#all this feather needs is to be soaked in warm water for a bit and then it’s good for use

[catwouthats]

WIP/rough draft of the first page of The Extraordinarily Ordinary Adventures of Preston Lindsey fan comic

I’m practicing using my feather quill bc that shit makes such nice lines etc so this probably isn’t the final version.

Feather quill >>>> any other pen/inking tool imo

[shapard]

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x Seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

You're eating breakfast peaceful (are you?) and Heaven is a big mess

In pieces

Chapter 1 < Chapter 2> Chapter 3

Heaven was a big mess. 

Nothing new. 

Since you’re gone Emily feels all the pressure that was on you. All your responsibility was handed to her like a silver tablet with no refund. 

It was exhausting. And it didn’t help that Sera was also a big mess. 

She never left Emily’s side, almost like a guard dog. 

She lost her daughter because of her dirty little lies. And is scared that Emily would leave her too.

The arch angels aren’t pleased for her doing. She’s not God.

Her Image now like a Hurricanes aftermath.

No one wants to deal with her not even her own daughter Emily. 

Emily was very distant towards Sera. She doesn’t want to be near her, not after what she has done.

Your Mother sent Emily away when you fell. 

She couldn’t be there for you. She wasn’t there when the most painful thing happened to you. 

She felt ashamed, like a failure. 

You always protect her from the vicious laws of heaven. Sometimes even taking her punishments to protect her. 

And when you needed her the most, she wasn’t there. 

She can’t deny that it’s probably her fault that you fell. Taking all her misleads and getting you into trouble after trouble.

So that she can be safe. 

Talking back towards Sera in the court was the final straw. 

Sera could’ve talked to them, but she didn’t. 

She agreed because of her Image. 

To Sera’s surprise, the upper angels weren’t Impressed.

It didn't help at all.

Not even the winners want to talk with her anymore.

…

Lucifer couldn’t believe his eyes. 

You were awake! 

But not in the state he’d hoped. You were covered in your own blood and the floor was all a mess.  Ceramic was soaked in with the golden color of your blood. 

“What happened?” You didn’t answer. 

Somehow, he knew you wouldn’t answer. Falling from heaven can be quite traumatizing. He talks out of experience.

You couldn’t even keep your wings like he did, the pain must be unbearable. You were definitely not used having no wings anymore. 

You were hiding behind a Blanket, Lucifer found it quite cute and adorable how you were hiding from him. 

But it also hurt him.

Ache.

“Are you hurt?” Lucifer asked you, not wanting to scare you away. You slowly peaked above the blanket. You have to say he is quite handsome. 

“I don’t know if I can trust you.” 

The handsome man looked at you and sighed. “I helped you when you fell out of heaven. You’ve been out for a couple of days. I can help you, please let me help.” 

“Why?” Your mere whispers made his heart squeeze. 

He couldn’t find an answer to your question. 

Was he helping you because he knows how it is? 

To get thrown out of your home, getting ripped apart from the elders. Family not even sparing a glance at you. But there was something else why, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I know how you feel, let me help you.” You nod, you don’t have anything to lose. 

You already fell from heaven and live now in hell. Getting thrown right infront of the bus. 

Letting the Blanket fall from your back showing the man your fresh back wound. 

“Again, the back?” He chuckled, “By the way, the name’s Lucifer.” The name rang in your ear. “The Lucifer?” your voice is kind of soar. 

He snapped his fingers and with a sparkling sound a cup of water formed infront of you. Muttering a small thanks, you grabbed the cup pf water and let it slide down your throat. You hummed in approval. 

“I’m Y/n.” His hands hover over your back and he pulled the ceramic pieces slowly out of your back.

“That’s a beautiful name, Y/n.” Your name out of his mouth felt like sweet caramel. You wanted him to say your name again and again.

You smiled a bit and winced at him removing the splinters. After he pulled the last pieces out, he hovered his hand again over your back.

This time his hands started to glow in gold. His hands radiant heat, it was like a warm summer breeze. 

After a while the feeling stopped, you turned around to take a look at Lucifer. 

“You’re Lucifer?” He nods but didn’t look you in the eyes, he felt ashamed somehow. “Indeed I am.” He finally looks back at you and you beamed a smile at him. 

“You don’t look creepy at all.” That surprised him and he blushed slightly at your sudden forwardness. 

“You should rest. We’re going to talk tomorrow.” He patted your head and walked towards the exit. Giving you a final smile, he went back to his couch. 

You sighed and laid down on the lightly soaked blooded mattress. “I should at least try to sleep.”

…

You didn’t sleep well that night. 

Your back was still hurting even after the treatment Lucifer gave you. 

The blood still sticked on your skin making it quite uncomfortable to stand up. You have to take a shower.

The red Sun lighted the room red. A quick reminder that you indeed are in hell. In comparison to heaven was Hell rather cozy. It was warm and more colorful, even though the colors are very vibrant or dark. 

It was exciting. 

It’s been so long since you felt that kind of Emotions. 

Everything in heaven was the same. You must do the same and be like everyone else. You have to work 24/7, and work 9 to 5 or even worse. Not even a single break, not even for you a Seraphim. 

You worked over night almost every day for your Mother Sera. It pained you when you saw her chilling the while day and Emily flying and playing around heaven. It is your responsibility as the bigger Sister. 

Well, was to be exact.

A knock echoed through the silent chamber making you snap out of your thoughts.

A couple seconds later Lucifer came through the door. Peering inside to see if you’re awake.

“I made you some pancakes.” Lucifer nudges his sharp clawed finger into the direction of the kitchen. 

On a table you see a plate with pancakes, Ice cream and a cup of hot chocolate. He sat down on the mattress. 

His pants started to soak in the semi fresh golden blood. He shrieked and sat up looking at his pants. 

“Are you still bleeding?” He franticly searched for any Injuries on your back. “I’m fine. It’s just the blood that spilled on the bed. Sorry for that.” He let out a sigh of relief, “Let me change the Mattress.” 

He held out a hand for you to take. With hesitation you took his clawed hand. With a pull he pushed you upwards, you gasp at how fast he was moving you. 

Your legs felt like jelly, your head started to spin, and it started to get dizzy. He held you tight before you could fell. “I got you.”

Without any second thought Lucifer carried you towards the kitchen. Your cheeks redden at this behavior. 

His touch was striking you like a lightning bolt. It was a warm comforting feeling. His Arm around your waist left a tingling almost sparkling feeling. The feeling almost made you smile like a fool. 

“Thanks.” It was a mere whisper, but Lucifer heard it very clear. The weird feeling on his arm was distracting him immense, though your voice brought him back out of his thoughts. And he smiled.

Lucifer realized how long he was actually holding your waist. Retrieving his Arm rather quickly he coughed out of distraction.  “Just sit over there.”

“Lucifer?” He hummed and looked at you, the way he chewed the food made you giggle slightly.

You smelled pretty bad. You didn’t want to ask him if you could take a shower, but you have to take a shower. His gentle gaze took your worries away and made her ten times more nervous. 

“Can I take a shower?” Lucifer nods hesitant. “Of course, you can.” He laid down his food and took your hands and walked slowly towards his bathroom. 

… Time skip…

The Shower was very relaxing, even though it was kind of creepy to know that Lucifer was waiting behind the door. 

The food was hellish good, heaven could never. 

In heaven it all tasted the same, very blunt and no emotions in it.  

Lucifer took your plate and cramped his sleeves up to wash your plate. You followed his swift movements and how smooth he washes them. 

It amazed you somehow, washing dishes isn’t something Interesting but how he washes them is just different. 

Then you saw it, his mark. Suspicious Identical like yours. Please no. 

Somewhere in Heaven:

Sera sat Infront of a U-shaped table looking up at none other than the arch Angels themselves. “Sera.” A rather deep voice said making her jolt in her seat.

“Michael.”

A/n: I know this chapter is kind of boring but trust me. It’s going to be good.

[iambilliejeanok]

have you already done how Itachi would spend Valentine's day with his s/o, sfw and nsfw plss

Warnings: 18+, equal fluffs and smut🩷 scenario

He’s honestly a very country kind of guy. He loves the peace and serenity that comes with living on a farm. He doesn’t really like the bustle of the inner village, most especially on Valentine’s Day. Everyone is occupying every restaurant, couples are filling the streets, arm in arm and he just feels like it’s way too overrated to take you there. He prefers to plan things out for just the two of you to enjoy alone.

Despite his daily efforts at keeping you smiling and happy, preparation for Valentine’s Day can be a tad bit stressful for him. He needs for things to be perfect just for you. Careful not to wake you up, he’ll sneak out of your shared bed and into the kitchen, where he will whip up the finest breakfast for the finest girl in the world, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he shapes the pancakes into cute little teddy bares and drips some syrup over them with a smile on his face while he imagines your adorable reaction to them.

He already sprinkled some rose and peony petals all over your room while you were still asleep, and even placed some ever so carefully around your sleeping frame and sprinkled some on top of you since he thinks you look like a dream that way. He might go a little overboard with the petals though, since he practically covers the house in them, but please be understanding okay. He’s a sweet boy and a new lover, so he’s pretty imaginative about Valentine’s Day.

There are endless trails of pink, white and red petals leading to every room and you can’t help but giggle at the exaggeration. You love him so much for doing all this for you though, and he sweetly requests to join you in the petal and bubble filled bathtub shortly after the two of you have a nice, peaceful breakfast together in the kitchen with the windows open, allowing the cool morning breeze and fresh smells of nature to wake y’all up.

There’s nothing he loves more than soaking in the bathtub with you, and turns bright red as though this is all new to him, when you litter his pretty face with kisses and verbally communicating how grateful you are to have him in your life. He loves to feel needed and appreciated and when you demonstrate that to him physically, he gives in like a desperate whore, letting you ride him in the bathtub to your hearts content. He feels so special as you kiss and nip his face and neck while you slowly bounce on him, soft whimpers leaving his lips at the feel of your warm walls suctioning him as you lift yourself up, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you allow gravity to help you sit all the way on him and he’s so lost in the height of pleasure you’re keeping him on, his hands gripping your hips so hard as he desperately tries to meet you with needy thrusts, wishing he could go deeper despite how you already feel him deep in your tummy. He didn’t intend to have you wreck pleasurable havoc on him on your special day of romance and strongly preferred to be the one to take you to these heights, but you look so ethereal with your opal pink bonnet still on, bubbles and petals littered on your shoulders and breasts, your face contorting as you near a climax so powerful that it forces him to cum with you and of course he obeys as he let’s lose, sitting upright to hold you tight, the bathroom filled with soft music and desperate moans of one another’s names. He lays back down against the tub with the his arms still around you, breathing heavy while he plants feather light kisses on your face. The two of you just lay there in one anothers arms, the hot water wrapping the two of you up perfectly as you take in one another’s presence, his dick still buried deep inside of you, slowly growing hard again and when you shift in surprise, he immediately apologizes to you for not giving you what you clearly needed sooner.

He’s so sweet you literally feel like you don’t deserve him, reassuring him that you had a wonderful time and that you enjoyed yourself as much as he did. Despite this, he can’t help shake away his guilt and when the two of you get out of the tub, he dries you off gently, picking you up bridal style to carry you back to bed, tossing you on the soft mattress with a smile on his face over your giddy giggles. He spreads your legs wide open, and hushes you when you begin to protest, reassuring him that he really doesn’t have to do all this and that the bathtub was enough, but he insists; “Sweetheart cmon, I really wanted to this anyway. Please?”, he practically begs, and just how can you say no to him????

He most definitely wants to take a walk with you on the farm or even a nice little stroll in the nearby forest and packs a nice picnic for the two of you to sit down under a tree on a nice patch of grass and eat. He bought you a gorgeous dress of your style and tastes and has you standing under almost every tree so he can take pictures of you, joining you in a few of them. You’re just so stunning to him and he needs to add these to his photo album. He’s very open to suggestion, if it will make your day of course and will even sing to you if you request that. He doesn’t consider himself an amazing singer, but his voice is so incredibly soothing that you just wanna listen to him all day, resting your head onhis lap while you relax to his divine voice. There’s something about listening to him sing that makes you wet and when you sit up to straddle his lap, he already has an idea of what you’re trying to do. Of course he’s happy to give it, but he’s shocked to hearthat you want to be in control. You’re clearly taking advantage of the day, and despite how often he usually denies your requests to too him, he’ll allow you to have things your way today. He has to admit though, he loves having you take care of him like this, it makes him feel special and the thought of you taking him how you want makes his dick twitch and he can’t help but feel like he’s being the receiver here and he worries , thinking you’re the one who actually deserves all this pleasure, especially on Valentine’s Day, but since you really want this, how can the lover boy possibly deny you?!

You love how smooth his skin feels on your tongue as you decorate his neck with more hickies, dragging your tongue up his neck, his jawline and finally, penetrating it into his mouth as you gently have your way with him, kissing him passionately. He quickly grows excited over allowing you to have so much control, but even so, he wants to please you, he needs to please you, it’s Valentines Day after all. Gently rubbing your thighs, he sneaks his hands up your dress, grabbing both your cheeks into his hands and squeezing gently. When he hears you moan excitedly into his mouth, he goes feral for a moment and tries his best to compose himself and behave, hooking your undies with his middle and ring finger to pull the pesky material to the side and expose your woman hood to his curious fingers. You’re wet and you’re dripping on his fingers before he could even touch you with him, the kiss growing aggressive as you try to contain your own neediness. He feels himself growing hot at the thought of you being so aroused over topping him and wonders why he only ever allowed you to dominate him today when he could’ve been experiencing this for the past 8 months. He might tease you for a bit, only so he can take in the many expressions you make on your pretty face as you softly plead for him. “Itachi babe, please”, you beg, grinding your hips down onto his fingers to get him to touch you where you needed it most. Now how the HELL can he say no to that? He’s immediately rubbing circles on your clit, mesmerized by the sweet sounds you’re making on his lap, your hands running over his chest and his arms, greedily feeling him up as you shudder from how good you feel and he can’t resist penetrating your wet cunt with his two fingers, your mouth hanging open as you instantly cum, squirming on his lap as he slowly sinks them in deeper, just past his second knuckle. He immediately starts pumping the digits in and out of you, and you’re already riding wave after wave of pleasure as he stretches out the intense pleasure of your orgasm. “Hey, look at me”, he softly reminds you, and you do just as you’re told, brown eyes looking into black ones as you begin to grind his fingers earnestly, desperate for another orgasm. He meets your hips with fast, controlled pumps and you’re morning his name out in ecstasy, shuddering as you fall against him, wrapping your arms and his neck. He smirks with pride, his face buried between your breasts as you hold him against you but he’s not quite satisfied yet, planning on taking more from you since you’ve forgotten to be the top in this moment, but to his surprise, you let go of him to unbutton his pants, reaching for his thick cock. He wonders when you became so greedy and if you got it from him. Rubbing his thick warm shaft against your moist vulva a few times lubricates him just enough for you to finally line with your dripping wet entrance, slowly sitting down on him, letting him bury himself as deep inside of you as you can handle. You both moan in ecstasy and can’t help but talk softly to one another as you ride him like you did in the morning.

As the evening nears, the weather gets cooler and he purposefully takes his sweet time walking back home with you, knowing you’d immediately be down to have another session in the tub and when the two of you are all done, the sun is beginning to set and he’s ready to finally give you all the gifts he’s bought during the week. He gently ties a blindfold over your eyes and wraps his arm around your waist, while holding your hand in his to guide you into the living room, where’s he’s lined up all your gifts and set up a cozy blanket fort in front of the fire place, where he plans on making love to you all night long after a movie and some snacks.

You’re reeling over the giant teddies, the huge bouquets and many boxes of jelwery and chocolates. He bought each and every single gift with your reaction in mind and it made him grow even more excited for this day. He’s surprised and can’t stop himself from blushing when you show him the gifts you got for him. He genuinely wasn’t expecting it, but also wonders what exactly he was expecting, realising just how much you love him too. He really looks forward to spending every day with you, but Valentines Day has to be on top of the list as one of his favorite holidays.

[phantasmiafxndom]

Kny pet au: I want to take in all hantengu clones and nurse them all back to full health. Their hair is definitely tangled and they totally stink from never having a bath, don't know I'll work around Karaku having odd reactions to touch in order to bath him.

This request will focus on the bath part~ :3

. . .

Sekido

It's a good idea to keep him muzzled during the bath. That may seem cruel, but all of the unfamiliar handling and sensation is likely to end in Sekido lashing out at you if you don't. The warm water feels undeniably good and your touch doesn't hurt, but he's still painfully on edge and instinctively waiting for the pain to start. Every little bit of contact makes him growl and twitch, but afterward, when he's clean and dry and warm for the first time in probably ever, he's far more grateful than he wants you to know.

Karaku

He's a bit agitated going in, but once the warm water and gentle touches register, he's going limp and almost cross-eyes from the pleasure response kicking in. You'll have to manhandle him quite a bit (Karaku is basically a ragdoll at that point), but he's leaning into your hands and all but whimpering as the touching continues. Having his hair washed is utter bliss, even if he can still hardly believe he's allowed to melt into the heat like this. Now that he knows how good baths feel, they might as well be a reward.

Aizetsu

Though he doesn't have the will to resist very much, being handled and exposed is awful. Aizetsu tries to stay curled up and hidden from as much potential abuse as possible— but even though he's shaking and biting back sobs, he's too weak to stop you from moving his body as you need to. All of the touching is terrifying at the same time that it feels unbearably good, and soon enough, the heat and gentle contact gets the better of him. He's half-asleep by the time you're done, and so very pliant.

Urogi

He's never been in a proper bath before (in the past, it was the hose at best), so the unfamiliar situation is both exciting and highly overstimulating. Urogi keeps squirming and twitching his wings and trying to stand up— the water on his skin feels weird, but you're touching him so much that the whole experience still registers as a reward. You're bound to get soaked in the process, but he's awfully cute afterward when he's still half-damp. His feathers end up all puffy and fluffed while he's getting dry.

[palesweetscherryblossom]

The lead of the harpy flock sat in the nest as he sang to his little hatchling to wake them up. It was adorable to see the dangerous eagle lay down next to his little, curled up baby and sing to them to wake them up with the sun kissing their faces. Dabi had been sent out with the flock to hunt while Tomura and Kurogiri stayed back to protect their nest from the pesky Naga.

You open your eyes at the lovely song your father sang to you each morning. Though the world was blurry around you as you tried to reach out to him to be pressed against his warm chest. Small whines and hisses come out of your mouth when the world remained milky and blurry. "Mhm.. mhmm," You try to move but we're immediately picked up.

It almost scared you if you didn't know it was your parent holding you while singing and purring. "My little feather, is something wrong? Do you need something? Hungry?" He whispered as he placed kisses onto your head and messy dark greenish hair.

"Mhmm! Pa...!" Y/n whined out as you curled up again against his chest. It was warm and fluffy like always, very comforting for a scared Naga hatchling.

It did not take long before Tomura lifted his little baby up to his face and moved to the entrance of the nest to inspect his little one. He almost expected the worst bit once he inspected your milky eyes and pinkish belly along the dull green shades along your body he was just a bit relieved. He had missed your first shed because of a "custody battle" between him and "those pesky Naga that claim to be related to you".

So Tomura pulled you closer and kissed your head. "It's okay, my little feather. Everything is perfectly alright. I'll get your father." He whispered and then kissed your head again before laying you down. The comfort of the nest was perfect and warm while you waited for him to call for him.

Tomura didn't hesitate as he leaned out of the nest and sang and called his mate. Normally, this call was only for emergencies, but to this hormonal eagle, this was a situation of the highest emergency.

It only took Dabi a few minutes to speed back to the nest along with two other members of their flags, expecting a fight or something, but when it turned out, the little baby was just shedding... if it hadn't been their lead calling to them it would have certainly ended in a shit storm.

Dabi was immediately dragged into the nest and then shown his "awfully sick and vulnerable baby" by his mate as the eagle held his little one close. But it didn't take long for Dabi to make a fuss as well as they both cleaned you and discussed what would be the best option.

In the end they decided to bathe you and soak you in warm water to help you shed. In no time they were at the local pond and scared away the ducks to make room for their little baby and Dabi. The Phoenix sat in the water and warmed it up until it had an acceptable temperature for the little hatchling.

Spinner and Twice were in the trees above, patrolling and wyaching the surroundings so that Dabi and Tomura could focus on their little one. You protested at first when you were pulled away from the warm chest. PA held your gently and made sure you safely soaked in the little warm pool around Toya while holding onto your body. Soon, your father held you while he washed you and showered you with kisses and praises.

You were showered with attention from both of then the whole time as they washed your body and messy hair. Pa sang to you the whole time and from time to time even lifted you out of the water once or twice to cradle you.

Nothing could stop his love. Even more, when you all returned to the nest to have a safe environment to help you shed. It definitely didn't hurt when they helped you rub your body against the tree bark and rocks (which Dabi had been ordered to get), but it still was unfamiliar and slightly discomforting to you.

After about half an hour or gentley rubbing they managed to pull the shed off your tail before they continued with your face to help you see again. This time you whined and squirmed more until they managed to pull the shed gently off your face and eyes. As soon as the caps had been off your eyes you could see them clearly again. A small purr excited your lips when you were lifted up to face your albino Pa.

"There is my little one. It is all perfectly okay now. You are safe," he whispered and kissed your face. "Everything is perfectly alright. My perfect little feather," he pulled yoru feather jewelry closer again and put it into your hair and along your ears. He cradled your little body while purring and singing the whole time, Dabi on the other hand cleaned the nest again and made sure to hang the shed outside of the nest to proudly show off the milestone of their little hatchling.

(Don't pull the shed of your pet snakes :> this is only used for the story and should never be done or considered in real life unless it is an absolute emergency after a horrible shed)

Awww, Shigaraki and Naga! Reader are so cute I love how you write them ahh

[violettduchess]

A/N: Another entry for my and @lorei-writes Falling for Fall CC!

Clavis x OC Marigold

Prompt: Rain (fluff)

WC: 1k

The carriage sways slightly from side to side as if gently dancing to the rhythm of the raindrops that fall on its roof. Outside, the driver wraps his cloak a bit tighter around his shoulders as water trickles in small streams off the wide brim of his hat. The experienced horses pick their way carefully across the increasingly muddy road, eager to get back to the palace where their warm stables and dry hay are waiting. Inside, the carriage’s two occupants are staring at each other.

One is smiling, the other scowling.

One is dry, the other dripping wet.

One’s eyes are twinkling like golden stars, the other’s eyes are narrowed, a storm of glaring gray.

“You know, most people would have considered the sky before heading out on foot so far from the palace. It’s been cloudy all day.”

Clavis leans back against the plush purple velvet of the carriage seat, his voice practically glowing with amusement.

Marigold’s lips press together, annoyance forming a straight line. Water drips from her now soggy chignon, trickling down her bare neck and soaking into the already wet collar of her dress, the color of which the rain has darkened from ochre to nearly brown.

“I told you. I wanted to collect mushrooms.” The basket is resting by her feet, the wicker glistening with water. “I read they only grow in the western part of the forest and it didn’t look quite so far on the maps.”

He grins slowly. “Aren’t you lucky that a handsome prince just happened to be traveling along the same, lonesome road you were walking upon? A few more minutes in that rain and you would have grown gills.”

The corner of her mouth ticks up for a moment and he feels an unexpected, surprising rush of satisfaction.

She shuts down the smile before it can blossom.

“Maybe,” she mutters, “If you hadn’t asked me if I was enjoying my stroll before inviting me into the carriage I would be capable of showing more gratitude.” She attempts to cross her arms, however her dress is damp and stiff and it makes the motion far less smooth than she would have hoped.

He observes her a moment and then leans forward, pulling off his long white coat, the golden tassels on the shoulders swinging enthusiastically. He holds it out to her.

“You’re cold. Here.”

Pride has her shake her head, little drops of water jettisoning left and right. “I’m fine.”

A moment of silence and then without warning, Clavis reaches forward, impulsively brushing the back of his bare fingers across her cheek. She gasps at both the unexpected warmth of his skin and the boldness of his gesture.

His gaze locks with hers and the shiver that runs through her has nothing to do with any chill.

“Apologies for ruffling your feathers, little owl. But I am simply proving that you need this more than I do. Now….may I?”

She nods, adjusting her gold-rimmed glasses and leans forward, allowing him to drape his coat more evenly across her shoulders. He’s closer to her than he has ever been before and she catches the scent of rain mixed with something familiar and soothing: lavender. 

He pauses, glancing at her, his hands still on her shoulders. A turn of the head, a sudden lurch of the carriage, a yank on his cravat and their lips would touch. Marigold is transfixed, unable to look away from the bright gold of his eyes and Clavis is searching hers intently, a man looking for answers in the silver of her gaze.

What is she doing?!

She pulls back quickly, sucking in a deep breath as if that will slow the wild hammering of her heart and the delicate moment breaks like a spider’s web in the wind. Clavis leans back, adjusting his jacket with one hand, pretending to straighten it. The lightning in the carriage is dim: only a small oil lamp swings from one of the corners to fight the gloom, and so the shadows hide the flush of color that paints both of their cheeks.

“Thank you,” she manages to say after clearing her throat.

“The lady is most welcome.” His tone is light, airy, and yet somehow sounds….hollow. He tries to sound casual, but there is something quite serious happening inside his heart.

They continue along the road to the palace in silence until Marigold frowns, lifting her gaze to look at the prince.

“Clavis?”

He’s staring out the window, uncharacteristically quiet, but turns, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yes, Marigold?”

“The road you were on when you found me.”

Something in his expression shifts. He knows where this is going but doesn’t interrupt her. He simply raises his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.

“It doesn’t go anywhere but the forest. There is no reason to be on it unless you’re heading into or out of the woods.”

Now his smile is genuine, soft in a way that she hasn’t seen before. He shrugs, trying to make the gesture seem relaxed and nonchalant.

“Perhaps I felt like a woodland walk.” He glances at her. “Or…..maybe I knew a certain researcher would be so intent on collecting her mushrooms that she might misjudge the distance and ignore the signs of inclement weather.”

Marigold’s lips part but no sound comes out. He specifically went out….looking for her?

He begins to talk again, this time about the upcoming Autumn Ball and all the delightful guests that will be attending, his words a waterfall of sound that he hides behind to cover the magnitude of care he has shown for her.

Marigold leans back, adjusting his large, warm coat. His scent surrounds her, his voice fills the enclosed space.

Despite the rain and her wet hair and soaked clothes….she doesn’t feel uncomfortable. 

Being here with Clavis, in fact, feels…..warm and safe. 

It feels like home.

Marigold turns her gaze to the carriage window, her heart suddenly beating swiftly.

How….what….why?

Taglist: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @writingwhimsey @silver-dahlia @wendolrea

@myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @namine-somebodies-nobody @whatever-fanfics

@chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja

@sh0jun @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny

@chi-the-idiot @bubblex @keithsandwich @bestbryn @ikeprinces-stuff

[songbirdsanctuary]

Gentle Preenings

So I think I've been on a wing preening roll lately?? Oh well, I find it cute. 🤷‍♀️

Also I think I gave Scar leaf-speak like the LeafWings, also Butterscotch-cinnamon pie, Iykyk.

Warnings: None unless you consider fluff a warning.

Word count: 2,838

Scar was in his cozy snail starter base, carefully moving around some chests and clutter. The place was a proper mess, with items scattered across the floor in haphazard piles, but the sweet scent of freshly baked butterscotch-cinnamon pie filled the air, making the chaos feel a little more bearable. The pie was cooling on the counter, and its warmth seemed to blend perfectly with the earthy, woodsy smell that always lingered in his base.

He took a deep breath, stretching his arms high above his head, feeling the familiar pull of tension in his muscles after all the rearranging. As he lowered his hands, his eyes landed on a spot in the corner of his room that he felt could use more greenery. It was a bit bare, and Scar, always a lover of nature, couldn't help but feel that some extra leaves would brighten the place up. His base was made out of a tree, he helped it grow and never chopped it down.

As a tree elf and cat hybrid, Scar had a special connection to plants. He could communicate with them in ways others couldn't—his elf nature allowed him to speak to the roots and leaves, understanding their needs, their wants. So, with gentle fingers, he placed his hand on the wall where the roots of a plant were growing. He closed his eyes, focusing on the whispering connection he shared with the greenery.

"Hey there," he murmured softly, his voice barely more than a breath. "Think you can grow few more leaves here? I help you, grow strong." He had to speak in the simple way the trees spoke.

He could feel the plant respond, a gentle tug of life in its roots. ‘Sunlight?’ the plant whispered back through their connection, a soft, yearning voice.

Scar smiled, his heart warming at the familiar interaction. "Yes, plenty of sunlight. I make sure you get water too," he promised. He could feel the plant's excitement, its energy buzzing through him as small buds began to form along the bare stem.

‘Yes... grow... water now?’ the plant asked, eager for nourishment.

With a chuckle, Scar grabbed a nearby cup of water and carefully poured it over the roots. The leaves seemed to stretch out, unfurling with joy as the water soaked into the soil. They shifted and shimmered in the light, radiating a sense of happiness that only Scar could feel.

"That's it," Scar said softly, patting the stem. "Grow strong, grow tall." He watched as the plant flourished before his eyes, filling the once empty space with fresh, vibrant leaves.

Scar’s ear flicked at the sound of a gentle knock on his newly replaced door. It was still a bit strange to hear it, considering how often it had gone missing thanks to some playful or mischievous thieves. He smiled to himself, grateful this time it seemed like a guest and not someone trying to make off with his door again.

"Come in!" Scar called, his voice bright and welcoming. He always enjoyed having company. The door creaked open, and Grian's head poked in. Scar’s smile faltered for a brief moment when he noticed the uncomfortable look on his friend’s face.

“Scar…” Grian started, hesitating at the doorway. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something more anxious. “Can you help me with something?”

“Of course! What do you need help with?” Scar’s response was immediate, his eyes following Grian as he stepped fully into the room. As he came closer, Scar noticed something off about Grian’s wings. Normally, they were impeccably maintained, each red, blue, and gold feather shining with care. But today, they looked a little unkempt—dirtied in places, and they twitched every few seconds as though Grian was trying to get comfortable but couldn’t.

Grian stopped just in front of Scar, looking down at the floor. "Can you help me preen my wings?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His wings fluttered slightly at his sides as he fidgeted. "I… I can’t reach the feathers on the back." He still wouldn’t look Scar in the eyes, his expression embarrassed, like asking for help with something so personal was a struggle.

Scar’s heart melted at the sight of his friend like this. Grian looked so small, so vulnerable. Scar gently placed a hand on Grian’s cheek, lifting his face so their eyes could meet. “Hey, it’s okay,” Scar murmured reassuringly. “I’d be glad to help you.”

Grian’s cheeks flushed a deep red at Scar’s touch, and he quickly stepped away, clearly embarrassed by his own vulnerability. He nodded shyly and made his way over to Scar’s bed, sitting down on the edge and hesitantly opening his wings. His feathers unfurled in a broad, colorful display, and Scar could see more clearly now the little bits of dirt and debris trapped within them.

Scar followed, sitting down behind Grian and taking in the sight of the wings spread out before him. They were magnificent—bold, crimson feathers with hints of gold, the colors so rich they seemed to glow even in the dim light of the room. For a moment, Scar was a little awestruck.

But then reality hit him. “Soo… I’ve never preened wings before,” Scar admitted with a sheepish laugh. “I mean, I’ve seen False and Wels clean theirs, but I’ve never actually done it myself. I’m not really sure how to start.”

Grian sighed, his wings drooping slightly. “It’s not that complicated. Just… remove any broken or bent feathers, and clean out any dirt or debris that’s stuck in there. It’ll be fine.” He shifted his wings again, clearly trying to relax, but Scar could sense the tension in his body.

“Remove the feathers?” Scar asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “But won’t that hurt? I don’t want to hurt you.” The thought of causing Grian pain made his stomach twist a little.

“It’ll hurt more if they don’t get removed,” Grian said softly, though his voice held a note of reassurance. “It’s part of the process.”

Scar nodded, swallowing his hesitation as he placed a hand on one of Grian’s wings. He gently ran his fingers through the feathers, feeling for any that were bent or broken. After a moment, he found a feather that felt out of place—its shaft cracked and fragile beneath his fingers. Scar took a deep breath and, doing his best to be gentle, carefully tugged the feather free.

Grian let out a soft chirp, but didn’t flinch away. Encouraged, Scar continued, slowly working through the feathers, removing anything broken or bent while picking out dirt, leaves, and small bits of debris that had gotten caught in the plumage. As he worked, Grian kept making soft chirping and trilling noises, sounds that Scar found both soothing and oddly cute.

Despite the gentleness of his movements, Scar noticed how tense Grian remained, his shoulders tight and his wings stiff. Wanting to help his friend relax, Scar moved his hands to the soft down at the base of Grian’s wings, near his neck. With practiced ease, he began to massage the delicate feathers, his fingers working through the soft, plush down.

Grian’s trills grew louder, and Scar could feel the tension start to melt away beneath his hands. Grian’s shoulders slumped, his body finally relaxing into the soothing touch. His wings began to unfurl further, spreading wide as Scar continued his careful ministrations.

“There we go,” Scar murmured, smiling to himself as Grian relaxed completely into his care. The trust Grian was placing in him, letting him preen and massage his wings, filled Scar with warmth. Grian may have been embarrassed at first, but now, he looked peaceful. Scar took his time, ensuring every feather was as perfect as possible, feeling a deep connection to his friend as they shared this quiet, intimate moment.

Though Grian was somewhat relaxed, Scar had a playful idea. With a mischievous grin, he placed one free hand against the smooth wooden wall of his base, connecting to the tree that had grown to become his home. It wasn’t just any tree—it was a passion fruit tree, and Scar knew just how to coax it into doing something special.

“Hey there,” Scar whispered through their shared connection. “You grow a single fruit? In front the scarlet macaw?”

The tree hummed back at him, its roots vibrating faintly beneath his palm. ‘Just one? You promise water so I do?’ it asked, its voice soft and patient like the rustle of leaves in the wind.

Scar smiled warmly at the familiar negotiation. “Promise. I get you water later if you do this.”

Satisfied with the deal, the tree responded with a gentle creaking sound, and Scar watched in awe as a branch slowly extended from the roof above them. Leaves rustled quietly as the branch reached down, and soon, a single golden-orange passion fruit began to grow. It ripened before Scar’s eyes, plumping up until it gleamed like a jewel hanging from the ceiling. It looked exstra juciy.

Grian’s eyes widened in amazement when he saw the fruit appear, his wings giving a soft twitch of excitement. He glanced over at Scar with a look of surprise and wonder, as if he wasn’t sure if it was meant for him. Scar nodded in encouragement, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

With a little more confidence now, Grian looked back at the fruit and carefully reached up to pluck it from the branch. His fingers brushed against the smooth skin of the fruit, and for a moment, he simply held it in his hands, as though savoring the beauty of the moment.

“Thank you,” Grian said softly, his voice filled with appreciation. Scar just smiled, content to see Grian’s tension finally melting away as the vibrant colors of the passion fruit mirrored the bright red hues of his feathers.

The tree, satisfied with its work, gave one last content hum, and Scar could feel the warmth of its life spreading through the walls of the base. He patted the wood affectionately. "I'll get you that water soon," he whispered quietly, happy to see that Grian was feeling just a bit better.

Grian bit into the passion fruit, savoring the sweet, tangy juice that burst across his tongue. As a macaw avian, fruit was his favorite thing in the world, and Scar knew it. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the taste. There was something calming about it—each bite made him feel a little more at peace, the stress of the day gradually melting away.

While Grian was distracted by the fruit, Scar finished removing the last few bits of dirt from his wings, setting them down carefully on the small pile of feathers and debris that had accumulated on the floor. "All done!" Scar announced cheerfully, his voice breaking the quiet of the room.

Grian jumped slightly, startled by the sudden sound. He had been so absorbed in eating the passion fruit that he hadn’t noticed Scar finishing. He chuckled softly at himself as he continued to pick at the fruit, methodically splitting it open to reach the seeds inside. Scar watched with a fond smile; this was a side of Grian he always found endearing. Grian had a habit of carefully inspecting each fruit he ate, and now, as Scar often saw him do, he began to pick out and eat the seeds one at a time, making sure they were safe before he dug into the rest of the fruit.

Scar leaned back, watching Grian with a warm, contented expression. As Grian finally finished picking through the seeds and took the last bite of the juicy flesh, he turned to check his wings. A small smile of satisfaction crossed his face as he noticed how much cleaner and neater they looked now that Scar had helped him preen.

Before Grian could say anything, Scar shifted behind him, sliding his hands up to gently massage his shoulders and neck. His thumbs pressed softly into the tense muscles, working out the knots with care. Grian sighed deeply, his whole body relaxing under Scar's touch. Slowly, Grian leaned back against Scar, letting himself sink into the warmth and comfort of his friend’s presence as he continued to enjoy the lingering sweetness of the fruit on his tongue.

When Grian finally finished the last of his passion fruit, he turned around to face Scar, a look of gratitude and something softer in his eyes. Without saying a word, he shifted forward, sitting down in Scar’s lap. It was a quiet, tender gesture—something they didn’t do often, but in moments like this, it felt right. Grian pressed his face against Scar’s chest, nestling into him like a bird seeking shelter. Scar instinctively wrapped his arms around Grian, holding him close.

They sat like that for a long moment, the silence between them filled with warmth and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Scar gently stroked Grian’s back, the tips of his fingers brushing against the soft down that covered the base of his wings. Grian’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a contented hum, feeling completely safe in Scar’s embrace.

Scar couldn’t help but smile. These quiet moments of connection, when the rest of the world seemed to fade away, were the ones he cherished most. And as he held Grian close, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace wash over him, knowing that his friend was here, safe, and happy in his arms.

.

.

.

After a little while, Scar spoke up, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. “Hey, Grian, how do you normally preen the back of your wings if you can’t reach? Don’t avians need to preen every two to three weeks?”

Grian, still resting in Scar’s embrace, hummed softly, considering his answer. “When I first joined,” he began quietly, “I would ask Xisuma for help. I didn’t trust anyone with my wings at the time. They’re... delicate, and letting someone that close, well, it’s personal. X understood that. He was always careful, always patient with me.” Grian paused for a moment, his voice carrying the weight of those early days when trust wasn’t so easily given.

“There was one day, though,” Grian continued, “when X was too busy, and my wings were in desperate need of preening. I’d been becoming really good friends with Mumbo by then, so I trusted him to help. It wasn’t easy at first. Letting someone else handle your wings—it’s kind of like letting them hold a piece of you, something vulnerable. But Mumbo was careful too. He took his time, and eventually, I relaxed. Since then, I’ve asked him or X when I need help.”

Grian shifted slightly in Scar’s arms, his wings twitching a bit as he spoke. “But today... they were both busy, and I really, really needed it done. My wings were driving me crazy. So, I thought I’d ask you.” He yawned softly, exhaustion catching up to him after the long day.

“Thanks for doing that for me,” Grian murmured, his voice warm and sincere.

Scar beamed, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soothing circles on Grian’s back. “Anytime! I’m happy to help you, G.”

There was a brief pause before Scar added, “Oh, and I know you just ate, but I made a pie earlier. Do you want some?”

Grian let out a sleepy trill in response, his eyelids already drooping as he looked up at Scar. The sound was soft, content—like a bird settling down after a long flight. Scar chuckled at the sound, his heart melting at the sight of Grian’s tired but happy expression.

“Okay, okay,” Scar said with a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from Grian’s face. “We’ll nap first, but after that, I’ll get you some pie.”

Before Grian could respond, Scar leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a tender and lingering moment that made Grian’s heart flutter. Grian responded with a gentle sigh, sinking even further into Scar’s embrace, his head resting against Scar’s chest once more. The warmth of the moment, combined with the gentle rise and fall of Scar’s breathing, lulled Grian into a peaceful state of relaxation.

Scar smiled as he looked down at him, his own eyes feeling heavy now. The sound of Grian’s soft breathing and the comfort of their closeness made everything else feel distant, unimportant. For now, there was only this—this quiet, shared space where they could both just be.

As Scar held Grian close, he closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of peace that came with having his friend so near. “Nap now, pie later,” he whispered in the simple way the spoke to trees, though he wasn’t sure if Grian had already drifted off to sleep.

And for a while, they simply rested together, wrapped up in the warmth of each other's company, knowing that when they woke, there would be more moments like this—simple, soft, and full of quiet affection.

[theprissythumbelina]

Hey! I hope you are having a great day!

I have some wordbuilding question about horses.

First off, what makes a horse good for endurance riding, riding in general especialy in colder enviroments. How does a horse like that look anatomy wise? I have a mighty need to give my characters big fluffy horses with long manes and feathered feet because i am not immune to the hollywood horse propaganda but it is my understanding that that is not the right horse for what i need it to do.

Also how do you care for a horse and yourself after a long and exhausting ride ? What are the absolutely esential, non negotiabel steps. I have a high speed long distance chase with horses and the resources awailibel are not ideal. In terms of technology its around late medival.

Sorry for the long/complicated ask. I understand if you can't/don't want to answer.

Hi! How delightful and thank you for asking!

What makes a horse good for endurance does differ a bit from hot to cold environments, but the basic tenet is a compact body shape, efficient food consumption, and sturdy limbs. Cold environments also breed horses with shorter leg to body ratio, and long, shaggy coats. So fluffy yes, big no.

This is an Icelandic Horse, a breed native to Iceland, and descended from Viking horses. These ponies are efficient, sturdy, and have a special gait called the Tölt, a fast pace that is very smooth and comfortable to ride for long distances. A similar breed is the Fjord, though they lack the Tölt gait.

Now, as for a long and exhausting chase, there are a few non-negotiables. First, top speed of humans and horses can only be maintained for a few minutes at most. Endurance riders spend most of their ride in the trot, which is the most stable of the gaits and the easiest to maintain for long distances, save for a special gait like the Tölt. Second, if speed must be maintained over saving the horse's endurance, riders will trade off horses, such as with the Pony Express, where riders continued at high speeds, but transferred horses every few hours. If endurance is more important than speed, or no other horses available, riders will often dismount and jog alongside their horses for a time, to let the horse recover from carrying them. Riders over long distances will often have two horses or more in a 'string', and will have one horse carrying pack items, such as tents, food, weapons, ect, and one horse for riding. These can be switched around, or a horse left behind if it cannot keep up.

And most importantly for a cold scenario, horses and humans both sweat through their skin. This is extremely dangerous, as the cold can quickly cause shakes, cramps, and hypothermia if not properly cooled down. The way to do this is by draping a horse blanket, preferably wool for best moisture wicking, over the horse's body and walking the horse until heat and sweat has evaporated. After a long ride, this can take extra hours, but without this care, humans and horses can die. Once the sweat has evaporated and the horse is cool to the touch, the salt then needs to be groomed off with a brush or curry comb.

The horse should also then receive plenty of water, and if possible, a warm soaked mash, to further hydrate them. In the medieval period, horse bread, a baked bread make of nuts, oats, and grain, would be soaked in warm water and fed to the horse. It is also important to provide a source of salt, as much if it would have been sweated out, but this would also often be in the horse bread anyway. After a very hard ride however, a salt block or loose salt may be put in a bucket if the horse wants it. Again, without salt, the animal and humans will die.

Horse-bread Recipe

In the days after such a ride, the horse and rider should have plenty of rest, water, and food. They will be sore and tired, and possibly have injuries. Minor scrapes, hoof bruises, a pulled muscle, torn off horse shoes, and even a burst blood vessel in the nostrils can all happen during a hard ride. (the blood vessel will make it look like the horse is bleeding from its lungs, which is a deadly sign. However, if its just a minor blood vessel, the horse will be fine despite looking grisly.)

Hope I answered all your questions satisfactorily, and thank you for asking! Feel free to ask follow ups if need be!

[railroad-migraine]

hello lovely! you’re my favorite bells hells writer, you just hit the nail on the head with every post and i’m so excited everytime i get the notif that you posted

if your requests are still open and you have the time/want to, could you do a bells hells x reader with the prompt “please just hold me?”, like maybe reader had a nightmare or something and asks the party to hold them? please and thank you !!!!

Hello darling! Your words made me all warm and fuzzy, I'm honoured to be a favourite something hehehe. I did a similar post here for when the reader is afraid of the dark, if you're interested :)

~ Poet

"Please Just... Hold Me?"

-> S/O has a nightmare

Ashton 💙

Fuck- Shit- I mean, sure. Sure. C'mere. I'll keep you close.

Even though you're the one seeking comfort, Ashton initially freaks out a little bit themselves. They're not used to the vulnerability that comes with bad dreams, especially when it's being shared with someone he cares about.

Before you give him the go-ahead, his hands are hovering in mid air, clueless on whether or not it's okay to touch you.

They're not the best at words in situations like this, so they let their body do the talking for them. Toned arms pull you into their lap, one hand gently running up and down your back as you calm down.

His crystalised skull glints and catches the miniscule light in your shared room. A little rainbow makes a wobbly appearance on the headboard. Their body is strong and grounding beneath you.

-

Chetney 💙

Give me time and I'll figure out a way to punch nightmares. It's not impossible if it's for you. I'd do anything for you.

He's got his mind set on that end goal, and Chet doesn't give up easily. But it can wait for another day. A day where you're not trembling beside him.

Because of how smol he is, it's less him holding you and more him being scooped up into your lap with his arms around your neck. Your nose is pressed into his shoulder as he mutters soft words into your ear.

He makes teary attempts at making you laugh, something to distract you both from the water pooling in the corners of your eyes.

He keeps an eye on you in the morning, a subtle way of checking in. He doesn't bring it up in conversation - the man respects your privacy too much.

-

Dorian 💙

Do you even need to ask? Of course I'll hold you. You're safe with me. I won't let anything happen to you. They can't touch you now.

He feels a little helpless in the moment, his very being flooded with cautious alarm when you reach out for him blindly in the dark. He's not the strongest, nor the bravest, but he'll be your rock and help you through this as best he can.

Pretty words are what he lives on though, and he knows just what to say to make everything feel a little bit better. Sweet nothings and intimate musings drip from the lips that rest on the crown of your head.

His fingers sweep in soothing circles across your skin, and you cling to his silk shirt and silky hair as he guides your fluttering heartbeat to steady to a more restful rhythm.

Sings you lullabies of crisp apples in spring and warm sunshine that kisses the face of a dear lover. Those nightmares are easily kept at bay while you lay beside him.

-

Fearne 💙

Oh dear. It's just not fair, is it? Don't worry, baby, I got you. Ol' Fearnie's here now.

She's so naturally tender with you. In the daytime, Fearne teases relentlessly, pokes and prods and says sweet flirty things that make you want to curl up into a tight little ball and burn from embarrassment.

But here, she smooths back sweat soaked wispy hairs away from your forehead, presses her lips to your forehead and hushes your unnecessary apologies.

A light floral scent envelopes your entire being like a blanket while she encases you in her arms, her downy fur there feather soft and cosy.

Little Mister lifts his head from the foot of the bed and scampers up to hold your free hand, coos quiet. The other stays placed on top of Fearne's sleep dress, right over her heart. The heart that beats for you.

-

Imogen 💙

I know what it's like, love. Trust me, I do. I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you need, big or small, it's yours.

Of all the party members, you know that Imogen is the most familiar with nightmares. You've spent many sleepless nights sitting with her, smoothing back her hair and holding a cup of water to her lips as she calms down from vivid visions with vague meanings.

The storm can be so vast and crimson at times, unbearable even. It terrifies her, makes her anxious when it's bedtime. Even if she tries to hide it, you can tell.

But when you're distressed and whimpering under the covers beside her, she pushes those thoughts away and tries to be a bit braver. Braver for you. It's the least she can offer.

She cradles you into her side like you're some glass object that could shatter, her words and thoughts soothing you until sleep or daylight finds you both.

-

Laudna 💙

Those bad dreams have some nerve poking around in your head. They wouldn't dare if they knew what I could do. Lay back, precious thing.

Like Chetney, Laudna makes the nightmares out to be a personal enemy. They're cruel and unworthy of someone so good such as yourself. Just out of reach so that she can't protect you from them.

If she could, she would show them how scary-scary she can actually truly be.

But until she has the power to physically strangle the embodiment of your bad dreams, she fluffs your pillow and helps you lean back onto the mattress. She's humming something quietly, a lullaby of some sort, her fingers gingerly stroking your face once she's cuddled into you.

She asks if you want to talk about what you dreamt, and respects however you answer. Works you through what you remember and curls her fingers around your own as you speak.

-

Orym 💙

Hey, hey. Look at me. Hey. Hi. It's me. You're alright, okay? I'm right here. We're alright. Just focus on me.

He lights a candle quicky, and you now are able to see the concern on his face that the shadows previously hid from you. There's a sadness in his eyes, but it's overpowered by the protectiveness in his actions.

He perches at your side, cupping your face while his thumbs gently wipe away crusty sleep from your eyes, soft smile brighter than the flame on the nightstand.

A sprig of lavender grows effortlessly from his palm and he tucks it in between your pillows to help you sleep better when you feel ready to.

Orym has had his fair share of nightmares, and helps you through it like he approaches everything - with practiced carefulness and kindness that is so good in nature that the bad dreams dare not linger.

[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 2

Platonic Bathing, Hair Care

cw: none. this is pure fluff

Summary:

"Suppose that's the one good thing about being injured: you get to skip the ice bath."

Here on AO3

Dani hummed contentedly as he slid further down the lip of the soaking tub.

"Feeling good there, muchacho?"

"Yes," he answered, the final letter thick on his tongue. "You should join me, amigo. The heat is wonderful. Much better than the recovery pods."

Jamie chuckled. "No doubt. Suppose that's the one good thing about being injured: you get to skip the ice bath. Here, lift your head up."

With tremendous effort, Dani forced himself to sit upright. He shifted his thigh to the side so that Jamie could refill the small ice bucket he’d confiscated from the minibar. Jamie dragged the bucket through the water, and Dani watched, mesmerised by how the swirl of his tattoos shattered under the ripples. When his arm broke back through the surface, trails of suds dripped down to his elbow, and that too was a collage of beauty: all tensed muscle and delicate lines of ink painted over with bubbles on a landscape.

Dani had never considered himself much of a photographer – the majority of the photos he took were of friends and family – but the sight of his friend, with his grey t-shirt clinging wet and his lip bit tight in concentration, filled Dani with a love so strong that he yearned to be able to capture the memory of it in his heart forever. 

Dani was also on very good drugs.

He swiped his arm out lazily. As if by magic, his fingers found Jamie's wrist, and they slotted around the bones and taper like a mountain climber grasping for purchase on the rocks.

Cruelly, Jamie pulled away. "Hang on there, let me finish this first. Can’t have you getting all tangled up. Now come on, be a lad for me, yeah? Eyes closed."

Huffing, Dani closed his eyes. He was rewarded. Nudging him to tilt his head back, Jamie slowly tipped the water over his hair. His fingers were careful as they combed through the strands, helping the blissfully warm water to rinse him clean.

Where the soap ran down Dani's shoulders, his bruises tingled. The bubbles were feather light, nothing capable of hurt, but the sensation awoke nerves that had been blissfully rendered mute with the application of magic spray and painkillers. From what Dani had briefly glimpsed in the mirror, the bruising would be spectacular by morning.

But that was tomorrow. Tonight, the water was blissfully, painfully hot against the swollen ache of his ribs, and Dani wanted for nothing.

"There we go!" Jamie clicked his tongue, a happy noise that made Dani smile. A clatter echoed through the bathroom as the plastic bucket was tossed somewhere across the tile. "Clean as a whistle. I'd condition it for you, but our bags ain't been brought up yet. Unless you want me to go grab 'em...?"

His voice trailed off in a question. Perhaps Dani wanted for one thing.

"Stay?" he asked. Once more, Dani tried to catch his friend before he could leave, but this time the bruises won the battle. With a sobering splash, his arm flopped limply back into the water.

Jamie fished his arm back out. Deft hands undid the gauze wrapped around his palm. The abrasions were minor, but still his friend skipped the terry towel in favour of patting it dry with the soft cotton front of his shirt. Once satisfied, Jamie manoeuvred Dani's arm into a more comfortable position against his side, but he kept a hold of his hand, twining their thumbs together so that Dani wouldn't slip under the surface again.

Finally, Jamie cleared his throat. "Sure. Yeah, I can stay,"

He gave Dani's hand a quick squeeze. Then, in an equally quick motion, he pressed his forehead against the back of their entwined hands.

"I can stay," he repeated, his voice rich with the same beauty as his tattoos under dappled water. "I'm here all night. You want me to turn the jets on?"

Dani smiled. He closed his eyes. "Yes. Thank you, amigo."

He did not need to see to hear the love in his friend's voice. "Whatever you need, muchacho."

[yourlokalescholar]

Don’t usually do stories on here, but saw this prompt and felt inspired. Constructive criticism welcome <:

Cinderella huffed through gritted teeth, scrubbing furiously at this most recent stain on the tile; there seemed to be more every day. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise her if her stepsisters spilled food on purpose to spite her. That sounded like them.

She thrust the brush into the soap bucket, splashing water all over the floor and soaking her dress. It hardly mattered anyway: her stepmother and stepsisters were enjoying themselves at the royal ball, and probably wouldn’t be back all night. Probably be too hungover to get up ‘till the afternoon too, Cinderella thought with grim pleasure.

She sighed and sat back, the stain finally gone. She looked around at the rest of the floor, assessing how much work she needed to do before tomorrow.

Good lord.

Right. Now seemed a good time for a break. She dropped the brush on the floor and stood up, cracking her back. She wiped her hands on her apron and made her way outside, still barefoot.

Cinderella took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of the fresh air and the coolness of it on her skin, soothing her exhausted muscles. Leaning her back against the wall, she closed her eyes and imagined she was anywhere else. It was the perfect night for a ball; midwinter evening, but surprisingly warm, the stars bright and clearly visible in the cloudless sky.

“It is a lovely night, isn’t it?” A voice said from beside her.

Cinderella startled, eyes snapping open and head snapping to the side. Standing next to her was a woman. Or… perhaps it was a younger girl. No, she was sure it was a woman. Older than her, perhaps in her twenties, or seventies. The woman grinned at her obvious confusion.

Cinderella remembered her manners. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. Your dress is lovely.” It wasn’t a lie: she was wearing a gorgeous, deep green ball gown, with a flowing train made of translucent fabric that seemed to fade to nothing. Over her shoulders was what looked to be a cloak of iridescent, black feathers.

The woman looked pleased. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your manners. That’s something I’ve always liked about you.”

Cinderella was quickly growing uneasy, wondering if this woman was older than she looked, and perhaps going senile. Though, now that she’d mentioned it, she did think the woman looked inexplicably familiar.

Tilting her head, the strange woman spoke again with exaggerated surprise, a wide grin still plastered on her face, as if she’d forgotten she had to move her mouth when she changed facial expressions. “Do you not recognise me, dear? I suppose it has been a while since we last spoke.”

The girl tried for a politely apologetic expression, shaking her head.

The woman smiled even wider. “I am your godmother; it’s my job to make sure your life is going as well as I can make it.”

Now, most young ladies might be frightened or concerned by this statement. Cinderella, however, felt that it explained quite a bit about her childhood; namely, all of her faint memories about an old woman that taught her numbers and read her bedtime stories when she was small. And by god did she need someone to fix her life.

She matched the woman’s grin. “I do remember you,” she tilted her head thoughtfully, mimicking her earlier motion. “Partially, at least. May I have your name?”

Her godmother’s eyes crinkled with genuine mirth, and her head snapped back as she let out a laugh like church bells.

“Good! You remember me. I’m glad to see living with that infernal stepmother of yours has not wrung all of the wits out of you,” she said. “And to answer your question, although I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say, you may refer to me as ‘Godmother’.”

Godmother clapped her hands once. “Now, Cinderella, if you still want to get to that ball, we’d better get to work right away. Unless you intend to show up dressed like that?”

Cinderella looked down at her stained, grey rags, still soaked with dirty water, and shook her head. “What did you have in mind?”

Her godmother frowned. “Now, dear. You’ve spent enough of your life being told what to do; I think you’ve earned the rights to some autonomy. What do YOU want?”

Cinderella’s face broke into a genuine smile for possibly the first time since her father died.

“What do you think will piss off my stepfamily the most?”

Her godmother grinned mischievously, her wings unfurling behind her.

***

The prince snarled as he slashed at what was left of the training dummy. The remaining hunk of leather finally collapsed to the floor, and he stood over it, panting.

He felt a little better.

“Reginald Charming Peaseblossom!” A furious voice boomed from behind him.

Reginald flinched, but stubbornly refused to turn around.

“You are to turn and face me this instant, young man,” She said, deathly calm.

The prince took a deep breath, making the most of the last few moments of his life, then turned to face his mother.

The woman in front of him was a few inches shorter than he was, with snow-white hair standing out shockingly against her ebony skin. She wore a deep purple and lilac dress with golden accents, and her arms and neck were all but covered by heavy gold jewellery. Hung over one of her arms was what looked to be a wine-red suit, which looked almost as bedazzled as her own dress. Reginald chose to focus on her clothing to avoid looking at the stony face she was surely wearing.

“Yes, mother?” He asked, still breathing heavily. It came out more feebly than he’d intended.

The queen took a deep breath, and it looked like it took all of her strength to keep her expression cold and neutral (it was unbecoming for royalty to show emotion in the company of others, the prince remembered from his many lessons in etiquette). She stepped towards her son and shoved the suit at him, the extravagant garnishes jingling.

“You’re lucky there’s no time to punish you. Put this on quickly- I will be making sure it’s done properly- then head straight to the ballroom. Guests are already arriving. We will discuss your tardiness after the ball.”

“Yes, mother,” Reginald replied. Then, feeling bold, he added, “But don’t expect me to find a suitor. I am certain that none of the guests-“

“One of our guests will take your fancy,” his mother’s voice was more angry than he’d ever heard it, but her face was blank as always. “Otherwise, your father and I will choose a bride for you.”

The prince stiffened. He didn’t know why he still tried to defy her. He knew all it would do was get him into more trouble.

“Yes, mother.”

He turned smoothly, walking away with his head held high and his suit folded neatly over one arm, as he’d been taught. He deflated the moment he was out of the queen’s sight, relaxing his posture and breaking into a jog. If he hurried, he could wash quickly and be ready without making his mother much more angry. He didn’t want to attract the attention of any possible suitors, of course, but he wasn’t an animal.

Or perhaps he was just looking for an excuse to avoid the ball for a bit longer. He’d probably regret that later.

Once he’d reached his room (slamming the door and locking it behind him), he let out a sigh that hurt his throat with its force. He wanted to scream and throw something across the room in anger, but knew he didn’t have time for any more dramatics.

Instead, Reginald stalked over to his closet and threw the doors open, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He held the suit in front of him, and saw with disgust that it looked fantastic.

As he’d noticed before, it was a deep, wine red, the buttons apparently made of gold. It was paired with a white poet shirt to wear underneath. Reginald’s dreadlocks were tied back in a short ponytail at that moment, but he knew if he let them down and added some golden strings and ribbons, maybe a pair of gold earrings as well, it would compliment the gold on the suit perfectly.

The already unhappy face in the mirror contorted into a scowl as the boy realised that his mother, as usual, was right.

***

Cinderella tried her best to look like a noble as she hitched up her skirts and stepped daintily down from her carriage-that-had-been-a-pumpkin. Actually, she had to move daintily, because her shoes were made of brittle glass (it was A Look, okay? She was a trendsetter).

She looked back at her godmother, who’d been sat besides her on the drive there. The fairy was stepping down after her, leaving her long train trailing behind her into the carriage. She offered her goddaughter an encouraging smile.

“You’re going to be great, dear,” she told Cinderella. “Go have fun. I’ll be here, even if you can’t see me.”

Cinderella smiled back. “Th- I’m grateful, Godmother. And I’m very glad for all of these gifts.”

With a knowing grin, the woman gave a final curtsy, and was gone in a gust of wind and a fluttering of fabric and feathers.

Cinderella took a deep breath, straightening her posture. She nodded to the carriage driver, who squeaked in response. And without further ado, she turned to follow the rest of the party-goers into the castle, holding back a smile as she pretended not to see the heads that turned in her direction.

She was far and away the best dressed there.

Most of the crowd consisted of the more rich common folk- they were easy to distinguish from their extravagant skirts made of clearly cheap material- but a significant amount of them were actually nobility. Cinderella walked among lords, ladies, dukes, duchesses, counts, countesses- and her dress outshone them all.

She’d arrived at the same time as most of the other guests, right as the music was starting. A shy boy about her age in a striking orange suit caught her eye, and she sashayed over to him as the music crescendoed. He gaped at her, and she grinned at him and held out her hand, which he took tentatively. The girl laughed and pulled him to the dance floor, trying for a pirouette. Admittedly, she didn’t know how to dance, but this boy seemed too enraptured to tell.

She giggled girlishly, twirling from his arms a few songs later and into the arms of a young woman in a pale pink dress, who gripped her hands with no hesitation and danced with confidence and a lot more skill than Cinderella possessed.

She spent the better part of the next two hours dancing the night away, never staying with a partner for more than a song or two, but leaving them with an impression that would stick with them for the rest of her life, unbeknownst to her. She was aware of little beyond her dance partner and the eyes of her audience, for once not distasteful or reproachful, but admiring. Reverent, even.

She sometimes caught glimpses of deep green fabric and iridescent, black feathers, and she knew that her godmother was there with her, and Cinderella felt happy and safe for the first time she could remember clearly.

It was pure luck that the Prince of the Entire Bloody Kingdom found his way into her arms.

***

Reginald didn’t make a habit of staring at people. He knew it was impolite, plus most people weren’t interesting enough to warrant staring.

This girl, however…

Reginald knew what love felt like, in theory. He’d read plenty of books on the subject, and thought he’d probably be able to identify it if he ever fell in love with someone, unlikely as he found the notion. And he was sure this wasn’t it. Which begged the question: why couldn’t he look away from this girl?

Perhaps it was her clothing. Her dress was ocean-blue, with layers of skirts fading to a turquoise the colour of a tropical sea, the bottom skirts trailing behind her, rippling like waves. The hemline was raised in the front to just below her knees, and was lined with a translucent, white fabric that glittered like sea-foam and seemed impossibly light, as if it floated just above the ground. Her bodice was simple; the neckline and waistline were adorned with the same sea-foam-fabric, but other than that it was entirely plain- although Reginald swore that when the light hit it just so, it moved like the surface of the ocean from a mile above. Somehow, despite her ethereal dress, the prince felt the most striking part of her outfit was the shoes: they were made entirely of intricately-shaped glass, and yet were as pristine and flawless as they’d been when she’d arrived, despite being perhaps a centimetre thick at their strongest point.

It gave Reginald a petty sense of satisfaction to know that her simple outfit of a ball gown and slippers far outshone his mother’s intricate dress with twice its weight in gold jewellery.

But no, it wasn’t the outfit that drew the prince’s eye.

There was something about the way she moved, that he could no more explain than he could ignore. She clearly couldn’t dance, yet her movements were elegant, flowing smoothly like water in a stream. If he hadn’t spent so much of his life in dancing lessons, he’d probably think she was an expert. She seemed tireless, moving with the same unnerving enthusiasm she’d danced with all night, with an unfaltering grin stretching from ear to ear. Something about her reminded him of a dream, as if the colours of her clothes and skin and flowing hair couldn’t quite keep up with her, leaving afterimages in her wake.

It was like she was enchanted.

Reginald wanted to study her.

That was the real reason he joined the dance, and finally found himself with her a few hours later (the entire crowd was clustered around her, almost forming a solid wall).

He looked down at the girl, who looked back at him, face perfectly framed by her almost snow-white hair, and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Oh, wow. You’re beautiful.”

He immediately cringed. That… that had come out wrong. The girl raised her eyebrows, looking unimpressed.

“Thank you? But I’m really not interested… your highness.”

“Oh thank god,” the prince sighed, too relieved to be surprised.

The girl threw back her head and cackled, and Reginald realised in that same moment that that was also not a polite thing to say to a guest.

“Wowwww!” She said with mock-offence, twirling into a pirouette even though the song did not call for it at all. “I expected the prince to be a lot more polite.”

“No- I’m- I- I just meant- um…” he stuttered, to the girl’s visibly growing amusement. “Can we please start over?”

She laughed again, then broke away and dipped into a curtsey.

“Cinderella Fairchild, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Oh good, they were doing formal introductions. Reginald knew how to do those.

“Prince Reginald Charming Peaseblossom of Mythica, at your service.”

He held out a hand, raising an eyebrow. Cinderella took it and he pulled her into a more formal slow dance, this time to the beat of the music.

“So, what brings you to the ‘find the prince a wife’ party if you’re not planning to court the prince?” Reginald asked, starting to lead Cinderella to a more private corner.

“What brings you to the ‘find the prince a wife’ party if you’re not planning to find a wife?” Cinderella countered.

The prince grimaced. “This ball was… not my idea, to put it mildly.” (In truth, he’d been fighting against the plan for weeks) “I actually have no interest in romance. I’d be glad if I never found a wife, ever.”

Cinderella raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Would you rather a husband?”

She laughed at his scandalised expression, and he scrambled to defend himself (yet again).

“No- There’s nothing wrong with- I was just- I thought- You-“ he huffed. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.”

“Yup!” She grinned, popping the p.

Reginald raised his eyebrows at her. “I notice you’re avoiding my question, Cinderella.”

She squinted at him and jutted out her jaw, like an annoyed child. “Well, if you must know, I’m busy having a good time and pissing off my stepfamily by showing them up and refusing to clean their house.”

The prince laughed. “Alright, valid. It seems neither of us have a happy family life.”

He twirled her around like a ballerina, even though the song playing at that moment was actually quite somber. Then he frowned, realising something.

“Hold on. Aren’t you a noblewoman? Why are you doing your family’s chores?”

She smiled secretively. “A noblewoman? Me? Why on Earth would you think that?”

Reginald took a step back and looked Cinderella up and down incredulously. “You’re telling me that you’re dressed like that… and. You’re not royalty?”

“Mmhm!” She tilted her head to the side as if she was looking at someone behind him, still wearing that secretive smile.

The prince raised an eyebrow, planting his hands hands on his hips. He continued to stare at her for a few seconds, before finally giving in and asking the question she was clearly waiting for.

“So how did you get the outfit then?”

“Oh, this? Just a gift from my godmother.”

“Mhm,” Reginald knew she was teasing him, but now he had to know what she was being so secretive about. “And where did your godmother get it?”

“She made it herself!” Then Cinderella gave him a smug smile. “She’s good with magic. Comes with being a fairy, I think.”

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but when they did his mouth gaped so wide he thought his mother would crucify him if she were there. He didn’t for a moment consider that the girl might be lying: a fairy’s involvement would actually explain a lot of what he’d seen that night.

“Your godmother is a fairy? How… how did that even come about?” Somehow, that was the only question Reginald could think to ask.

Cinderella looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment, then she shrugged. “No clue, honestly. I’ll have to ask her when I get the chance.”

The prince chuckled and shook his head. “Kind of ironic, isn’t it?” At Cinderella’s questioning look, he elaborated. “I mean because of my heritage. My mother makes sure everyone we meet knows that my great-great-great-whatever grandmother was a fairy, and that I have ‘nature’s blessing’, or something like that. She would lose her MIND if she knew that a fairy’s goddaughter was at this ball.”

Cinderella giggled. “Maybe I should go introduce myself. How much do you think she’d pay if I told her I’d ensure calm seas and a bountiful harvest?”

The prince started to reply, then cut himself off abruptly. A grin slowly split his face, as he turned to face Cinderella fully.

“Just how badly do you want to get away from your stepfamily?”

She grimaced. “More than anything.”

“Enough to marry a man you just met?”

Her eyes widened, and a matching grin began to spread across her own face. “Perhaps.” Her face turned sly again. “Or, maybe not a man I just met. I’d have to know him for at least a few hours first…” she glanced through a window. “How long until midnight?”

Reginald also turned to look. “I’d say two hours. Why?”

“I wanna be dramatic about it. Might explain later.”

The prince found himself smiling wider at the girl’s obscurity, which he was quickly growing familiar with. “Well then. Might I offer you a tour of the gardens while we wait?”

Prince Reginald held out his hand once more, and Cinderella took it without hesitation.

[spikedsoul]

maid's worst nightmare - ch 37

Hello friends, finally back with another chapter. Things will be a little slow because I'm writing another fic for fnaf:sb so please be patient!

Previous chapters

@sovereign-of-succ

"Hold on, darling," Bowser rumbled, slipping his hands underneath your arms. You felt weightless as he lifted you up like you were a feather and gingerly placed you into the warm water of the tub; you sighed heavily as the water enveloped your sore, aching body.

"You really didn't have to do all this…" But you weren't complaining! The massage had felt wonderful and was just what you needed, although you were already beginning to feel sore from it.

Bowser snorted as he leaned against the side of the tub. "After all that? I sure as hell do, and I'm happy to, too. Besides, if ya don't soak in the water now, you just gonna be crazy sore later… I mean, shit. I reckon I'mma hafta carry you to the track anyway."

You settled against the side he was leaning on, gently pulling one of his hands to your chest. You knew that ordinarily you would've been embarrassed, shy, and unwilling to let him keep seeing you naked… so this was truly a testament to how much you trusted him already. Also maybe it was the result of getting a little relief after such a long time of fear.

"I mean, I won't complain if you wanna carry me," you said nonchalantly. He hummed curiously; you didn't have to look at him to know he was smirking a little. "Admittedly my legs still feel like jelly."

"There it is," he snickered softly.

"Oh, shut up."

He shifted and kissed your temple, his hand sliding down to your left tight and giving a gentle squeeze. "You gonna be fine, baby. Luckily we don't gotta do much for the race but sit; we got screens to see what's happening at the far ends of the tracks."

"What about lunch? Surely we've missed it," you hummed. "And after that little bit of exercise, I'm starving."

"Hmm, I like a woman with an appetite," he growled softly in your ear.

You couldn't resist rolling your eyes. "What's next? You like a woman with a face, too? Maybe a body?"

His hand shifted to your other thigh, also giving it a light squeeze. "Mostly I like a woman who likes me back. Can't be too picky these days, but physically existin' with lips I can kiss sure is a plus." He nuzzled you gently.

"You big softy," you murmured, turning your head and kissing his nose lightly. "...About lunch, though…"

He laughed softly as he pulled his hand back to your chest. You couldn't help a smile, although honestly you were already feeling your stomach growl - it wouldn't be too long before you'd start to get hangry, you could feel it.

"I'll go tell 'em to bring it if they ain't done so already." He pulled his hand back so he could get to his feet, and after one more kiss to your head he turned and ambled out of the bathroom to go inquire about your lunch.

You took the chance to wash thoroughly, your hair included, and although you tried to get yourself to analyze why you weren't freaking out or reacting with embarrassment, your brain refused to engage.

The long and short of it was that you were safe and loved. No other analysis was required.

When Bowser returned, he had some clothes grasped in one of his big hands. "Lunch is on the table," he announced as he set your clothes on the counter. "I wanted ya to soak longer, but we shouldn't let it get cold."

Thank diety! Lunch!

"Alright. Help me out, please," you smiled gratefully at him.

He draped a towel over one of his forearms before stooping near you to offer his other one across your chest. You put both arms over it, and as easily as he'd set you into the tub, he lifted you out of it and onto your feet. He didn't pull his arm away until he was sure you could at least stand on your own. 

"Legs a little better, then?" he asked, handing you the towel.

"I can at least stand, yes," you nodded as you dried off - carefully, of course. He stood back a little to give you some space. "Thanks, big man."

"Anythin' for my queen," he purred.

Ah, there it was, the feeling of flustered embarrassment. Your cheeks flushed red, but you tried to keep a little composure.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here," you tried to say pleasantly, but it definitely came out in a mumble.

Bowser snickered softly. "No? Seems like ya might like that one, you sure?"

You eyed him; two could potentially play this game. Although for your part, getting called 'queen' might not have been so flustering if he wasn't an actual king. It had a few deeper implications that still made you a little nervous. Maybe you could get used to it, though…

But you'd have to think about that later. Right now you needed to get back at him with something that would make him blush just as hard.

"You gotta let a lady have a breather, you know," you murmured, letting him gather you into his arms so he could carry you to the table. Today, you'd definitely let him carry you wherever.

"But you so cute when you blushin'," he complained as he sat you in a chair. "I can't help it, 'specially since ya still won't tell me yer real name…"

"That's a discussion for later."

Even though you didn't say it too firmly, Bowser sighed and nodded. "We gonna talk about it, though…?"

You smiled warmly at him, lifting the silver dome off of your burger and fries. "Promise," you murmured. He deserved to know the truth, but lunch time as your hanger was creeping in was definitely not the time. Honestly, Bowser was lucky you knew how to control it!

…Who were you kidding? He'd probably think it was adorable despite your very real irritation.

Either way, you picked the burger and bit into it just as your stomach growled loudly enough for him to hear. He laughed, but just shook his head and followed suit with his own burger.

Honestly, after getting fucked so thoroughly and taken care of so tenderly, this was the best burger you'd ever had in your life. Shit, maybe that was the case anyway, but there was definitely something to be said about eating some delicious comfort food after some actual, genuine love and comfort.

Between bites, once you'd had a little water to wash everything down, you smiled warmly over at the man sitting across from you. He blinked, but smiled back as he reached for his own drink.

You waited for him to start drinking before you said, "Just wanted to thank you for today… daddy."

Predictably, he choked on his drink, a dark blush immediately settling in his cheeks as he coughed hard, struggling to process what you just said to him.

You just smiled sweetly and kept eating like nothing had happened.

That's what he got for flustering you.

[the-blind-one-speaks]

Waking Up

Previous

Hunter rested his chin in one hand, staring down at the creature curled up in his bed. The retrieval had… not gone as he had expected. The small, rumbling form nestled in his blankets was obviously a vampire, a haunt — the sounds echoing from it were enough to confirm it, even if it hadn’t been scorched by daylight and burned by iron and silver. He huffed through his nose, brow furrowing. 

It didn’t look like a haunt. The most obvious thing was its lack of wings. No raven feathers over powerful, muscled limbs, no way to take to the night sky, silent as an owl in flight. Then there was the matter of its skin. Pale and white, like the humans native to the mountain slopes where it had been found. He had never seen a haunt that bore skin so pale. The inky black that soaked up the shadows wasn’t even reflected in the slitted pupils of the creature; he’d checked. 

That was another thing. Instead of the blazing crimson he expected, this one had pale blue eyes. Its hair was not bleached of all color, but a warm russet brown, in thick curls rather than the silky smooth texture that had so often slipped through his claws like water. 

Hunter had killed many haunts in his lifetime. Upwards of a dozen, and that was a significant achievement, even for one of his strength. They were difficult to sight, impossible to track, and lethal in terms of raw strength and agility. Even his enhanced hearing was useless to find them. They were so much a part of the night that even their hearts had found a way to beat quieter than he could detect. Taking down a single haunt was a massive score. It was almost like challenging a fey. 

The small creature curled in his blankets let out a soft sigh. He watched as it nuzzled into the fabric, kneading its hands and purring contentedly. He’d only ever heard such a sound from feeding haunts, in the past. It almost looked… harmless. 

Which was precisely why he needed to keep it close, somewhere he could keep a sharp eye on it. 

Sterling clicked a questioning, sleepy call to his sire as he awoke. He’d been sleeping, but not hibernating, and he knew that meant his sire was close by. He stretched, calling out again, asking if he’d had a good hunt. 

Then the pain hit him and everything came flooding back. 

He screeched, an animal sound of pure pain, and fell onto his side. Curling up, he felt frantically for the muzzle, panting ragged breaths. Where was it? He hadn’t taken it off — he couldn’t touch it! If he’d removed it, he was sure…. he shuddered, keening softly to himself, rocking back and forth. He hadn’t understood the words but the throat had been clear enough. They’d promised to remove not just his fangs, but every tooth in his mouth. With a brittle sob, he pressed his face into the blankets and bit his lip, just because he still could. 

…Blankets?

He muttered a shy, hopeful chirp. Had his sire come for him? Had he — had he finally been found? He lifted his teary eyes and glanced around. 

A man was sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching him. Sterling could smell the animal musk beneath the soap. He froze, rigid with terror, meeting the man’s hazel eyes. 

In his human form, the werewolf had dark shaggy hair, swept back from his face. His lips thinned in a close-mouthed smile behind a neatly trimmed black beard. The eyes that would flash gold with green flecks had lost their metallic gleam but kept their burning intensity. He was dressed in simple, dark clothing, rough fabric that folded easily over his lean form, and stiff leather boots. One ankle was propped up on his knee as he leaned back in the chair. His eyes studied Sterling’s face, taking in his expression with no small amount of satisfaction. 

“So. You remember me.”

Sterling nodded, curling his limbs closer to his chest. He huddled in the center of the bed, shivering. His eyes darted about the room. They caught on the window. 

Heavy drapes pulled closed were blocking the sunlight from entering the room. He gripped his thin shoulders, whimpering. The werewolf had other ways to hurt him, he was sure. He hoped this was not the first. The burning was always so agonizing. Even silver would be better. 

He dropped his eyes and pressed himself into the blankets, hiding behind their gentle swell. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t hurting even more yet, but he would take it while he could. He wasn’t sure why he was in a bed, either, but it was so soft… maybe the softest thing he’d ever felt. Even his sire’s wings were coarse compared to this. 

It took him a moment to realize that he was purring. 

Desperate, he tried to stifle the noise. Wrapping his arms around his thin, rattling chest, he tried to cut off the vibrations. He snarled silently, hiding the expression from his captor, in an effort to shove down the sound of his fleeting relief. 

There was a gruff laugh. “S’alright, little cub. You’ve been doing that ever since I took the shackles off. No wonder, either. Nasty stuff, silver shackles.” 

The tone was sympathetic, even as it was amused. Sterling peeked over the mound of blankets he’d been cowering behind. The man was leaning forward, a playful smile showing his gleaming teeth. He winked as the little haunt made an appearance. 

“That’s right. S’okay. Take a look around. I ain’t gonna hurt ye, pup.” He laughed again, a full, jovial sound. “Not if you don’t cause me any trouble, but you don’t look like you’re gonna be a problem, are ye, pup?”

Sterling shook his head, trying to calm his racing heart. No pain? If he was no trouble? He’d never been given a way out of the torture before. He would be so, so good. 

His brow furrowed. If he could figure out what the werewolf wanted. At least he could understand what he was saying. The werewolf was speaking to him in one of the older dialects, still a little off from what he had last spoken with his sire, but not whatever gibberish the humans that had burned and beat and cut him had been speaking. He muttered a little chirp and buried his hands in the soft fabric, pushing and pulling it between his fingers just to feel its marvelous texture. Resting his sharp chin on the blanket mound, he studied the werewolf’s hands, wanting to see the blows when they came. He wasn’t sure how much pain he could avoid by behaving, especially as he didn’t know how to behave yet, but he wasn’t a fool. Even though the werewolf had spared him, he surely had some ideas of what he wanted to try out with his new toy. 

Sterling knew the stories. The werewolf wanted to be the strongest creature on earth. Maybe keeping Sterling captive, having a docile haunt — even if, in truth, Sterling was only half-blooded — would stroke his ego a bit. If Sterling kept himself looking weak, would that satisfy the wolf? He hoped so. He had nowhere else to go. 

His heart ached for his sire. Not for the first time, he uttered a mournful little click. The sound bounced off the walls and came back to him. There was no answering call. He wished he could wrap himself in his sire’s dark wings one more time, even if the bed was softer. He wanted to look into those blazing crimson eyes and be called “son.” 

He didn’t feel the tears falling down his face until the man leaned forward and gently thumbed one away. Sterling was glad that he hadn’t flinched. The man’s voice softened. 

“There, little cub. I know, it hurts, you’re in pain, you’re scared.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m sure I don’t help with that. But I promise, little pup, it’ll be alright. You’ll heal, and you’ll never have to feel the daylight scorch you again. I’ll take you out each night so you can sit beneath the moon, would you like that?”

A hopeful squeak burst out of him before Sterling could choke it back. He didn’t mean to lean into the man’s hand, but it had been so long since he had felt a touch that didn’t hurt. His sire had never been big on touching him anyway, since Sterling was innately so much warmer than a true-blooded haunt. The werewolf chuckled again, a softer and much happier sound. “I thought you’d be excited by that. S’good idea.” His skin was rough and calloused, coarsened by a lifetime longer and harder than many men ever lived to see. His thumb kept tracing small circles on Sterling’s cheek, just above the raw flesh where the muzzle had sat and burned. Sterling’s eyes drooped closed. He felt his body relax and unwind, the tension draining out of him. He sank into the gentle touch, floating amongst the blankets. Soon all he was aware of was the heat of the man’s skin cradling his cheek and the rumbling purr that eased his own pain. He drifted.

“Goodnight, little pup.” The soft, gruff voice chased him into sleep.

taglist: @itsleighlove @whumpzone @thegreatwhodini @unicornscotty

[thedamesdrains]

Even when I think bathtime is safe, rest assured the tides can changed...

This time with an attached story!

Krrrsshhhhhhh… squeak… plip plop plop…

Char smiled as she turned off the tap. Just what a weary bird needed: a nice hot bath, frothy and white. Slipping out of her bathrobe, she eased a talon first into the water, followed by the rest of her leg. Sighing in bliss, the raven settled down into the water and bubbles. Laying her head by the tap's end, wrapped in the warmth, she closed her eyes. All those worries seemed to melt away as she soaked. Just a bird and her bath.

Or would it be two birds and a bath?

The bathroom door creaked open, and a smirking black beak peered in. With the expected silence and stealth of a bird of prey, a mischievous osprey snuck her way into the raven's bathroom. Charbydis, wearing only her trademark grin, set her sights on the relaxing bird. She would teach her to be more attentive of her surroundings, especially while taking a bath. The osprey would demonstrate how fitting her name was.

Careful and quiet, Charbydis slid over to the front of the bathtub. There, she saw it, glimmering in the water between clouds of suds: the drain plug. Marble white and attached to a silver beaded chain, it kept all the water and a certain birdy in the tub. That wicked grin widening, she slipped her hand down into the warm water. With a grip on the chain, Charbydis wanted to make sure Char knew she was already in trouble.

"Oh Char~?" she cooed in that deceptively deep voice.

The raven slowly opened her eyes, the hazy outline of that mischievous osprey coming into focus. She gulped. She only had time to sit upright before…

Pop!!

With a yank of her wrist, Charbydis pulled the plug out from the bath. Teasingly dangling it in front of the aghast raven, Chabydis spoke: "Bath time's over~"

Glug glug glug… glrrshh…

The sudsy waters started to drain out of the tub. Already amassing into a small vortex at the other end of the tub, Char felt herself pulled with the water! Already her talons and tail feathers brushed and squeezed against the metal of the drain. With a bout of suction, they squeezed impossibly into the pipes with a noisy glrk! as they did.

"W-wait, Bydi!" Char crawhed, pulled deeper and deeper into the drain with each passing second. "P-Pull me out, I-I-I'm…"

"Going down the drain," Charbydis coolly replied. With a proud puff of her chest, she started to twirl the plug by the chain. "Right where you belong, sewerslut."

Swsh swsh swsh… gurgle… glunk!

Her legs vanished into the sudsy swirl, pulling the raven hip-deep into the plumbing and upright atop the drain. Grimacing bashfully, the raven started to spin in place among the water and soap. A dizzying twirl made her head spin! Nothing could stop her descent as she continued to slip away like so much suds…

Char continued to glide down the drain, the loud gurgles of the drain echoing in her ears. Her whole world was in a spin, her vision soon becoming full of water and foam as the last bits of the bath chased after their bird. A relaxing time in the tub, now she's all washed up! With a meek little whine, her head squeezed down into the pipe and vanished beneath the last dollops of foam.

Satisfied and listening to those blubs and gurgles of the water rushing away, Charbydis leaned over the tub to watch the pretty bird go down the drain. Seeing those last feathers vanish into the dark of the drain, she gave a teasing wave.

"Bye bye birdie~" she tweeted toward the pipes.

Down beneath the bathtub, Charmyte was tight in the pipes. The waters pulled her along, still noisy in her head… glrrrrshhh, blurrblbl… She couldn't help but blush and squeak silently to herself. Squeezing down through the plumbing would be the rest of her afternoon, before an ignoble deposit into the sewers… she would definitely need another bath after this.

Hopefully one she gets out of by her own accord and not by pulling a plug cord…

Gluglguglug!!!

[narrators-journal]

chiaki x akihiko, 3 and 19. shows me for joking about a/b/o lmao

This one is...fuckin’ rough, I’ll admit it. I dunno why, but Akihiko’s bitch ass threw me the fuck OFF here. The ABO was a bit of a challenge, but meh. It was v much Aki for some reason lolol. So! Sorry this one’s a lil off, I hope u enjoy it regardless hon!

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: A/B/O, the dom/sub dynamic is more baked into the surrounding story, but it’s there. Shower sex, maybe a teensie bit of dubcon? But it’s only there in, like, a bit of spirit? Same with Teratophilia. U can read these dudes as monsters, or just, werewolf-adjascent humans.

Alpha, Beta, or Omega? That was the question that was discussed in whispers amongst the 12-year-olds of the world. That was the question on every parent’s mind when their child turned thirteen. Since, such a label was a crucial detail to know.

At least, to an extent. In reality, the role of ‘alpha’ was the only truly important one, as a child who turned out to be an Alpha was the future Alpha, or a threat to the group’s acting family. Omega’s were probably the second most important, but not for the risk they pose to a social group’s power balance. No, Omega’s were simply intensely fertile people, who, no matter the gender, were capable of bearing children. Which, was something that the majority population of Betas couldn’t match.

That was why any Omega found was offered to the Alpha of the group for breeding. Which, was how a now-twenty-year-old Chiaki Kobayashi ended up in the service of Alpha Sanada. When the dark-cherry-haired man had turned thirteen, it came to light that he was an Omega, a male one, but an omega nonetheless. So, his parents were quick to offer him up as some sort of eventual broodmare for their Alpha. Especially quickly, since the young Akihiko Sanada had no parents, so no one was there to vet Chiaki’s bloodline. So, he was free to be trained as a servant, or maybe housewife, of sorts until he was eighteen, and could finally be sent in as the main line of defense against the aggression of an Alpha’s first rut.

Hence why the glasses-clad man was hard at work that night. The one assigned to clean up the mess of feather pillows, strewn, designer laundry, and sweat-soaked silk sheets that was his Alpha’s ornate, well-decorated room, ensure the anti-knot band stayed on during the gray-haired man’s rut on his way to help the Alpha wash the need and frustration off of his lightly tanned, scar-dotted skin.

“Mr. Sanada, I’m here to help with your bath like usual.” He called as he entered the steamy, warm bathroom. The scent of Akihiko’s amber-and-vanilla fragrance thick in the humid air as the redhead began to strip down out of his button-up shirt, dress pants, and socks. This is gonna end so...hornily.A voice in his head pointed out, which earned a bit of a sigh as he took his glasses off to toss onto the piled up uniform on the tile floor and ignored that voice. After all, he knew the risk he put himself in when he approached the shower, he’d been in charge of his Alpha’s hormones ever since they’d met on his eighteenth birthday. He knew what to expect from the twenty-year-old, fight-loving, horny-out-of-his-mind man. And, he was right to assume that. Because, as soon as he slid open the shower door to step in, the Alpha was on him.

Instantly, Akihiko’s lips were on Chiaki’s. Not at all gentle, nor romantic at all. The man’s rut was clearly strong, that was evident enough in the way that his arms were locked around Chiaki to keep him pressed against his strong, muscular chest until the Omega couldn’t seem to get an actual breath in without his cock being squished more between their abdomens. And, before even a breath was wasted, the Alpha scooped Chiaki’s thigh up and hoisted the smaller man up until his toes barely brushed the thin layer of water on the tiles.

And, on command, the Omega melted obediently into the pale-haired man’s broad chest and let his tongue invade and explore his mouth. He made no move to fight the aggressive grip of Akihiko’s calloused hand, or how he rut his erection against his ass. The thick rubber-y band around the base of his girthy cock brushed against Chiaki’s nuts in his aimless desperation. But, that didn’t last for too long before the Alpha seemed to scrape together his impulses enough to properly slam into the smaller Omega and flood him with a shot of pain that quickly mixed with pleasure.

Which, Chiaki only responded to with a bit of a whine, and his arms swiftly snaked around Akihiko’s neck for some sort of stability against the sudden burst of masochistic pleasure that came from the abrupt intrusion and instantly ruthless pace.

And, god, when his tongue met Chiaki’s, he tasted like the chocolate protein powder he’d put in his morning shake, and his hands were rough as he held Chiaki’s leg up so that he could thrust into the omega without restraint or fight. Even though, the Omega knew better than to deny him, especially not when the air was so thick with his heavy, rut-thickened scent. “F-Fuck...sir…” The redhead thoughtlessly panted into the humid, steamy air of the shower, Akihiko’s only response a feral, “Shut up.” snapped into his ear, the Omega’s clawed grip on the silver-haired man’s broad shoulders ignored. Little more than fodder for the Alpha’s rut. Which, realistically should’ve been a source of terror for the shorter man, considering the sheer power difference between the two, but, with the thick cloud of amber-and-vanilla that oozed into the warm air to slither into Chiaki’s head to give him a contact high to go with the pleasure of Akihiko’s feral desire and the way that his hips slammed into him.

Or, maybe the pleasure that filled his veins was due to the auburn-haired man’s role as an Omega. Maybe his body was simply programmed to react so strongly to the drag of an Alpha’s cock against his most intimate parts, and the hot steam of the shower that rained down on the two of them was nothing but a cherry on top of the ingrained response.

Either way, the man was breathless while he tightened his grip on his Alpha and let him hump into him as much as he wanted. After all, Akihiko wore the anti-knot band, he couldn’t lock them together and breed him, so while the soaked, white-haired man clung to him as he growled and bounced him against that band with how harshly he pounded into his ass, Chiaki was free to let the stimulation stir up so many nice sensations. “S-Sanada!” He whined, a growl sent rattling down his spine when the Alpha corrected, “Akihiko.” “H-huh?!” “Call me Akihiko, god damn it.” He snarled, his thrusts unfettered, his words a mix of quick pants and growls that crawled over the short man’s skin like the beads of warm water that traced their ways gently down the curve of his body. “Aki...Akihiko.” Chiaki panted out, his words breathy from how tightly the Alpha squeezed him against his strong chest.

Which, in a weird way, seemed to worsen the haze of desire that intoxicated the redhead. The lack of oxygen, the hot water, the steam in the amber-and-vanilla-scented air, the friction of Akihiko’s cock as it’s rough, desperate pace devolved into a more feral, uneven one. The Alpha’s noises little more than snarls and moans as he tried in vain to shove his knot into Chiaki. The only slightly coherent mutterance he got out was, “Say my name again.” In a voice more akin to a wolf’s growl than human words, but the redhead still did as he was told. “Akihiko!” “Again.” “ah!- Akihiko!” Chiaki called out into the grandiose bathroom, Akihiko’s final moan mixed into the ambient sounds not too long after. The tall, pale-haired man almost howling as he pumped cum into Chiaki’s belly. And, while his knot couldn’t be shoved into his Omega, that didn’t stop him from a whole-hearted attempt.

And, while the man sunk down to sit on the tile floor of the shower as the water finally ran cold, Chiaki kept his hold on the man’s shoulders as firm as the hold he still had on his torso. Until, finally, Akihiko let out a small breath and loosened his hold, “Um…” Chiaki muttered, “Do you want me to ge-” “No.” “Yes sir.” He said quickly, wordlessly settled into the Alpha’s lap to regain his breath. Just hope I don’t get pregnant from this… The smaller man thought, his cheeks warmed at the thought. And, partially because of the soft pecs that he got to lay bonelessly upon while his Alpha caught his breath.

[starcunin]

Astarion stands frozen, blinking in disbelief as Puck rushes to reassure him, grasping his hand and pressing it against the steady thrum of his pulse. The rapid beat beneath his fingertips feels shockingly real, despite everything——despite the blood, the death, the madness of it all. Alive. He’s alive. The truth of it pulses beneath his palm, and for a moment, Astarion can’t process it. His mind is still swimming in a thick fog of ecstasy and confusion, the lingering intoxication from Puck’s blood making it hard to think, hard to focus.

Puck is alive, and he’s… not angry. He’s not lashing out, not recoiling in horror. He’s… comforting him?? Astarion’s eyes widen further, his thoughts stuttering to a halt. He hadn’t expected any of this. Not even a little bit. Part of him had braced for an attack, for fury, or worse——for Puck to vanish into nothingness, confirming his blood-soaked delirium. But this? This easy forgiveness? This absurd, naive reassurance?

Astarion blinks again, his bloodied fingers still resting against the warm pulse in Puck’s throat. This is real. As much as his mind rebels against it, it’s happening. The fear, the panic that had gripped him moments ago, starts to fade into something quieter. A muted relief washes over him, dulling the sharp edges of his guilt. Puck is alive. He’s not angry. He’s not dead. The relief comes swiftly, but with it, the guilt lingers——an ugly weight pressing down on his chest. He killed Puck. He drained him dry, and yet here the man is, standing before him, more concerned about Astarion’s well-being than his own. It’s almost laughable, if it weren’t so deeply unsettling. Astarion lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his fingers twitching slightly against the warmth of Puck’s skin.

❛ Just like that? ❜ Astarion asks finally, his voice a touch incredulous. His fingers remain pressed to Puck’s pulse, feeling the rhythm of life beneath his cool touch. He raises his other hand, pinching his index and thumb together, emphasizing his next words, ❛ You’re not even a teeny bit upset? ❜ His tone is somewhat teasing, but beneath it there’s an edge——a lingering disbelief that gnaws at him.

He feels his mouth begin to water again, an involuntary reaction to the proximity of that divine blood. He just drained him. He shouldn’t still want more, but, gods, he does. His fangs ache faintly, the hunger stirring once more, despite the fact that he’s just gorged himself on the man’s very essence. He should be satisfied. Sated. But the longer he stands here, the more the need returns, like a fire rekindling from embers. His mind is still a mess, a chaotic swirl of conflicting emotions——guilt, fear, confusion, lust, and an overwhelming, electric longing that hums beneath his skin. His fingers trail down the line of Puck’s throat, feather-light, tracing the path his fangs had taken earlier. The skin there is flawless, untouched, as if the entire thing had been nothing but both a wonderful dream and a terrible nightmare.

Astarion leans in slightly, his breath hitching as his fingertips brush against the smooth skin of Puck’s jaw, up to his chin, and then over the soft curve of his lips. There’s a charge to every touch, a static shock that sends shivers down his spine. It’s like he’s drunk, but not on wine——on the sheer impossibility of Puck’s existence, on the divine blood that still sings in his veins, on the electric pulse of life beneath his fingers.

❛ What are you? ❜ Astarion whispers, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His voice is low, reverent, like he’s speaking to something sacred. �� You defy every expectation I’ve ever had about anything. ❜ His fingertips linger on Puck’s lips, tracing the soft line of them, each touch sending a ripple of sensation through him. The world feels too sharp, too bright, too alive, and Astarion is lost in it, drowning in the impossibly of Puck’s essence, and his continued existence.

Astarion stares at Puck, utterly dumbfounded. He has no idea. None. The man is standing there, blinking at him with that same perplexed expression, utterly oblivious to the fact that he was just dead. Astarion’s mind reels, struggling to comprehend how someone could be so… clueless, so naive, that they wouldn’t even notice their heart had stopped. He barely thinks he hears Puck’s words correctly at first—something about being so horny he passed out??—and when they finally register, Astarion’s mouth opens in disbelief. His lips twitch, and this time, the laugh that escapes him is more prominent, a sharp, almost hysterical sound that cuts through the air. It’s not a laugh born of humor, not really. It’s too nervous, too frantic, tinged with disbelief and something darker——an edge of panic buried beneath the staggering intoxication.

A part of him wants to let it go, to let Puck believe whatever nonsense he’s come up with in that strange head of his. It would be easier, wouldn’t it? To walk away from this, wipe his hands clean, and never speak of it again. Let Puck live in his blissful ignorance. But…

But Puck died. Astarion killed him. HIS THROAT WAS RIPPED OPEN, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. The weight of it hits him all over again, the truth settling like a stone in his gut, heavy and sickening. ❛ My gods, ❜ he murmurs, and runs a bloodied hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the roots, trying to ground himself. ❛ Okay—❜ The word is a sharp exhale, as if he’s steeling himself for what he’s about to say. He takes a step back, finally removing his fingers from Puck’s chest, his hands twitching nervously at his sides. He’s not sure if he’s creating distance to protect himself, or if it’s for Puck’s sake.

❛ I’m about to tell you something, but before I do—❜ he pauses, his eyes searching Puck’s face, trying to gauge how to deliver the truth without unraveling completely, ❛ I need you to know that… you’re the first person I’ve ever tasted. ❜ Astarion’s voice wavers, uncertainty threading through his words as he tries to make sense of it all, tries to somehow justify what he did. ❛ I’ve only ever eaten rats, or… that boar. Cazador, my master—he forbade the blood of thinking creatures. So when I drank from you…❜

His voice falters, his fingers fidgeting anxiously at his sides, twisting into the fabric of his bloodstained clothes. But the weight of what he’s done presses down on him, suffocating, and he has no choice but to continue. ❛ I lost control, ❜ he confesses. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to admit it out loud, but there’s no avoiding it. ❛ I just killed you, Puck, ❜ the weight of it nearly knocks the breath from him, but now that it’s out he feels like he’s going to spiral.

❛ And now…❜ He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes wide, wild with the cocktail of terror and exhilaration surging through him. ❛ Now I’m entirely positive that because I drained you, I’m more inebriated than I’ve ever been in my entire fucking life to the point where I’ve actually lost my mind, and I’m standing here talking to your bloody corpse. ❜ The words spill out in a rush, his voice quick, frantic, barely pausing for breath, and his string of words ends with yet another nervous chuckle. Anxiety claws at his insides, twisting through the lingering pleasure, until he’s left standing there, trembling, caught between the thrill of power and the icy grip of fear. He’s never felt anything like this—this staggering feeling of euphoria, of strength, of utter bliss—mixed with bone-deep terror.