect. It couldn’t mistake its target that badly.”

“False,” said the Mi-go.

Oryx laughed sharply. “I told you.”

Vorvadoss sighed. “So this was all for nothing, like I said.”

His twin sister rumbled, pleased, green flame licking all around her. “On the contrary,” Yaggdytha said. “This confirms it.”

“How?” snapped Vorvadoss.

“Because they are going to great lengths to hide it,” she said. “I’m sure now.”

“False. ‘Sure’ is not good enough,” said the Mi-go researcher. “Proof is all that matters.”

“Well, suit yourself,” said Yaggdytha. “Dick around all you want. I’m sending a request.”

“He’s gonna say no,” pointed out the weird guy no one could recall inviting, with his bizarrely humanoid and vaguely Egyptian style. “I mean, you won’t get a yes. He’s all possessive.”

“Truth,” said the Mi-go.

“Sure,” said Yaggdytha, still pretending (as they all did) that this “Black Pharaoh” Elder God (so he called himself) wasn’t unnerving. “But it’ll be the first offer of many, many, many. This is a big deal.”

“Truth,” admitted the Mi-go. 

Vorvadoss sighed. “Eventually, someone will offer enough that he’ll be willing to at least trade some fluids. It’s not like the human will miss them.”

“Truth,” said the Mi-go. “The human body equipped with testes produces approximately two to three hundred million spermatozoa a day. It won’t be missed.”

The “Black Pharaoh” cracked up rudely, and they all pretended he wasn’t there.

“Pity someone didn’t keep anything they got their tentacles on before,” Cthaeghya said snidely.

Pers sighed. “I said I’m sorry . How in fuck was I supposed to know he was some kind of superbreeder?”

“Truth,” said the Mi-go.

Yaggdytha rattled into the silence, a soothing sound. “I’ll send the first. We’ll just make it a regular request. I don’t feel the need for more proof.”

“Works for me,” said Vorvadoss, who always followed his twin sister’s lead.

“I am never going to live this down,” Pers muttered.

The “Black Pharaoh” cackled again (and no one looked his way), and then when nobody was looking, he disappeared.

Relief at his absence was more important than any concerns he might give the game away, and they all pretended he’d never been there at all.

#

Meanwhile, Larson proudly wore the bandage on his arm even though he could tell no one about its origin (and even though Dis had healed the wound).

We need it to lay a trap for the King’s enemy using the flesh of one rich in his power, she’d said, and why would she lie about that?

All these sacrifices were sure to pay out someday. He just had to wait.

They’d all see in time.

[panie-wanie-dean-bean]

But anyhoods the second cult au brainworm that has me ina chokehold is vulnerable doll Rory with MC and Jack again.

MC probably commissioning their little princess a new outfit, and after he's nibbled on his tranqued up pastries, they'd take their time washing him, compliment his beautiful body, and shower him with kisses before they get him ready for his photoshoot.

Their little doll only gets the best skin regiment, and the most expensive makeup kit that Barry could smuggle into town for them, maybe he could also sneak in some jewerly and hair extensions too if Rory was up for it.

Then they would reverently dress him up in the sluttiest "daddy's baby girl" outfit ever. A shirt that hugs him in all the right places but stops at his belly (which they would shower with kisses), the shortest pair of bootyshorts that leave nothing to the imagination, and ofc we can't forget thigh high socks that cause the edges of his thighs to buldge deliciously.

And naturally we have to shower our little doll with praise and sweet nothings. He wouldn't mind us commemorating the moment with pictures?

They start off innocent enough, just to capture his visage fully. He looks so perfect like this, hugging his giant teddy bear with a blissful expression on his face,

and it's not like he can stop them when the camera takes on a suggestive angle.

Gently turning him to lie on his tummy with gentle kisses, and propping his little ass in the air, or spreading his legs and make him straddle Mr. Teddy suggestively, showering their doll with more compliments and love. Their little girl is gonna love these once they're done.

It'll probably get the MC so hot and bothered they'd have to take a break from their impromptu photoshoot, for some cuddle time.

Rory smells so sweet, and he's so warm, it's not like he could stop their hands from wandering, and gently flicking the button of his shorts open. pressing more gentle kisses into his neck as they fondle his cock and squeeze his balls. MC doesn't say much when the camera starts flashing again. They're having far too much fun pulling Rory's shorts down to his ankles, and using his tongue to coat their fingers before pressing them into him.

I like to imagine Jack and MC would take turns with their little princess, there are so many perfect angles to capture while they ruin their girl so reverently.

And so many pictures to show him once the tranqs wear off.

Im wet just thinking about it

Same here my man, holy shit. Your brain is fucking massive I swear, how else could your brain worms be so well fed? With stuff this good it's hard to even comment on it. Like, yes yep, you got it! This is everything, thank you for sharing with the class

[thenon-floweringfairies]

How the Forest Finds the Island

You Catch More Flies With Honey

The rain was soon pelting down, steadily raising the waters of the creek. Not wanting to hang around and see if the banks burst, Sen approached the trunks of the twin ginkgos. Without wings, climbing the taller of the two was a daunting prospect, but the shorter tree had more crinkled bark that should provide a firm foothold. Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Sen placed a hand on the bark, enjoying its slightly warm roughness, then started his ascent.

Some tiny tarachocelid flutterflies were nibbling tender leaves at the tips of the freshly sprouted twigs. Sen glared in their direction, but refrained from shooing them off. Despite being leaf eaters, they also helped to spread pollen, and were overall beneficial for ginkgo survival.

Approaching the crown, Sen scanned the nearest branches for a suitable perch. He soon settled on one with a bowl-shaped dip in it, testament to healed storm damage. From here, he had an unparalleled view of his other ginkgo, the lake, and the expansive fern fields beyond. Perfect.

The rain had already begun to ease off, and gentle sunlight filtered through breezy clouds. Sen sat cross legged, closed his eyes, and soaked up the energy surrounding him. As it invigorated his body, he smiled and bowed his head. His brow knocked softly against the wood. Magic began to emanate, vitality flowing from his system into the ginkgo's.

The effect was visible straight away. Slight vessels rose along the sides of the knot, while the knobbled bark along the rim closed over, forming a little roof. Soon there was only a small aperture left, shaded by an overhang, along with some tiny pores along the edge for drainage. Sen wriggled through the gap and snuggled down. The rainwater was already being channelled out by the newly grown network, leaving the space dry and cozy.

Coming out of dormancy and straight into a rather hectic day had taken its toll, and Sen felt exhaustion creeping up on him. Warm and safe, he lapsed into a sleep of fervent dreams.

Sen awoke before dawn, well-rested and motivated by the scenarios his mind had conjured in the night. He quickly shimmied out through the crack in the bark and gazed upon a starry sky. His mind continued to whirr, concocting plans for all he hoped to achieve in this boundless habitat.

Firstly, he was going to construct his nest. The alcove he had formed in the bark was suitable for the time being, but it was a fixed structure. It left no room to expand without harming his tree, something he wouldn't countenance.

Strolling along the branch, Sen picked up a munching noise. The flutterflies were gone, but a hungry horde of inchworms had taken their place. Sen crouched and watched them. They were doing more damage than the flies had, but there was one very useful substance that caterpillars produced.

Silk.

Sidling inquisitively over, Sen inspected the larvae and their depredations. The sooner they pupated, the better, as then they'd stop eating and their silk would be available to harvest. If they weren't due to metamorphose for a long time, it would be prudent to just get rid of them now.

Deciding that could wait until sunrise, Sen instead studied the half-eaten leaves. They were no longer any good for photosynthesis, and pruning them would make way for fresh growth. They'd be his breakfast.

By the time he was done eating (and trying to stomach the residue of inchworm saliva) the sun was peeking over the mountains. Sen stood and trilled a series of notes, more meaning being added with each layer of sound, until the melody, though not quite forming words, carried meaning. Sen listened as his song faded and the shadows crept down the slopes. Presently, an answer was given, a song deeper and more rhythmic than his. Si-woo was awake too.

Smiling, Sen returned to the worms. He gently patted an average sized individual, and at his touch, it reared up in its defence response, looking exactly like a bare twig. With the insect motionless, Sen concentrated and envisaged four steadfast pillars standing around him. He then laid a hand on the inchworm, transmitting its experiences into his mind. After a short interval, he broke out of his trance, satisfied. This larva was close to pupating, and given their similar size range, the others must be too.

Until they did so, Sen had other jobs to do. Gyrating his neck and brushing his feelers, he returned to the tree's trunk and descended. It was nerve-wracking, but he knew he wasn't in serious danger; his negligible mass meant that he wouldn't reach terminal velocity should he fall.

Following the grain of the bark, Sen reached a small burl near the trunk's base and jumped the last foot from there. Landing softly in the fronds and leaf litter, he stood and headed down the creek.

In the preternaturally fertile soil, some of the clipping's he'd planted the previous day were budding already. This warmed his heart, but unfortunately he wasn't the first on the scene. The flutterflies were back, and on small shoots that hadn't yet developed their reproductive structures, they were nothing but a menace.

Sen shouted, racing forward, momentarily forgetting his wings had not regrown and launching himself into the air, only to come stumbling down in an awkward leap. He tottered rapidly ahead, regained his footing and launched himself the last few centimetres at the tarachopterans. They rose into the air, evading him easily, and buzzed off a short distance before settling on another shoot. He drew to a halt and watched them.

If he kept chasing them, he'd only tire himself out. He could see insects on some of the other nearby shoots, and he couldn't target them all at once. Normally he'd resort to magic in this situation, but he was still feeling a little drained. He didn't reckon he could manage any more after already magicking not long prior.

Maybe he could build some kind of scarecrow? But insects reacted more to movement than to shape recognition. Unless it was something that blew constantly in the wind, they'd ignore it. And there wasn't much wind. He sighed. It looked like he was going to have to kill them.

Sen disliked killing animals, but if it came down to them or his trees, there was no contest. Shaking out his limbs, he strode purposefully to the nearest group of flies. He made no attempt to intimidate them, and though they turned to keep an eye on him, they didn't immediately take flight. He paused for a second, tensing his legs. Then he sprang.

The flutterflies rose into the air, but Sen was easily within range now, and knocked one of them into the dust with a well-timed thrust of his palm. This was followed by a slanting heel kick that took its head off in one neat movement.

He covered his nose with one hand and tucked his feelers down with the other as fumes of pungent haemolymph rose. Turning, he saw the others had gotten out of reach. He approached the next sprig. The flies here seemed more wary, and he imagined they could smell their dead congener. This wasn't enough to put them off their meal, however.

Slowing to a tiptoe, Sen got as close as he could. The flies turned, one looking him dead in the eye. He leapt, catching it by its legs and thrusting it down. Landing on its back, it buzzed frantically but couldn't get airborne, and lashed out in panic. Sen yelped as keen tarsal claws lacerated his forearms. Sap welled up through the smarting wounds. Furious, he curled his knuckles and delivered a leopard blow, punching clean through the insect's abdomen and severing it from the thorax.

Sen swayed gently as behind him, the tarachopteran's convulsions ceased. He was bleeding and somewhat winded, but, after catching a breath and letting the sap coalesce over his scratches, felt confident to continue. The flies were too wary for him to sneak up on, so instead he made repeated runs at them, chasing them back into the air when they tried to land. He wasn't quite sure how long he spent doing this, but after what felt like hours under the sun, he was starting to wilt. Drawing to a halt, he took stock of the situation. Some of the flies had given up and fled, but most remained stubbornly in place. Girding himself, Sen made a final charge at the tarachopterans. His spirits rose as they lifted off his plants, and sunk in tandem as they simply picked new ones. He staggered to a smooth, moist root and sprawled out.

After a moment, puzzlement ran through his brain. There were no trees large enough for this root to belong to nearby. And it certainly hadn't been here yesterday. Rising once more, he ran a hand along it. The texture wasn't bark, but… skin. His fingers stopped at a mottled-brown, heavy-lidded eye.

Sen just about stopped himself from jumping half a metre. Very, very carefully, he crept back, lips tightly pressed together. But the beast displayed no interest in him. He could now discern a wet trail, where it had hauled itself from the creek. Given that the earlier sections had dried out, it must have been moving unnoticed for several minutes.

As he watched, the elongate crawler opened a cavernous maw with deliberate, creaking patience. Unlike his own mouth, it was not the bottom jaw that moved, but the top, so it didn't even have to lift its head. As the mouth grew wider and wider, it revealed a stunning, golden throat, and a fringed tongue of a similar colour. This appendage unrolled, spooling like a meaty fern out into the dust.

Enraptured, Sen was overcome with a sweet, heady fragrance. It was so tempting that he nearly took a step forward, before the logical part of his brain snapped into focus. He remained rooted to the spot. Soon, the flutterflies were stirring. The first took flight, followed by another, then many more, all homing in on the alluring tongue. They landed in droves, attempting to feed, only to find their mouthparts gummed by viscous mucous. When they tried to struggle free, the same secretion thwarted their escape. With remarkable speed, the tongue flicked back into the mouth. The creek crawler swallowed in a deep, satisfied manner, then with a sweep of its tail swished back into the water. The ginkgo grove fell silent, untroubled by fluttering.

---

Next chapter

Previous chapter

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: So, here we go! 😁 Thank you so much for your wonderful support and lovely messages during my break my loves, they mean so much to me and ily! ❤ On my break, I binged a lot of shows, and Criminal Minds and Prodigal Son were two of them, but if you haven’t watched them don’t worry because it will not be following a specific canon plot😁❤Please let me know what you think and enjoy!❤

Warnings: Murder, drug use, serial killers, violence, manipulation

Summary: No one can choose their family.

If it were another time, you could’ve at least attempted to convince yourself how everyone had problematic childhoods. Focusing on something else usually worked, per the advices of countless psychiatrists your mother had forced you to go after the-

Incident.

Just the thought of it was more than enough to make your blood freeze in your veins, but you were soon snapped out of your thoughts when your phone started ringing. You checked the caller I.D, and heaved a sigh before you touched the screen.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you’re not going there.” Your mother’s voice filled the car and you pressed your lips together.

“Hi mom.”

“Every time you go there and visit that man in that wretched prison cell of his, he manages to get into your head!”

“That’s not what’s going to happen,” you said, keeping your eyes on the road, “You have no reason to worry.”

“I have every reason to worry!” she snapped, “We promised that we wouldn’t let him worm his way into our lives.”

“Yeah well, FBI begs to differ,” you forced yourself to say, “You’ve seen the news—“

“I don’t want to hear this,” she cut you off, then heaved a sigh, “It’s terrible enough to hear it once, let alone twice.”

You never really had the luxury of ignoring all the terrible things on the news, especially after what had happened. Ever since you were a child, the nightmares wouldn’t leave you alone, and you weren’t as good as your mother at ignoring what was happening while you were awake.

“You could’ve said no.”

“I really couldn’t,” you mumbled and she clicked her tongue.

“Well then,” she said, trying to pull herself together, “I expect to see you at brunch, even your sister is coming. It won’t take long, will it?”

“It won’t take long to see my serial killer father and find out whether he is helping another serial killer even if he’s been behind bars for years?” you asked, “No mom. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Sarcasm will give you wrinkles.”

“Oh yeah, tragedy.”

“Call me as soon as you leave there,” she insisted, making you smile. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said as you pulled over in front of the building. Even the sight of it was enough to make your stomach flip and you felt the bile climbing up your throat.

You did not want to see him.

You had managed not to see him for years now, but now, the news were full of different coverage about a killer whose method of killing was very similar to him.

A flower left in the crime scene, every damn time.

Naturally, FBI wanted a word with the original killer. Less naturally, the original killer refused to speak unless he talked to his younger daughter, who happened to be you.

Unfortunately.

Yet, the sooner you walked in, the sooner you would walk out, and that was the only thing that offered any kind of consolation.

“God damn it,” you mumbled to yourself as you left your car, and made your way into the building. They patted you down, made you go through the x-ray and sign the papers before you entered the hall.

There were two men that weren’t in official prison guard clothes, which made you think these were the FBI agents you had talked to on the phone. For some reason, you hadn’t pictured them like this, but you didn’t know any agents so maybe this was the norm.

If it were any other time, you could’ve noticed how handsome they both were, but your mind was way too occupied.

“Ma’am,” the dark haired one stepped closer to you, “I’m Special Agent Luke Alvez, this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Even if Agent Alvez looked like the ideal FBI agent that was pulled out of an action movie, Dr. Reid looked more like a young, handsome professor, the ones that you dreamed would be at your university when you were still at high school.

Needless to say, that fantasy hadn’t come true much to your disappointment.

You shook your head, trying to focus.

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” You shook hands with him, and smiled at Dr Reid, “Hello.”

“Thank you for coming.” His smile was soft, much like his gaze, “I imagine it’s not easy for you.”

You forced yourself to shrug, “Yeah it’s…” you trailed off and cleared your throat, “It’s fine.”

“So far we have seen five murders all over the country, in different areas but the crime scene has your father’s signature. It most likely means there are multiple copycat killers, and given your father’s past, he might be the mastermind behind it. He contacted us, but refuses to say anything unless he spoke to you.”

The goosebumps rising on your arms felt almost familiar.

“I haven’t been educated in any interrogation techniques.” You said, “And knowing him, he’s not just going to give that information to me.”

“People give information about a lot of things even when they don’t realize it.” Dr Reid said, “We will be outside, watching and listening.”

“I’ll talk to the guards to see if he’s ready, excuse me.” Alvez said and he walked away while you nibbled on your lip.

“How does a serial killer have this many privileges?” Reid asked you, “He has a private cell, books, TV…”

“Money,” you said slowly, “Money buys lawyers, lawyers buy freedom. Or the closest thing to freedom, given the circumstances. If you ask me, he should’ve been rotting in a hole but...” you trailed off, leaning back to the wall and took a deep breath, counting in your head.

“That’s a good exercise to calm down,” Reid said and your head shot up.

“What?”

“The 4 7 8 breathing exercise. I’m guessing a psychiatrist taught you that.”

“Several psychiatrists taught me that,” you stated, raising your brows, “You’re observant aren’t you professor?”

“Doctor.”

You clenched an unclenched your fists, your eyes darting around the hall,

“This is not helping,” you said as you exhaled a breath, “I need a cigarette, or twenty.”

“What do you do?” his question was so out of nowhere that you gawked at him for a moment.

“What?”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a— I’m a wedding planner.”

He tilted his head, “What’s that?”

“Well you…you know, you help the couples with color palettes, decoration, overall aesthetic, and during the wedding you make sure nothing goes wrong with the venue and the food and the music, all that. You make sure the wedding is perfect, basically.”

He hmmed, “How do I tell if a wedding is perfect? If we were talking sense wise?”

“Well first of all, in terms of looks, the colors need to complement each other,” you said, remembering your favorite events, “When you walk in, you see the garden and it’s well lit, but not too bright. In terms of touch, I guess you would make sure the table covers and such are soft to touch. The music should be slow at first, at least until it starts.”

“How about smell?”

“You can’t really go wrong with faint flower scents. Scented candles are a nice touch too.”

“The food?”

“Something light, most of the time. No one wants to get into a food coma at a wedding and you—“ you stopped as your eyes snapped up to his, a small smile playing at his lips.

He was making you list all the things that would ground you without making you realize you were doing it, so that you wouldn’t lose yourself in panic. It was yet another trick your psychiatrists had told you to do whenever you felt overwhelmed, talking about what you could see, hear, smell, touch and taste. By making you focus on a pleasant memory and remember all those, he was offering you a safe place in your own mind.

But contrary to any doctor, he didn’t make it obvious.

“Well played, professor.”

This time, he didn’t correct you,

“Grounding works most of the time,” he stated as Agent Alvez approached you, “I know this situation is less than ideal, but we will be right outside. You can walk out any time you want.”

“They’re ready.” Agent Alvez said and you nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was slamming against your chest, then followed them to the door. Alvez opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, digging your fingernails into your palm.

His hair had more grays since you had last seen him, and his beard was longer, but that dangerous light in his eyes hadn’t changed. He looked up, a wide smile appearing on his face as his eyes searched yours.

“Sweetheart!” he said cheerfully, raising his hands a little so that you could see the chains attached to his handcuffs, “It’s been a while, wouldn’t you say?”

Pretending to be calm was something you had practiced so many times that your body knew automatically what to do. The door closed behind you and you swallowed thickly, making sure your face didn’t show any feelings. You slowly approached the table to pull yourself a chair, then put your phone on the table and started the countdown.

He wanted five minutes, and you would be damned if you stayed there a second longer.

“You look so much like your mother,” your father shook his head, “It’s uncanny, really.”

You gritted your teeth, still glaring at him.

“Not your eyes though,” he smiled, “You got your eyes from me. The window to the soul, hm?”

“My soul has nothing to do with you.” The words left your lips before you could stop them and he tut tutted.

“My petal-“

“Don’t call me that,” you cut him off, “I hate that nickname.”

That didn’t seem to break his enthusiasm though, much to your displeasure.

“Well, we should catch up,” he said , clapping his hands together, “Are you still with that young man from last year? He’d better be treating you well.”

You blinked a couple of times, “How did you-?”

“I have my sources too.”

“Your sources are slow then.” You stated, “We broke up months ago. Is that all? You brought me here to just talk about my personal life?”

“Why did you break up?”

“Are you really behind all these murders happening right now?” you asked back and he shot you a reprimanding look.

“None of that right now, petal. Business and family shouldn’t be merged, as you know.”

You felt like you would throw up, but managed to hold it together and stole a look at the countdown.

“Why did you break up?”

“Certain differences,” you said, cracking your fingers to distract yourself, and he leaned back.

“I get that,” he said, “If you’re different, you’re different. I always felt that with your mother—“

“Stop that.” You spat out, “Anything I do, including my relationships, it has nothing to do with you. I’m nothing like you.”

“Oh but you are,” he said, “It’s all in your eyes. In that deadly glare of yours. It’s there, isn’t it? That anger? Try to hide it as much as you want, it’s still burning you.”  

“There’s nothing burning me,” you said, “You’re fucked up, doesn’t mean I am too.”

“You know, there are many scientists that say murder is in the genes,” he stated, “So it would mean you’re contaminated too, no?”

The panic was pounding through your system, but you managed to keep your expression stable.

“Do you know why I didn’t ask your sister here? Or hell, your mother? Do you know why it is you?”

You stayed silent, your gaze focused on him.

“Your sister loved your mother, but you…. You were always such a daddy’s girl.”

“Wrong.”

“I don’t even think you cried for your mother whenever you scraped your knees, it was always me.”

“I didn’t know you were crazy when I was a child, guilty as charged. Doesn’t prove anything.”

“It does,” he said, “It proves more than you know. You are going to be my legacy.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine but you took a deep breath, resting your palms on the steel desk.

“No I won’t,” you said calmly, “Sorry to disappoint. I never killed anyone.”

Your father’s smile was almost as serene as your voice.

“Yet,” he pointed out, and you felt your throat tightening. “Ignore it if you want. It’s still there, petal.”

The beep of the phone made you snap out of it and you pushed your chair back, knocking it over in the process.

“Fuck you,” you said through your teeth as you gripped the door knob, “Have fun rotting in here.”

You swung the door open and stepped outside, still trying to catch your breath, and the door next to the interrogation room opened before Reid stepped into your vision. Your hands were still shaking and you desperately needed a cigarette and some fresh air.

But what you really needed was to get out of there.

“Y/N?”

“I hope you got whatever you guys needed,” you managed to say, wiping at your nose, “Because I’m never stepping a foot here, ever again.”

With that, you walked out of the hall, every cell in your body screaming at you to get away. You ignored the looks from the guards, tears blurring your vision and you left the building as fast as you could, as if someone was chasing you.

As if that could help you escape him.

Chapter 2

Taglist: @rhabakoli​ @theskytraveler​ @danyka-fendyr​ @alwaysadreamingoptimist​   @lettersofwrittencollective​ @dreamers-wonderland​ @lilliannaansalla​ @propertyofpoeandbucky​ @iblogabout-stuff​ @thinemineours​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @davnwillcome​ @chibi-liz05​ @demigoddesofchimichangagod​ @finnickfoxes​

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

The Darkest Timeline, Part 7

To Kara's surprise, Andrea's visit seems to unlock more of Lena's personality. She grows more animated, gesturing as she talks and prone to touching Kara as much as possible, whether it be a touch on the elbow or knee, or a clasp of her arm as they sit at the table. Once, while Kara is preparing dinner, Lena touches the small of her back as she reaches around Kara's head to reach the plates in the cupboard.

It sends a flood of endorphins coursing through Kara's veins, and a warm heat to settle low in her gut. Lena doesn't seem to miss a beat, not even pausing as she explains the show she's been watching while Kara's at work.

"I strongly suspect that they're going to drag the love triangle out to the end of the season," Lena says, rolling her eyes. "I'm sick of it already, but someone somewhere decided they 'chemistry' so what do I know..."

"Uh huh," Kara agrees, swallowing against a suddenly dry mouth.

That night, they curl up on the pullout bed in the living to finish the season finale. The love triangle in question is resolved with one of the men dying, leaving the woman in the throes of an existential crisis over what could have been, even as the other comforts her. Lena's asleep not long after, with Kara close on her heels.

It's becoming a frequent occurence, for Kara to fall asleep in front of the television and wake up wrapped around Lena. Lena doesn't seem to mind it-- if anything, she seems to expect it, pouting playfully when Kara tries to return to her own bed before a movie finishes.

She ought to feel guilty, Kara knows. She knows the boundaries of her previous friendship with Lena, but after so long divided, the smell of her shampoo in Lena's hair is intoxicating, mixing with the familiar warmth of their nearness to create a heady elixir of perfect belonging.

One morning, Kara wakes up to find Lena facing her, gazing at her with soft eyes. Her vision has steadily improved, little by little, and Kara can tell Lena is studying her in detail, her eyes tracing the lines of Kara's face as if memorizing every detail of her.

"Morning," Kara murmurs.

Lena smiles. "Morning."

"Have I got drool on my face?" She reaches up to wipe her cheeks, only for Lena's hand to make it there first. She cups Kara's cheek, rubbing her thumb gently across her skin as she looks deep into Kara's eyes.

"Can I ask you something?" Lena says softly.

"Anything," Kara whispers.

"Why don't you talk about it?" Lena says softly. "About us?"

Kara blinks, snapping to full wakefulness. She pauses, her hand still resting on Lena's against her cheek. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I appreciate the chance to make my decisions, but... I don't think there could be any reality in which I didn't love you."

Lena worms her way closer, until their noses nearly touch. Kara's brain empties of any thought but their proximity. It steals the air from her lungs, leaving her breathless.

"I may not remember everything," Lena continues, "but my feelings for you... they don't feel new."

"Lena..." Kara all but gasps for air, floundering for the words to speak.

"I'm sorry for the time that we've lost." Lena gazes at her, intense and focused. "Maybe one day you can share your memories of us, but in the meantime... I don't want to lose out on making new ones."

Slowly, Lena leans in, pressing her lips to Kara's in a gentle kiss. It remains chaste, but her mouth lingers on Kara's, as though Lena can't bring herself to pull away.

"I love you, Kara," Lena murmurs against her lips. "I don't want to lose anymore time."

Another kiss punctuates her words, this time nibbling lightly. Kara moans in spite of herself, gripping Lena's hand a little tighter.

When Lena kisses her again, Kara's lips part to receive the tongue that darts out tentatively. For a long moment, she nearly loses herself in it, before she comes back to herself with a snap.

"Lena, Lena, wait!" she says, chest heaving. Lena pulls back, waiting expectantly. Kara swallows, closing her eyes. "We... we weren't."

Kara opens her eyes to see Lena blink, then flush in sudden embarrassment. "Oh, my god. I thought--"

Lena withdraws, and tries to take her hand with her, but Kara holds it fast, pressing it to her own chest.

"We weren't together, that way. But that doesn't mean I didn't want this."

Shaking her head, Lena looks away. "You don't have to say that just to make me feel better--"

"I know I don't," Kara returns. "But I'm telling you anyway, because it's true. You are... You're the most important thing in my life, Lena. I couldn't lose you."

At that, Lena stills her features wary, yet filled with quiet hope. Bringing Lena's hand to her lips, Kara kisses the tips of her fingers.

"You don't have to love me," Kara says softly. "But I do love you. And I will always be here for you. If we do this, I want it to be because it's something you want... not because you feel you should--"

Lena silences her with a kiss.

"I don't think I've ever wanted anything more."

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS MORE, BLOOD Official Visual Fanbook Short Story: Sakamaki Reiji VS Mukami Ruki

Source: Diabolik Lovers More, Blood Official Visual Fanbook

Release date: 2013

Disclaimer: Both sides portray the same story, but from a different perspective. The first story is written from Reiji’s POV, while the second portrays the events from Ruki’s POV.

REIJI’S SIDE

ーー An eye for an eye. I honestly did not think I would ever let someone else’s words sway me.

On top of the same bed.

Two Vampires ganging up on one woman.

I have been completely captivated by this situation which at first glance would be nothing but laughable. 

“Come on...You want more, do you not? Try begging for it. Go ahead...”

I whisper those words with the most gentle, sweetest tone imaginable, while stroking the top of her head as she lies there pinned down on top of the sheets. Her cheeks color red in embarrassment, as she looks up at me with watery eyes.

“Heh...You are rather kind. I thought you were more of a cruel man.”

“Hmph. I am different from you.”

While saying that, I press my lips against her own.

In reaction, she squints her eyes in pleasure.

For one, this current situation is the result of a trivial matter.

Yet right now, I find myself in this state.

I honestly have to laugh with it myself.

However, I figured this was a perfect opportunity to show that man...Mukami Ruki.

The fact that she has already completely devoted herself to me.

“Well then, where would you like it next...? Your shoulder? Or perhaps...A little further below?”

As I tease her with those words, she shakes her head from left to right.

As to be expected, Ruki responds by extending his hand towards her.

“I know, Livestock. ...Where you want it, that is...”

While speaking those words, Ruki gradually moves closer, gliding his fingertips across her lower back.

“You sly flox...”

Making no attempts to hide the frustration in my voice, I bury my face in her nape.

My fangs gently sink inside.

Her flesh is thoroughly soft, willingly accepting my sharp fangs.

Her sweet, rich blood gushes inside my mouth.

Each time, a gasp slips past her lips.

Ruki would suck blood from her lower back at the same time, as her body slides across the sheets.

“Nn...Haah...”

This blood truly is irresistable. 

I cannot help but gasp in amazement.

I lap up the blood dribbling down from my fangs inside my mouth.

My body moves on its own, not wanting to let a single drop go to waste.

“Oi, Livestock...How does feel...to have two Vampires wrapped around your little finger like this?”

Ruki speaks with a delirious voice.

She is unable to muster a response, her body simply quivering instead.

I grab her trembling hand, and bring it towards my lips.

“How rather tactless of you to try and ask such a thing to her.”

“Heh...My bad. I didn’t enjoy the same upbringing as you guys did.”

Despite his mocking tone, Ruki keeps on moving closer, sliding towards her thigh.

“Hold it. That place is...”

“Have you ever heard of the saying ‘the early worm gets the bird’?”

Ruki speaks before spreading her legs. 

While keeping her knee locked firmly in place, he brings his face closer as if trying to sneak a peek in between.

“Che...”

I involuntarily click my tongue before plunging my fangs inside her chest next.

If he wishes to challenge me to see whose fangs can bring her the most pleasure, then I will gladly take him on.

I am Karlheinz’ son. A descendent of the Vampire King.

I shall never lose to a man of vulgar, mannerless lineage.

ーー The End.

RUKI’S SIDE

ーー I never imagined he would take part in such foolish games. I can only assume he is very prideful himelf.

“Come on...You want more, do you not? Try begging for it. Go ahead...”

He whispers with a sing-sung voice after nibbling her throat.

While I always found him to be somewhat similar to that man in aura, I realize that he cannot fight back against the temptation of blood after all, as I start to peel off her clothes.

That being said, the only thing still left to remove was a single shirt covering her frame.

While grabbing onto the fabric, I try and taunt the other with my words.

“Heh...You are rather kind. I thought you were more of a cruel man.”

“Hmph. I am different from you.”

As he emphasizes the difference between us two, I take back everything I thought before.

These kind of childish games are right up his alley, I now believe.

“Well then, where would you like it next...? Your shoulder? Or perhaps...A little further below?”

That man - Reiji - gauges her reactions as he tickles the skin of her shoulder.

As I come to realize his intentions, I move my own body closer, bringing my face closer to her lower body which has been left completely unguarded.

Reiji is most likely a man who does everything by the book.

In that case, all I have to do is get in the way of that.

“I know, Livestock. ...Where you want it, that is...”

I get one step ahead of him and move my fingertips across that spot.

She flinches in response, trying to move away from my fingers.

I see. This spot must feel quite good.

While chuckling softly, I thrust my fangs right in.

“You sly fox...”

I can hear Reji’s irritated voice echo from above.

My lips curve into a smirk as I suck her blood.

If I can keep up momentum like this, victory will be mine.

However, this woman’s blood truly is special after all.

While it is obviously sweet, there is something more about it which just screams ‘blood’ at you.

If someone who was not even born a Vampire such as myself is able to sense that, then it must be even more noticeable to a pureblood.

“Nn...Haah...”

As a matter of fact, Reiji is currently gasping feverishly just from having a taste.

Of course, I am no exception either.

Heat slowly wells up inside my body. If I had to put it into words, I would say it is similar to the feeling of being drunk off strong liquor. 

“Oi, Livestock...How does feel...to have two Vampires wrapped around your little finger like this?”

It may seem odd to call someone as special as herself ‘livestock’.

That being said, the woman going by that nickname fails to respond.

Seems like she has completely lost herself from the four fangs bringing her pleasure. 

“How rather tactless of you to try and ask such a thing to her.”

While mocking me, Reiji places a kiss against the palm of her hand.

“Heh...My bad. I didn’t enjoy the same upbringing as you guys did.”

While chuckling, I part her legs in an attempt to make her feel even better.

She does not even try to stop her most risqué part from being fully exposed.

I wonder if she has truly given in?

“Hold it. That place is...”

Reiji stops me with a criticizing tone.

“Have you ever heard of the saying ‘the early worm gets the bird’?”

I do not even hesitate to take a peek in between her legs.

Drawn in by the subtle curve of her inner high, I bring my lips closer.

It must be beyond delicious to suck her blood from a spot as soft as a marshmallow.

While purring, I continue to lean in before ruthlessly plunging my fangs inside.

“Che...”

I can hear a shameless click of the tongue.

Seems like my plan worked like a charm.

I find power struggles to be utterly foolish.

However, it is important to face such challenges head-on every now and then.

Especially when you have two prideful men going neck at neck...No?

ーー The End.

[tastesoftamriel]

I was asked about what dishes you should never offer to Daedric Princes by a follower who's probably a little too curious for their own good. Here's an interesting question I certainly have not thought of, because I generally try not to invoke the wrath of Daedric Princes! However, if you really want to potentially bring the punishment of Oblivion down upon yourself, please feel free to try the following...

Mehrunes Dagon

Instead of fiery destruction, I propose something...cute. A classic chilled custard tart topped with warm berry compote and some Hammerfell-style rose-and-vanilla pashmak is bound to melt hearts, just not in the way one of his Dremora would.

Peryite

I love making healthy foods just as much as indulgent dishes, and as the popular adage goes, an apple a day keeps Peryite away! A classic rucola and feta salad with a balsamic and Cyrodiilic olive oil can be made even better with an extra handful of spinach, a sprinkle of fresh pomegranate, halved walnuts, avocado and cucumber slices, and a few diced apple pieces! Simply delectable, and sure to keep scurvy and pestilence at bay.

Molag Bal

What should you not offer the Daedric Prince of domination and creator of vampires? Probably a soft, delicate vegetarian dish. A Breton vegetable quiche with an all-butter crust, goose eggs, sun-dried tomatoes, delicate baby spinach, fresh chanterelle mushrooms, squash, lots of garlic, and a spot of chevre. Mouth-wateringly good, this little beauty makes for an excellent meal at any time of day, and is bound to make Molag Bal sneer.

Namira

I'm going to be a little cheeky here and turn something gross and creepy into something delicious that even the fussiest nobles I've served love: garlic butter snails. Namira's followers are known to chow down on live, raw snails, shells and all, but I prefer mine with a garlicky gratin and a sprinkle of cave-aged West Weald parmesan. Oh, and don't forget to eat them with a fancy silver snail fork like a proper diva!

Boethiah

Plots? Destruction? Snakes? Not with this dish! What you see is what you get with a traditional Nord bread-and-butter pudding! It's a great way to use up your leftover bread scraps and stale butter, and is one of Tamriel's most satisfying desserts in my humble opinion. Served with hot custard and dried snowberries, this pudding is the perfect, least deceptive dish I can imagine.

Hircine

You were spot on with a salad, but let me raise the bar a little. Not just any salad will do, but you'll want all your ingredients to be gently cultivated by hand and farmed, as opposed to wild foraged. Iceberg lettuce and pink pear salad with some crumbled goat cheese and honey hits the spot, but how about topped with some marbled fatty beef? The historic Gweden Farm near Anvil has won countless awards for its pampered cows who are given a daily massage and the best fresh grass and Cyrodiilic grain. Domesticated, happy, and wonderful...unless you're a hunter, that is.

Hermaeus Mora

You'd have to be downright stupid to try a traditional Argonian worm bowl unless you're Saxhleel, and even then, most of them don't want to touch this nasty, wriggling dish. Fresh, live mealworms and kotu gava eggs are drowned in a fermented blood worm sauce, with shredded catapult cabbage and flame-grilled, toxic haj mota flesh. I once commented that it looked a little like Hermaeus Mora himself, before taking a tentative nibble and spending the rest of the day throwing up in the swamp. Please don't try this. It's the dumbest dish in Tamriel, and a pox on whichever Argonian invented it.

Sheogorath

No cheese or strawberry torte here! In fact, the least madness-inducing food I can think of is a nice, mild pistachio ice cream profiterole, dipped in sweet milk chocolate and topped with fresh nuts is the perfect Breton summer treat, yet far too boring for the Prince of Madness to bother with. Which leads us to...

Sanguine

I really dislike coming up with bland, mundane dishes for the occasional fussy eater I come across during my travels. Sanguine, Prince of hedonistic pleasures, probably lurks over my shoulder at the average feast I throw, so I admit I was a bit stumped here...until I remembered my Granny Matilda's chicken noodle soup. As basic as soups come, this simple broth is made by boiling leftover chicken carcasses for a night and a day, and served with plain egg noodles. The perfect food for when you're feeling under the weather, or have the palate of a small Nord child.

Malacath

Altmer cuisine seems like a good way to get Malacath really mad, because it's basically the antithesis of what he stands for. Delicate Quicksilver Lingwe cerviche with a yuzu drizzle and Crystal Hannia caviar, with a light avocado mousse flavoured with apple blossom? A sensory delight, and bound to make any Malacath-respecting Orc gag.

Jyggalag

Fried, hand-pulled buckwheat noodles with a spicy Pellitine-style curry sauce is a good way to make this Prince quite cross with you. Not only is it messy to eat, but your furniture will likely suffer bright orange and yellow stains from the turmeric and tomatoes, and your bowels will also be as tangled as the noodles after consuming a fiery Khajiiti curry.

Vaermina

So mundane and boring, you're definitely not bound to have any dreams or nightmares about a bowl of saltrice porridge with comberry preserves and scrib jerky. The staple food of the common Dunmer, it's tasty enough to eat on a daily basis, but hardly the stuff dreams are made of.

Mephala

This spidery Prince enjoys interfering with us mortals, so it's time to fight back with a dish that'll probably make most other Daedric Princes frown too. Imperial food is famous for its balanced flavours, textures, and fresh ingredients, and a Gold Coat seafood stew is a vibrant dish bursting with the best fresh fish, mussels, lobster, and crabmeat the region has to offer. Mild but but with a tangy punch from the sun-dried tomato based soup and a dash of crisp white wine, this is a dish that both young and old enjoy across Cyrodiil.

Meridia

Charred jerk wild boar stuffed with timber mammoth cheese and a delicious bloody jus-and-honey sauce is sure to make any Bosmer's mouth water! It's definitely dead, it's definitely cooked, and it's definitely bound to disappoint Meridia. Just a warning- try this for a laugh and you'll never be able to get rid of her beacon.

Azura

By Azura, please don't offer this to the Lady of Dawn and Dusk unless you want to irreparably have your race changed! Love and devotion is what this Prince craves, so why not damage yourself with a fiery Dunmeri Vvardenfell fondue, made from scuttle, crab meat, and extremely spicy fire petal blossoms? Enjoyed by the most pain-seeking of Dunmer, my version comes with fried hackle-lo leaf and saltrice-and-wickwheat bread for dipping. It'll have your guts in a twist for days, which is the price to pay for this deliciously hot "cheese" dish. Oh, and did I mention that it's best washed down with a nice cup of Vivec's Gingergreen Chai?

Nocturnal

There's absolutely nothing dark about a Redguard sun-jelly, made with fresh fruits from coastal Hammerfell. Coconut, palm fruit, watermelon, and bananas are the stars of the show in this dessert, set in a chilled agar jelly that keeps the heat at bay. The fanciest Redguards love mixing edible gold flakes into the jelly itself, giving it a delightful luster that is sure to put a smile on your face and chase the shadows away.

Clavicus Vile

You're not going to want to strike any bargain to give up a delicious baked chub loon gratin with echatere cheese, over hasselback potatoes and crispy radish chips. This Orcish delicacy is surprisingly so good it's even tickled the fancy of the fussiest eaters in Tamriel! The chub loon meat is juicy and melts in the mouth, and the echatere cheese melted into the cracks of a hasselback potato are wonderful with radish chips for dipping. Admit it, you're drooling aren't you?

[georgeandiareinparis111]

Ocean breeze (George x reader)

Warnings: swimming-deep body's of water-kissing-small sexual actions(he gives you hickeys)-mentions of raisins (: and gummy snacks

Fufflyyyy🥺🥺

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three hour car ride to the beach consisted of belting Arctic Monkeys, cheesy jokes, and way too many gummy bears.

George's hand never left your thigh, tracing small circles on the delicate flesh, relying on you to change the gears when needed. The salty smell of the sea made your Senses go wild, taking in a deep breath trying to savor the smell for as long as possible.

You two had just finished your last year at Hogwarts. Now free and full of want and adventurous needs, Fred, Angelina, Lee, Katie, George, and you, decided to go on a little weekend trip to the beach. You rented a little beach house only a football field away from the water. This was gonna be perfect.

"Fred, shut the hell up. Stop hitting Lee! You're not three, stop acting like it!" You scolded him from the front seat. Looking into the back seat of the small Mazda CX-30 was a sight to behold. Fred, Lee, Angie, and Katie were all smashed together, little to no room in between the four of them. Fred was pissed, being 6'3 and smooshed in the backseat for three hours was not easy, and it was making him grumpy.

"He stepped on my fucking foot!" He yelled back. George let out a frustrated groan and mumbled something under his breath. He reached under his seat and grabbed a family sized bag of sour gummy worms and chucks it at Fred's face. He races to grab it off the floor before Katie, ripping it open and shoving and hand full in his mouth.

"Now shut the fuck up" George says giving Fred a 'I'll kill you' look. He nods his head vigorously, agreeing to the terms and conditions that his twin has set for him. George's hand goes back to its original spot on your thigh, rubbing it gently. You place a small kiss to his cheek before going back to Spotify, choosing a new song.

"Angie, any suggestions?" You ask, looking back at her from the rear view mirror. George chimes in

"No need, princess. We'll be there in a minute" you look and see the little house, smiling at the sight. You pull into the driveway, the back door flying open in half a second. Fred pushes Lee out of the car onto the ground, launching himself out of the seat.

"I can feel my legs again!" He says dramatically, jumping up and down trying to get his feet to wake up. You chuckle at his childlike actions, opening the topper to grab the duffels out. Once everyone grabs their stuff, you go inside Claiming rooms and getting your stuff put away. George wraps his arms around your waist placing a gentle kiss to your neck. You lean into his tall frame, sighing with happiness.

"You were the only thing that made that car ride bearable" he mumbled against your skin.

"Mmm, good" you reply, kissing the underside of his jaw. He starts kissing up your neck, sucking and biting on your skin leaving purple marks.

"S'beautiful" he says in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. Just as you were about to answer, Fred bursted through the door, the sexual tension ripped away from you two.

"Oh, sorry. We're going to the beach, wanna join?" He asks. You look up at George and both nod your heads.

"That sounds perfect," he says, kissing your four head.

You all run outside, ripping your clothes off trying to get to your swim suits underneath. You and Katie push and shove each other, trying to get in the water before the other.

"I got you, love!" George says, running up you, throwing you over his shoulder and making a beeline to the water. You erupt in a fit of giggles and laughter as you bounce up and down his shoulder. He grabs your waist so your legs are wrapped around his and flops into the water, a little squeak leaving your throat before you hit the cold ocean. As soon as your head breaks through the surface of the water, you're gasping for air. The cold water causes goosebumps to erupt on your soft skin.

Lee, and Fred, launch themselves at George, tackling him into the water. You girls laugh at them, before Fred decides to take Angelina down under the water, getting her fully submerged in the cold sea. He drags her out further into the water, trying to get her fully submerged. She reached out her hands for you to grab and you and Fred playing tug-of-war with her.

"Y/n!! Harder!" She laughs, trying to wiggle out of Fred's grip. Katie comes behind you and grabs onto your waist, pulling with you.

"Let, ugh! Go of my girlfriend!" Fred yells at you two. George lifts both of you up and starts pulling with you, ripping Angie out for Fred's grip sending him flying back into the water.

You all laugh for a couple minutes, Fred scowling at you all. George takes your hand and you two start walking out into the water.

"The view is amazing" you say, looking out at the never ending blue ocean in front of you, in all its grace and glory. He hums in response, too infatuated with you to come up with a better response. He looks at you, your face looking out at the water as he looks at your delicate fetchers, perfectly lightened by the setting sun. Your hands under water, rubbing small shapes on your skin.

You two walk further to where you're chest deep and he's a little over halfway in. You turn, facing each other. You wrap your arms around his neck, his fall to your waist, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

"My beautiful boy" you say, kissing his nose. He scrunches his face up, his freckled skin turning scarlet. You giggle at his reaction, rubbing your nose on his.

"Awe!! You're blushing" you say teasingly, kissing his nose again. He kisses yours, you having the same reaction that he had.

"HA! See! Now you're blushing" he says, squeezing your sides, and peppering your face with kisses. You giggle and laugh, trying to push him away, pretending like you don't love the attention that he's giving you. He leaves the last kiss on your lips, keeping them there. The kiss was full of passion.

Passion

noun

a strong sexual or romantic feeling for someone

He put his everything into that kiss. Mustering all the love he had and giving it to you. Everyone else had gone inside. It was just you two, sitting in the water, holding each other in a deep kiss.

He pulled away, resting his fourhead on yours, looking into your E/c eyes. His hand resting on your back, playing with the end of your bathing suit top, twirling it delicately around with his finger tips. You kiss his neck gently, making his legs go weak. The feeling of your soft lips on his jaw sending the butterflies in his stomach to go into a frenzy. You kiss him on the lips, slow and gently, your lips moving perfectly in sink like they were made to be put together.

"Can we stay here forever?" You ask, feeling his chuckle rubble in his chest.

"You'd turn into a raisin, Darling" you giggle.

"But it'll be worth it" He kisses your forehead.

"Are you saying that you wouldn't love me if I was a raisin, Georgie?" You joke, pecking his lips.

"I would love you so so so much if you were a raisin" you kiss him again, holding there for a second.

"Mmm, good"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Definition credit!

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/passion

[ak47stylegirl]

Sicktember

25. Sick at work with Scott

This was really fun to write XDD Scott is very fun to play with, and honestly, he had me screaming 'Seriously Scott?! Take care of yourself, you idiot!' 😂😅

I hope you guys enjoy this 😁 and remember I'm only doing this by asks, so pop on over and send me more Sicktember prompts to do XD

---

It began as a barely noticeable tickle as Scott was packing for his five-day business trip. He brushed it off as nothing; he had more important things to worry about.

Scott arrived at Tracy Industries a day early, so he had time to prepare for the onslaught of meetings and press conferences.

By the time Scott was unpacked and able to get to his office, he was exhausted. Scott collapsed into his desk chair, leaning back with a tired sigh.

He must be tired from the last rescue, Scott thought as he absentmindedly rubbed his throat; the tickle starting to hurt.

Scott frowned, a tiny worm of worry starting to nibble at his gut.

He wasn’t getting sick, was he?

Scott shook that thought away; he was too busy to get sick. He cleared his throat, ignoring the way his limbs were beginning to ache.

It was probably just dust from that last rescue irritating his throat.

Nothing more, he wasn’t getting sick, Scott thought with a stubborn frown, getting to work on the mountain of paperwork he had to do.

The hours passed fast, the city slowly coming to life as Scott worked, his secretary dropping in briefly to give him his morning coffee.

Lunch came and passed, with Scott barely noticing the time. He reasoned, while massaging his temples, a massive headache brewing, that he’ll get something to eat later.

He never did.

By the time Scott made his way out of his office, and up to the penthouse, it was nearing 7:30 at night.

“Ugh, what a day….” Scott groaned, collapsing onto the couch without any of his normal grace. His throat was now and truly throbbing.

Scott’s eyelids started to drop, becoming heavy with sleep. Just as sleep was going to take him, Scott shook himself awake.

“No, no gotta-” Scott yawned widely, his limbs aching as he sat up, his nose beginning to feel uncomfortably stuffy, “-gotta get something to eat….”

Scott pulled out his phone and ordered a small meal, not actually feeling that hungry despite the fact he missed lunch.

Once that was organised, Scott stood up and went to the medicine cabinet, grabbing some painkillers for his headache and sore throat.

The signs were even more apparent now that he was getting sick, but Scott refused to acknowledge it.

Once his dinner arrived, Scott sat down to eat and called the island, chatting with his brothers for a while before calling it a night.

Scott was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

—

(Official) Day two of five.

On a break from meetings, Scott sat in his office trying to do work, but really, all he was doing was feeling miserable for himself.

Scott blew into a handkerchief, trying to be quiet, even though his office was soundproof. His sore throat had well and truly developed into a horrible head cold.

A really horrible head cold, Scott thought with a pained groan, rubbing his swollen and puffy sinuses.

The words on the document Scott was trying to read kept going out of focus; he couldn’t concentrate with this pounding headache!

‘AAAaacchHOOOooo! Achhhooo! HerACHOooo!’

Scott moaned as he mopped his swollen and reddening nose with his handkerchief. It was starting to drip with moisture…

He could admit to himself that, yeah, he wasn’t feeling good. Scott sniffled; he really wasn’t feeling good….

But he was needed here, so he would push through it. And try to hide it the best he could, no need to worry his employees or family over a little cold…

Scott looked up at a knock on his office door, his secretary standing in the doorway. “Come in, Amy, what’s the matter?”

Scott tried to make himself look presentable, straightening up slightly and putting his famous smile on.

If it worked was debatable…

“You asked me to get you a cup of coffee, remember, sir?” Amy placed the coffee down on his desk, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh…” Scott took a sip from the cup, the warm liquid soothing his throat. “I must have for…for-” his nose flared, eyes widen as he tried to stop it but-

‘AAACHHhhooo!’

Scott groaned, “-forgotten, ugh….” He sniffled, mopping his drippy nose with his handkerchief.

This was embarrassing. He completely just made a mess of himself in front of his secretary…

Scott smiled up at her, trying to save face, “but thank you for getting it for me, Amy, I…I really appreciate it….”

“It’s quite alright, sir.” Amy smiled softly at him, her eyes still showing a hint of concern, “but I hope you don’t mind me asking Mr Tracy, but are you sure you’re alright?”

Scott’s shoulders dropped, appreciating the concern, but he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with questions about his health…

“You really don’t look too good, sir..”

Oh, he knew that. He knew that his hair was a mess, as he barely had the energy to brush his teeth, let alone style his hair to perfection.

He knew that his skin was pale, and that his face was puffy, his sinuses swollen to the brim with mucus. He knew that his eyes were bloodshot and wet, feeling terribly irritated.

And he knew that his bloody nose was dripping like hell! Scott frowned, dabbling his handkerchief against his runny nose.

“I’m fine, Amy…” Scott sighed, closing his eyes for a second, feeling so exhausted, “it’s just-” Scott sniffled, “-just a cold, now when is my next meeting scheduled?”

Amy frowned, looking like she wanted to argue but decided against it, bringing up his timetable, “your next meeting is at 1:20, just after lunch, sir..”

Scott’s stomach rolled at the mention of food, a wave of nausea washing over him that he tried really hard to hide.

Amy continued, “and then you have a press conference at 2:15, followed by another meeting at 3:00….”

Scott grimaced, not looking forward to either of them. Especially the press conferences, maybe he could get someone to stand in-No! It was his responsibility. He could do it!

Maybe?

“Okay, okay…” Scott nodded, rubbing his tired eyes with his hand, forcing himself to focus and get some work done now, “thank you, Amy, that will be all….”

—

The meeting room was packed full of men and women, all dressed in fine business attire.

Scott sat at the end of the long meeting table, feeling like every sound, every sniffle and muffled sneeze he made, were being broadcast through a loudspeaker.

He was trying to hide it, but it was…was…

Scott’s nose twitched and flared, watery blue eyes widening as he tried to stop it but-

The presenter pointed to the screen, “And that is why I sugg-“

‘AAACHHhhhooo! Ugh..’

All eyes turned to Scott, who was holding his handkerchief to his nose, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

“Sorry..” Scott croaked with a damp sniffle, wiping his nose with his handkerchief, “Continue..”

Hard...So very hard.

The broad members shared an uncertain look, not wanting to upset their boss by suggesting that he was too sick to be here.

(which he very much was!)

But also concerned for Scott, because he really didn't look or sound even remotely well. They knew their boss was a bit of a workaholic, but this was a bit much…

A brave soul spoke up, lightly laying her hand on Scott’s forearm, “Sir, why don’t you go home and get some rest? You really don’t look well….”

Scott shook his head, forcing a small smile, “No, I’m fine, just a little cold, that’s-“ Scott sniffled, dabbling his handkerchief against his runny nose, “-that’s all..”

The broad members frowned, not convinced, but Scott was having none of it. Scott looked towards the presenter, and said “Continue..”

The broad members sighed, knowing not to breach the topic a second time.

—

“Wow, they really weren't kidding….” A hand was gently placed on Scott’s feverish forehead, stirring him from his nap, “He really doesn’t look well at all…”

Scott groaned softly, unhappy to be roused from his sleep. He tried to get comfortable again, but no matter what he did, he just couldn’t…

He couldn’t get comfortable. And why was his pillow so hard? Hadn’t he been working at his desk?

Scott’s eyelids twitched slightly, a tiny frown appearing on Scott’s face as he slept on. He’ll figure it out later. He just wanted to…to sleep…

“Hey, Scooter…” The voice whispered, beginning to gently rub his arm, sounding oddly like his brother, Virgil. “It’s time to wake up, come on, wake up for us….”

Scott blinked his eyes open slowly with a pained groan, lifting his head weakly from his desk. He straightened up slightly, Virgil crouched down next to his chair, and John standing in front of his desk.

“G-guys?” Scott croaked with a congested sniffle, collapsing back against his desk chair, “Wh-what are…what are you doing here?”

John stepped forward, dressed in a business suit with a determined look on his face. “I’m here to take over for you, while Virgil is here to take you home...”

“What?!” Scott’s eyes widened in outrage, bolting up straight in his seat.

“Scott, listen, your secretary called us, worried about you….” Virgil added, laying a hand on Scott’s knee, “And I don’t blame her, you look terrible...”

Scott closed his eyes and took a calming breath; it was no use getting mad over this. Everyone was just trying to help, but he was fine.

His sinuses felt like they would explode, but otherwise, he was fine!

It was just a cold!

Scott opened his eyes, sighing, “Guys, it’s just a cold, noth…nothing-” Scott’s eyes widened slightly, his nose beginning to water and flaring, an unbearable itch forming, “-nothing f-for you to worry abo-abou-”

‘AAACHhhhooo! AAHhhHCHhhhooo! HhherrACHhoo! AhhhOOooo! ACHhoo! HhhhherrACHHHOoo!’

Scott sat hunched over, gasping for breath, his body trembling and his reddening nose a complete mess of snot.

Ugh, Scott sniffled, holding his painfully throbbing head with his hand. They’re never going to believe me now…

“Scotty, please, you’re really not well…” Virgil handed him a handkerchief, the corners of his eyes creased in concern. “You should be in bed, resting and getting better, not here….”

“You…you don’t understand.” Scott shook his head, mopping up his runny nose with a sickly groan, “I need to be here, I’m the CEO-”

“And I’m the CFO.” John’s green-blue eyes stared him down, filled with righteous fury and their own brand of concern. “You don’t have to be here if you’re unwell….”

Scott’s shoulders dropped, “But you hate meetings?” Scott whined, grasping at straws as he leaned heavily back into his chair.

“But I hate seeing my brother-” John leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk, “-work himself to an extended hospital stay or worse, even damn more!”

Scott flinched, bloodshot eyes widening. “John, I…I didn’t-”

‘ACHhhhoo!’

Virgil placed his hand on Scott’s shoulder, “Scott, if it was one of us, can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t have sent us to bed by now?”

Scott grimaced, dabbling his handkerchief against his nose. No, he couldn’t, and Virgil knew that, Scott thought with a defected sigh, physically deflating.

“Alright, alright, you win….”

Virgil and John smile at each other, their relief palpable.

Virgil stood up, “Okay then, let’s get you home, big brother..” Virgil manipulated Scott out of the desk chair, looping Scott’s arm around his neck.

A wave of nausea washed over Scott, causing him to gulp and grip his stomach. “You’re okay?” Virgil asked softly, wrapping an arm around Scott’s waist.

Scott nodded weakly, taking a shaky deep breath through his mouth.

He wasn’t going to throw up.

He wasn’t going to throw up.

Hopefully?

“Okay, good..” Virgil smiled softly, beginning to lead Scott out of the room, “you tell me if you need to stop, okay?”

Scott rolled his eyes fondly,

“I can walk on my own, you know….” Scott protected weakly, leaning heavily against Virgil despite the fact. “It really is just-” Scott sniffled, “-a cold….”

“Hmmm, tell that to Grandma….” Virgil hummed softly, waving goodbye to John, “because I think she’ll agree with me when I say you have the flu….”

Scott’s eyebrows shot up, “The flu?! I don’t have the-“

‘AACHhhooo! Ugh, stupid nose-Ahh! Oh no-AGHchhoo! AChhHOOO!’

Virgil raised a sympathetic eyebrow, “You were saying?”

“O-okay…” Scott sniffled, mopping his gunky nose up with his handkerchief. “May…maybe you’re right….”

Virgil smiled softly, pulling Scott closer, “Of course I am; I’m always right….”

Scott was too exhausted to even argue with that.

‘Achhhooo! Ugh…’

[theofficialjerenablog]

Loving Her Softie

A little drabble dedicated especially to @noitsnotshortformildred today, because I know you’re feeling down today and need some love 🥺🤍 hopefully this little self-comfort fic I wrote helps 🤗

And to all my softies out there: stay soft because you’re perfect just the way you are 🤍✨

“Have you noticed that tall, dark and handsome seems a little… down lately?”

Serena took a sip of her coffee, watching Jamie clean the kitchen over the rim of the cup. Though her wife had definitely amped up the “butch” in her wardrobe, hair and in the bedroom the past few weeks, something about her sweet Jamieson was off.

She seemed withdrawn, quiet and, as Becca had noted, down. Setting her cup down and nibbling on a strawberry, Serena sighed. “I’ve noticed. I want to help but I don’t know what’s wrong. Every time I ask she just smiles and distracts me with gummy worms or sex or a movie, or she just shrugs it off and says she’s tired.”

“Did you notice when it started?” Becca asked, both of them watching with twin smiles as Jamie and Ollie goofed off while they washed the dishes together.

Serena thought back, trying to pinpoint when the change in Jamie’s mood had occurred. She sighed after a moment, shrugging and sitting back in her chair. “All I know is she stopped sending me all those mushy messages she used to send… and she’s been working out a lot more…”

“Which we love,” Becca interrupted with a wink.

Serena grinned. “Yes, we do.” She paused again, watching Jamie and Ollie together, her heart filling with warmth at the way Jamie interacted with their daughter, how Ollie was smiling big at something Jamie was telling her before they broke into goofy giggles. “She seems like her normal Jamieson self, except she isn’t as soft anymore.”

“You finally teased it out of her, Serena,” Becca said with a snort.

Serena frowned. “I did not.”

“Did too. You’re always teasing her or calling her a sap and brushing her off. Remember a couple months ago when you killed that huge ass spider for her? You didn’t let her live it down for weeks.”

“Yeah, but she knows I’m kidding,” Serena insisted, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “I don’t mean anything by it.”

“You sure she knows that?” Becca asked. “‘Cause every time she sends you one of her nauseating, albeit sweet, messages, you send the puke emoji.”

“Hey you mock the sweet stuff just as much as I do, if not more,” Serena argued.

Becca shrugged. “I do, but I’m not married to a softie who worships the ground I walk on.”

Serena thought back for a moment, back to when the messages had stopped, back to when Janie’s demeanor had changed. She was still loving, still kind, always present and she still checked in on Serena throughout the day.

But she had lost that softness, that tenderness that Serena had become so accustomed to.

And had maybe taken for granted.

“So, what do I do?” Serena asked with a sigh, realizing that she had probably hurt Janie’s feelings and hadn’t done anything to make it right. “She doesn’t even want to talk to me about it.”

“Well, for one, start acting like you need her,” Becca suggested. “Let her open a jar or build something. You are strong and independent and Jamie loves that about you, but you can’t tell me you don’t notice the dopey way her eyes light up when you let her help you.”

Serena had noticed and thought about how she hadn’t seen that dopey look in months. “My poor soft dumbass,” she murmured, resting her chin in her hand as she watched the two loves of her life finish up the kitchen, concocting a plan to get her softie back again.

><

“Do you want some help babe?”

Serena turned to Jamie, shifting the box in her arms and pausing briefly before her typical ‘I got it’ slipped past her lips. The box wasn’t even that heavy and she was pretty sure she would be able to manage. But remembering her talk with Becca the day before, she nodded, smiling when Jamie immediately stood from the couch and walked over, the dopey look Becca had mentioned painted all over her face. “Thank you baby,” she replied, rising on her toes to press a kiss to Jamie’s cheek.

“Of course, beautiful,” Jamie replied with a small half smile, following Serena into her office and setting the box down by her desk. “Any more you need help with?”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d help me rearrange my office?” Serena asked, leaning against her desk. “I’ve been meaning to do some organizing and deep cleaning in here and just haven’t gotten around to it.”

Jamie nodded, rolling up the sleeves on her sweatshirt. “Sure, where did you want to start?”

And so, they spent the morning cleaning, dusting and rearranging Serena’s office, switching out some frames and curtains, installing shelving and moving the furniture around until Serena was satisfied with how it all looked.

After they were done, Jamie made them some lunch, and they sat in the newly arranged office, the window open to let the crisp fall air flow through the space.

“You should sell these,” Serena mumbled around a bite of the chicken wrap Jamie had made her, noting the shy smile on Janie’s face. “I’m serious Jamieson. They’re delicious.”

“They’re alright,” Jamie replied with a shrug, though Serena could tell that she was touched by the compliment. Jamie took a lot of pride in her cooking and feeding Serena and Ollie was a big part of her love language.

“Don’t argue with me when I’m trying to compliment you Jamieson,” Serena teased, stealing a potato chip from Jamie’s plate before taking a sip of her strawberry lemonade. “Thank you for helping me with the office baby.”

Jamie nodded once, her smile growing warmer. “Thank you for letting me help you,” she replied, the happy look on her face breaking Serena’s heart a little bit. “It was nice to spend time with you and help out.”

Serena shifted, climbing into Jaime’s lap and pinching her cheeks playfully until Jamie gave her that ‘I’m so done with you’ look. Pecking her on the lips softly she said: “You know I love you right?”

Jamie nodded once, though she looked away. “Yeah I know, I love you too Ser.”

“Don’t make me bite you Jamieson,” Serena warned playfully, cupping Jamie’s cheeks again so that her wife would look at her. “I love you. And even though I know it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, I need you. And I miss my sap, my sweet, soft dumbass.”

“You need someone strong, someone who’s not soft all the time,” Jamie replied. “That’s who I want to be for you.”

Serena shook her head. “No, baby. I need you. The woman who sends me flowers and coffee and sweet little messages when I’m having a rough week. The one who helps Ollie with her homework and has dinner ready when I come home and who knows when I need a big ass glass of Riesling and a bubble bath with those rose oils that smell pretty.”

When Jamie looked like she was about to protest, Serena pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head. “I need the woman that makes me feel safe on those nights when nightmares are especially bad, the one who goes out of her way to make me smile even when I’m in the worst mood. The woman that reminded me with her big heart and big love that it’s ok to be vulnerable, to trust, to be soft sometimes.”

“Even if she can’t sit through a horror movie without gagging a little bit?” Jamie said with a wobbly chuckle. Serena smiled, kissing Janie’s lips again.

“Especially then, because even though they make her sick, she sits and watches with me because she knows they make me happy.”

Jamie nodded, swallowing hard and Serena could tell she was fighting being as emotional as she felt, so she pulled her close and gave her a minute to collect herself, running her fingers through her hair when Jamie tucked her face in her neck, humming when she felt her wife’s arms wrap around her waist and squeeze.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a dumbass.”

Serena clicked her tongue softly, pulling back so that she could look into Janie’s eyes again. “I think we’re both guilty of that this time baby. I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were hurting.”

Jamie shrugged and sniffled softly. “You did, I just distracted you so I didn’t have to talk about it. I felt stupid.”

“Your feelings are never stupid to me,” Serena replied firmly, though she kept her tone soft, grinning when she saw a tiny smile curve Jamie’s lips. “Though I have to admit I didn’t hate your methods of distraction.”

Jamie rolled her eyes and chuckled. “I didn’t think you would,” she replied, finally kissing Serena back before cuddling into her again. “I figured sex and gummy worms would be my best bet.”

Serena smiled, kissing Janie’s temple and scratching the back of her head gently. “You were correct. But no more using them to cover up if you’re hurting. Deal?”

Jamie pulled back and nodded. “Deal.”

“I mean it, Jamieson, next time I’m just gonna koala cuddle you until you can’t breathe,” Serena warned.

“You do that anyways,” Jamie teased with a grin, digging her fingers into Serena’s sides playfully.

“Yes, but I have never used them for evil, so don’t force me,” Serena replied, not able to fight her own smile at finally seeing her Jamieson smiling again. “However, if you’re ever feeling like bending me over the counter like the other day, you will never receive any objections from me.”

“Duly noted,” Jamie replied with a smirk, leaning forward to kiss Serena again. “I love you Ser, more than anything or anyone in this whole world.”

‘There’s my softie’ Serena thought with a smile. She wrapped her arms around Jamie’s neck and kissed her again, her heart feeling light with the knowledge that her Jamieson was back.

“I love you too, you big sap.”

THE END

[ben0vilence]

This is a story inspired by @harbingers-appointed DK yb AU ^^ I hope I exceeded expectations. There is a little smut in here, so no minors! Hope you enjoy!~

A Heavenly Night In Hell:

Today's bounty was plentiful. Many unfamiliar constructs the human world has. I return to my abode, one I used to loathe with every fibre of my being, that is until I found the love of my life. With my most recent haul, they are sure to appreciate my efforts and be less inclined to further question my intentions. They are nothing but pure after all. I opened the immaculately decorated double doors to the castle and strode through the entrance hall, stone walls flickering a pale shade of blue courtesy of the torchlight. I hear the pitter patter of delicate footsteps echo from upstairs and smile. My darling is to grace my line of vision once more, a sight I simply cannot go without for prolonged periods of time. They dashed out from around the corner atop the staircase, panting as they grasped the railing for support. I saw them grin as they laid eyes on my gifts, and my heart thumped with longing.

"You really did get everything! Wasn't it too heavy though..?" They asked. Ahhhh, their voice and the concern that laced it was so soothing, their question was almost lost on me.

"Of course I did, anything for you, darling. And no, I used my powers to transport all this here." I chuckled. Mind you, if I'd used my raw physical strength to do so, I may not have had much success. I may be vastly taller than them, but not quite strong enough to lift some of these objects. They descended the staircase and approached me, the stool I custom ordered for them in hand. I often had to remind myself how tiny they were in comparison to myself, especially in these heels. They set it infront of me and climbed up, pulling me in for a hug. Instantly, my body melted into theirs as I wrapped my arms around their frame. I took this opportunity to discretely inhale their addictive scent from the nape of their neck and hair, exhaling warm air against their pale skin. They giggled, a sound I found most adorable.

"I have a name, y'know? Why dontcha use it?" They smirked. I grinned, my incisors glistening and sharp.

"I am aware, and a lovely name it is Bene~ But I love calling you 'darling' most of all." Their neck sunk into their shoulders as those cheeks turned rosey, a look that caused the steadily building hunger in my heart.. and explicit regions to rise.

"Praytell, what are these human devices used for?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I still can't believe you've never done this before, haha. See, I heard from some of the other demons that before I arrived, you mostly just spent your time in solitude sitting on that throne of yours. Soooo, I thought we could do something more fun and have a movie night. Just the two of us."

My eyes widened in excitement. I had always wanted to watch a film, and now that my darling was by my side, it was to make the experience all the more enjoyable! I helped them set up everything we would need for tonight, and helped them turn the centre of the foyer room into a meadow of lush cushions and soft blankets. It took everything to contain my joy, it would all be so perfect. There was only one thing I needed to do afterwards, and that was give my hired help the night off. TK is as submissive as they come, the head of "housekeeping" too, but lately I've become suspicious of my second in command.. Don was hardworking and fearless, admirable qualities in a demon army general, but troubling in regards to Bene. It's hard enough that he's technically taller than me.. I will not have him turn my beloved against me..

                            ~~~~~~~~~

With the "riff-raff" taken care of, I joined Bene that evening in my nightgown. It was more comfortable than my day wear, true, but I figured it might even appear more aesthetically pleasing. Bene was dressed in a modest black t-shirt with a holographic design on the front, they called it "a Pokémon" I believe, and some shorts. I assume this was also for comfort. They had surrounded the area with premade confectionery and savoury deliciousness, and as they looked up at me, they beckoned me to sit with them in the cushion pile. They didn't have to ask me twice. My tail swayed with every step, and I finally took my place behind them. They adjusted their position and laid their head on my left inner thigh, nuzzling it softly. My emotions were frenzied, so much I had to bite down on my own hand just to keep myself in line. I swallowed saliva that had briefly accumulated in my mouth and stroked Bene's shoulder. They shuddered at my touch.. not from pleasure it seemed.

"Are you alright, darling?" Their eyes open, but they don't look at me. It unsettled me a little, to say the least. Other times we've held each other and they never shivered with this amount of intensity. What had changed?

"Yeah, I'm fine. We can watch the movie now." The flat affect their voice possessed did not convince me in the slightest, but I could sense that pressing them on the matter could possibly anger them. The film that played was a commentary on human society, their governments and how they used fear to control the masses or influence circumstances to benefit them. One man actively defied them, however. He destroyed monuments to their power and influence as revenge for disfiguring and torturing him for their own gain. I saw a lot of myself in this man.. Bene teared up a little as we watched certain scenes. The warmth of the blankets must've calmed them eventually as they stopped shivering, and seemed at peace with my presence. The food probably helped in that regard too. I had no idea how sweet human food could be until I tried chocolate. Solid yet creamy once it melted in your mouth, marvellous~. The film drew to a close after nearly two hours, but I almost dreaded that. The story was so intriguing and emotionally charged, but the ending was at least satisfying. Bene sat up and stretched their limbs.

"You have impeccable taste, my love." I smiled as they finally looked at me.

"Thanks, uhh.. You know something I just realized? I still don't know your name yet." They chuckled. I faltered, my smile fading slightly.

"Honestly, my name repulses me.. I don't even allow my subjects to call me by it. Any name you were to give me would be desirable though."

They hesitated at this proposal. I could tell they had a name on the tip of their tongue ready for me, but it never escaped. They thought for a moment.

"Okay.. how about Dean?" Oh, could they have thought of anything better? I don't think so. It was a little basic, but far better than the name "someone" decided to give me..

"I love it, darling~" They gave me a small smile in return, but for some reason immediately broke down into sobs. I instinctively pulled them closer to me, re-wrapping the blanket over them.

"Please.. if you're not alright, you can tell me, Bene.. Honest communication is an essential part of relationships, is it not? So as long as you're truthful, I promise I could never be mad with you." I hushed them softly as they cried into my gown, rubbing their back. Their chest soon ceased heaving.

"Dean.. I-.. there's so many things I want to say, but I can't put it into words.. so many things I want to do, but never gave a chance." Their eyes glossy with tear drop residue met mine, and I felt my heart steal itself with the anticipation of the moment ramping up.

"I'm.. I'm ready." Those eyes softened, and they leaned in. This was it, the golden moment I had spent countless nights imagining. I cupped one of their cheeks in my hand and bridged the gap, planting a kiss on those pouty lips. More followed as we found our rhythm. Ahhhhh~ my darling's tongue tasted exquisite. I was eager to taste every inch of them, and I moved down to the nape of their neck, an area I knew for sure would stimulate them. Such delicate skin, slick as my tongue slid across it. They let out a whimper, and reached a hand up to caress my horns.

"O-mmmmmmmph~" The horns are extremely sensitive areas for demons, and regardless of whether they knew it or not, they were doing a spectacular job of turning me on. I began to nibble their skin, earning trembles in response. I hold them with my left hand, and reach my right hand underneath the blankets to play with my now throbbing member, at least until Bene is ready for me. I had already leaked precum thanks to the horn stroking, it makes me wonder if they had experience. Possibly. We continued our foreplay until it escalated, and I took them into an unforgettable experience. Nothing was more euphoric than hearing them scream my new name, moan for me, cum for me, and I them. Then sink into each other as we drift into fitful sleep..

I love you so much.. now and forever, darling~

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up in the middle of the night, the demon king cuddling me close to his body. I didn't dare move, hardly even breathe. I replayed the evening's events in my mind over and over.. what the fuck was I thinking..? Hah, I wasn't thinking. My unstable emotions and impulsivity caused my brain to enter autopilot, to just give into my own madness. It's happening again.. no no no, I can't fucking do this shit again! How can he love me when he doesn't know what I am? I don't even know what the fuck I am! Except maybe a monster, a disgusting piece of filth, a run through whore, a heathen. However, when I died I thought I'd return to the worm infested ground, they'd feed on my flesh, and that would be the end of everything.. but no, here I am in that place everyone said I would go to. My body shivered violently as I felt myself become overstimulated with this vortex of negative thoughts. Don't wake up, don't wake up. Leave me alone! I just want to go home! I don't want to be here! I'm not good for you, and you'll see that soon enough! To my surprise and immense relief, he let go of me and rolled over on the bed, facing the opposite direction. Now. Now I could get up and get some air. I carefully pulled myself out of bed and crawled on all fours towards the drapes covering the windows. I opened it and morphed into my fallen form; good to know it still worked. I leaped from the window sill and flew into the dark inferno, hoping that maybe I could find a way to escape with the time allotted. Or maybe just mope around on a rock somewhere.. I honestly felt defeated already.

I landed somewhere outside the neighbouring town, and even then I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn't alone.

"Why dontcha come out and say hi? I don't bite." I smirked, and turns out I was correct. The king's second in command, Don, had been trailing me. He stepped out from the shadows, tall and imposing, much like the demon he served.

"What are you doing out here? I'm surprised the king let you out of his sight with how obsessed with you he's become. And what's with the getup?" He asked, chuckling.

"He's still asleep, so I let myself out. And this is my fallen form, something I don't usually show others." I replied, transforming back to my regular form.

"Impressive kid. But I'm gonna have to take you back, don't want his majesty losing his shit over you." He nodded as he advanced on me, grabbing my arm.

"No! I don't care if he worries, infact if he had common sense at all, he wouldn't bother! He thinks he loves me but he doesn't! He doesn't fucking know the real me and never will!" I ripped my arm away and scowled, earning a look of shock from him.

"He's convinced that I love him, or he can 'make' me love him, but the truth is I don't know what real love is. So I can't feel it.. Everything about this situation is wrong.. and even though it's not toxic right now, it will be eventually. Like clockwork.. In my house, alone but free, is where I should be. Not here.."

"So, you wanna leave, huh kid?" I nodded, and he sighed.

"I know it'll be hard for you to wait.. but I need you to be patient while I organise things. However, if you wanna leave that badly, I can help you. You gotta help me first though." He added.

"How?" I looked up at him inquisitively.

"Keep the king off my back for as long as you can, and lower his defences if possible."

"I won't have to kill him though.. will I? I don't want to hurt him.. that's the main reason I wanna leave." I murmured.

"You'll be breaking his heart regardless, so no way around that. But nah, you won't have to kill him. Leave that to me." He grinned, an ominous glow in his eyes.

"Alright, I'm in."

[shadowthief78]

Lucky Star

(GN!Reader/Diluc)

He's never seen someone as carefree as you. You laugh until your stomach aches, steal apples for their orchards and sips of wine from any unattended glasses in the tavern, dance until your shoes split beneath the moonlight. You toss your life fast and loose like a pair of dice, betting, betting, always betting on the gods's favor and always winning it despite the lack of a Vision.

Some call it foolishness, some call it luck, but all he knows is that you have something he doesn't.

-

You first meet one frosty autumn day amids the bare apple trees. He stops in the space between rows, stares up at you, silhouetted agains the gray-white sky and framed by the spindly black branches.

You ignore him, only reaching up to snatch another frostbitten apple from the tree. Yesterday, he could have been certain that the only fruit left was rotten and riddles with worms, but the one you now hold is shiny and crisp, perfect in all aspects save the light layer of ice on its surface.

"What are you doing?" He asks. You open an eye and glance down.

"Nothing that concerns you," you respond, then close your eye and bite into the apple. He can hear the sharp snap of the flesh. It makes him hungry - breakfast was too long ago and lunch is too far away.

"I live here?" He says.

"Don't sound so certain now, do you?" You say, then pluck a stray leaf, twirl it in your fingers, and let it drop. You aren't even looking at him, staring into Dragonspine in the distance.

"I live here," he says, without a tremor in his voice this time. "You're eating our apples."

"Someone's got to," you tell him. "They'll go bad otherwise. And isn't the harvest done? I though people in Mondstadt are supposed to let wanderers like me pick through the leftovers."

He can't argue with you because you're right, as long as he can remember his father has let anyone who wishes to pick the fields after a harvest. He settles for sputtering indignantly, "You might hurt the tree."

"I won't," you say, sounding so certain that he falls silent.

"Aren't you cold?" He says, noticing your worn and patched clothing. He's cold, even wrapped up in a coat. "Do you want to come in?"

"I'm fine. I have to practice," you say. You look at him for the first time. "I'm going there, you know." You point to the mountain. "Dragonspine. I'm going to climb it and see the world from the summit."

If it were anyone else, he would have called their bluff. You, he just nods and accepts your statement. You're going to climb Dragonspine one day and nobody can stop you.

-

You turn up again the next day, wrapped up in your scrappy cape and napping on top of a few hay bales in the stable. The horses look remarkably unbothered for having a hurricane in human form in their midst, one even nosing your makeshift mattress and nibbling around the edges of your hood.

"I hope you don't mind," the stablehand says to him. "They asked to sleep for the night and it was cold, I couldn't just toss them out. I though Master Crepus wouldn't mind. . ."

Diluc isn't sure to be happy or not. Kaeya laughs at him when he says he's twice met someone who wants to explore Dragonspine later at dinner.

-

The third time you turn up, it's when he's been called to stop you from splashing in the fountain in the middle of Mondstadt Plaza. It's an unusually warm day in early spring and he hasn't seen hide nor hair of you since the beginning of winter, and a little part of him is grateful you haven't frozen or fallen to your death (your gliding is atrocious), but a larger part wants to ask you why you're still here when a self-proclaimed wanderer like you should already be onto the next city.

"Why, Mister Apples, we meet again," is your greeting to him and the pair of knight trainees behind him. "Been to Dragonspine lately?"

"Nobody goes to Dragonspine during winter," he says. "It's too cold."

You shrug and go back to kicking your feet in the clear water. "Not for me."

"You can't wade in the fountain," he says once he realizes there's no point arguing with you.

"Can too," you counter, hiking your pants up and walking around the fountain in a stiff-legged gait. "See? It's most definitely possible."

One of the knights behind him snickers. Your eyes gleam. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had a condition that doesn't allow you to wade in fountains. My condolences for your loss, Mister Apples. A terrible shame, it is, not being able to wade."

"I can wade in a fountain," he says, grumpy. "And don't call me Apples."

"Mister Apples," you correct. "Why not? You never gave me your name and I do seem to recall you are quite particular about those apples."

"My name is Diluc," he says, then realizes that the way you beam means he's played right into your hands. "And nobody's allowed to wade in this fountain, get out before I have to write you up for it."

You shrug, pick up your bag, and make a beeline to the shallow water near the flowerbeds. He doesn't know what he expected.

-

The next time your paths cross, he realizes he doesn't know your name. When he asks you smile with your eyes closed, a wide grin streching across your face.

"Why so curious, Master Diluc?" His name is a mockery on your lips. You enjoy polarizing the simple things, double sided words and outright lies falling from your mouth, but they all sound believable and reasonable when you deliver them with your silver tongue.

"It's annoying talking about someont whose name I don't kmow," he says. "You know mine. Don't most people give their names when they meet?"

"Ahh, but I am not most people," you say, tipping your barstool back and sliding a piece across the chessboard. "I am very far from most people in many ways."

"Most people don't want to climb Dragonspine," he says and moves a pawn two spaces forward. "How about this, if I beat you this game you'll tell me your name."

"A wager? I'll warn you, I've never lost on in my life," you say. "And what do I get if I win?"

"An apple," he says, making you laugh.

"Why, is my name not worth more than an apple to you?" You tease. "Very well then, your move," you say, gesturing to the board.

-

The last time he sees you, you're carrying a sack of potatoes and traipsing around outside despite the rain. He flags you over and pauses. He doesn't know what he meant to say.

"Master Diluc, lord of all apples in Mondstadt," you drawls, filling in the silence for him. "To what do I owe the pleasure? State your business in less than three sentances, I have many responsibilities to finish and not much time to do them."

"Since when have you had responsibities?" He says. You laugh.

"Since I persuaded a merchant to drag me and all my supplies to Dragonspine tomorrow," you say, a touch of genuine pride in your voice. "We leave at dawn."

"Congradulations," he says. "Good luck out there."

"I won't need it," you say. "I'm lucky, and I always have been. You can keep your luck, and borrow some of mine."

"Is this my birthday present?" He ignores rain dripping down his collar and stares at you.

"I am you own personal lucky star, how generous of me," you agree. You heft your potaotes in your arms and nod to the interiour of the tavern. "Looks like they're missing their little princeling."

"I'm not a prince," he says, but he turns arouns and opens the door.

"Happy eighteenth birthday," you say from behind him. "From me, the monarch of misfits and leige of luck, regent of rogues and liars, diety of all who wander."

"A little conceited to give yourself such titles, isn't it?"

You bow, ever elegant even when covered in dirt and carrying starchy lumps covered in rough hemp. "I suspect we won't see each other again for some time, Lord Apples."

"I hope we will sometime," he says, making you smile.

"In that case, until next time, Diluc."

-

"Dragonspine?" He echoes as the Traveller explains their plans. "Good luck up there. If you run across someone called (Y/N), tell them hello from me."

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (13)

In Which There’s Cheese

Ao3 | FF.net

Trigger or Squick warning: Man has done some messed up stuff in the pursuit of perfect cheese. And what is cheese but moldy, rotten milk? This chapter contains some very foul and nasty descriptions of actual cheese that people eat. So if eating rotting food makes you uncomfortable, best skip to the end of this chapter.

(Spoiler: Plagg gives Lila really gross cheese. She eats it, and has to run out of the room to vomit.)

--

“—so the best way to level up is to get a skill up to 100, and then legendary it back down to 15, so then you can use the skill perks on another ability that’s harder to level up. That’s where I’m at right now. I’m on level 106 and trying to fill up all my skill trees by using smithing, speech, enchanting, lock picking, and blocking.” 

Day three of Lila’s torment, and there was presumably no end in sight. 

Had she known from the beginning that Adrien Agreste was this big of a nerd and completely socially inept, she wouldn’t have talked to him at all. 

Funny how people looked less attractive the more annoying they got. 

And she had tried. She had sincerely tried to get him to shut up. She told him, “I’m sorry Adrien, I’m just not that interested in this video game.” 

“Well, you’ve just never played it before! You should come over this weekend—no, actually, I think we should go to your place. When you aren’t grounded anymore. Your mom seemed to really like me!” 

Of course she did. Her mother likes anyone who’s a ‘good influence’ on her precious baby. And nothing like Paris’ golden boy to fill that bubble.

Her mom probably preferred that Adrien was so naïve and oblivious. 

The bell rang for lunch, and Lila was up and out of her seat without another word. She was tired of the games. Skyrim, Magic: The Gathering, and trying to salvage a friendship with the dumb blond. But Adrien usually ate lunch at home or with Marinette, at least he had been, so lunch was her time to recharge! She’d take her place in the throne room that was the cafeteria and have everyone’s attention. With an hour of that, she could certainly put up with whatever Adrien had to tell her the next half of the day. 

In the cafeteria, most seats were taken. The two open seats were at a table with Alya, Nino, and Marinette. Of course Lila wasn’t thrilled with Marinette, but she’d leave eventually, and someone else would hear her tales and come to sit with them. 

“Hey guys! Do you mind if I sit with you?” Lila smiled, all friendly-like. 

“Not at all, Lila, take a seat!” Alya welcomed. 

Marinette and Nino kept their poker faces as she sat down. 

“So Alya, I had this amazing idea for an article for the Ladyblog, and I bet I could get some quotes from Ladybug for it too.” 

“Or really?” Alya squealed. “That would be amazing! So what’s the idea?” 

“Basically—“ 

“WHO WANTS SOME CHEESE?!” Plagg sang as he took his spot in the last remaining seat, right next to Lila. 

She wanted to die. 

“Cheese?” Said Nino, intrigued. 

“Yeah! I have been dying to give you guys a cheese tasting, and wouldn’t you know it? All my best buds are all together! So it’s perfect!” 

Lila cautiously relaxed. Cheese tastings were just as fancy as wine tastings. Maybe this would be a break and a peek into Adrien’s refinement. She could handle this. 

“Okay, so for you three,” Plagg gestured to Nino, Alya, and Marinette, “I have some more...beginner cheeses. They’re still extremely tasty, but more mild for a less refined palette.” 

“You calling me unrefined?” Nino glared. 

“I see what you eat. And yes.” 

“Touché.” 

“And for you, Lila, you mentioned that two weeks ago, you had dinner with Wolfgang Puck himself. I assumed you could handle more advanced cheeses.” 

Advanced cheeses? “Oh, well, yes of course. I’ve done a few cheese tastings before. Maybe not with the same quality of cheeses as you have...” 

“Then this will be a walk in the park.” He unzipped the lunchbox he had brought with him, and handed out three orange cubes to the ‘beginners’. “Alright, so first, we have a whiskey cheddar.  Whiskey is fermented in oak barrels that can only be used once. So they’re sold to beer, coffee, and cheese makers. The cheese is stored in the barrels and the remnants of the whiskey seep in and give it almost a spicy flavor.” 

They all took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, humming in content. 

“Oh wow, I think I can taste the whiskey! That’s really good!” 

“I’d put this on crackers and eat a whole box! This is really good!” 

“I’m not a huge fan of cheddar,” stated Marinette, “but maybe I just haven’t been trying the right stuff, because this is awesome!” 

“I’m glad you like it!” Plagg beamed. “And for Lila,” he opened a container and a smell emanated immediately. It smelled like rotten armpit. “This is finely aged Limburger, aged to three months. It’s imperative that you take in the scent of the cheese first, before eating it. Don’t waft it, just breathe it in.”

Lila took the offered container, sparing it a withering glance before she inhaled. 

If her face could have melted off, it would have.

“It…smells like rotten feet.” 

“Ah yes, Brevibacterium linens. This is a smear-washed cheese that gets a fresh coating of bacteria that prevents mold and helps the maturing process. As a food connoisseur, you’re getting the peak time of maturity. I usually let it mature longer than this still, so it gets really runny, like camembert~…” At the very name, Plagg moaned in a way that was inappropriate for young ears. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I got swept away in the moment. Oh right! Limburger, you eat it with your nose. Take another whiff!”

“I’m good.”

“Another whiff I say!”

Lila inhaled, and her whole body shuddered. 

“Perfect. Now you can eat it.” 

She popped the sample in her mouth, and swallowed quickly, shuddering the whole time. 

“Good?”

“Hmm mmm…”

“Oh! I forgot to mention, the bacteria that that cheese is smeared with is the same that grows on your feet, that’s what makes the cheese stink!”

Lila made a face of disgust and turned a little green.

“Great! Round two!” He placed little samples in front of the other three first. “Okay, so this is a little more advanced. This is scamorza, which is much like Mozzarella, but it has a distinct smokey flavor. I think it tastes kind of like wood fired pizza.” 

“It does!” Nino cried, savoring each little nibble. “Oh my god this is so good!” 

Alya took a bit of tomato out of her sandwich and ate that with the cheese. “Oh, that is just like wood fired pizza. I’d love to try this warm! You have to get more of this!”

Plagg grinned. “And you, Marinette?” 

Marinette was still chewing, and just nodded with closed eyes and a contented sigh. 

“Awesome! I personally think scamorza is too mild, but it’s still very good. So for Lila I have another advanced taste.” He took out another sealed container and popped the lid. The smell wasn’t as brutal as the Limburger, but it was still potent. “This is Casu Marzu, a Sardinian delicacy. So it should sound familiar to you, since you’re from Italy and all. It’s made from sheep’s milk. Oh! And it’s illegal, so this sample is from a ‘friend’ who will not be named.”

Lila held the container a little away from her face and peered at it with hesitation. Her lip curled up in disgust, before she gave Plagg an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Adrien. It looks like this cheese has gone bad.” And she pushed the container back towards him. 

He looked in it. “It looks fine to me. They’re alive. That’s a good thing.” 

“Adrien, those are maggots.” 

“Cheese fly maggots, to be exact,” he corrected. “They’re introduced to the cheese to help break down the fat in the milk.” He pushed the container back in front of her. “I mean, it’s not any more gross than escargot, or caviar, or grasshopper, or tequila worms, you know?”

She looked back at the worms, her lip trembling. “This is a delicacy?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t bring bad cheese in for a laugh.” He took out a spoon and scooped out a little cheese, worms and all, and spread it on a piece of flatbread. Then he ate it. “Ohhh that’s good!”

“I…” She cast one more look at the container and confessed, “I’m sorry Adrien. I just can’t do it. It’s too gross for me.”

“Oh,” said Plagg, with genuine sadness in his voice. “Okay I guess...anyone else want to try?” 

Marinette, who was always looking for a chance to show up Lila, offered up, “I’ll give it a try.” 

Plagg’s eyes widened with glee. “You will?!” 

“Sure. Even if it’s gross, I can say I tried it. Not everyday you get to eat illegal cheese. And you ate some, afterall.” 

“Yes! I promise it’ll be worth it! You just have to thoroughly chew it to kill the maggots.” 

Marinette scrunched up her nose. “Can I...kind of eat around the worms?” 

“You can try.” 

So to Marinette’s credit, she did eat some of the cheese, though it was picked through, and she scraped what she could off with a knife. Then she spread a little on a larger piece of bread, more bread than cheese obviously, then chewed her sample thoroughly. 

“Well?” Asked Plagg, bouncing in his seat. “I think it’s kind of like Camembert and Gorgonzola had a baby. A rotten, decaying baby.”

“Mmm hmmm.” Marinette nodded, her lips shut tight. Once she swallowed, she downed a huge swig of her water, swishing around in her mouth first. 

“That bad, huh?” Asked Alya. 

“No no, it actually tasted really really good. And I couldn’t feel the worms or anything. I just couldn’t get over the idea that they were there. You know?” 

“It’s scary!” Plagg assured. “I know it freaked me out when I was a kid, but if it wasn’t worth it, they wouldn’t make it!” 

“You’re wicked brave, Marinette.” Nino patted her on the back. 

She chuckled. “Alright. Do you have any more samples so I can cleanse my palette?” 

“Oh yep! Last round!” He set out three more samples. “So this is Cantal. It’s from Cantal, France, obviously. And it’s often thought of as a dessert cheese, as it’s got a sort of spicy sweet taste, or like hazelnuts. Oh, and you’ll want to eat it with these apple slices. This is a young wheel, only two months old.” 

Contented hums filled the air as the three munched on the sweet, buttery, fruity delight. 

Plagg felt extremely pleased that he convinced Adrien’s friends to eat cheese. And he was especially proud of Marinette for eating the best, most amazing cheese of all time. If casu marzu wasn’t an absolute pain to get ahold of, and if it were more portable, he’d demand Adrien to get him that instead of Camembert. 

But, as it was, they had to go with more convenient cheeses. 

“I think I’m all cheesed out...” said Lila. 

“Dude, you only actually had one sample. You can’t bow out now!” 

At this point, especially after the maggots, a small crowd had assembled around the table to observe the tasting. And if anyone would cave under peer pressure, it was Lila. 

“Well, I suppose I could try one more...” 

“Perfect! Because this last sample is really special!” He placed the little white flecked square in front of her. “This is my take on pepper jack cheese.” 

“Wait, you made this?” She asked. 

“Yep! I figured that if I love eating cheese so much, I should make my own!” 

“So what’s it made of?” Lila asked, hesitant. 

“You have to guess! I want to see if you can guess the milk and the pepper. It’s part cow milk, obviously, but I wanted a different flavor that you don’t get with most semi hard cheeses.” 

“And there’s no bugs in it?” 

Plagg laughed. “Nope, no bugs!” 

Feeling a bit better, Lila brought the sample up to her mouth. The smell was subtle, a little spicy, a little milky. Not at all like the last two. 

She bit the sample in half, and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s...kind of sweet...but the spice is...” she blinked a few times, her face turning red and eyes watering. “It’s hot. It’s really hot!” She ate the other half, and then regretted it. “Ugh! I shouldn’t have done that!” She swallowed and downed her little carton of milk, but the heat wouldn’t leave. It kept getting worse and worse! 

“What did you put in there?! What was that?!” 

Plagg looked confused. “It’s really that spicy?” 

“My mouth hurts!! It hurts to talk!” 

“All it is is Carolina Reaper and Breast Milk.” 

Lila was up and out like a bolt, running to the bathroom to hurl. 

Marinette likewise, had to leave the room, as her uproarious laughing at Lila’s suffering would have looked really bad. 

—

(If you were looking for the cheese free section of the chapter, this is it!)

Lila didn’t return to class immediately. In fact, it was two periods later when she finally returned. Her face was flushed and her eyes bloodshot, and she had a wet spot on her shirt. Before everyone settled in, she claimed Adrien’s old seat, right up front. 

“Sorry,” she croaked, her voice hoarse after retching so much. “Vomiting usually exacerbates my tinnitus. I hope you don’t mind if I sit up front, Adrien.” 

Nino answered, “oh dude, you can have my spot. That way you and Adrien can still sit together!” 

Lila’s eyes widened slightly in horror, but before she could protest, Alya slid into the spare seat. She was unfortunately not in on the plan, and was picking up all the blatant body language Plagg was ignoring. “I think Lila needs a little girl time, after her rough lunchtime experience.”

Marinette silently scooted over into Alya’s spot, so that Plagg could sit right behind Lila. It wasn’t ideal, but it would work. Nino gave them both a silent thumbs up and took the open spot in the back of the room.

Lila let out a sigh of relief. 

“You okay, girl?” Alya asked.

“Yeah.” She said shortly. Lila was done with the day. She would have gone home if she thought her mom would believe the cheese story, but as it was, she was already in hot water. She just needed to make it through the last two periods, and she’d be okay. Maybe she could convince her mom that she was sick and stay home tomorrow? I would be worth a try. She just needed some time away from Adrien. He was much too much. 

As if reading her mind, Plagg leaned forward in his seat and spoke softly to her. “So I wanted to tell you about Stalhrim. It’s a material they added in the DLC, and you can learn how to craft with it, but it’s triggered by a quest. The first time I played the game, the person who was supposed to give the quest was killed by a lurker. Hold on, let me backup, so there are these huge monoliths call Standing Stones, and they all give you special abilities, like the Steed Stone let’s you carry things and the Apprentice Stone lets you learn magic quicker—“ 

As he talked, Lila’s fingers curled into the surface of the desk. His words didn’t even make any sense anymore, it was just this droning sound that wouldn’t stop. 

“So in the DLC, the stones are totally different, right? And there’s this bad dude named Miraack and he’s also a Dragonborn. You remember what a Dragonborn is, right? Except this one is bad and he’s brainwashing the people on the island of Solstheim. Oh right, the whole DLC takes place on a separate island—“ 

The whole two weeks had been a camel. And each little rant or pushed boundary Adrien forced was another piece of straw piling up. Just then, it was like that fragile spine snapped, and something in Lila went from ‘playing the long game’ to ‘MURDER’.

“SHUT UP!” Lila screamed, pounding her fists on the table. “OH MY GOD JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!” She stood and whirled around to glare at him. “Adrien, you are the single most obnoxious person I have ever met! You just don’t know when to shut up! Are you dense? Are you retarded? How can you not see that I literally cannot give a flying eff about anything you say?! I was trying to be your friend because I thought it would be an easy way to fame. Then I felt sorry for you because of how awkward you are. Now? It’s not worth it. It’s not worth pretending to think you’re interesting when you aren’t. It’s not worth trying to ease back and deal with everyone wondering what happened. Everyone in class would wonder why we weren’t talking anymore, and I’d have to come up with more lies to get away from you, and I just don’t want to deal with that! You’re not worth it, okay? You are so selfish and annoying! Is this why your dad kept you home schooled all your life? Because he needs to lock you right back up! You are a menace!” She swung back around for a moment to gather her belongings. “I can’t even be in the same room as you anymore. I’m so done with you and your stupid rants about stupid video games! And what kind of weirdo is that obsessed with cheese?! You ate maggots for Christ sake! You’re disgusting! If you weren’t attractive, I bet your father would have regretted having you, if he hasn’t already!” She moved to the door quickly. “I’m asking to change classes, effective immediately. I suggest everyone run while you still can!” Then she caught Marinette’s eye. “Listen, I dislike you almost as much as him, but you don’t want him, Marinette. He’s an absolute freak. Look at him! He’s wearing that stupid ramen themed sweat suit! You know what? Forget it! I’m out!” And she left, slamming the door behind her. 

No one had the nerve to speak after she left. It was just too big of a can of worms, no one wanted to open it. 

The silence was broken by a high pitched whine, followed by a sob. 

Though Marinette knew it was Plagg faking it, the sight of tears on Adrien’s face made her heart hurt. 

“Oh Adrien...” 

“You still like me, right Marinette?” He blubbered. 

She hugged him. “Of course, Adrien. I love you.” 

That seemed to be the words to break the spell and the classmates descended on him like vultures. 

“You’re not annoying, Adrien!” Someone protested. 

“You’re the coolest!” 

“I love talking video games with you!” 

“That cheese testing was really fun!” 

“Who cares if you struggle with social cues? We all do! You do better than most, even for being homeschooled!” 

“Lila admitted she was in the friendship for fame, her opinion doesn’t matter!” 

Marinette whispered in his ear. “Nicely done, but I was not expecting that blow up.” 

“Thanks, I was hoping she’d crack soon. That was just as violent as I had expected of her.” 

“You okay? Those look like genuine tears.” 

Plagg wiped his face as the rest of the class started to back off. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “Just hurts to hear someone be so cruel to my kitten.” 

He glanced at the ring, hoping to see the final pad gone, and the one minute wait to switch back initiated. 

But alas, no. The third pad was still there. 

Lila wasn’t finished yet.

[crow-summoner]

Darklina Week Day 6: Monster

Made a Monster

The Darkling promised to raise Alina above all others. Instead, he made her something less than human.

Alina was supposed to be the Darkling’s constant, but when she left him in a hell of his own creation, he reached out for the one thing he could still trust.

1: Antlers

The dress was the final straw. It was made of fine Shu silk, dyed black as everything the General touched seemed to be. The cut emphasized the small of Alina’s waist, its neckline a deep-plunging heart that bore her throat, but that was the problem.

Her throat.

The top progs of the stag’s antlers protruded from her collar bone, still sore and loose under her flesh. David had assured her skin would heal around the bone over time, but she doubted her body would ever fully accept the infestation. The stag had been beautiful. The Darkling’s horns were not. They should have been banished under collar and scarf, not forced to be on display. Even the gold embroidery around the neckline called attention to her shame. Thick, thorny lines twirled around each other like a mass of writhing worms. Like deer antlers eternally locked in a fight.

The Darkling had a sick sense of humor, she had come to learn.

Genya did her best to tailor away Alina’s sleepless night, evening out her tear-botched skin and highlighting the area under her eyes. She darkened Alina’s lashes with beetles and flushed her lips with the scales of a red koi. Alina never considered how many animals died so that she could fit what the masses expected of a hero. She thought the Darkling had made her a chimera when he fused her and the stag, but she had been merging with other creatures since she first set foot in the Little Palace.

What did that say about her, a saint that consumed all life around her?

Genya twisted up Alina’s hair, decorating it with what she called diamond flowers. Alina knew better. They were stars. The Darkling would not settle for merely branding her with his amplifier and his colors. He needed to mark her with his symbols, too.

All of Genya’s efforts were pointless, of course. No one would be looking at Alina’s face and figure. Not when the antlers were in clear view.

Alina stared at them in the mirror. She was used to feeling ugly, not because she saw anything wrong in her reflection, but because someone was always there to remind her of her rough, peasant hands. Her Shu features. Her sickly pallor. She could only hear the comments so many times before she saw it, too. Aleksander had changed that. The Darkling, she meant. Using her powers gave her skin a glow and her hair a sheen, but the way he looked at her as if she were the last sip of water in a desert made her feel like she was more than just the sum of her mediocre parts.

She felt beautiful in his eyes.

Powerful.

Alluring.

It was a lie, of course. His eyes shined for her powers, and nothing more. She mourned what could have been, but not as much as she did for her ability to look in the mirror and like what she saw. She had thought herself ugly before. She had no idea what true ugliness was.

“Are we going into the Fold today?” Alina asked, not because she cared, but because speaking was the only way she could break her staring match with herself.

Genya shook her head. “The General wishes to speak with you in private.”

Alina should have known he would insist on dolling her up for his eyes alone. Powerful men did not share their belongings, and they did not settle for anything less than perfection.

Her patron devil invited himself inside her tent about an hour later. His tongue was heavy with pretty little lies, but she hadn’t the patience to entertain them. She could forgive his secrecy and manipulations. Over time, she could even make peace with all the people he had murdered, though her parents’ loss in the Fold jabbed like a thorn in her heart. But she couldn’t stand the theft. He’d stolen the choice from her. Her heart. Her control over her body. The power she’d been separated from since birth. He took it all and had the audacity to speak as if it were inevitable that she’d forgive him.

He ruined her dreams, so she carved out his. He’ll never have her affections again.

“Fine,” he said, his nose twitching from the strain of holding back his tears. She hoped they were genuine because feelings were the last things she had left to hurt him with. “Make me your villain.”

She hadn’t needed to. He made himself a monster as easily as he made her one.

It wasn’t until the next day, when the Darkling shackled her to the deck of his skiff, that she really understood the depth of his promise. At first, she thought he’d given her a small kindness. She could wear a cloak to cover her shame even if that cloak was a twin to his own, but that didn’t last. It wasn’t enough to mark her with his taste in fashion. He wanted the world to see what he’d done.

He soaked in the crowd’s gasps when they saw the antlers, so proud of his little abomination. Alina was reminded of a poem one of the girls she’d served with had told her. “When is a monster not a monster?” Her answer had been when a person loves them, but Alina knew better. The monster was still a monster even when it was loved. Even when it loved in return. Love just made the resulting pain all the more horrifying.

The skiff pushed forward, dragging Alina into the dark with the rest of the Darkling’s creations.

 2: Darkness

Alina was meant to end Aleksander’s suffering. Only she would live long enough to keep him company throughout the ages. They were supposed to be together forever, but they’d only lasted a handful of months. Fate was cruel that way.

Aleksander would have forgiven her trespasses.

Eventually.

Alina was only 22. Of course, she knew nothing of the world. She’d never left the hovel she grew up in until she’d been drafted, and even then, she’d barely left the comfort of a cartography tent. Time would fix that lack of experience, and then Alina would see Aleksander’s genius. Peaceful resolutions meant nothing to those who’d gladly burn their kind. Their peace treaty could only be writ in blood. She’d see. She’d chide herself for believing the Old Woman’s slander. For running away from her destiny and leaving her kind to rot. For denying the hold he still had over her heart. Alexander still wanted that heart even after she let another man put his filthy fingerprints all over it. Her Tracker would turn to dust, and her preoccupation with him would follow suit. She’d seek Aleksander then, and he would absolve her sins.

All she had to do was beg.

It seemed Alina was not so forgiving.

He’d taken her hand – that hand she’d have used to ruin his plans if he hadn’t collared her. The same hand that caressed that pathetic child with a gentle reverence. He would have spared her the fate of her so-called friends. The only friend she needed was him, and all he wanted was her.

She mutilated him for this kindness.

Such ingratitude.

She – the saint, the hero, the innocent ingenue – abandoned him to the gray sand. She knew he was defenseless. After all, she’d personally rendered him impotent, carving a hole in his dominant hand. He needed both to properly focus his power. That, more than anything else, he would not forgive. What good was a Darkling without his shadows?

The volcra descended upon him. He’d shivered the first time he’d seen the creatures his merzost had created. Something neither bat nor human, but some middle ground between. And the teeth. Oh, the teeth. They haunted his dreams for centuries. What he felt then paled in the face of seeing those fangs up close, saliva dripping off yellow bone.

He ducked the monster’s claw, but it’s brother came up from behind, slicing Aleksander’s cheek. He dropped to his knees, flesh burning worse than Alina’s light. The volcra surged forward, it’s mouth wide for the feast.

Not this way. He would not die as prey.

Aleksander drove his fist into the creature’s mouth, punching the back of its throat. Its teeth scraped Aleksander’s arm, shredding his coat sleeve and drawing blood. It didn’t faze him. He’s bled for lesser causes than his own survival.

The volcra gagged, staggering back. It spat Aleksander’s blood out on the sand. Poor thing. All that effort, and it couldn’t even savor the taste. Aleksander could sympathize.

Almost.  

Somewhere in the distance, Aleksander’s heartrender cried for help. For a moment, Aleksander resolved to ignore him. No one could escape this hell. The best they could do is take as many of these creatures out with them as they could. But the sun summoner’s betrayal left him feeling strangely sentimental. Ivan had been a useful extra hand, and Aleksander promised to deliver the Grisha to safety. He wouldn’t be made a liar, no matter how strongly Alina insisted otherwise.

Besides, why should he die alone when there was a warm body nearby?

Deep grooves marked where the skiff made its hasty retreat. Aleksander found Ivan there. Scratches marred his face, and the volcra on top of him flapped its wings as it nibbled at his side. Thankfully, it had spared his arms, so Aleksander didn’t have to put Ivan out of his misery. No Grisha should have to suffer without their powers.

A piece of the skiff’s mast had broken off in battle. Aleksander lifted it, forcing it through the volcra’s head. It trashed blindly, giving Aleksander access to Ivan. He slipped an arm under his heartrender’s shoulders, dragging him to his feet. The fool tried to lay a hand on his own chest, but there was no time to slow his own heartbeat. They had to run while they could.

Every direction looked the same, all colorless dunes and darkness, but looks were deceiving. Each oily black patch throbbed with a life of its own if only someone would listen to it. Aleksander closed his eyes and let it speak. They weren’t far from Novokribirsk, but they were not close either. If they ran for it, the volcra would surely catch up. He stood a small chance on his own, but Ivan was like lead. Aleksander should leave him, having paid his debt by freeing him, but something else begged for his attention. Something familiar to him that he couldn’t quite place. He followed that feeling to its origin.

Aleksander dragged Ivan across the sands until they reached it. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure it was there. It called to him from deep in blackness. Aleksander let his heartrender slide to the ground. He groaned in protest, grabbing for Aleksander’s leg as he charged forward, but Aleksander needed to handle this on his own.

Aleksander reached out until his fingers hit stone. It was the briefest of touches, but it was all he needed to recognize the archway. This was once a cathedral before time had worn its walls down and more vines than parishioners called it home. If the King’s men hadn’t hunted him down, these ruins would be nothing but dust, but the Fold had preserved it, a shrine to Aleksander’s last stand. It had been centuries since Aleksander had set foot here, but he could still map every step as easily as he could the Little Palace.

The sound of wings drew him from his memories. He didn’t need to turn around to know he’s been found. The past always came back around, sooner or later. Centuries ago, he transformed the King’s army into something more, and now their descendants had come to make him something less.

Sharp talons raked across Aleksander’s back one after another, spraying his blood against Saint Ilya’s alter. The stone passively accepted the offering. Of course, it did. All religions in Ravka hungered for Grisha blood. How much would it take until Ravka was satisfied? Could it be satisfied? Aleksander supposed he wouldn’t live long enough to find out. He’d worn himself out just trying to stay upright.

The enemy surrounded him on all sides, swooping in and out. They were toying with him, he was sure. They’d already gorged themselves on his men and had all the time in the world to savor the final course. He laughed, clutching his chest. The world swam around him. Sometimes he saw the volcra in the dark. Sometimes it was the King’s men stretching and contorting as day turned to night.

Aleksander collapsed.

A hum grew in his gut the moment he touched the floor. Something deep within the cathedral answered it’s call. He recognized it, this power.

The making at the heart of the world.

It couldn’t be.

Aleksander had used up what little power was left in this holy ground when he created his living darkness. He was sure of it, and yet, the slightest speck remained, waiting for him. Aleksander reached for it. It would take a price from him, but so did everything else. Whatever it wanted was worth salvation.

The whole world was at stake.

“Give me what I asked of you,” he whispered, arm outstretched behind him. He had demanded an army and place only he could control. Instead, he received chaos. He would have his army now. “You owe me!” He shouted, and it was like a dam broke.

Pain crawled up his veins. His kefta felt too tight at his throat, but he hadn’t the strength to tug at it. He was emptying from the inside out, all that he was billowing out his mouth and from beneath his nails. He wanted to pull back before he faded into nothing, but birth was supposed to be exhausting. He had nothing to fear from the dark. In was the one thing that never failed him.

Wisps of shadows sputtered then clung to each other, forging bone from nothing. Arms stretched, claws bursting from incorporeal hands. More and more of these skeletons formed, their skin blurred like ink floating in water. They had no faces, no eyes, no ears. Nothing to distract them from their master’s command.

Save me, he ordered without words. His children heard him anyway. Wings busted from their backs as they took flight. The volcra swung at them, tearing Aleksander’s creatures. Their middles burst apart like loose graphite, but they came back together, safe and whole.

One of the creatures reared its head back, its face splitting to form a gapping hole. Rows upon rows of tiny fangs lined its throat, shredding the volcra as it forced its brother in merzost down its gullet.

Aleksander was not one for tears, but he wept openly. So beautiful. So devoted. Finally, he had the army he deserved. His children born of nothingness. His nichevo'ya.

The nichevo'ya make short work of the volcra. The ones they hadn’t devoured fled. His creatures made to follow, but Aleksander stopped them with a whistle. A child’s place was by their father’s side.

The nichevo'ya flocked to him, nuzzling into his side or licking at his wounds. The blood, he noted, was no longer red, but a gelatinous black. It would fade back to red in a few days, just like last time. For now, the goo had stopped his wounds, and that’s all that mattered.

Aleksander tried to sit up, but he was too weak. With a single thought, the creatures faded into the darkness, leaving only one. Aleksander’s limbs still felt unnaturally heavy, but at least he had the strength to throw an arm around his nichevo’s neck. “Carry me,” he commanded, and it obliged him without argument. If only all armies were so wise.

Ivan moaned in the distance. It wouldn’t do to leave him, not when Aleksander had a whole new arsenal at his disposal. He wished another nichevo into existence. The exertion made his head spin. No more until the left the Fold, he promised himself. Not until he got some rest. Some food. Full restitution.

“Him, too.” He told his creature. It roared, flying to the heartrender’s side. Ivan’s eyes widened as it landed. He struck weakly at its chest, but the nichevo scooped him up with ease.

“Enough,” Aleksander said, his tone leaving no room for arguments. To Ivan’s credit, he immediately went still. Not as obedient as Aleksander’s brood, but loyal all the same. “Stay that way if you want to live.”

Ivan shook the entire flight to Novokribirsk, never looking away from the creature that held him, but did as he was bid.

At the mouth of the fold, Aleksander had his nichevo set him down. His legs felt numb, and he stumbled as he breached the daylight. He longed to be carried again, but he didn’t know if his creations could survive outside their birthplace. The volcra couldn’t.

His knees caved before he got more than a few steps. The sand tasted dull in his mouth. It was tempting to lay there forever, but he forced himself to rise. He had things to do before he could visit his sun summoner. He’d decided to forgive her the way the flames forgave those dumb enough to touch it. The way Ravka forgave its saints. The way she forgave him.

He had all the time in the world to figure her penance.

His two creatures stood in the borderlands, awaiting his orders. With a glance over his shoulder, Alexander bade them to follow. They each stepped into the light of day. No smoke. No screeching in agony. They were good children. His soul made carnate.

His beautiful monsters.

[suburbanbeatnik]

The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART THREE

So there’s a lot of controversy over the exact nature of Franz and Sophie’s friendship. At the time, it was was rumored they became lovers. Satirical prints of the two were even published. But I’ve browsed a few recent-ish books about the Habsburgs, and they don’t seem to think the idea of a Franz/Sophie affair holds a lot of water. However, Aubry thinks it’s possible— even probable.

He took refuge in his tenderness for his young aunt, Sophie. She was still the woman whom he preferred. Perhaps she was his only love, the one to whom he owed his first embrace and the one who best satisfied him. She had been at first nothing but an elder sister. In his empty boyhood she had given him the only warmth of friendship he had known. Become a man he had asked for more, and Sophie consented, it is said.

They saw each other everyday at the Hofburg, in the little salon belonging to the Archduchess. It was always towards evening when he was tired from his work or his horseback rides and she relaxed from duties of the court. Oftentimes they would be alone, and they would take their tea by lamplight, reading aloud or talking over the happenings of the day. Reichstadt gave Sophie his full confidence. She knew his anxieties and his bitternesses and she gave him back his courage. She would place her fingers on his forehead, and stoke his hair, which shone like silk in the dim light. He would look back at her with quiet happiness, and she would smile back at him as she sat there in a low-cut gown, the coils of her hair caught up in a veil of white lace, and around her throat a ribbon of black velvet with a pendant, which was a miniature of her father, King Maximilian of Bavaria. [Aubry pg 215]

Aubry paints a compelling picture of Sophie’s restless, clear-eyed youth, intelligence, strong will, and free, simple, natural ways, which stood out like a star against the stultifying pomposity of the Habsburg court. Not surprisingly, she hated her husband, a coarse blockhead mainly obsessed with hunting. She spent every hour she could with Franz, driving in the Prater, breakfasting together, or walking in the garden, often accompanied by Sophie’s son Franz Joseph (Sissi’s future husband). Like his father, Franz loved children and was great with them. Add his intelligence, passion, and incredible good looks, I would not blame Sophie one bit if she’d had an affair with Franz.

Aubry also points out that at Schoenbrunn, Franz’s quarters were directly above Sophie’s, and connected through “a little staircase unknown to any chamberlain.” They also spent many afternoons completely alone.

They would venture through the Tyrolian garden to the limits of the vast wooded park and on out into that smiling countryside where vineclad hills gently rise above meadows, patches of woods and cultivated fields. There they spent the most beautiful hours in their lives, talking less of the future and of glory, we may be sure, than of the present and of love. No definite information as to these meetings have survived. All that is known from authentic documents is that they were frequent in the summer of 1831. Nor is there any trace, either, in spite of careful searches, of a correspondence between Reichstadt and Sophie. The Archduchess died at an advanced age, after a checkered career. She must have taken care to leave nothing behind her. The archives of the Hofburg show only the mother, and the princess interested in questions of State. [Aubry pg 217]

Aubry then considers the contention that Sophie’s son Maximilian was actually fathered by Franz. Aubry thinks it’s at least possible, but I don’t think it is. Just look at pictures of the guy— he’s 100% Habsburg. He looks exactly like Franz Karl. The Bonaparte seed is strong; if Napoleon was Maximilian’s grandfather, you’d be able to see it somewhere. But you can’t.

Anyway, after the golden summer of 1831— probably the second happiest period of Franz’s life, after his childhood—it was all downhill from there. Very, very downhill.  

Franz’s lung issues came back with a vengeance. It didn’t help his main doctor at this point was a foppish Italian obsessed with liver ailments— he thought all of Franz’s problems stemmed from— what else?— the liver. That winter Franz became major of an infantry regiment stationed in Vienna, and distinguished himself drilling his men to perfection. Which is kind of sad, really; but that’s all he was allowed to do, be a parade-ground soldier who never got his uniform dirty. He ate little, and slept less, so eager to show that he could be a real soldier, like his father. His health plummeted, and he contracted a catarrhal fever.  The Imperial family gathered around Franz— except for Marie Louise, who was too busy back with her little court at Parma, “nibbling bonbons at the Opera.” Of course she protested her “cruel anxiety” about Franz’s welfare, but she wasn’t about to go anywhere. After all, she couldn’t think of endangering her own “precious health” journeying to Vienna.

Reichstadt must have felt the desertion keenly, but he voiced no bitterness. He had grown accustomed to suffering in silence, and those who forgot him, he tried to forget. [Aubry pg. 224.]

So, once again, Marie Louise disappointed her son. But Franz had Sophie; and he also had Prokesch back, who had happily returned after Metternich forced him to go to Bologna (Metternich didn’t trust Prokesch, and did his best to keep the two friends apart). The two men now knew the full stranglehold that Metternich had on the monarchy. Franz would not even be able to take a single trip away, not even for his health. It was do or die.

The two concocted a plan, and it was a decent one. Once he’d recovered, at winter in Vienna, he would be able to slip away from the secret police, as he had when romancing Naudine Karolyi. “He and Prokesch would reach Styria or the Tyrol in disguise and from there, taking advantage of connections which the major would try to establish in a preliminary reconnoissance, they would reach the Papal States where the Duke would ask asylum of the Pope.” Letizia Bonaparte and Lucien, who lived there comfortably, the Pope deferring to them, had money and connections. “Sheltered by the head of the Church and his grandmother, on a soil not only neutral but sacred, he would be free to complete his novitiate for the throne. Prokesch foresaw that it would be not a very long one. He predicted the fall of Louis-Phillippe in two or three years at most, and after a period of anarchy, the return of Napoleon II by agreement between France and the Powers.” [Aubry pg 232]

Alas! Metternich caught wind of the scheme, and banished Prokesch to Rome in January of 1832. What a blow this was! But the major agreed he could use the circumstances to do the agreed reconnoissance and meet in secret with Madame Mère. The two men parted with great emotion.

But this is the last time they would ever see each other. By the next summer, Franz would be dead.

* * *

After the departure of one of his only friends in the world, depression overwhelmed Franz again. It didn’t help when he received a letter from Napoleon’s last valet, Marchand, who had been trying for years to contact Franz about a few items of “sentimental value” that Napoleon had left for his son. But there was a note from Metternich on the letter, that briskly said “no attention could be paid to Marchand’s request.”

And that was it. Franz knew had no recourse. He wouldn’t even be able to get his father’s coffee service. How petty, how disgusting, how mean Metternich was! Napoleon had been dead for over a decade; why couldn’t he have one single sentimental item left to him in his will? Was it that important? That much of a matter of importance to the State, to the bloody Holy Alliance, that he couldn’t hold the same coffee cup that his father held?

And bitterness ate away at him. He was only 21, but he felt so old. He hated humanity. He hated himself. He wondered why he was still alive. Perhaps he would have been better off if he had died as a child. He had expected so much of the future— but there was nothing but the coldness and emptiness of an eternal prison.  

Despair ate at him like a worm. And he grew sick. And sicker. He coughed and sweated and grew weaker by the day. His doctor’s liver medicines did nothing, and then bleeding did less, and Metternich kept refusing to see Franz moved to a warmer climate.

The Chancellor was pleased by the turn of events, of course.  “He sent world to all the embassies, and Marshal Maison was asked to inform his government, that ‘the condition of the Duke of Reichstadt was so serious that his mother has been informed.’” [Aubry pg 244]

A pregnant Sophie, at last returned from her tour of Hungary, did her best to nurse him. “She sat down at his bedside and hushed him whenever he tried to speak. She would read aloud to him and it was she thereafter who gave him his medicines and guarded his door from any importunate intrusion.” [Aubry pg 245]

Franz still worsened. The Emperor was not present; he was detained in Trieste, and when he returned to Austria, he avoided Vienna, staying at the summer castle of Persenbeug, along with the “ninny” Ferdinand and the blockhead Franz Karl, while Francis’s wife claimed that seeing his dying grandson would have a deleterious effect on his health. Count Dietrichstein also decided to leave, on the excuse of his daughter’s confinement. Aubry says:

He must have known that Reichstadt was lost. Could he just have been an indifferent soul underneath his courtesy and his outward expressions of affectionate anxiety? He may have been. Count Maurice Dietrichstein was born a sensitive man and an artist, but life at Court had dried him up, undoubtedly leaving him in the end with the heart of a chamberlain. He forgot his former pupil at his daughter’s bedside and allowed him to die without a word of friendship. [Aubry pg 250]

For Franz, it was a slow, agonizing death march, punctuated by an an abcess in his lungs rupturing— and a final communion taken with Sophie at his side, in what Aubry compares to a “mystic marriage.” Louise arrived at last, after dithering over her departure, claiming “slight indispositions” as a reason for not leaving sooner, and then coming to Vienna via “easy stages” over the course of a fortnight. Of course, when she saw how badly off her son was, emaciated and hacking up blood, she began to cry.

There with that spectre of the hollow eyes before her she may perhaps have understood at last the true identity of that youth whom she had neglected for two years, and how guilty she had been all along toward him. She alone could have protected her child against Metternich’s policy and against himself. She could have saved him from those years of moral anguish and that tragic solitude which had ruined his health sooner and even more than any disease. That in her weakness she had lost him a throne might be excused, but however cowardly as an Empress, she might have shown herself a good mother. Vienna was her true place but she had preferred Parma with its ease, deserting the son of the greatest man in her age to sate her voluptuousness in the arms of her lover, nibble bonbons and preside over well-served dinners. [Aubry pgs 252-252]

Of course, Metternich made sure to look in on Franz while he was dying.

Through a half-open door however the Chancellor was allowed to see the patient in his bed. He gazed for a moment, then turned and walked away without a tremor, without a word of sympathy for the mother and doubtless without any remorse. [Aubry pg 255]

Franz knew he would die. “Must I end so young,” he said, “A life that is useless and without a name? Ma naissance et ma mort, voilà toute mon histoire. Entre mon berceau et ma tombe, il y a un grand zéro.” He did not quite say that on his deathbed, but it was close. Very, very close.

It took monumental efforts to keep Franz alive at this point. He was a barely breathing corpse. He could not swallow food; his throat had swollen up; his coughing seem to tear his body apart; and he could barely sup barley-water and milk. He had even been given mother’s milk at one point. His legs were swollen, and he was cold as ice. Deprived of his dearest friend Prokesch, who was meeting with Letizia and Lucien in Rome, his fellow captains in his regiment stood by his bedside.

The end came on the morning of July 21st— a thunderstorm brewed in the air, the air damp and thick and charged. He cried out— “death! I want nothing but death!” — and then— “Harness the horses! I must go to meet my father! I must embrace him once more!”

Then he whispered: “How I am suffering! When will this sad existence end?” [Aubry pg 260]

At last, he called, gasping, sweating, for his mother. (Sophie, still recovering from childbirth, was left to sleep, something which she never forgot.) Louise was brought in at the last minute, and managed to faint dead away in the middle of the room, completely prostrate on the floor. I’m imagining the priest having to step over her for his last rites, but apparently she managed to get to her knees by the bed just in time for Franz to look at her. That, one instant, and then he stopped breathing altogether.

Franz’s grandfather, back in Persenbeug, away from any inconveniently dead grandsons, called Franz’s death a possible blessing for Europe.  

As for Sophie, once the news was broken “delicately” to her…

…she lost consciousness for several hours and the attack was followed by a high fever. Her milk dried up. For several days her life was despaired of. She gradually recovered. Those who knew her thereafter no longer found the gay and simple Archduchess. All the gentleness seemed to have left her. There was a sting in everything she said. The truth was that her youth had died with Reichstadt. She was to have intrigues, love affairs, ambitions, cares of State. But she had changed in spirit, or rather she had attained in a few days the mood of her maturity, with, in her heart’s depth, a regret and a bitterness which would endure until her death, five years after the disaster of her son Maximilian. [Aubry pg 265]

* * *

And so ends my recap of Aubry’s King of Rome. Ugh, this could have been more depressing!? Anyway, I’ll write an epilogue soon explaining what happened to everyone after Franz’s death.  

Part One

Part Two 

[monstersandmaw]

Male changeling fae x female reader (sfw) - Part One

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

As I said to my patrons, I'm still sorry I took so much time off in March, but I really needed it for all sorts of reasons I won’t go into on here. I hope this will appease you though! It's 4769 words of fluff with a slight dash of angst thrown in, and with a Part Two on the way. I dropped one or two hints as to where it's going, so it'll be interesting to see who picks up on that...

As usual with me, the reader's gender or body isn't really mentioned much, except in a passing comment, so I hope it's not too offputting to have a specifically female reader again.

This was up on Patreon on early release last week for my Pixies and Goblins, and is now up on here for you.

Content: female reader, (past) death of father, (past) ill mother, changeling, memories, nostalgia, realising that the fairytale stuff is true... Wordcount: 4769

The cabin was in far better condition than you’d been expecting, given that it had been well over a decade since you’d last seen it. Dank and a little musty, it was now tidy in a way that it never would have been when your father had lived there. Of course, all of the things that had made it your father’s home, plus all his tracking and hiking equipment, had long been removed, either by your uncle or by the local park service, but the cabin technically belonged to you according to his will. You’d never made so much as a spare moment to come back up here, fearing that the return would bring back a wash of memories that would be too powerful to withstand.

You almost laughed to yourself as you stood in the doorway of the old wooden hut, the creaky front door knocking gently against the wall in the soft breezes that seemed to slink curiously in like a house cat returning from a day’s hunt. You could hear your boss’ voice in your head again; “If you don’t take some holiday, I’m going to fire you.”

“You wouldn’t!” you’d blurted, completely missing the glittering, playful light in his eyes.

The vet had snorted and shaken his head, taking his gloves off and making his preparations to leave the surgery at the end of his long day. “Of course I wouldn’t fire you, but I am serious about you taking some time off. Didn’t you say your dad used to have a cabin up country?”

“Mm,” you nodded, not really listening, the scents of pine and mossy rocks already flashing with startling clarity across your mind. “It’s more of a bothy in the woods, but yeah.”

“Then go there. You need some time off. You haven’t taken any holiday in over a year.”

Just like that, you’d mused; just ‘go there’.  

It had been so long since you’d been unexpectedly packed off back to the city that long, hot summer. What had followed had been endless months of hospital visits and uncertainty, living with your maternal grandmother while your mother fought her illness with dogged determination. As you shoved those memories aside, a wave of fresh ones surged in to replace them. Images skittered falteringly across your memory of a barefoot young boy about your own age, with sun-freckled skin and dusky brown hair. Piercingly blue eyes the colour of a midday summer sky blinked from the recesses of your memory.

“Dunnock,” you murmured aloud in the perfect stillness of the cabin. You'd never forgotten your summer holiday friend. Year after year when you’d gone to stay with your father, Dunnock had been there, with grubby knees and a ready smile.

That little boy’s laughter among the evergreens; bare feet that hadn’t seemed out of place on the carpet of rusty pine needles; a playmate all summer long while your father watched from the porch of the cabin, coffee cradled in his hands, muscular forearms arms resting on the wood and watching you with his steady, patient gaze.

All of that had vanished in a single summer, to be replaced with city life, school, exams, college, study, work, rent… Your mother had survived her illness, but you’d never returned to the cabin before your father’s death some years later.

“Dunnock,” you repeated, looking around at the bare wooden walls and the simple wooden bed in one corner. “I wonder what happened to you?” After a pause you added, “Or who you even were…” You’d been so caught up in the moment, in seeking frogspawn and catching moths, that you’d never spoken about his family or his life outside of your play hours.

Somehow none of it had never seemed strange to the eight year old girl that you had been then. Wiry, ‘boyish’ - whatever that meant - with nondescript hair and an ordinary face, you had felt instantly at home in the trees with that little boy’s rough, grubby hand around yours. It had felt like the most natural thing in the world to let him tug you into the forest that bordered the heathland to show you the worms in the muddy dell or the deer fauns staggering on spindly legs in the glens where the bracken glowed translucent in rare shafts of sunlight.

“Dunnock,” you murmured one last time, and it felt like a charm, a chant, an invocation, calling up the sight of his wild greyish brown hair shivering as he laughed, tossing his head back, careless and wild as the bird after which he was named. You seemed to recall that you had actually been the one to name him that, after seeing the tiny little hedgerow birds with the same colouring, darting about near the cabin on the feeder that you had helped your father build the summer before. He had accepted it without question, and you’d never called him anything else.

With a sigh, you dumped your weekend bag down on the smooth floorboards and went back to the car to fetch the bag of groceries you’d picked up from the nearby hamlet of Iska’s Well. Unbidden yet again, you heard Dunnock’s voice, full of laughter, telling you that ‘iska’ was the ‘old world’ word for water in these parts, whatever that meant. Everywhere you turned, the whole place was saturated with memories of him - more so than of even your father.

“That’s stupid,” you’d huffed at Dunnock when he’d told you the origins of the hamlet’s name. “‘Water’s Well’? That’s a stupid name for a town.” Dunnock had only laughed and dragged you off to poke and poggle at frogspawn in the dewpond on the heath that began about a mile from the cabin.

You’d driven over the heath that afternoon to reach Iska’s Well, with blushing heather and stoic, rocky bluffs, and had marvelled at how short the journey had seemed this time. As a child, it had seemed like a journey to the edges of the world, with the sandy tracks and purple heather rushing past in an endless blur while the radio played softly in the background and your father’s curly hair lifted off his forehead in the breeze from the open window.

With everything finally settled, and your sleeping bag unfurled onto the surprisingly healthy looking mattress that definitely should have gone mouldy after all this time, you turned your attention to the heavy cast iron stove in the corner. No dust had gathered on the surfaces, and there was a stack of fresh, dry firewood piled up beside the stove.

Was someone living here? When you’d asked about the cabin in the quaint village shop, the owner had laughed and told you how good it was that someone would be staying there again, and that as the former ranger’s daughter, you were only to ask at the shop if there was anything you needed. “We pull together in this little community, and if there’s a leak in that roof, or if something isn’t working, you just come back here and someone will come up and help you, alright?”

You’d laughed gratefully and nodded, glimpsing a flyer on the wall for the spring equinox festival on a noticeboard as you left. ‘Bonfire, live folk music, hog roast, and dancing - experience the magic beneath the moon…’ seemed surprisingly appealing to you and you made a note of the time. It was only a few days away.

Wondering whether you should start a fire in the burner now so that the cabin would warm up enough, and the last of the lingering damp burn away before bed, you frowned. Was someone squatting here then? Panic flared, white hot and suddenly all-consuming, and you whipped around, as though expecting some wild figure to come stumping up the stairs into the cabin and savage you.

But all you heard was the soft, hushing whisper of the wind in the pine needles outside and the alarm call of a jay in the trees.

As the sound of the bird’s fear refused to die away, your scowl deepened. The harsh, scraping calls filled the trees and you edged out of the door and onto the small, covered porch of the wooden hut, heart hammering in time with the desperate calls.

Nothing moved between the trees and there was not a breath of air between the trunks. It seemed as though the whole forest was holding its breath. Something about the depth of the shadows called invitingly to you and your unease melted away with each step you took into the once-familiar pine forest.

After perhaps fifty paces, you caught a flash of bright blue in the branches above and watched as a jay bobbed desperately, hopping from one branch to another and squawking constantly. “What is it?” you asked, feeling suddenly foolish.

As if in answer, the bird took off with another volley of calls, flitting along the deer track that you’d been following, before dipping low in its flight pattern and vanishing behind a larger pine with another flash of blue feathers.

“What am I doing…?” you muttered, on the point of turning back. Then you heard it.

A low, pained rumbling shivered out between the sussurating foliage.

Your body went still and rigid as you heard it again, and you barely dared breathe. “What the…?”

Sadly, you’d heard plenty of animals in pain at the surgery where you worked, but there was something unusual about this; the apparent size of the creature for one. As you nibbled your lip, torn between hurrying to investigate and turning on the spot and calling the national park service, you heard it again; a whining growl carried the depth of its agony and torment straight to your chest, and you acted instantly, instinctively.

Rounding the corner of the tiny trail where the jay bird had disappeared, you found the source of the noise, and nearly bolted on the spot as adrenaline surged through your body once again. A dark creature as large as a bear lay on its side with a hind leg caught in the glinting metal jaws of a vicious steel trap. Beside it, the jay was hopping on the ground and fluttering its wings, the pale down of its belly flashing in the dimness of the forest.

The creature which lay on its side, however, was not a bear. Your brain helpfully supplied that there were no bears in these parts anyway. It didn’t make processing what you were seeing any easier, however.

Tall and, upon closer inspection, surprisingly slender, with lean, well-defined muscles evident beneath the thick, matted, dusty-black pelt, it was like nothing you’d ever seen. Its eyes were closed, but you got the distinct and primeval impression that it had sensed you. For one, it had fallen silent, save for the wheezing huff of its breath. It was exhausted then, and had clearly been struggling to release its leg from the trap, if the scuffed earth and blood-slickened needles around the vile device were anything to go by.

Its head had elements of both a wolf and a bear. While a long, deadly snout and powerful jaws decorated with savagely long canines marked it as a predator, its ears were like those of a deer, tufted with ash-grey fur. Its pelt was thick and shaggy, the colour of slate or smoke, and matted with moss and tangles and, on its lower leg, thick, black blood. Its hind legs were short, stocky like those of a bear, but the paws were more like those of a wolf, its forelegs had a strangely… human conformation to them, with large, hand-like paws that ended in the thick, deadly claws of a bear.

“Easy,” you whispered, shuffling experimentally closer. “I won’t hurt you…”

The moment it heard your voice, the creature’s eyes flickered open and you sucked in an astonished breath, reeling back. The searing blue of those eyes was a hue that you’d never forget.

“Impossible,” you breathed, wondering if you’d inhaled some hallucinogenic compound from a mushroom or something. This simply couldn’t be…

The creature let out a long, deep, excruciatingly heartfelt whine, ribs heaving, and it lifted that strange, shaggy head to look dolorously at the steel trap before weakness washed over it and it let its head fall back to the leaf litter beneath.

“Can… you understand me?” you asked before you’d really thought about how stupid your question was. The intelligence that you’d glimpsed in those eyes had told you as much already, improbable as this all seemed.

The enormous creature huffed softly and twitched its muzzle downwards.

“You can?”

It repeated the gesture.

“If I let you out of this, you promise you won’t hurt me?”

Once again, it nodded and you closed the distance between you to kneel beside the trap.

“Ok. Here goes. This… This is probably going to hurt. I’ll try my best, but…”

Another little chuff emanated from its barrel chest, which you took to be a reassuring noise of encouragement, and you got to work.

“Who the fuck sets traps round here anyway?” you snarled, cold steel beneath your fingers. “This is a national park. Hunting is forbidden, and it’s not like there are even bears here anyway! Well…” As you released the mechanism and carefully cranked it back, you looked up at the strange creature which it had ensnared, and shrugged, “Right?”

“Mmph.” The noise the creature made was almost like speech as it agreed with you, lifting its hind leg out of the jaws of the trap and letting it flop to the ground with another rumbling whine.

“There,” you said, securing and making the trap safe before sitting back on your heels and staring at the unbelievable being in front of you. After taking some steadying breaths, with your gaze all the while fixed on those intensely blue eyes, you found something intimately familiar about the set of those features, the tilt of its head and the slow blink that didn’t quite sync up. “I know you,” you finally breathed.

The creature continued to stare at you, but after a few more pounding heartbeats, it lowered its dark muzzle slightly and gave the slightest, almost imperceptible nod.

“It… It’s not possible… You can’t be who I think you are though…” you said, your mind refusing to accept the blindingly obvious truth.

Blink.

One ear flicked slightly.

“Can you?”

Blink.

Slow nod.

“No way…” You sat breathing for a little while longer before daring to voice it aloud. “Dunnock?”

The nod this time was so barely-there that you almost missed it.

“I don’t understand…” you hissed, levering yourself to your feet, staggering slightly, and gazing down at the injured creature. “The ‘Dunnock’ that I remember was a little boy…” your words sputtered out and you swallowed thickly. “Can you talk?”

The creature licked his lips with a surprisingly delicate, pink tongue and nodded, blinking slowly. “Yes,” he rasped, voice deep and rough with obvious disuse. “But it… has been a… long time.”

“How are you… this?” you asked, gesturing at his body. Before he could answer, your attention darted back to his leg. “I should probably tend to that,” you added.

He shook his head, retracting his leg away from you. “No, it will heal soon. Now that the iron is gone.”

“Iron?”

“Mm.”

He seemed so subdued, so altered from the happy child you remembered that, had it not been for those astonishing eyes, you would never have believed that he could have become this. “What difference does the iron make?” you asked instead.

Dunnock lifted his head slowly and studied you. “You never knew, did you?” he murmured.

“Knew what?”

With a huff that might have been an amused chuckle, he said simply, “Changeling…”

“Changeling?” you asked, frowning, mind spinning. “Like… Like in the fairy tales?”

“Literally,” he said. “I am fae. They left me here to die when they stole a human child in my place. Iron… Iron is like a poison. But it will heal now.”

Your mind reeled, the barrage of revelations leaving you dizzy and sick. “Wait… Stop… What?” you faltered. “They left you here to die? Your own parents?”

“Mn.”

With a blank, spinning mind, all you could do was croak, “Dunnock… I…” Suddenly it was all too much. You’d come here to get away, to rest, to reconnect with nature, not to discover that fairy tales were true. Looking back on it, you probably should have known that there was something abnormal about a young boy being allowed to roam the forests, barefoot night and day, but it had never really crossed your mind.

“Did my father know about you?” you asked in a hoarse croak.

“Mm. He helped me in the winter. He was a good man.” After a short pause, Dunnock sat up, bracing his weight on his forelegs while his hind legs remained splayed to one side. He looked like a lounging hound - domestic, almost tame - rather than a wildly impossible being from folklore.

A moment or two of silence hung between you before he shifted again, drawing his legs under him and heaving himself to his feet. One huge, clawed hand rested on the rough bark of a nearby conifer to prop himself up as he stood unsteadily, keeping the weight off his injured leg. You inhaled slowly, eyes widening. He must have been easily eight foot tall. He extended his free hand towards you as you swayed, and you stared at it. His touch never connected with you and he curled his fingers self-consciously inwards to hide the talons, and then dropped his hand back to his side.

“Steady,” he said with a gentle smile. “Must be a shock…”

“I don’t understand,” you bleated pathetically. “What happened to you? You used to look… human…”

With a hollow chuckle, he looked away from you. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I could always change into this. Never did it around you. But… as I grew older, the shift to human became… harder. Now I can only shift on the full moon.”

Snorting, you said, “Like the opposite of a werewolf.”

He didn’t reply, but he did turn his blue eyes back to your face. “It’s been so long,” he murmured. “I… I never thought I’d see you again. And then…” his gaze dropped to the trap still glinting innocently at a distance and he growled, the rumble of it echoing in your ribcage. “Just when I thought I’d never get out…” those eyes darted back up to meet yours, “You’re here.”

“Like fate,” you breathed awkwardly. “You want to come back to the cabin and rest?”

Something complicated passed over his face but eventually he nodded. “Alright.”

Just as you set off, you paused and looked back over your shoulder at him. “Was it you who’s been caring for the place?”

“Mn,” he grunted, leaning heavily on the next tree along. Perhaps you shouldn’t have encouraged him to move so soon, but he seemed to be doing alright. Dropping down to all fours, he nodded up the track and said, “Go ahead. I’ll be… right behind you.”

His footfalls were heavy and deliberate; a solid presence on the path while your mind reeled with the revelation that Dunnock, the lively, lanky boy, bright as a buttercup with a face full of freckles, with whom you’d played in these very woods as a child, was now some monstrous-looking beast, and in fact had been that all along…? You shook your head as if clearing stars from your vision, and pressed forward through the shadows until the cabin came back into sight, with your car just visible in the distance.

It all seemed so painfully normal up ahead, but when you turned around to glance behind, there, faltering almost shyly at the edge of the trees, was the strange, half-bear half-wolf creature with Dunnock’s eyes. A quiet, private thrill of panic shot through you and you turned and stared back at him. “Dunnock?” you asked in a voice that sounded steadier than you felt.

He paused with one front paw hovering gently, just on the point of being set down onto the soft carpet of needles. “Mn?” His doe-like ears flicked and his head tilted. He seemed to be making himself as small as possible for you as you stared him down like a stag in a meadow.

You had to make sure that it really was him though, and not some creature pretending, with a pair of stolen eyes and a deep, lullingly gentle voice. “Tell me something…”

With another vaguely canine tilt of his head, he grunted. “Mn?”

“Do you remember what the last thing was that you said to me?”

He froze and then looked away. The answer he gave was almost too soft to hear, but you just barely caught his response. “I’ll always be here. You’re like the moon, and I’ll always feel the pull of you…”

Water blurred your vision, and without much warning, you burst into tears. “It really is you, isn’t it?” you sobbed, striding back over to him and flinging your arms around his neck.

Dunnock went stiff with surprise, but quickly relaxed. A heartbeat later, his heavy arms enclosed your body and he tugged you close to his chest as he sat back on his haunches. “Yeah,” he croaked. “It’s me.” And then he added, “I missed you so much.”

“I thought about you a lot,” you sniffled, tears still rolling down your cheeks and into his thick fur. He smelled like moss and petrichor, and you clung to him as all the stress of your job and the frenetic strain of the city bled out of you in a disorientating rush.

With a huge hand caressing your back with the hesitancy of the inordinately strong, he rumbled something that you didn’t quite catch, and then leaned back a little. “Why did you come back?” he asked.

You snorted and stepped back, swiping at your face with your cuff and turning a little away from him, embarrassed by the outpouring of emotion that seemed to have come from nowhere. “My boss told me I needed a holiday.”

“And so you came here?”

“Yeah. I think I needed to come back, you know? Put old ghosts to rest,” you added as you stared at your father’s cabin. “Come on. Let’s get inside.” As you set off for the cabin again, you asked, “Do the locals know about you then?”

When he didn't immediately speak, you looked back and saw him shaking his head. “No,” he said. “I go into the village once a month or so - when I can turn human - sometimes not even that often. They know of me, and I think they know I live in the woods nearby, but they don’t know that I’m… this.” There was an unpleasant, sour note to his final word that made your gut churn.

“Are you the only one of your kind living here?” you asked as you stepped inside and held the door open for him.

As he passed you, he said, “As far as I know. I think there are some other… non-humans… but I’ve never met them face to face.”

“It’s incredible,” you breathed. “I had no idea that that kind of thing was real, you know?”

With Dunnock now sitting on the floor beside the cold iron stove, you had the chance to look at him properly. The longer you looked, however, the more uncomfortable he grew. His ears swivelled to lie flat against his head, and he looked away.

“Dunock…” you said, stepping closer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to look at your wound? I’m not a doctor, but I could at least clean it. I’ve got a medical kit in my car…”

He licked his lips. “Alright,” he admitted. “No iron though…”

“You don’t need stitches anyway,” you commented, stunned when you looked at it again. “You’re already healing up.”

The feel of his fur beneath your fingertips was like nothing you’d experienced as a nurse at the veterinary practice. It was a struggle not to let your hands wander. However, when he saw the way you dealt with the wound, he asked, “You’re a healer of some kind?”

With a shake of your head, you set him straight. “No, I work at a vet clinic. I’m a nurse, so I help prep the animals for surgery and take care of them afterwards, and assist the vets during any procedures…” There was more to it than that, but it would do for now.

When you looked up and met Dunnock’s stunning gaze, you found that a light had kindled in his ice blue eyes. “I always said you had a knack with animals.”

“You did,” you chuckled. “Remember that red squirrel that basically became my pet for the summer?”

He nodded.

“And the deer that was eating out of my hand…?”

“Mn.”

Reflexively, as you tied off the bandage, you petted his leg, and he let out a long, soft moan, head tipping back.

“Alright?” you asked without lifting your hand from his thigh.

“Mn,” he nodded, ears flattening themselves once again.

A thought occurred to you and you asked, “Are you alone a lot up here?”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze locked unseeingly on your bag nearby. “Mn,” he finally hummed. “The forest is full of life though.”

You splayed your fingers deliberately through his pelt and took note of the solid muscle beneath. “Yeah, but it’s different… I don’t imagine that the earthworms offer particularly scintillating conversation…”

Dunnock laughed at that; a long, low, delighted chuckle that sent tingles running down your whole body. “No,” he agreed. “But I can’t seem to get the magpies to shut up.”

At the mention of the black and white birds, you recalled the jay and asked, “When I got here, there was a jay that was acting strangely…? It’s how I found you to begin with.”

He huffed another brief laugh and said, “Yeah, they’re all meddling nuisances…” There was no sting to his words and a surge of fondness rushed in to replace the panic that had been swirling through you since you’d first stepped off the veranda and into the forest.

“Will you stay?” you blurted, and he looked up at you. “I mean… I don’t have loads of food, but… I’d love to…” what, catch up? “To hear about what you’ve been doing since I left…” you finished rather lamely.

With a sarcastic little snort, he met your eye and said, “I’d rather hear about your life. Your father told me why you left so soon… Did your mother…?”

“She survived,” you said. “Tough as an old boot, that one. It was rough though. I lived with my grandmother for a long time, and then I went to university…” You stared at him as he sat there, listening to you attentively. “I never came back though. I’m sorry… I’m sorry I just left…”

He shrugged expressively. “Like I said, your father was always kind to me. I missed you though.” He shot you a sidelong look and added, “You’re even more beautiful than I thought you’d be by now…”

You flushed hot at that and laughed, diffusing the situation by beginning to sort the bag of groceries. The house had no electricity any more, not since your uncle had taken the solar panels down. You had half a mind to ask him to come and reinstall them, but you knew you wouldn’t be here long enough for it to be worth the long journey for him.

Over the course of the evening, Dunnock told you about the forest and its ebbing, flowing seasons; how he spent winter curled in a cave, dozing while the rabbits and the other wildlife drifted around him, and how in the spring he had woken to find the air fresher and full of pollen, with birds squabbling and bickering, and buds slowly unfurling from the branches. The way he spoke of the forest as one interconnected being enchanted you to the point that you forgot about the constant, enervating drone of the city, about car horns and pollution, noise and mess. That old familiar ache to return here and never leave surged stronger than ever.

As your eyes drifted closed that night, sitting on the floor, buttressed up against his weight, you sighed. “I want to stay, Dunnock,” you admitted in a whisper, right on the border of waking and sleeping. “I want to stay…”

Part Two

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