#Story snippets

[moodymelanist]

happy wip Wednesday everybody. @nessianweek is 2.5 weeks away and I am SO HYPE. can you guess the prompt for this one? 🤭😏

“What exactly did she say it was?”

Azriel, who hardly ever showed what he was feeling so freely, actually started to turn a little pink. “I…”

“Whatever it is, I can handle it,” Nesta responded, more than a little impatient now. Surely it couldn’t be so terrible that even he was reluctant to say what had happened. “Just tell me, Azriel.”

Cassian of course picked that moment to stir, his wings twitching a bit as he slowly started to wake up from his magically-induced sleep. Strangely enough, instead of trying to push himself up so he could see what was going on, Nesta could only watch in surprise as his hips rocked downward against the couch with a loud grunt.

His odd behavior began to make some sense as Nesta nearly choked on the scent of his arousal, so strong that it nearly rivaled the weeks after their mating ceremony. Azriel took several steps away from Nesta, clearly already plotting his own exit, likely to avoid whatever mating instincts might rise to the surface at him being so close.

Nesta wasn’t having any of it. She marched across the room to stand before Azriel, releasing just enough of her magic to make her eyes burn with cold flame. “What. Happened.”

“I don’t know,” Azriel replied, clearly starting to panic a little as Cassian started truly rising to consciousness with a series of low moans. “He got stung by something while we were on watch, and then he started acting like that, and Madja said he’d have to just work it out of his system so of course I took him here—”

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned, his eyes nearly black as he sat up and looked around wildly. Once his eyes found her, he seemed to calm somewhat, though the scent of his arousal didn’t weaken in the slightest. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Cassian,” Nesta said as calmly as she could manage. She was beginning to understand why Azriel had been so reluctant to tell her what was going on, and she looked back to the Shadowsinger just in time to watch his expression turn incredibly alarmed. “How long will he—?”

“Not the faintest idea, leaving now,” Azriel answered as quickly as possible, none of his usual grace present as he turned and practically fled the room.

“Don’t worry about him, Nes,” Cassian replied, barely a moment after the front door had slammed shut behind Azriel. “It’s only us now.”

[crypt-arcaneum]

Story Snippets: Baking

First Snippet of a random assortment I found in my writing folder!

Mammon X Fem!MC

Mammon’s head rested on his hand as he watched, Robin had decided to do some baking. She had bustled in this morning with arms full of groceries from the human world, insisting that he help her make some human world food. 

So here they were, an hour later, Mammon leaning on the counter watching as Robin worked on another pumpkin-based dessert. It didn’t bother him as much as he let on, some time alone with his favorite human? He’d be crazy to miss this, even though it was mostly just her telling him what to do. It had been ages since it was just the two of them, one of his brothers always butted in. Asmo invited himself onto their shopping trips and made him pay for everything. Levi dragged her off to his room to play some game he didn’t understand, Satan did the same, but with his stupid mystery novels. He couldn’t even get close when the twins decided they wanted to nap with her in the attic. And Lucifer, don’t get him started on Lucifer. So what if they were dating, who cares, he was her first. He should-

“Mammon?” Robin’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

He jerked slightly, looking down at the witch in question. She peered up at him, a bit of concern in her eyes as a hand came to gently rest just above his wrist. “You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, just thinking.” He shifted, turning to face her fully as she pulled away.

“About?” 

“Nothin’” he huffed, crossing his arms and looking away.

She turned back, “seemed awful focused for just ‘nothin’, Mams” 

He flushed at the nickname, “It’s MAMMON,” he snarled, “none of that cutesy, nickname crap. Show some respect to THE Great Mammon”

She cocked a brow at him, “none? Not a single one?”

“Hell no!”

She leaned back, closing her eyes sadly, “now I guess only Beel and Belphie get nicknames”

“Good! I didn’t even--” he started before realization hit “wait what’s that supposed to mean”

She had already started mixing again, “it’s exactly what I said, I’ll only use Mammon when I talk to you” 

“Hang on! I didn’t say that!” he floundered, fumbling towards her. “I just meant… I mean I--”

She twisted around, the spoon coming up to silence him, “Yes you did. Make up your mind Mammon, this mixed messages shit is getting annoying”

He pulled back slightly, flushing even more, “c’mon, ya’ know what I mean”

“No, Mammon. I don’t.” she scowled.

He lightly grabbed her hips, dragging her towards him, shooting her a pleading look. But she didn’t budge, leveling him with an unamused glare that rivaled Lucifer’s. He dragged her even further forward, winding an arm around her back and dropping his head onto hers. He wrenched his eyes shut, face burning at this point as he willed himself to speak, “please keep callin’ me nicknames”

He dropped his head onto her shoulder, “please”

She sighed, moving a hand up to card through his hair, “alright Mams, I’ll just save it for when it’s just the two of us, alright?”

He nodded and squeezed her again, she hummed before gently prying herself away from her first man. “Now, let’s get back to baking, shall we?”

[moonshine-nightlight]

Last Line Tag

I like participating in these, but i either answer them right away or not for a week lol - thanks @snowkissedmonsters!

Rules: Post the last line(s) you wrote/edited.

For the next chapter of Nothing's Wrong with Dale:

"I suppose that reminds me, do you wish for me to call you by another name?”

“Hm?” He half turns towards you, but continues to look so clearly inhuman. Its fascinating what light and shadow can do to change a person.

You’re not scared of him, but you are somewhat intimidated by the gap in your experiences. How much you still don’t know of him as even this basic question demonstrates. “I only meant for when we’re alone, of course. But you must have a name besides ‘Dale’?” As soon as you clarify, you start to second guess yourself. What did you know of demons and their naming conventions. You’ve heard tell that names mean something to them. Or that they use them differently? But what was rumor and what was fact, you’ve no notion.

“Oh!” Dale turns fully away from the fire, looking startled, and you realize he’s returned to looking fairly human. His eyes must be the hardest to control. They still seem to have a glimmer of firelight in them. After he gets over his surprise, he appears to give it a brief second or two of thought before shaking his head. “No, I don’t mind Dale.” You breathe out a sigh of relief that you didn’t accidentally offend him. He continues, “We didn’t have names as such in the Depths, not permanent ones. Names, if you wish to call them, were to reflect who you were in a context. In this context, I am Dale of Northridge.”

-/-

No idea who to tag that hasn't already been tagged - @nessiefromspace? @vaya-writes ? No pressure though - whoever wants to be tagged can jump in.

[rotting-ink]

Poly and Love Triangles Snippets

Written for if the player is bisexual. If the player chooses only ��female love interests, then all the RO's are all women. Same as for if  the player chooses only male love interests.

Poly Groups

“Darling, who is this?” The lady gazed at you, her gloved hand still lingering on Victor’s forearm.

He shot a smile at you, the spell between him and the Soprano broken the moment he cast his lazy green eyes over to you.

“They,” Victor slipped from her fingers and cupped your elbow, his secret, soft smile soothing your beating heart. “Are my companion for the evening.”

“Ah.” She stared at you for just a moment, but in that very moment, there was something dark and cunning and hungry slipped into her own pale green eyes. Then it dissolved into warm sea foam and she extended her hand for you. “Quincy Beaumont. Hope you enjoyed my performance, especially since you’ve stolen Victor for the evening.”

Victor stiffened up next to you a bit but Quincy didn’t even give him a moment to say anything, slipping her arm through yours and leaning in, almost conspiratorially. The hard glint of sea glass that was her eyes before had vanished, and now there was something else in them. Something you couldn’t quite place…

“Poor old J. Couldn’t hold a candle to you, can they?” She whispered, her satin gloved finger momentarily brushing your chin. “What a gem you are.”

You figured it out. In that moment, you realized that they had the same hunger in their eyes. Both looking at you like they could devour you whole.

“No.”

“But-”

“I said no.” Starling finally gave up his act of aloofness. He tossed his book down to the side and sat up in his chair.

“But Star, I’ll be perfectly safe-”

“That’s not the problem.” You almost jumped out of your skin as a cold hand pressed against the small of your back, Zaniyah leaning forward to rest her chin against your shoulder. “The problem is that the good doctor is worried he might end up with someone else dead hanging around him.”

Starling grumbled in his chair, crossing his arms and eyebrows scrunched.

“Z, I-”

“Although…” Zaniyah gave you such a soft, fond look that it seemed to shut the doctor right up as he watched. “You’re less dignified than a bird, my little love. He won’t be able to stand your pawing at his trousers as he sews up cadavers.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a bit and pecked Zaniyah on the cheek.

“There. A peck instead of the dog licks I usually give you.” You teased her softly as she relaxed fully against your back.

You hadn’t noticed Starling’s silence, not until you finally stopped looking at your undead lover. He had a strange look on his face, the same he used to give you when you were bothering him with your questions a few weeks back. Except he was looking at Zaniyah with the same… Reluctant softness.

Oh.

Ambrose’s warm fingers were laid over your knuckles as you slowly woke up, his head buried into your side as he slept, breathing low and soft. You raised your head groggily, just to smile at his sleeping face, so serene, all sternness dropped. Like a slate wiped clean of dust and scratches.

“Didn’t expect him to be a heavy sleeper.” A voice from the doorway said, and you looked over to see Dietrich. “He used to wake up at the drop of a pin.”

You gave the professor a similar smile you gave Ambrose, as he made his way into the room, holding a tray precariously, laden with a pot of something hot and a few pastries.

“When you were kids?”

“Hmh.” Dietrich set it down on the bedside table and started to pour out the contents into two pretty, porcelain cups, leaving the third one empty. “He also had nightmares. Would take my hand in the middle of the night to make him feel better… Guess your hands are the ones he prefers now.”

You glance down at where Ambrose’s fingers were curled over your hand. Secure. Warm. Protective. Just like him. But… You couldn’t shake the almost sorrowful tone Dietrich’s voice carried. Glancing over at him this time, you managed to catch his soft eyes, fixed on your and Ambrose’ gently clasped hands. He felt your gaze, quickly blinking away and instead fixing up your saucer to have a pastry on the side as he handed it over.

His fingers felt soft, warm, against your own when he handed it over. You couldn’t help but smile up at him, and colour rose to his pale cheeks.

Love Triangles

The nightmare wrenched you awake, and for a few short moments, everything was alright in the world. Until it wasn’t.

“Awh, afraid I’m going to take your place by the fire?”

“No. It’s just discourteous for a guest to outstay their welcome.”

“Hmmm. Your owner has allowed me to stay as long as I want.” Saleos’s soft voice lilted as she teased, an edge appearing to make it tip over into mocking.

“That’s because you’re nothing but a fucking tool.” Seir hissed, his voice growing darker with anger. You felt your connection tug. Better to get up and break up the fight. “And they know they can fucking use you.”

“Hmh.” Saleos hummed. “I bet they will. Such a sweet thing they are-”

There was a crash, glass breaking and you sat bolt upright in bed. Fuck.

The two siblings sat on opposite sides of  the table, Luther nursing a glass of whiskey as Emilia tapped the edge of her cigarette off, into the ashtray, smoke curling up into her eyes. The atmosphere was frigid, still. A far cry from when you had met the both of them all that time ago.

It took them a moment to notice you in the doorway. Emilia spotted you first, straightening up in her chair and putting out her cigarette quickly. You couldn’t help but notice that her shirt was very thin and wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

“Hey, angel eyes.” She grinned at you, exhaling the last bit of her cigarette smoke.

“Em.” Luther grunted, his calloused fingers tightening around his glass, his impressively broad shoulders tensing. “Stop it.”

“Don’t be such a puritan.” She snorted, leaning back in her chair, her eyes never leaving your figure.

[whencatsfoxesandwolvesfly]

Gust Forth, and Cast a Dawning Flight of Twin Midnight Steel (Working Title)

GitLab OneDrive: Snippets

As stated in the project read-me:

A potential 'transgender female Kirito' Sword Art Online AU fan work.

Also an isekai 'Aincrad is/becomes real' work, I think.

This isn't anything I've really started devoting any serious time to yet (as of this writing.)

I'll start with these few snippets of potential dialog that I've come up with so far. ('No plan survives contact with,' of course.)

---

Snippet 1 — Kirito talking with Argo and Mito some time between the end of Sword Art Online's beta test and the game's launch:

For lead-in, see:

https://gitlab.com/RandomDSdevel/gust-forth-and-cast-a-dawning-flight-of-twin-midnight-steel/-/blob/main/All%20Content%20(Unprocessed)/Development%20Logs,%20Notes,%20and%20Musings/Sketches%20and%20Outlines/Plot%20and%20Scenario(s)/Initial%20Plot%20and%20Scenario%20Sketch.md

Mito: …Y'know, you could crossplay, like I did. Argo, after a short beat: I could see ya pullin' it off, actually. Ya'd make a cute girl, Kii-bou. Kirito, gob-smacked: Wha — Argo!?

Somewhat-obvious 'TO-DO:' Figure out how/where, exactly, the conversation leads on from there.

---

Snippet 2 — Kazuto's first ALO log-in and character creation:

Kazuto (thinking to himself:) An I really about to go through with this?

---

Snippet 3 — Suguha figures out that Kirito's been crossplaying and confronts him about it:

(Kind of a two-fer, but both parts go together.)

(Note: The text below, as currently drafted, includes some CriticMarkup.)

Suguha, bursting into Kazuto's room right as he's logging out of ALO: How long?! Kazuto, still reorienting himself a bit after logging out: Wait, Sugu, what? Suguha, persistently insistent: How. Long!? How long have you been playing as a girl!? Kazuto: Oh. You figured out {~~it->that {>>Kirito's female avatar's screen/user name~~} was me, then. Suguha: ANSWER THE QUESTION!

Kazuto, tentatively: So, then…you aren't mad? Suguha: (Huffs a short sigh.) …{>>([Note] TO DO: Figure Suguha's exact response here out. I know she may suspect that this continuity's Kirito is a dense transwoman in denial after hints from some of his behavior in-game, but I'm not sure of the precise details of how she noticed this or how she'll verbalize it while doing so gently. I also don't know if this continuity's Suguha might or might not have met any transgender individuals before. There may be a remote chance that she's run into and has become at least acquainted with one at school? Not sure if they'd be in her class, though, or even her grade.) <<}

---

Snippet 4 — Only a short time before SAO's launch:

(Note that Kirito has started to question his birth-assigned gender enough by this point for this to make sense as a conversation by now.)

Suguha, speaking a little softly/gently: So…, which avatar are you going to use in SAO? Kazuto: Honestly? I…don't know. Suguha: …I wouldn't mind having a big sister, actually, you know. I didn't think I'd have to lose my big brother to get one, though. It's just… — you looked like you were having fun. You've been sad for a while, and you deserve the chance to be happy. I won't — I can't stand in the way of that. Kirito: That… — that's what scares me. What if I lose myself? (Some kind of steely response to this from Suguha where she: 1.) forcefully refutes this and 2.) affirms her support for her sibling.)

(He settles on his ALO/girl look.)

---

Snippet 5 — After Kirito Finalizes their decision on which avatar to use for SAO and before logging in:

This could actually happen not too long after the previous snippet, maybe even as a direct continuation of it. I'm not sure of its exact timing just yet.

Context: Suguha is telling Kazuto that they need to tell their mom and dad that they're a transgirl.

Suguha: After we log out, you really need to tell Mom and Dad. Kazuto, still kind of anxious about it and bracing themself for it: …Yeah.

(…I may not be entirely happy with this snippet yet? It gets the gist across for now, though.)

[creatorbiaze]

Meet Videns; one of the most feared Draconic Deities

just some snippets of Videns's chaos antics that I couldn't think of full short stories for

"w..what are you doing, Videns?" Blaze asks, watching Videns inspect a small rock while sitting on the table in the lab. She's learned by now not to leave Videns unsupervised in the science room.

"Science!" Videns almost-whispers, smiling widely as she tosses the rock into the bucket of water on the ground beside her.

Blaze jumps back when it starts to spark and pop, catching fire, "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?"

"sodium metal," Videns replies, tilting her head and giving a closed eye smile, "it's highly reactive with water."

Cobra frowns while watching the energetic teen dart around the lab. 'This is the Guide of the Vengeful, the most dangerous Salhan Deity...?'

"What are... you doing... anyway?" Cobra decides to ask, cautious.

"got bored, tryna learn more about the acid you guys have. Salhan Draconics have mildly poisonous blood because of how we process Salha's poison, you guys are naturally scavengers and have an acid in your saliva that helps you eat basically anything that used to be alive. Fascinating, isn't it?" the teen replies, speaking quickly, before finally looking at Cobra directly. She's smiling widely, like always, and holds a metal cup out for Cobra, "hey, your family has venom in your fangs too, right? Can you do me a favor and gimme some venom? I wanna see how it interacts with things."

"w-wha-"

"Venomize the cup, Cobra," They cut off Cobra, smiling brightly.

"Where are you leading me...?" Pandora asks, following Videns down the worn path, looking at the flora around them. None of the plants were familiar to her. She sees a beautiful star-shaped flower, and reaches up to gently touch one of the petals.

"The Celestial Pantheon. Oh, by the way, if you see a star-shaped flower with sky blue-to-periwinkle petals, don't touch it, it'll kill you," Videns says with a cheerful smile. They smile even wider when they hear Pandora shriek in fear and jump back.

"Kidding, kidding, it's actually suprisingly harmless," Videns laughs, waving her hand dismissively without looking back at the human, before she points up to a blood red bell-shaped flower, "That one will kill you very painfully, though."

Ignis sat at the dining table, stirring her cup of tea, while glaring at the icy eyed hybrid across the table.

"Stop sm-"

"No," Videns smiles wider, propping her cheek on her palm, watching Ignis.

"Don't-"

"Can't control my mind reading," Videns shrugs, lying through her teeth. She could very much control it, she just preferred to know what everyone's thinking.

"At lea-"

"I already know what you're trying to say, why let you finish speaking when I can just reply?" Videns gives a closed eye smile, knowing how much she's pissing off Ignis with her interrupting.

"I h-"

"I hate you too, Iggy~"

At this point, Ignis throws her spoon at Videns, standing up and storming out of the room. Videns just waves bye, leaning to the side to avoid getting hit in the face with a hot spoon.

"How do you get Videns to calm down..?" Blaze asks Vizerxa, frowning as she watches Videns annoy Dawn Shadow.

"Quite easily, actually," Vizerxa replies calmly, looking around. She walks away, soon returning with a candle and a lighter. She doesn't even need to say anything for Videns to dart away from Dawn Shadow, getting a sheet of paper and jog over to Vizerxa, who lights the candle and sets it on the table.

"just give her fire, trust me," Vizerxa shrugs, watching Videns tear off small pieces of the paper and drop them into the candle flame, giggling as they catch fire.

"...I feel like that's actually very risky," Blaze murmurs, frowning slightly in concern.

Vizerxa shrugs, "you're the one that adopted someone who loves fire, while living in a very flammable place. Thought Dusk repeatedly burning the kitchen would get you to change the materials of your living space, but apparently that didn't work."

[tuttle-4077]

Unknown Chapter number for upcoming, in the hopper, End of War story.

So, when @annieslytherpuff21 requested the 'scar reveal' story (entitled Damaged Goods), she also requested a story where Hochstetter tortures Carter at the end of the war. And, well, that story is already in my plans. But it'll have to wait for several more stories that are ahead of it in the queue.

But because she requested it, I started thinking about it. And then the thought wouldn't leave me. So I hammered out a chapter that will potentially fit into that story. I kinda, sorta, have an idea of the outline, so while I may make changes to this later, I don't think the changes will be too drastic.

So, yes. This is a part of an as-of-yet unnamed, and un-er-started End of War Story.

A few notes:

In The Christmas Song, we learn Olsen's name outside the wire is Jannik Hansen.

2. It references how Olsen ended up at the Russian front as seen in Chapter 18 of my Inktober Shorts

3. I don't think I've actually done this: written a scene that fits into a story to build around it later. I've had ideas of scenes that come later in the story, but I'm very much the kind of person who starts at the beginning and goes from there in case my characters decide to derail everything I have planned. So I guess we'll see how this goes...

4. I'm pretty vague when it comes to gruesome details. I don't particularly like writing torture scenes, so I leave lots to the imagination (as I did in Journey of a Little Deer). So... yeah. If you want graphic descriptions, there are other writers out there. I focus mainly on the emotional fallout of torture rather than the torture itself.

5. Oh, and yes, Hochstetter mentions that the boys have been in his custody for two days while in Hochstetter's Revenge, he tells Carter he had him for three days. That's not an error. Hochstetter is just a jerk who is trying to throw Carter off balance.

Anyway, onward!

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Hochstetter slammed his fist on the desk. Nothing. Two days, and nothing. Neither prisoner would betray Colonel Hogan, no matter what Hochstetter put them through.

“Perhaps they don’t know,” Lieutenant Elsholtz said. “Admit it, Major, the idea was ludicrous from the start! Everyone has told you time and time ag–”

“Shut up,” Hochstetter growled, whirling to glare dangerously at his underling. “Shut up!”

“But, Major, what more can be done?”

“What more?!” Hochstetter cried. “You think I have run out of tricks?” Elsholtz opened his mouth but quickly shut it. “I have been kind until now,” Hochstetter sneered.

Elsholtz grimaced. “But, Herr Major, I think that–”

“I did not ask you to think! Do you hear that?” Hochstetter threw out his hand, pointing to the window. The glass did little to muffle the sounds of artillery. “The Allies are at our doorstep. If I do not get my answers now, I never will.”

“Which is precisely why we should just drop it,” Elsholtz pleaded. “I hate Papa Bear, too. But the war is all but over. We should–”

“I told you to shut up! Shut up and meet me downstairs. And bring Bruno.”

“I–” Hochstetter turned up the fury in his eyes, as the embers of his frustration built into a raging fire. “Uh, jawohl, Herr Major.” Elsholtz saluted and left the office.

When the door closed, Hochstetter cast a glance at the window. “Just a little more time… Model, please, give me a little more time.”

He doubted the Generalfeldmarchall would be able to hold them off for long. The Allies had encircled the area not three days ago and were putting pressure on the ‘Ruhr Pocket’. Soon, Model’s forces would be overwhelmed, the Allies would capture Hammelburg, and any chance Hochstetter had to capture Papa Bear would evaporate.

Hochstetter growled at the thought and tapped his fist on the table. This was it. He had run out of time. He needed answers. Now.

Straightening his back, Hochstetter took a breath and marched out of his office. As he walked through the halls, he heard other Gestapo agents yelling at their staff, demanding papers be burned and loose ends be tied up. From the courtyard he heard a gunshot. 

Fools. Now was not the time to panic.

Hochstetter hurried down the stairs to the basement. Most of the cells were empty, but there were still a few pathetic prisoners waiting for either liberation or death. Hochstetter hoped they received the latter. But he wasn’t in charge of all the prisoners– only two.

He stopped in front of their cells. The Englishman sat against the wall, his legs stretched out, and his hands– swollen and bruised– cradled in his lap. He looked up at Hochstetter and glared, an act that was probably less intimidating than he hoped due to his swollen eye and bloodied jaw. 

“Come to break my toes, now?” Corporal Newkirk growled.

“A good idea for later,” Hochstetter said. 

In the cell beside Newkirk, Sergeant Carter rolled his shoulder. “Can we please skip the thumb hanging,” he said. His words hadn’t come out as a plea. Rather, he sounded more exasperated at the idea. “I think my shoulder is dislocated. Geez, my shoulder hasn’t hurt this much since I fell off my horse back during that cattle run I did with my uncle. See, there was this big old thunderstorm and–”

Hochstetter stamped his foot. “Enough!” He had had enough of the sergeant’s ramblings. Why didn’t he ever say anything useful?

“Sounds like a thunderstorm outside, too,” Newkirk drawled as the sound of artillery could be faintly heard even in the basement.

“Sounds close. You know, I don’t think the Allies will take too kindly with how you’ve treated us, Major,” Carter said disapprovingly. 

“But if you take us back to camp now, we’ll try to put in a good word for you,” Newkirk said.

Carter looked over with wide eyes and blinked. “We will?”

Newkirk shrugged. “We’ll tell ‘em to give him a blindfold before they shoot him.” The two prisoners grinned. The action caused Carter’s lip to split open and he scrunched his nose as he gently patted his fingers on it.

The casual banter made Hochstetter furious. Two days of torture hadn’t yet broken them. He had applied all sorts of tactics– electrocution, beatings, whips, chains. He had strung Carter up by his thumbs. He had even broken all of Newkirk’s fingers. And still they had the audacity to joke and smile. They should be grovelling on their hands and knees, licking his boots, begging him to let them go. They should be confessing to all their crimes.

Hochstetter had never hated anyone more in his life, save for Hogan.

At that moment, Hochstetter heard Bruno and turned to see him and Elsholtz coming down the stairs. Excellent.

Elshotz brought Bruno to him and handed Hochstetter the leash. The dog growled and strained against him, trying to get to the prisoners. Hochstetter grinned as he looked over his prisoners, who exchanged wary glances. 

Now who would have the pleasure of Bruno’s company? The American? He was young, wide-eyed, and seemingly oh-so-innocent. Or the Englander? He was tough, sarcastic, and angry. What a pleasure it would be to break him.

Oh, he had tried to use the men of Stalag 13 against each other before. This hadn’t been his first time interrogating any of them. But there had always been someone to stop him. But now, with all the chaos of the Allied approach, his superiors had given him more rein. Or, rather, they were more worried about what they were doing than what he was. It was time to take the gloves off and see how long they could really hold out.

Surely the American would crack first. He was weak. He wouldn’t be able to bear watching Bruno attack his comrade.

On the other hand, the Englander had already shown a protective streak towards his naïve companion.

Who would scream the loudest?

If neither chose to save the other, Hochstetter could at least have that.

“Him,” Hochstetter said, pointing to the cell. Elsholtz fished out his keys and unlocked the door, but kept his hand on the bars, waiting for Hochstetter’s order before opening it.

“Please, gentlemen,” Hochstetter said sweetly. “Confess now. Don’t make me do this.”

Again, Carter and Newkirk exchanged looks. Hochstetter tried to follow their unspoken conversation as Newkirk’s eyes darted from Bruno to Carter. Carter took a breath and, after glancing at Bruno, nodded slightly. Newkirk frowned and shook his head, but Carter just licked his lips and nodded again.

“No?” Hochstetter said. “Very well. Elsholtz?”

Elsholtz opened the cell. Bruno whined and pulled on his leash.

“Last chance…” 

Both men looked at him and hardened their gaze.

“Very well.”

Hochstetter unhooked the German shepherd’s leash. Immediately it raced into the cell and jumped at the prisoner.

If Carter thought he could hold out against the attack, he was wrong. Hochstetter grinned in satisfaction as Carter cried out as Bruno latched onto him, dragging him to the floor. Bruno tore off the sergeant’s sleeve like it was nothing. Carter vainly tried to fight off the dog with his free hand, but it was useless.

Hochstetter watched with morbid fascination as blood splattered on the floor, and through the bars as Bruno shook his head wildly, his teeth still embedded into Carter. 

“Get off!” Carter cried as he twisted and grabbed Bruno’s ear. That just made the shepherd angry. He snapped at Carter’s hand, causing the sergeant to pull it back. And then, again, Bruno tore into the man’s shoulder. Carter cried out, but the more he fussed, the more he tried to fight off the dog, the more agitated Bruno became and the more frenzied his attack.

Hochstetter tore his eyes off the sight to gauge Newkirk’s reaction. The Englander was red, shaking with rage. “You can call him off, Corporal,” Hochstetter said lightly. “Anytime you’re ready to confess.”

“There’s nothing to confess,” Newkirk said through gritted teeth, glaring at Hochstetter.

Carter’s scream brought both their attention back to him. Hochstetter looked away. Although not unused to violence, his stomach shifted a little. He saw Newkirk go pale.

“Stop. Stop it. Stop it!” Newkirk cried. He jumped to his feet and rushed his cell door. He banged on it with his palm. “Hochstetter, stop!”

Hochstetter grabbed the cell’s bars and put his face right in front of Newkirk. “Tell me who Papa Bear is.”

A whine rose up from Carter’s cell that didn’t sound human. Both Newkirk and Hochstetter looked over. The noise hadn’t come from Bruno, who was biting at Carter’s chest. Carter kept hitting the dog to no avail, and his strength seemed to be waning.

“Well, Newkirk?” Hochstetter spat, turning back to stare into Newkirk’s eyes. Newkirk’s breath quickened as he looked back at his friend. Hochstetter could feel his panic. “Well?!”

“I don’t know! I don’t!”

“Then neither of you are of any use to me!” He turned to Elsholtz. “Leave the dog. We will come back for the body after some tea.”

Elsholtz nodded and the two Gestapo agents turned to leave.

“Wait! Hochstetter!” Newkirk yelled. “You have to stop it!”

“Why?” Hochstetter asked over his shoulder even as he continued towards the stairs. “You have nothing to tell me.”

Newkirk was quiet. Hochstetter’s foot landed on the first step.

“Hansen.”

Hochstetter blinked. “What?”

“Hansen. That’s his name,” Newkirk said, again looking at Carter. “Hansen!”

“Newkirk,” Carter gasped before crying out in pain.

“Hansen! It’s Hansen!” Newkirk cried.

Hochstetter snapped his fingers. Immediately, Elsholtz went to retrieve Bruno. “Hansen, who?” he asked as he slowly made his way back to Newkirk’s cell.

“I don’t know any more than that, honest!” Newkirk exclaimed. “I… I tried escaping once and was told Hansen the grocer… they said he was Papa Bear!”

“They who?” Hochstetter demanded.

Newkirk licked his lips. “I… I don’t remember.”

“Lies!” He snapped his fingers again, signalling Elsholtz to release the dog once more. Bruno barked. Carter screamed.

“No! No, stop!” Newkirk yelled. “Stop! They were an old couple. On a farm. They helped me! But I was picked up by a patrol before I got to town.”

“Their names!” Hochstetter demanded as the chaos in the next cell continued.

“I don’t know! The Wetzels or Wetzigs. I don’t know!”

Hochstetter snapped his fingers again. Bruno whined as Elsholtz pulled him off Carter. 

“Hansen the grocer? Jannik Hansen?”

Newkirk nodded, his eyes wide with terror.

No. It couldn’t be. Hogan was Papa Bear!

Hochstetter knew Jannik Hansen. He had initially been suspicious of the Danish nephew of Max Ofner and the timing of his arrival. But some sleuthing had led Hochstetter to discover that Hansen had joined the German army shortly after the occupation of Denmark and had served on the Russian front with honour before he had been shot. Unwelcome back home, he had moved in with his uncle. He had proven a valuable ally to the Gestapo, ferreting out those who spoke evils against the fuhrer, and even exposing members of the underground.

But what if that had all been an act? What if Papa Bear had simply used the Gestapo to rid him of his enemies. More than once Hochstetter had been surprised to find a certain individual called out by Hansen had been working against the Reich. What if…

No! Hogan was Papa Bear! And, besides, Hansen had been picked up by the Heer months ago and forced into service. But… now that he thought about it… Papa Bear’s activity had decreased somewhat since then…

No!!! Hogan was Papa Bear!!!

“Hansen is gone,” Elsholtz said, interrupting his thoughts.

“If he is Papa Bear, there will have to be proof at his house or the grocery shop,” Hochstetter said. He shoved his finger into Newkirk’s face. “If you are lying, I will make that–” he pointed to Carter without taking his eyes off Newkirk– “seem like child’s play.”

Newkirk nodded. Hochstetter hit the bars angrily. “Come!” he barked at Elsholtz as he turned to leave. Elsholtz pulled on Bruno, who tried desperately to go back to Carter. He got the dog out of the cell and closed it. Then he leashed him and scurried up to Hochstetter.

“Let’s pay a visit to Herr Hansen’s house,” Hochstetter said. As he marched up the steps, his hand balled into a fist and it shook with rage. He’d grant his prisoners a small reprieve and check on the story. But even now he knew it had to be a lie. It had to be.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Newkirk fell back onto the floor as soon as Hochstetter, Elsholtz, and the devil dog disappeared up the stairs. He felt dizzy, his breath coming out as quick pants. Hochstetter had bought it. He’d find evidence enough to convince him Newkirk wasn’t lying, but would it be enough to save them?

Newkirk sucked in some air before quickly pulling himself together. “Carter!” he cried, as he crawled to the bars their cells shared. “Carter!”

Carter was sprawled out on his stomach, his face turned away from Newkirk. He was a bloody mess. Red stained his shirt and spilled out on the floor, forming a puddle beneath him. But he was alive. Newkirk could see the rise and fall of his back.

“Carter! Carter!” Newkirk yelled, hoping to rouse him.

He heard Carter suck in a breath. “Nwk?”

Newkirk stuck his arm through the bars and tried to reach Carter’s hand but he was just a little too far. He pressed himself as hard as he could, squishing his face, awkwardly straining his neck, trying to stretch just a little further to reach him. “Carter. Carter, can you move closer to me?” Carter mumbled something unintelligible in response. “C’mon, mate. Wake up. You can do it!”

Carter’s hand flexed and then it pressed against the ground. 

“No, Carter, don’t try to get up,” Newkirk said. “Just scoot closer to me. You can do that, can’t you mate?” A terrible whine escaped Carter’s lips. “Come on. Come on!”

The puddle under Carter was getting bigger. Newkirk had to get him close so he could do something! Anything!

Slowly, Carter turned his head to face Newkirk. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, but his brow furrowed with determination. Clawing at the ground he slowly inched himself closer. 

“That’s it, Carter. Just a little more.” Newkirk strained and then finally– finally– his fingers grazed Carter’s. One painful movement later, Carter was close enough and Newkirk grabbed his hands. His fingers screamed in protest, as the dull ache that had settled in them suddenly roared to life. Newkirk ignored them and, with a grunt, pulled Carter closer. Carter gasped and tried to pull his hand away, but Newkirk held on as tightly as he could. “Just a little closer.” Newkirk pulled again, bringing Carter’s arm into his cell while the rest of Carter’s body pressed up against the bars. 

The effort made Newkirk’s head swim, reminding him that the last two days hadn’t been a picnic. But now that Carter was closer, Newkirk could get a better look at his injuries. 

Newkirk peered through the bars at Carter’s other shoulder. He couldn’t see much through the blood, but what he could see looked very much like ground hamburger. The injuries extended down his arm and to his back, and Newkirk could only imagine what his chest looked like. 

Newkirk hissed and pulled off his shirt, despite the protest from his fingers. He noted his own blood had already stained the shirt, but he ignored that as he balled it up. Then he reached through the bars and pressed it the best he could against Carter’s shoulder. Carter didn’t react to the pressure and Newkirk had to reassure himself that his friend was still breathing.

“Carter! Hang on. We’re going to get out of here. Hochstetter will have to let us go once he finds everything in Olsen’s house. It’s going to be all right, mate. It’s going to be all right!” 

He sounded earnest, but he knew every word was a lie.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Skip to Hochstetter raiding Jannik Hansen’s (AKA Jerrik Olsen’s) house.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 Possibly skip to a scene at Stalag 13

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Hochstetter stormed into the basement. He wasn’t going to fall for Papa Bear’s lies. He didn’t care what he had seen. It was a trick. Hansen was simply another pawn in Hogan’s game. He didn’t care about proof. He had all the proof he needed. He always had.

He found Carter pressed up against Newkirk’s cell while the Englander held what Hochstetter could only assume to be his own shirt, against the American’s shoulder. He sneered at him.

“Well?!” Newkirk demanded.

“Ach, lies!” Hochstetter cried. “All lies!”

“Hochstetter, you have what you want! Now let us out of here! Can’t you see Carter needs–”

“You are not going anywhere until you tell me the truth!” Hochstetter screeched. His brain screamed that he needed to do more. Where was Elsholtz? “Elsholtz! Bring Bruno!”

“No!” Newkirk yelled.

“I will–”

The phone rang, cutting him off. Had his men dealt with Max already? Perhaps Max had confessed the truth about Hogan!

Hochstetter grabbed the phone. “What?! Has he confessed?!”

“Major Hochstetter.” He recognized the smooth and subtly dangerous voice on the other end. General Kinchmeyer. Hochstetter snarled to himself. The General was always butting in at the worst times.

“Herr General,” Hochstetter spat.

“Major, have you gotten your confession yet?”

“Bah! It is only a matter of time!”

“I have given you enough time!” Kinchmeyer snapped. “You idiot! The Allies are closing in! I do not want to be charged with your war crimes. Release your prisoners at once or face my wrath!”

Hochstetter felt his face grow hot and he shook with anger. “General, how dare you rob me of–”

“How dare I? How dare I?” Kinchmeyer cried, his voice reaching a frenzied pitch. “Major Hochstetter–” his voice was low again. Low and threatening. It made the hairs on the back of Hochstetter’s neck tingle– “We have not met in person, but I assure you, mine will be the last face you see if you do not release your prisoners. Now.”

Hochstetter growled. “Jawohl, Herr General.” He slammed down the phone.

Whirling around, he glared at his two prisoners. “Elsholtz! Elsholtz!” 

The lieutenant failed to appear. Hochstetter grunted in frustration. “Lieutenant Klebs! Klebs?! KLEBS!!!”

There was a clattering of feet as Lieutenant Klebs hurried down the stairs. “Jawohl, Herr Major?” Klebs said, quickly saluting him.

“Klebs, gather our men. All of them. Find whatever Heer scum you can and bring them with you.”

“Where are we going, Herr Major?” Klebs asked.

“To Stalag 13. I want you to go there. Kill everyone.”

“What?! No!” Newkirk yelled from his cell. Hochstetter saw him get up and throw himself against the cell door, but Hochstetter ignored him.

“Everyone?” Klebs repeated with a hint of disbelief.

“Everyone!” Hochstetter screamed. “Guards, prisoners, that fool Colonel Klink. Kill them all.” There was no way he was going to release his prisoners. And if he was going down for war crimes, he was going to go down for something worthwhile. “Spare Colonel Hogan. I want him here, alive. I want him to see what he forced me to do,” he said, waving dismissively towards the cells.

“But, Major Hochstetter, I–”

Hochstetter whipped out his luger and leveled it at him. “Now, Klebs. Now.”

“Jawohl, Major Hochstetter.” Klebs turned and hurried up the stairs. Despite his hesitation, Hochstetter knew Klebs would fulfill his order. The Gestapo and SS didn’t recruit weaklings.

“Hochstetter. Hochstetter, you bastard!” Newkirk cried. “You can’t do that! You can’t!” Hochstetter ignored him and walked to the stairs. Newkirk followed as far as he could until the bars stopped him. “Hochstetter! Hochstetter!”

Hochstetter stepped onto the stairs. Then he paused and faced Newkirk. “You should have told me the truth,” he sneered. And then, without another word, he pulled out his luger and fired two shots. Newkirk hit the ground and Hochstetter continued up the stairs.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

DUN DUN DUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[thehunterstrial]

INTRO!!!

This is a blog that's solely to rant about our beloved rewrite of a wings of fire fanfiction we wrote in 2021!!

The two people on this blog are @cr1ck3tt (Cricket, he/him) and @newellthedragon (Kaida, he/she/they).

The Hunter's Trial (THT) is a story that we first began writing in 2021 on wattpad. We never finished it, and the story was never published, but we recently revisited it and decided to rewrite it.

The story takes place in the Allwing Kingdom, a continent separate from Pyrrhia and Pantala. After a recent war, the continent is now in peace, except for hybrid hunters who keep on popping up everywhere. And also an old friend, whom Queen Aracari (previously named Newell) and Commander Skyfire didn't think they'd see around here ever again.

Our story is still in the process of being rewritten, but I'm having a lot of fun writing and creating the world, and if I don't talk about it within 30 minutes I'm going to fucking explode you don't undersTAND

We'll probably be posting things like story snippets, character references, maps, and pretty much anything else that has to do with THT. Feel free to ask questions, or just speak your mind in our askbox!!

Posts from Cricket will be tagged #posted by cricket, and posts from Kaida will be tagged #posted by kaida. Art, story snippets, and just general rambles will also be tagged similarly.

[theriu]

I’m feeling very happy after a super positive review from my niece who beta read book 2 of my series-in-progress, and also I wrote a funny scene for book 3 last night, so I’m gonna roll like a proper Writeblr person and share a snippet. Please enjoy!

———

(Context: Barrenger is from another dimension where everyone is interesting colors and have glowing energy powers and patterns, and Mercury is driving.)

“And on that note, it’s my turn!” Mercury’s mouth scrunched in thought as she reviewed what he had explained. “So the Hawaii—”

“Haweyh.”

“Right, the Ha-way are brown. Sort of like Brock?”

“Sort of. The tone is a little different, though. More…earthy, maybe?”

A snore from the back let the driver and front passenger know that Brock, much like Lyra and Shannon, was sound asleep and would not be contributing to the conversation. They moved on.

“And they have white hair. And yellow-gold glowing skin in kind of…splotchy patterns?”

“That’s not…the exact way we describe it.”

“How did you describe it?”

“They’re just called selah patterns. And they’re…kind of random and irregular and…”

“Splotchy?”

Barrenger sighed. “Sure. Splotchy.” He could imagine certain Haweyh priests clutching their chests at such a crass description, but whatever. And the widely varied patterns could be kind of…well, splotchy.

Mercury nodded once in satisfaction, although she didn’t take her eyes off the road. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel thoughtfully. “So that’s your mom’s people. And your dad’s, the Rukilef—“

“Rukilef,” he corrected automatically, then grimaced repentantly as he realized she’d said it right.

Mercury had the grace to not do more than grin at him before continuing. “They’re all dark green, like you, and black or really dark green hair, and the neon-green stripes. Hey, do the skin tones vary a lot?”

That was a good question. He closed his eyes and thought back to the Rukilef he’d seen in Salein’s encampment—it was the only time he had actually seen large groups of his father’s people. “Some. I’ve seen a few who were even darker than me, almost black, but others were closer to…” He looked out the window at the landscape rolling past, and pointed. “Like those leaves.”

Mercury glanced out the window to where he was pointing. “Oh, oak leaves! Great reference point.” She gave him a quick, critical study before looking back at the road. “I think I’d call you forest green. I always liked that color,” she added offhandedly.

Barrenger opened his mouth to respond, but paused. He…couldn’t think of the last time someone had said they liked his color. Aside from his mum, of course. He glanced over to see Mercury casting him concerned looks. “Oh crap, did I say something weird? You’re going to have to let me know these things, I don’t want to be offensive or accidentally propose marriage or something.“

A laugh burst out of him before he could stop it, and he spent the next minute or two turned toward the window and struggling to get himself under control.

[eponastory]

Technically, sharing a bed is being under the covers together...

Oh, Zuko, you awkward turtleduck...

He's so cute.

How can anyone say he is a bad boy? He isnt... and never has been.

[randomffiction]

Story Snippets 🌊 By His Fingertips

I'm so sorry this man just casually hold me by the collar and ask me to make more fics I promise I'm still sane.

This fic will follow Eki Eviland and Male!Preacher that takes place in a village near the sea. I do plan on inserting naughty naughty scene and I have developed the general flow of the story. But for now you all will just have to eat only a portion of what I have to offer.

Stay tune for more snippets ;)

[Master List/Links]

The gentle wave sweep the beach. Bringing the sand new critters to live in every nook and cranny.

Far away from the sandy beach, away from the little village living off of the sea, far beyond the deep blue, a creature look at them in awe and curiosity.

From it's point of view, it could see a well built man dressed neatly from head to toe. Black silk hugged his form as a silver necklace hang around his throat.

"How interesting," it mused, "It would not hurt to pay them a visit." And so it retreats back into the deep ocean blue.

[moodymelanist]

happy WIP Wednesday 🫶🏽 here’s a little something I’m working on for @sjmromanceweek 2024!!

“I’m sorry?” Nesta eventually said. She hoped she didn’t look as out of breath as she felt.

“You’re not in trouble,” Azriel repeated. He had a healthy serving of breakfast in front of him, and her stomach panged with hunger once the smell hit her. “You’re not expected at training today.”

“What?” she replied, taking a few hesitant steps closer to the table. He had no reason to lie to her, but a large part of her didn’t quite believe what he was saying. “Why not?”

“You needed the rest,” Azriel told her mildly. Despite his gentle words and the softness with which they had been delivered, she could tell he wasn’t inviting any argument. “I told Cassian you’d be back to training tomorrow.”

“He let you?” Nesta blurted out without thinking. Cassian never let her miss a day of training no matter how exhausted she looked each morning, so the fact that she’d gotten to sleep in today almost felt… wrong. Like she was getting away with something that she shouldn’t be.

“He doesn’t let me do anything,” Azriel replied, his tone a little cooler now. “I’m my own person, same as you.”

[crypt-arcaneum]

Story Snippets: Late Nights Talks

Some Camp Talks between Surana and Alistar

Alistar X Female Surana

“Have I ever…what? Licked a lamppost in winter” he started, grinning towards the elf 

She stared back, face as impassively annoyed as ever, “not what I meant”

“I mean, have you, though?”

“Have I what?”

“Ever licked a lamppost in winter?”

She closed her eyes and sighed, “no, I haven’t licked a lamppost in winter.”

“No, no well that’s good, I hear that’s rather painful” he hummed, lightly tapping his fingertips together. “As for that other thing? No, I haven’t ever done that”

Her eyes opened back up before her eyebrows knit together, “truly? Handsome man like you?”

He flushed further, “you think I’m handsome, do you?”

“Of course, I mean look at you” she started, “the girls would have been all over you back at the tower”

He jerked back, he couldn’t get redder at this point. “What?? You’re having me on. The mage girls? And me, a templar recruit? Ha ha, I get it”

“No I’m serious,” she leaned towards him, hands resting on his thighs as she stared wide-eyed, “and besides, you honestly think the mages didn’t find the templars cute enough to shag?”

She grinned at his reddened face, leaning back, “if you were one of the good ones, there’s a real chance you broke those oh so sacred oaths.”

“Alright, alright,” he started, hands flailing in hopes of silencing the mage “very funny, payback for all the tricks I pull right?”

“Nope, the mages usually stuck to other mages, but there was the odd templar from time to time” she shrugged, “stick a bunch of hormonal teenagers in a building with nowhere else to go, we’re bound to get up to something”

“Y-you’re actually being serious right now, aren’t you?” he stuttered, barely able to look her in the eye.

“Indeed, there was always a handsome new recruit every few months,’ she brought a hand to her chin in thought, “Cullen was the newest before I left, more handsome than most too, missed my chance to jump…”

“I’M GOING TO GO GRAB SOME FIREWOOD!” Alistair all but screamed as he cut her off, and bolted up, face still burning. 

“Stop yelling, the others are still sleeping, you idiot!” she hissed, but her smile betrayed the sheer amusement she felt watching the towering man shuffle away in embarrassment.

[moonshine-nightlight]

Find the Word WIP tag

thanks for the tag, @eruden-writes!

My words were: limit, offer, passion, loss, soul

when searching my various drafts and WIPs i kept getting results for things i'd already posted but we got there lol

I never know who to tag in these things so no pressure: @monsterkisserlove @dashofmonsters @bucketsofmonsters

Your words are: hint, note, permission, swallow, and lack

limit

this is from "Goddaughter", which about a demon who was promised a firstborn grandchild as part of a deal he made, and which i've posted a WIP sneak peak before, but you'll notice a diff POV for this. my original draft was called "Something of Mine" and was from Vee/VK's 3rd POV. currently undergoing edits to make it 2nd POV but this part hasn't been updated yet

“You lack drive and follow-through,” Richard diagnosed and VK resisted the urge to laugh. Why did people always think such things of him? “You haven’t even claimed what’s owed to you.”

“You’d think a man would be grateful,” VK’s eyes sharpened as he looked at the foul man, “but there’s no reason to be. In your ignorance, you’ve no idea what I have or haven’t done with what was owed to me,” VK says, his voice mild but his eyes full of storm clouds. He might be amused rather than insulted by Richard Pierce’s lack of respect, but he had his limits of what he would tolerate too. Just because it was higher than other demons, didn’t mean the limit didn’t exist.

Richard, unable to take a hint even so many years later, laughed. “You can talk big all you want, but I saw Michael and his family only the other weekend. Obviously the warnings I gave him about his firstborn were unnecessary. He said he’s seen neither hide nor hair of you—and neither has his son.”

A grin split VK’s face. “In that you are correct, for I’ve no interest in that particular branch of your family tree.”

~

offer

this is from my "Courtship Confusion" story, modern day w/integrated supernatural about a human from a werewolf family and a siren raised by concubi. its from part 5 of 5 so its the very beginning of the heating up

Morgan's sweet, tucking the blanket around the both of you so carefully, that you can’t help but lean over to press chaste kiss to his lips now that you can. He blinks at you, eyes blank enough that you worry that you’re betraying your own offer to take things slow. His mouth is on yours the next instant.

~

passion

this is from the end of "Quid Pro Quo", a modern fic with demons as a secret society alongside humans. reader discovered it was all real when her ex-husband's family revealed a deal they're made with a demon years ago that affects her kids. she works with Adriel, a powerful demon, to find a way to exempt her kids and in return she helps him figure out who is embezzling from him. this is from the last part

You huff, blowing some of the bedraggled hair out of your face—determined to be annoyed rather than embarrassed. You drum up as much of that annoyance at the idea his demon form could scare you in your voice as you say, “Would you stop saying that? I’m not scared of you.”

For some reason, this time your impassioned words seem to actually get through to him. Adriel blinks slowly and you can see him start to believe you. “No…” He moves closer to you, so smoothly its almost hypnotizing. “You’re not…”

His yellow eyes are analytic as he looks you over, no doubt registering all the little things a demon could pick up on that a human couldn’t. How your heart is still racing despite the time since your nightmare has ended. Your racing pulse. Your deeper than usual breathing.

He inhales and you know that has to be he most damning evidence of it all. You’ve no idea what your scent might tell him, though you have your suspicions, but you know it won’t be fear.

~

loss

this is from a little story about a monster who lives in a house (sort of like monster under the bed vibes) and is actually mostly about them bonding with some kids who are left with an irresponsible adult so they're like, are these my kids now? (but the kids do have a responsible parent who is a love interest eventually) - its called "Darren's an Asshole" lol

“Good,” Darren says. “You don’t want me to have to come down here. Don’t make any sort of mess either. Heather, you make sure of it.”

“Yes, Dad,” she replies. He seems to accept her at her word and stomps upstairs—no respect for the wooden floor boards Miruk works so hard to preserve. They flicker with humor when the stairs oblige and trip Darren on the last step. He catches himself on the doorframe but manages to get a splinter, causing him to curse again before he slams the door to the basement shut.

Miruk returns their attention to the offspring standing near the couch they’re observing from under.

“Uh…” the taller of the two newcomers says, obviously at a loss when faced with Darren’s departure. That one must be old enough to know they shouldn’t be left alone.

~

soul

this is from "Feral" one of my Fall/spooky season stories for 2023. Its modern with a reader who learns supernatural exists when they meet the, well, see below lol

“I don’t want to be rude, but what would, um, what do think we would call you?”

“Humans always have too many names for things—comes from all those languages you have and your over-inflated feeling of importance as a species. Perhaps…” she says something you can’t even parse. “No? How about” and again she says something vaguely Greek sounding that was more of a word, but not one you’ve heard before. At the continued lack of recognition on your face she frowns, “Hm, no you’re right. Too old. A hound?”

You can’t help, but roll your eyes. “I mean, yeah, I know you looked sort of like a dog, but…”

“A hound of Hel.”

You swallow. “Oh. Yeah, hellhound—I, I’ve heard of that.”

Zrea grins, pleased with herself. Her teeth are so very white against the rest of her, the back of her mouth so dark behind them. You believe that she could hunt a doomed soul to the ends of the earth, even in the condition she’s in. She's all coiled muscle and sharp intent. You feel like you’ve invited a predator into your home. And yet… and yet you are certain she is not a threat to you.

~~

let me know if you want to hear anything more about these! never pass up the opportunity to talk about my many, many WIPs - especially when drowning at work lol

[rotting-ink]

Romance Options First Appearance

Written for if the player is bisexual. If the player chooses only female love interests, then all the RO's are all women. Same as for if the player chooses only male love interests. 

Luther looked over the hall filled with members of his pack milling around the hall, eyes narrowed on a piece of paper slipped to him earlier that morning. His people chattered amongst themselves, sitting along the low tables, sharing food and drink. Fireplaces were lit. Cubs were playing with each other in little groups or nestled into their mothers’ sides. Harmony. He made this.

He rubs his calloused thumb against the ink, long since dried. He leaned back in his chair, catching the attention of his sister, Emilia. She seemed to bristle at his very movement and Luther folded the piece of paper with a low sigh.

“Em-”

“What?” She snapped, tugging at a lock of her dark hair.

Luther dragged his tongue over his teeth, eyes narrowing. Even the hall quieted as her outburst. She was getting too unruly for her position. Any day now she was going to make a mistake that he wouldn’t be able to save her from.

“Your little friend.” Luther said after a moment. “Is dead.”

Emilia froze up, turning around to stare at him with her lips slightly parted. Luther settled back into a comfortable position in his chair, turning away from her to let the piece of paper flutter from his palm, into the fireplace by his legs, being eaten up within seconds by the flames.

“... Luther.” Emilia whispered. “What did you do?”

Sienna reclined on her sofa as her guests gushed about her wonderful party, the entertainment, the food, all so wonderful! She just watched them, running her perfectly manicured thumb over the rim of her wine glass, swirling the dark red liquid around.

God, she was fucking bored.

She’s done it all before. Again and again. The parties, the games, the drinking, the sex, the spending. She was starting to feel old. And there was nothing Sienna Della Rovere hated more than feeling fucking old.

She watched her guests dance and gossip and coo. She watched them eat her food and enjoy her singers and whisper about how one of these days their host simply must marry one of the eligible bachelors constantly hanging around her.

They too, were fucking boring. Every day was so… Fucking… Oh?

One of her little assistants was stumbling over themselves to get to where she was languidly lounging, their little face pale with shock.

“Baroness Della Rovere! Baroness!” The little thing tottered to a stop in front of her, panting.

“Yes?” Sienna replied mildly, a perfect eyebrow raised.

“I… The… The Clerk… He’s been found dead.”

Sienna’s mouth parted in a perfect shocked expression but the edge of her lip twitched.

Finally, some fun.

Victor got home late. The best time to get home. Silence. Nothing but the fireplace crackling with a flame that was lit specially for him. It was hard to remember a time when he wasn’t living such a life. Not that he couldn’t remember, it was that it was a time that felt like a glowing ember to try and touch without hurting yourself.

So he didn’t. So he lived the good life, with a crystal glass of brandy held in his palm, a book open on his knee. So, he enjoyed his new life.

Then he heard them. His spouse. A few thumps upstairs and muffled movement. Victor stilled and glanced towards the ceiling, as if it would let him see through the wood, watching as they trotted around and bumped into things as they tried to pull on their evening robe. His lips thinned but as he heard their footsteps make their way down the grand staircase, he schooled his expression into something warmer. By the time the door to the study swung over, he looked downright loving.

“Victor.”

“My dear.” He reached out for his beloved spouse to rest their leathery hand in his. “You needn’t come down to greet me. You should be resting.”

Their cold eyes bored into him before they slowly parted their lips.

“Victor… That boy is dead.”

He blinked at them a few times.

“Luke. Luke is dead.”

His stomach tightened, the whiskey curdling in his gut. The glass slipped from his fingers and smashed on the floor.

Zaniyah was cold. So fucking cold. She was always cold these days, but it didn’t mean that she ever got used to it. That she’ll ever want to get used to it.

Her black skirt drags on the ground as she walks, leaves and dirt staining the hem. Hard to remember a time that she’d ever cared about what the hem of her frock looked like. There was once upon a time that she’d gain stares and whispers about the state she was in. Now she glides through crowds and groups and no one takes notice of her. No one yells at her for bumping them, no one grumbles when she steps on their foot, no one yelps when her umbrella smacks their face.

Bliss. If only she wasn’t so cold.

She glides past the elderly lady at the desk, squinting through her clouded spectacles. She descends the stairs, pausing a bit as the doctor ascends the stairs, rubbing his eyes wearily. Zaniyah admires his profile, tilting her head. When he’s out of sight, she continues her way, perfectly buckled, muddied shoes making neither a sound or a stain on the tiled floor.

Then she arrives. And there he is.

The body lying on the white slab, a slender, greying pinkie poking out from under the tarp.

“Hello, Mister Buckley.” She murmurs and slips her notebook free from her jacket.

[autobot2001]

Painful Death

@themerrywhumpofmay: box @mediwhumpmay: first night in hospital Tw; drugs, murder, death (Snippet from Hidden Killer)

A man walks down a row of storage units, looking for number forty.   There's little in the storage unit, but the man is looking for a particular box. "I knew It was wise to copy the files," he whispers once he finds the box, "hopefully there's something in here that'll help the police. "Too bad they'll never find the box," a voice taunts. The man recognizes the voice and panics, clutching the box close to him. "You should have been given the death penalty!" He yells. "I believe you have evidence that you've committed a federal crime in that box." The man can run out of the storage unit and down the street. Hoping to reach the buddy street before the man chasing him does anything.

The man makes it to the busy street, running on the side. He doesn't make it far before being tackled to the ground. Resulting in losing his grip on the box. The box lands on the ground, the lock remaining intact.   "I could kill you no problem," the man taunts, "but I'm returning the beating you did to me." The man is used as a punching bag. Not for long until several cars park on the side of the road to stop the attack. The attacker gets one last good punch to the head, knocking the man out.

The man wakes up, slowly realizing he's in a hospital room. A nurse walks in, pleased the patient they came to check on is awake. They leave to get a doctor.

"You've been unconscious for three hours. Aside from a serious concussion, you're fine, but I want to keep you here at least overnight. Do you remember who you are?" "My name is Charles Curtis. I was targeted because of — the box! Where's the box!" "Police custody. Why must you have the box?" An officer walks into the room, carrying the familiar box. "Care to explain why this box contains medical records?" The officer asks. "Intuition. I worked at the asylum that burned down two years ago. Not during my shift, but Austin hoped I'd be there. I copied his files, hoping they could help the police get him. I should have brought the box to the police when he started attacking..." Charles stops talking, realizing what he thought was a great idea two years ago now has him in serious trouble. "That's enough," the doctor demands, "he looks fine but has a serious concussion." The officer leaves.

"An expensive kill," the drug dealer comments, "we could have worked out a deal." "No, this is going to be worth the price," Austin smiles. "Fine, it's your five hundred and fifty-eight dollars." "Actually, this will look like my victim made the purchase."

Charles tries to rest, but his mind worries about Austin's next move. Knowing Austin will not give up until he's dead. "Death or life in prison," Charles sighs. "I can decide for you." Charles panics but has no time to react before Austin pins him down with one hand and puts a piece of tape over his mouth. Two others cuff his hands to the rails of the bed. "Be ready to remove all evidence and run," Austin tells them as he prepares the syringe. Enjoying Charles' muffled screaming, "a nice cocaine injection. Three, two, one, move!" Austin cuts the line for the nurse call button before the three leave. Austin would love to watch Charles die, but leaving a camera behind would risk being caught. Charles knows he has no time to get out into the hallway for help. Tears roll down his face.

Within minutes Charles feels the effects of the drug. Before he can't move, just me, Charles writes a vital note. Struggling with chest pain and feeling like his heart is exploding. Knowing even if nurses hear his scream, there's nothing they can do. Yo Charles' luck, his scream is heard. Several doctors and nurses rush into the room. By now, Charles struggles to breathe. The medical staff work as fast as possible, fearing only a blood test or scab will tell them what's happening, but their patient only has a little time. A nurse rushes to get a crash cart.

When the nurse returns to the room, Charles is having a seizure. The doctor by the bed thought Charles was only unconscious once the seizure ended. "No pulse; we have a code blue."

"Ten minutes with no change," the doctor sighs, "time of death, ten-thirty p.m." "Something is not right about this," one nurse comments. "An autopsy will tell us." "Sir," another nurse calls out, holding a piece of paper. "This adds to the mystery. The note reads Donald Garza is in danger. Protect him. Even has where this guy lives written." "This is going to sound crazy, but this suggests someone came in here. The only way Charles' condition could determine that he's now dead is by injecting something into his IV. Call security and the police."

Austin exits the hospital and walks down the alleyway. Police cars speed by. "He's dead, perfect. You're next, Donald."