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sapphossparenoterbook · 1 month ago
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Hiiii! You said you're writing for AAA, so like a moth drawn to the light I came. 😆 Can you write Lilia x Reader? Reader being the vampire Carmila who inspired the book of the same name and even the Dracula book. 🥰
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Crimson Secrets
Lilia Calderu x Vampire!Reader
(This book looks so so cool, I am definitely putting it onto my reading list!)
You’d done this thousands of times before… it was getting old, honestly, but alas, the appeal of sinking your teeth into young maiden’s necks won’t ever be truly boring. It’s just the process leading up to it that makes you suffer with bouts of ennui. 
Walking down a dirt track, you feel your body weaken. You hadn’t drank any human blood in around a week, and the rodents and livestock you find while stumbling along the Romanian country roads. 
Hopefully, no one here has heard the stories of the vampire in Austria that claimed to be in a carriage accident, mainly because you’re about to try that main trick again. One would say that the repetitiveness of your manipulation schemes was getting dangerous, but a vampire lacking their horde often gets desperate to survive. It’s easier to manipulate rather than overpower when you’re alone. 
A bolt of lightning in the distance illuminates the skyline ahead for a few seconds, making the dark bricks of a large looming tower visible to the eye. A tower that high means a castle, and a castle means food, company, and a good night's rest. Annoyingly, the lightning was a late warning for buckets and buckets of rain, but at least now you know where your next meal is. 
It doesn’t take you long to arrive at the castle, your metamorphosis into a bat proving useful once again. Except for the occasional rain drop hitting your wing too hard and knocking you off of your course and into the mud. 
Adds to the appeal of damsel in distress when you knock at the large front door, and a servant–or a butler?-answers the phone and stares at you with an indignant look on his face. Poor guy looked like he was fast asleep right before you knocked, but then again, he wouldn’t have answered as fast as he did if he was asleep…
“Hello… Could I… come in, only until morning–please sir, I promise not to bother anyone–” You say, hoping the damsel in distress act works just as well as it always does. 
“Why are you this far from the village at this hour? These roads are dangerous. Ridiculous girl.” The server-or-maybe-a-butler tells you, god, I hate when they’re grumpy. 
“I apologise, sir, I think there has been a misunderstanding… I was travelling, and I guess the horse was stressed? The thunder struck and he just– collapsed!” You say, feeling tears well up in your eyes before spilling down your face. 
Who was it that taught you how to do this? Irrelevant now, really… they’ve probably burned alive or choked on garlic for all I know…
The butler hands you his handkerchief and you wipe your eyes, pretending not to notice his grimace as the splashes of mud on your face smudge into the white fabric. Yeah, that stain isn’t coming out… 
Just then, a young woman and her mother walk out into the hall, watching as you cry and then rushing forwards to let you in. These are definitely the ladies of the house. 
The woman is dressed in a nightgown, with her grey hair tied into a bun. Her tense pursed lip slightly relaxes as she frets over you. 
Meanwhile the younger woman is still dressed in her full outfit. A large, orange dress, ordained with yellow embroidery, and her brunette hair in a plaited bun, similar to her mothers but with much more time put into it.And her smell–oh god, her smell… It's like rose petals and blood, gorgeous. The sound of her heart beat reaches your ears, and you can’t stop yourself from shivering as she grabs at your arm. 
“Oh, god–you’re shivering, mamma, she’s shivering! Come in, come on… come to the fire…” She says, and tightens her grip on your arm to drag you into the lounge of the great big castle. 
You’re here for days, then weeks… the girl, Lilia Calderu, has bonded to you very quickly. So much that they moved you from the empty maids bedroom next to the kitchen into the grand guest room next to hers. Which makes it much easier for you to slip into her room at night and bite into her pretty little neck, the pale, pure expanse of skin is warm to the touch, and the taste of the crimson liquid that spills into your mouth while she sleeps has quickly become addicting. She’s the best you’ve ever tasted. 
She’s getting sick, most likely from the frequent loss of blood,  so some nights you just spend waking her up and talking to her instead of biting into her sweet flesh, and tasting that lovely blood. This is one of those nights, before this, you’d thought she was just like any other of your victims. 
“Stop biting me!” She yells as she turns to face the other wall, freezing up for a split second. But how would she know? And why would she only react now, when you most definitely were not biting her? 
“Lilia? Are you okay?” You say as she turns back around, she’d grabbed an old book from her shelf that she was previously talking about, and carried on as if nothing had happened. 
“What? I’m fine… why?” She said, and as you look into your eyes you see no ounce of year, and no sign of any deception. Strange, you’d seen people phase out like that before, but only ever divination witches, and they had a much better control over when they’d predict something happening. 
You grin, this is a good, but also bad sign… you could keep seducing Lilia, run away with her if she ever gets caught… sex while drinking blood is always really, really lovely and all. Or, it could always backfire like crazy and she might have a divine intervention about you halfway through dinner with her parents tonight, or something dramatic like that. 
“Nothing, Lilia.” You say with a smile and pat the space on her bed she was occupying earlier. “Come back to bed, read me the book” Your smile widens as she blushes, and gets back into the bed next to you, and you pretend not to react as you rest your head on her chin, oh so close to her neck. 
There’s the telltale sign of lust when she hears Lilia’s heartbeat increase, and she starts to read that book. You chuckle, and kiss her shoulder, slightly dragging your teeth across the skin and hearing the girl stutter. 
Scratch what you’d said before, the lead up to drinking blood from cute young maiden’s necks was definitely not getting old, especially when they act all sweet like this.
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dilatorywriting · 2 years ago
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Heroes vs. Villains : Diasomnia
Gender Neutral Reader x Diasomnia vs. Prince Stefan Word Count: 3.9k
Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Diasomnia Version
ie. Wherein Malleus invites you along to Briar Valley's Festival of Roses and Sebek drives you to near insanity. Thankfully (?) getting lost in the chaos means you meet another wayward soul.
[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]
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“I don’t think Sebek likes me very much,” you sighed.
“Oh?” Malleus blinked, clearly a bit thrown by the sudden accusation. “What would make you think that?”
Your glare swiveled pointedly to a sharp bolt of green just barely poking out from behind one of the many dilapidated pillars. Sebek’s yellow eyes slowly rose up with the rest of him, and the half-fae glowered at you like a pissy tomcat.
Malleus’s brilliant, neon, gaze slowly tracked yours, and when it met with his Knight’s startled gaping, his brow furrowed in annoyance. His irritated scowl was always a bit hard to read. Was he being pouty? Murderous? Both? Hell if you knew.
“I see,” he sighed after a moment, long suffering.
You just hummed in grumpy agreement as Sebek tried to duck back down behind the debris.
You and Malleus had clicked from the get-go. Perhaps it was because he’d never really had a friend before, and you were far too stupid and naïve about the rules of this new world to understand anything about the implications behind that. The Fae Prince was easy company—he was smart, with a dry, oblivious sort of humor that could leave you in stitches. His ensuing confusion about why you were laughing was always a surefire way to get you laughing harder. You enjoyed his company immensely, and you liked to think that he enjoyed yours enough in turn that perhaps your fleeting humanity had left at least a teensy impression on his near-immortal soul. Or, you know, whatever. At the very least, you were a semi willing student for his nightly architecture lectures, and you knew that at least put you in better standing than, say, Leona.
So when you received a personal summons to the Briar Valley’s Festival of Roses—hand delivered by the Crown Prince himself—you were over the moon.
“You seemed interested in our customs,” Malleus had explained. “And seeing as I invaded your home over the Halloween festivities, it only seems right that this time I extend you the invitation into mine.”
You agreed enthusiastically, because hell-fucking-yes you wanted to see all the mystical, magical, mumbo-jumbo that this world had to offer. Sure, you were trapped here for an indefinite amount of time, but you would be damned if you let the only cool part of any of that miserable uncertainty go to waste.
“Is there anything I should know?” you asked, fighting the urge to bop around the carriage like a toddler on a sugar high. Because that’s how you were travelling. In an honest-to-goodness horse drawn carriage. (Or, well, magic drawn or something.) “So that I don’t embarrass any of you or anything, I mean.”
Lilia was smirking over at you with a kind of fond amusement that you assumed meant he’d picked up on your rabid excitement from a mile away. Your vibrating was probably shaking his seat. Occasionally his wine-red irises would flick to Malleus, and that smirk would curl into something sharper, something mischievous.
“Humans aren’t too common to see,” Malleus said, with the same, odd sort of tension about him that had rocketed through his too-tall frame the moment you’d climbed into the seat beside him. “But they are not entirely unfamiliar either. You should be treated fairly.”
Your horned friend had been strangely silent throughout most of this journey. The weirdest part was that he seemed absolutely determined to stare out the window—head turned at a sharp angle, his hands clasped neatly in his lap and shoulders pulled so stiff and straight that he could have been one of the gargoyles that he so loved. And for someone who usually made far too much eye contact, the lack of acknowledgement was a bit unnerving.
“You’ll be more than fine as you are,” Lilia translated, the points of his fangs peeking out from behind his grin. “And I can promise you that any guest of Malleus’s will be welcomed with open arms.”
Malleus continued his resolute stare down with the glass and Lilia snickered into his palm. Sebek made a strangled noise from his seat across from you. He hadn’t been particularly vocal thus far about his disapproval of your inclusion (you doubted Sebek had it in him to openly question any decision of Malleus’s), but the look of complete and utter dismay twisting his face was telling enough.
You leaned in and prodded Malleus gently in the side.
“I won’t be, like, executed or something if someone hears me call you ‘Tsunotarou,’ will I?”
Sebek squawked and there was a sudden strike of lightning just outside the carriage window that rattled the entire coach with an echoing boom.
“No,” Malleus said emphatically, his lime-green glower zeroing in on you for the first time since this entire venture began. “No one will touch you, no matter what indiscretions they may think to assume you guilty of.”
“But, young master!—” Sebek started to argue. “The impropriety of—” he spluttered. “To even think thatyou could be addressed as—as that is—"
“No,” Malleus repeated, nearly a growl, and another bolt of bright static lit the window. The electricity seemed to linger in the air long after the flash had faded, like a little, rippling, current running the edge of its teeth along your skin. “And this will be the last it is discussed.”
The terrible, quiet, tension that followed was broken by a snuffling snore as Silver shifted, his head flopping from where it’d been pressed against the wooden paneling to instead land with a heavy thwump against Lilia’s shoulder.
“How… How did he sleep through all that?” you asked in awe.
Lilia sighed, affectionate, and reached out to ruffle a clawed hand through Silver’s hair. “He’s so special~”
.
.
You knew that Malleus was royalty and blablabla, but you hadn’t really anticipated all the things that came with that. The castle? Yes. Totally made sense. The entire entourage of servants that appeared to whisk away your bags? Also rational. Sorta cool, and definitely made you feel a bit too much like a celebrity, even if you understood the need for such protocol.
Malleus also immediately being whisked away?
Now that… That you hadn’t really considered.
“I’ll meet back with you as soon as I can,” he promised. Lilia and Silver had already vanished down a separate winding hallway, and the prospect of being left all alone in this gargantuan foyer was just short of terrifying. “There are some final preparations for the Festival that I am required to oversee personally.” And then there was another moment where Malleus resolutely refused to meet your gaze, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say it was almost like he was being coy. But it passed quickly enough and instead he cast a pointed glare towards his subordinate. “Sebek can show you around in the meantime. He’s a more than capable guard.”
You looked at Sebek and Sebek looked at you.
Uh-oh.
“How long will that take?” you asked, hoping it didn’t sound as whiny as it felt. But, like, come on. This was basically the human equivalent of your friend inviting you to come visit for the holidays and then immediately dumping you with their weird aunt and the dog that never really learned not to pee on the carpet.
“Only until the evening,” he assured, like it wasn’t just barely past ten in the morning—like eight-plus whole ass hours was really no time at all. And to be fair, for him it probably really wasn’t. But for you and your very mortal panic, it immediately felt like you were facing down eternity. You didn’t know what your face was doing, but whatever it was, it made Malleus’s brow scrunch up in concern. “Will that be alright?”
“Of course,” you lied, like a good guest. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”
He smiled that small, slanted, smile of his that always looked just a touch too sharp at the corners. And then he was gone, and it was just you and Sebek.
“So,” you tried. “Do you know what any of that was about?”
“LORD MALLEUS’S PRINCELY RESPONSIBILITIES ARE NONE OF YOUR CONCERN, HUMAN!” Sebek barked, crossing his arms sternly across his chest. “IF THE YOUNG MASTER DID NOT SEE FIT TO INFORM YOU, THEN I SEE NO REASON WHY I SHOULD EITHER!”
You groaned and valiantly fought the urge to drop your head into your hands.
.
.
“Don’t touch that, human!”
“How dare you—you’re going to embarrass the young master!”
“Human! Don’t you dare!”
“Human!”
“HUMAN!”
You were going insane. You couldn’t blink without Sebek snarling at you about impropriety, and the fact that your very presence in this castle was a failing of tradition itself. You tried to ask about the Festival and were immediately shut down. You inquired politely if there was anything you could do to help, only to be told firmly that silly little humans weren’t good for anything and to keep your nose out of it. You asked to use the bathroom and your stupid, mortal, bladder was cursed within an inch of its life.
“It would have been easier not to bring you at all,” Sebek grumbled for the thousandth time as he grouchily led you through rows of decorative stalls.
“I am aware,” you grit out, grinding your molars.
“I still can’t understand it,” he rambled. “No matter how many times Master Lilia explains it to me, you—this—it defies all logic!”
“Friendship isn’t always logical,” you bit back, firm. Because that is what you were, right? Friends? And then, because you were angry and wanted to hit him where it hurt— “You know, if Malleus is so willing to sully himself by keeping someone as lowly and stupid as me as his friend, maybe that’s a sign that the other company he’s forced to keep is less than ideal.”
Sebek puffed up like a rooster in a cock fight and turned on you with a snarl.
“How dare you presume to call yourself the Young Master’s friend!” The corners of his lips curled down over jagged canines. “At best you’re a pet—something that’ll long outlast its welcome before you eventually wither away and die.”
Annnnd you had officially reached your allocated tolerance of Anti-Human-Bullshit for the day.
So when Sebek was caught up in another one of his longwinded tirades, you slipped into the gap between two of the Festival stalls and out the other side. The silence was immediate and like a balm against your sore hide.
There was something about Sebek that made you think he didn’t really mean all those things he spouted. Occasionally there was a kind of disquiet in his yellow gaze, especially when he ranted angrily about the shortcomings of his very human father. The green-haired fae was far from subtle, and you had a feeling that all his huffing and puffing was probably to hide something… else. Something more uncertain and small that he downright refused to address. Because humans were weak, and short-lived, and chaotic. And he would have to face that sooner or later. With Silver. With his own parent. And hating that humanity was no doubt easier than loving and losing it.
That being said, his prickly behavior still made you want to punt his head like a spiky, green, football. So.
You wandered around aimlessly through the intricate maze of market stalls and booths. Despite the perpetually grey cloud cover, everyone here was so cheerful. And Lilia was right—no one seemed to give two shits about your very human eyes, and face, and stature. It was really nice. You spent so long strolling through the rows that you barely even noticed when the sky began to darken and the crowds thinned as you approached the outskirts. There was an ominous roll of thunder in the distance, but you didn’t think too much of it. The clouds looked ready to open up any second. It was probably just a bit of rain.   
There was a little, makeshift, dirt pit at the edge of the stalls, and you observed it curiously. It was ringed with colorful, triangular, flags, and the inner crater was lined with archery targets and wooden sparring dummies. It reminded you a bit of those competition fields in Renaissance Fairs.
However, so enraptured by these painted planks were you that you wound up crashing headfirst into a wall of crimson, and immediately plummeted towards the ground. But then a strong arm was around your waist, twirling you back to your feet. And boy was it a twirl—like you were being swung around into an entire waltz. It left your head spinning worse than if whoever-it-was had just let you faceplant into the dirt.  
“Wow, ow. Your head is way harder than it looks. Ouch. My poor ribs.”
You immediately moved to apologize, but were caught off guard by a pair of softly rounded ears peeking out from beneath mused, brown, hair. Another human. Like you. You blinked a few times, not entirely sure why the idea of another mortal gallivanting around the Festival was so surprising. You fought what would no doubt look like an insanely creepy urge to lean closer and get a better look at his face, just to make sure—to check if his canines were blunted, if his pupils were round and soft rather than narrow slashes of black. There was another low rumbling of thunder, closer this time. It was followed by a sharp crack of lightning that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.
“Sorry about that,” you finally managed to eke out, vision still a bit swirly.
“It’s alright. It didn’t actually hurt that badly,” your victim chuckled, cordial, and set you back on your feet. It was a very lovely chuckle—deep and warm, like melting, dark, chocolate. “Are you alright? You look a little dazed.”
“I think so—” you began, before accidentally putting a bit too much weight onto your left ankle. It twinged painfully and you winced. Immediately that hand was back at your shoulder, keeping you balanced. “Or maybe not.”
“I guess my head is still harder than yours after all,” Mister Brunette mused to himself.
“I don’t think your head twisted my ankle,” you mumbled, confused.
He tossed his head back with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but notice that he had very lovely cheekbones. Not as sharp as Malleus’s maybe, but still perfectly proportioned to the rest of his very well-cut face.
“What are you doing all the way out here? Are you lost too?” he asked.
“Maybe,” you hummed, glancing around at the semi-familiar layout. You couldn’t really tell if you recognized the little stalls because you’d seen them before, or if it was just because they were standard make and all looked more or less the same. “…Probably.”
“We can be allies in idiocy then,” he snorted pleasantly, and reached out with his other hand to double up on helping you better maintain the balance that you so clearly did not possess.
“Does this new ally have a name?” you asked, still a bit dizzy.
“Stefan,” he grinned—all white teeth and charisma. “After my great-great-great—” He paused for a moment, as if considering, “great-great-grandfather.”
He laughed merrily at whatever disgruntled face you were pulling.
“Yeah. I guess it is all a bit pretentious,” he sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But that’s just the way it is back home—for my family, at the very least. Lots of tradition this, and lineage that.”
“Oh?” you hummed. “Sounds stifling.”
“It is! I mean, it’s practically the 14th century now,” he laughed, and you genuinely could not tell if he was being serious. “I’m always telling my father it’s time to get with the times, you know?”
For a moment, you were reminded so strongly of Malleus and his general dissociation with the modern world that it was almost startling.
“And you?”
“Me?” you blinked.
He laughed. “Your name? If you don’t mind me inquiring, of course.”
You gave it freely. Lilia had cautioned you once upon a time about something-something-power-in-a-name, but Lilia wasn’t here right now. And it’s not like you were anyone special enough that your name could mean much of anything to begin with. Maybe, if they were lucky enough, someone could use it as an incantation to summon a hungry racoon from the sewers.
Stefan repeated it merrily, with the same inflection one may use when telling a fantastical tale to friends in a tavern. No ravenous racoons spawned from the trees when he said it, so you assumed the whole ‘power’ thing was probably safe.
Another flash of emerald lit the sky—this strike was larger, louder. Like dozens of branches unfurling from a rotting tree, or clawed fingers digging their way through the clouds. The roar of thunder that followed almost seemed to shake the ground. Stefan frowned up at the black clouds.
“It was already starting to get late anyways, but the weather is really starting to turn, huh?” he hummed and tapped at his chin, pensive. “And I can’t just leave you all the way out here—especially knowing that you’ve got a bum ankle. Hmm…” More tapping. And then his hazel eyes lit up like firebugs. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”
“A horse?” you repeated, confused.
“Helios,” he smiled, bright as the sun. “He’s my best friend. And, well, also my trusty steed. He’s just over in the contestant’s stables. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind giving you a lift.”
Riding back into the heart of the Festival on horseback sounded like something that would absolutely give Sebek at least two separate heart attacks. But before you could voice your skepticism, Stefan was rushing off—his crimson cape swirling behind him in the wind.
“I’ll be right back!”
You slouched against a pillar with a sigh, shifting as much of your weight off your ankle as you could manage. You wondered if Malleus had finished his Pre-Festival duties. You wondered if Sebek had realized you’d disappeared yet. Surely even he wasn’t that oblivious. You wondered if he was panicked at all—if not for you, then for his Lord’s inevitable wrath at the misplacement of a favored ‘pet.’
“Well, well. There you are, little one.”
You jolted in surprise and immediately curled back into yourself with a pained hiss. Goddamned ankle—
“Lilia,” you gaped. “Jesus fucking—don’t dothat.”
The Fae shot you a wicked grin from his place floating overhead, angled just-so so that it looked like he was dangling upside-down from the wooden signage across the top of an empty stall. But you knew better. He was bouncing around on his magic and his magic alone.
“How did you end up all the way out here?” Lilia hummed, slipping from his ‘perch’ to land gracefully at your side. His wine-red eyes roved over you from head to toe. It felt like you were being filleted. “And you’ve gone and hurt yourself on top of everything. Goodness,” he sighed, bone-deep and weary. “I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to deal with another one of Malleus’s tantrums this evening. And yet, here you are. Being so careless.” Another sigh, nearly a groan. “What am I going to do with you, hmm?”
“It’s not like it was my fault!” you spluttered, even though it had definitely been your fault.
Lilia gave you a look.
“Either way,” he continued, voice lilted in that indulgent way that reminded you far too much of a parent trying and failing to discipline a wayward child, “let’s get you back before he blows the entire market away.”
Then, Stefan called your name and the fond expression on Lilia’s face immediately flattened into something so pointedly blank it was almost unsettling. Your new friend came trotting forward, a lovely and large silver dun horse at his side. Helios, you assumed. The gigantic beast caught sight of Lilia and slid to a standstill, rearing up with a panicked whinny as he backpedaled. Stefan twisted his hands into the reins and ran a hand along the horse’s neck—shushing and placating the startled animal. After a moment, Stefan managed to calm Helios enough to keep him from bolting, and he turned on Lilia with wide eyes.
“Lord Vanrouge,” Stefan said, angling his head in what you assumed was deference. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.”
“Nor I you,” Lilia hummed, that impassive expression remaining firmly in place. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Prince Stefan? We were informed that you and your family wouldn’t be arriving until the day after next.” A pause. The silence felt louder than anything Lilia had said up to that point. “If at all.”
“Prince?” you choked, turning on the brunette with eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“Whoops?” Stefan shrugged, looking sheepish. “And I—well… I just wanted to get a look at everything. Beforehand.”
“Of course,” Lilia droned. “Either way. You’ll have to excuse us.” The Fae slide one hand beneath your knees and the other around the small of your back, and hauled you into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. “We have a pressing appointment to keep.”
With that, the world seemed to tilt on its axis as the environment melted together like splotches of watercolor paint all running together at the bottom of a page. You’d never been teleported before. You’d seen Malleus and Lilia pop in and out of existence plenty of times, but being dragged through the fabric of time and space alongside him was jarring, and the journey left you feeling nauseous and loopy all over again.
It took you a moment to realize that the universe had stopped spinning, and that the plush material beneath your palms felt an awful lot like the duvet on the bed in your guestroom. You opened your eyes slowly, cautiously, to see Lilia had placed you neatly by your pillows and had already moved away to start fretting over your swollen ankle instead.
“I never thought I would have to lecture you on the dangers of talking to strangers,” he tutted, though it wasn’t entirely playful.
“I didn’t know he was a Prince,” you complained, wincing when he prodded clinically at your stinging flesh. “I just thought he was, I don’t know, some guy.” You fought and failed the urge to fidget—fingers nervously meshing together in your lap. “…I didn’t cause an international incident or anything, did I…?” You had no idea how any of this royalty stuff worked. But you could put two-and-two together well enough to understand that the personal guest of one crowned prince mowing down a different prince was probably not looked upon very highly.
Lilia leaned forward to pat your head, some of his usual mischief working its way back into his expression.
“Not to worry, Prefect,” he smiled. “I doubt any wars have been declared over your transgressions.”
There was another roar of thunder and the castle itself seemed to tremble. The bay windows lining the wall opposite you were lit entirely in a sharp flash of lime green. Once the wicked brightness of the lightning had faded into something less blinding, you could make out dozens of hairline cracks racing up the glass panes.
Lilia sighed, looking for the first time like someone who was very acutely feeling the weariness of his hundreds upon hundreds of lifespans. “Well, not yet, at least.”
.
.
.
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sinfullyrosey · 2 years ago
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A Simple Prick
Malleus Draconia X Fem!Reader
Warnings: Hypnosis (kinda), Vaginal Penetration, Fairytale Ending... with a Twist
I was remembering that scene in Sleeping Beauty where Aurora’s under that sort of trance and is slowly walking along the castle and up the steps towards the spindle, and my brain decided to parody it.
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Being the human royal heir of a kingdom that’s still in rivalry with Briar Valley. The war may be over, but your parents were still wary of the dark fae they once fought in battle, so didn’t invite the king or queen to the celebration of your birth in fear of what curse they may befall upon newborn you. This did not go over well with the fae royals and they crashed the celebration, not out of disrespect towards them, but their son, as it was customary for your kingdom to invite any and all available royal children to meet yours as an early courting ritual.
To not allow their son to meet you, your parents were saying that he was not worthy of being a possible future candidate for your hand in marriage. That he was not worthy of your love.
So, the king and queen of Briar Valley laid a curse on you, a curse that stated that on your 21st birthday, you were to fall in love with their son when the thorn of a dragon fae pricks you. Those in your kingdom did not fully understand the words of the curse, so none knew what a dragon fae thorn was. Many believed it was the thorn of a rose bush that lined the fae kingdom’s gardens, while others believed it must be a needle or even a weapon used by the dark fae.
Regardless, your parents, sick with fear and worry over the fae taking you away from them in a forced, loveless marriage, set out to hide you away from the wretched fae royals who cursed you. You were sent away to live deep in the forest with three trusted advisers once you were a little older. There, within that cozy, little cabin, you laid hidden and raised to be ignorant of your curse.
As the years pass, you grow in near solitude, blissfully unaware of the world around you. The only escape you have are your dreams, where you get to witness a world outside of the limited one you’re confined to. A world beyond the trees, where a dark castle lies, with thorny rose bushes and stony beasts surrounding it. It’s a place found only in your dreams, and within these dreams stands a misty green figure shrouded in darkness and flames. A figure you’re never able to fully discern, but of whom you welcome nonetheless.
This figure speaks to you of wonders and tales beyond anything you could ever imagine. Spoken with such poetically silken words. Words that drew you further into him as time passed and you grew older. Words that captivated you and gave you comfort in your lonely years of existence. Oh, if only this figure were real. If only you could meet him for real and finally share yourself with him instead of seeking him out in your slumber. If only…
Fast forward and you are now twenty, about to celebrate your 21st birthday. It’s a day you have been waiting for since you were told by your guardians all those years ago. The day you would finally be able to return home and leave this gilded cage behind. The four of you had a mini celebration before heading out back to the castle, your home. Cake was shared and gifts were given, a brand-new outfit for you, one of white and gold. Unbeknownst to you, a wedding garb, as you were set to marry another royal arranged to you for your return. A failsafe to be sure the fae would not be able to steal you away from them.
On your carriage ride to your home, disaster struck, literally. A bolt of lightning, followed by the sound of thunder, came crashing down in front of your carriage, causing the horses to panic and the carriage to flip. Miraculously, you were unharmed, but the coach and your guardians were all knocked unconscious. And before you could think of what to do next, the soft sound of a distant voice reached your ears. It was a familiar sound, but one you could not fully recognized. It called to you, beckoned you to follow it past the brush and trees. You could not shake the sound filling your head and obeyed its heed.
You walked towards the voice alone and in a trance. You don’t know how long you had been walking or how much time had passed, but soon you reached the gates of an ebony stone castle, surrounded by a veil of vines and thorns. The gates seem to open up for you and lead you down a path that took you to a winding stairwell. The whole time you listened to the voice soothingly carry you up the stairs and into a room. This room was not empty, however, as there, standing before you at the glass window, was a tall, dark figure.
The dark figure turned to face you and your entranced eyes widened, mouth falling open in awe. The figure before you was that of a man, pale skinned with pointed ears and coal black horns atop his head. An even pointier pair of fangs poked out as his blackened lips curl up into a grin at you. He wore all black with dark green accents, further adding to his shadowy presence. He gave off an air of elegance and power, one that’s dark and foreboding. And yet, it all felt familiar, like you knew who this man was, but couldn’t fully visualize him.
Until a familiar pair of glowing, emerald eyes catches your own.
Those eyes…
You’ve seen them once before…
Once, upon a dream, you saw him there. You met him there, in your dreams. All those times again and again…
He is right in front of you now, looming over your much smaller frame. You only gazed up at him with wide eyes in disbelief. He called your full name then, dangerous, green eyes leering down at you so intently. You could only blink and call his name in turn.
“Ma… Malleus?”
His grin grew wider at the sound of his name upon your lips. Pale hands with sharp, black claws rested along your sides, leading you both to the bed. He sat down with you still standing before him, now at eye level with him, and your hands gently cradled in his. You tilted your head in confusion, still not comprehending that he was really here, or that you were here, in the very castle you thought was a creation from your dreamscape.
“It seems you are already dressed for the occasion.”
He gave your attire a once over, finally able to admire you after so long. You could only respond with a quiet, “Huh?” before he chuckled at your oblivious expression. His hands fiddled with his robe, drawing your attention away from his memorizing eyes and instead to the stiff member poking out from beneath the black cloth.
It was big and dark, like the rest of him. It stood straight up and sharp. You had yet to see this part of him but was pleasantly surprised regardless. It was as if he could read your thoughts, sensing your confusion and desire.
“It is a thorn, my beloved. A dragon fae’s thorn to be precise.”
You did not understand the significance of his words, but blushed nonetheless. Mind racing with such desirable thoughts. The whole sight was just ethereal. The fae chuckled and pulled you closer, guiding you to his lap.
“Come, it’s time.”
You don’t know why, but you felt that you understood. This may be your first time meeting the mysterious man, but you were still familiar with him. You felt a deep longing towards him that developed and bloomed with each passing season.
You had danced with him among the flower fields and briar, an unknown melody twirling its rhythmical notes around the two of you. You chatted and spoke of your lives with each other, sharing dreams and secrets that nobody else but you and he knew. You knew him, even if you didn’t, you knew him.
Like being in a trance once more, you moved aside your own attire to lay yourself bare like he done for you, your pussy on full display for his eyes only. You crawled into his lap, making yourself comfortable before hovering yourself over his length. You gazed down to see his cock twitching in anticipation for you, the sight making your heart skip.
You aligned yourself, inhaled, and slowly sunk yourself down onto his awaiting cock. Your unprepared walls fluttered around him, squeezing yet still readily accepting all that he had. You wince at the sharp pain that pricks at your insides, whining at the fullness of him against your velvety walls and already feeling overstimulated.
“O-oh!”
Your eyes widened when your thighs finally met his, the full length of his prick reaching deep inside you and sending you in a dizzying haze of pleasure and sudden emotions. Your eyes drooped dreamily as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Despite the stormy, gray clouds surrounding the castle and the glassy haze that clouded your vision, you had never seen things so clearly as you did now in this moment.
“Malleus, I love you. I. Love. You.”
And with that, you sealed the confession with a kiss, his misty green eyes widening, but melting into the kiss, lips molding with yours.
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Word soon got out throughout the kingdom about the missing-turned-runaway bride. The royal carriage ambushed and princess nowhere to be seen. The king and queen were in a panic, afraid of what had befallen their precious daughter and sole heir to the kingdom. But their wails of despair were interrupted by a messenger making their presence known in the great hall. With them, a single letter with an all too familiar seal stamped in a dark green wax in the shape of a dragon.
It was addressed to the king and queen, from the Queen of Briar Valley, inviting them to the wedding that was to be held in the kingdom of the fae. The wedding between the soon-to-be King Malleus and his betrothed: their precious daughter and princess of their kingdom.
At the bottom, officially signed in ink, were the signatures from both the bride and groom to be.
~Malleus & Y/N Draconia~
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thoughtsfromlayla · 2 months ago
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☾ The Prince of Stories and his unbridled ability to avoid all possible clichés.
Summary: After an unsuccessful hunt of a rouge nightmare with your new teammate Dream of the Endless, the two of your find solace in a inn. It doesn't go to plan, nothing ever goes to plan.
Notes: ~1.5k words, we love you Meowpheus we all say in unison
Warnings/Tags: Dream x MonsterHunter!Reader, mentions the Blair witch, Morpheus is one dense motherfucker
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You’re wet. And not in a fun way if you’re allowed to complain about it. You’re drenched, head to toe in late-night London rain, your hair stuck to your scalp. Your clothes are starting to turn itchy against your skin as you bring your hands to wipe away the accumulation of rainwater that clung to your face. A horse-drawn carriage runs past the two of you and drenches you further in mud and water. Great.
You risk a peak at Morpheus, who does not seem at all bothered by the rain. If you squint your eyes, you can see that the rain doesn’t even touch him, rather the water droplets simply pass through him. 
The inn you walked in was warm and dry, perfect for your tired and aching bones. It takes you no time to spot the innkeeper and you drag your soggy shoes over to him, placing your hands on the table with rushed desperation.
“Room and board, please,” you ask. 
The innkeeper looks between you and Morpheus, noting the disheveled state, and nods. “One room left, but… single bed, not suited for non-marital couples.” 
“Yeah, whatever, give me the key,” you don’t even bother to think on it, you are not going back out there. You slam down a silver coin and snatch the metal key from the innkeeper.
Your footsteps are heavy on the stairs and everyone else will think you are the most undesirable young lady of the ton, but do you care? No! This dress is damn heavy when it’s full of rainwater and your boots are soggy and muddy and your corset is digging into your ribs and this cloak was starting to overstimulate you like no other. 
After arriving in the room and tossing the key onto some old dresser, you head straight for the bathroom, ridding your clothes with desperate haste. The clothes stick to your skin and it’s like trying to separate the fruit from its syrup in the jar. Slow, antagonising slow as fitful and you’re on the brink of tears. From under your dress, you pull out the small crossbow, and whip, and silver bolts, and—huh, when did you snatch this stake? Your monster hunting equipment is the only thing you take care of as you gently place them on the bathroom counter. 
Dream, meanwhile, stands in the middle of the room like a shadow that came from no light. He is perfectly dry and warm, not that something as trivial as weather could affect him. Your footsteps had left wet footprints all over the floor and he simply watches them dry while you finish your bath. 
“I needed that,” you sigh as you come out. “You can bathe now, if you need it.”
“I do not need to bathe,” Morpheus says slowly. 
“Okay, gross, but that’s your decision, I suppose,” you grumble. It’s now that your attention draws to the bed. The singular bed in the room. It was large enough for two, if two people were pressed up against each other chest to back. “One bed…” you observe out loud. 
“As the innkeeper mentioned.” Morpheus’ voice comes out like a mocking reminder. You weren’t really paying attention to what the innkeeper was saying. 
“It’s…” you sigh deep, your bones are tired and you just want to sleep. “It’s fine, I’ll sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t want your royal highness to sleep on something that hard.” You continue to mutter to yourself as you grab one of the pillows and setting it in front of the fireplace. 
“No need,” Morpheus says slowly, stopping your actions. “I do not sleep.”
A beat of silence passes between you, the goose feather pillow still in your hand as you give a confused look to Morpheus. “You’re Dream of the Endless. You personify the sleeping mind, the unconscious, the dreams of humankind.”
Dream nods once.
“And you don’t sleep?” You probe further, the very notion baffling to yourself. 
Dream nods again. 
“Okay, whatever, good night,” you mutter to yourself. Maybe if you were more awake and less beaten down by the weather you would ask more. But, for lack of a better term, you don’t give a fuck right now. 
Your tired body slips easily into the bed, the sound of the fireplace cracking and the water slamming into the window with distant thunder easily lulling you to sleep. Except for the towering figure standing in the middle of the inn room. 
You sit up, gripping the wool blanket in your hands. “Can you… I don’t know, not do that?”
“What?”
“Stand in the middle of the room when I’m trying to sleep. Act more human, you’re in the human world now.” You look at him, tired eyes raking his figure up and down. 
“What would a human do?”
“Sleep, but you don’t so go downstairs and drink or—”
“I do not partake in alcohol,” Morpheus interrupts.
“Go shopping then,” you offer instead.
“I hold no monetary properties, they are useless to me.” 
“Oh, my God.” You want to scream into your pillow but instead, you take a deep breath. “Go stand in the corner or something, shit!” You sneer, feeling impatient, and fall back onto the bed, turning away from him. 
You take another deep breath, trying to ease the frown that’s etched onto your forehead. You’re going to get wrinkles before you’re 50 at this point. The floorboard creaks slightly under Morpheus’ footsteps as he does as he’s instructed, standing in the corner of the room. Still, he watches over you as you drift off into his realm.
He doesn’t probe, despite his growing desire to do so, knowing that the day you’ve experienced was hard and demanding indeed. He gives you no dreams, letting you simply sleep and rest. Hours pass and he remains in the corner, vigilant as ever.
A particularly harsh and loud boom of thunder wakes you up, the sound close enough to rattle the window panes. You wake with a start, your heart racing in your chest and your fingers wrap around the dagger you kept under the pillow. You swallow as you realize there was no immediate danger, that it was merely the storm. 
Morpheus was no longer standing in the center of the room, much to your surprise. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t listen to you at all. What you find isn’t any better and a scream that you let out is covered by another boom of thunder. 
His figure, black and nightmarish extends like tendrils that crawl along the brick walls of the tavern. His eyes are set on you, not even reacting to the way you screamed at him and when you look back on this moment, you’ll remember that he even rolls his eyes, but in the presence you’re adrenaline is only telling you to get out. 
“It is Morpheus, simply,” his voice is quiet and calming against the storm. 
At his announcement you stopped your scream, dropping your head into your hands at the realization. His actions remind you of another supernatural creature you hunted a month ago. The Blair Witch was one of your most terrifying adventures and you weren’t even successful in eradicating her. To this day, she still hunts the forest of Blair, her silhouette follows you everywhere you go. 
“You scared me,” you swallow your beating heart. 
“You instructed to stand in the corner,” Morpheus reminds you, his voice rumbles just like the now distant thunder. After seeing the sweat coating your hairline, he lets out a small huff. “It was not my intention.”
“Can you… turn around or something? Staring at me is weird and… creepy,” you grimace. 
After a few moments, Morpheus turns, his shoulder sagging as he turns his back to you. After another few silent seconds, you click your tongue. “Never mind, that just makes it worse. Somehow.”
You lay back down on the bed, a grunt leaving you at the force. You stare the the rotting wood of the support beams of the roof above you. Tracing your eyes over the natural swirls and rings in the logs but that doesn’t bring you sleep. You’re acutely aware of Morpheus’ presence in the corner and your mind recalls to the Blair Witch. You got a few hours of sleep, it’s fine, you’ll live. 
“Mrrrp?” A trill interrupts your dooming thoughts and a fluffy black cat eclipses your vision of the roof. 
“Morpheus?” You ask quietly, his paws pushing down on your arm and it felt like the weight of the world on both of those legs. 
Morpheus bunts his head against your cheek in confirmation before making himself a spot between your side and your arm, curling in on himself. 
“I can work with this,” you sigh, feeling your muscles relax. Your hand rests on his side, feeling the silky long fur and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Morpheus purrs, the sound cradling you back into sleep.
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As always, thanks for reading :)
♡ Yours, Layla
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take-taker-taken · 2 months ago
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hi hi!! could you do a femreader x ministry taker forbidden romance type thing? something like our kingdoms are rivals/taker is rivals with our father, but we ended up falling for taker and find ways to meet with him. would be awesome if you could include smut! thank you 💓
Hellooooooo, lovely Anon! I’ve dipped in and out of this one ever since you sent it to me, as I don’t think I can do it as a one shot, so here is Chapter One. I have no idea what to call it as a title overall - if anyone has any thoughts on that, please feel free to drop them into the comments.
Awaiting Title
Chapter One - An Unexpected Visitor
You stare out of your bedroom window at the approaching carriage, pulled by a team of four majestic black horses, complete with purple bridles and deep, plum coloured plumes. The coachman pulls the horses to a prancing, neighing halt and you draw back away from the glass as a giant of a man emerges from the vehicle.
He pauses and looks up at the house, a severe expression on his face and you gasp and freeze when he’s suddenly looking right at you. His countenance seems to soften and you could swear you saw the corner of his mouth pull up into the tiniest hint of a smile. You’re completely bewitched as your eyes lock with his, but the spell is broken when he looks away and then you hear a loud knocking at the front door.
There’s a short silence and then some scuffling that you can make out even through your closed door and feeling slightly panicked you rush to open it, only to be faced with your elder brother.
“Get back inside,” he hisses urgently. “This doesn’t concern you!”
“What’s happening?” You ask, matching the whispered pitch of his voice. “Who is that man? What does he want?”
“I told you, it’s none of your concern - now stay there and keep quiet!” With that he pulls the door closed and must be holding it shut because you’re unable to shift it an inch. About ten minutes later you hear the front door bang closed and so you rush back to the window to see the giant striding back to the open door of his carriage. Your nose is all but pressed against the glass when he turns around and looks back up at you. He pauses and then turns around fully and then… he points at you. He’s mouthing some words that you can’t make out but you find yourself nodding and then he turns away, climbs into the carriage and the coach is leaving up the drive in a cloud of dust.
Who was he?
~*~*~*~*~*~
It’s raining… you can hear it against your window when it pulls you from sleep. You lay there with your eyes closed, listening, and then gradually come to realise that the sound isn’t regular. Intrigued, you slip silently from your bed and cross over to the window where you draw back the curtain just as the noise comes again. The crumbs of soil from the flowerbed below bounce off the glass and then you see him stood on the driveway. The gaslight on its tall pole behind him sets him into shadow but there’s no doubt that it’s the man who visited earlier in the day. Your eyes have grown accustomed to the dark now and you can make out some of his features but you don’t have time to contemplate as he raises a hand and beckons to you with a single finger.
You turn away and almost without thinking take your robe from the back of the door and then very quietly turn the handle and step out on to the landing. Taking great pains to make as little noise as possible, you make your way down the staircase and then you’re carefully drawing back the bolts on the heavy front door and turning the key. You pull the door open and peek around it as clearly there’s still a shred of sanity within you. He doesn’t advance and so you leave the safety of the house and walk towards him. You stop about six feet away and take in the sight before you. Your brain hadn’t exaggerated earlier - he really is a giant and if you stood next to him you doubt you would come up to his shoulder.
“I had to see you again.” He says, his voice a deep rumble. “When I noticed you at the window earlier today I was captivated - it nearly made me turn away from my business with your father.”
He’s dressed all in black with a heavy cloak around his shoulders, and he has long hair that is pulled back into a neat braid. The thought flits through your brain that it’s dreadfully odd for a man to have long hair… then you realise what he’s said and so you reply, “What is your business with my father?”
The man gives you an inscrutable look and then says, “He has some land that I would like to purchase but at the moment he’s… not very receptive to the idea.”
You pull your robe around you as a breeze whispers through and flutters the leaves on the trees and bushes.
“Forgive me - I know the way I’ve gone about this is far from ideal.” He says and removes his cloak with a small flourish. He takes a couple of steps that bring him startlingly close and swoops the heavy wool around your shoulders whereupon it trails on the ground.
“I’m sure if you approached my father, he would permit a more traditional meeting.” You volunteer as you smile up at him, but he shrugs with one huge shoulder.
“I fear not - our interaction was not particularly amicable. But I simply had to see you up close.”
“Where’s your carriage, sir? Or did you make your way here on foot?” As you stare at his chest, you’re dimly aware that all this small talk is quite ridiculous given the situation but what else can you say?
The corner of his mouth twitches in a tiny smile and he half-gestures behind him. “I left it out towards the road; nobody will happen upon it.”
You breathe in the scent of incense that hangs around the fabric of the cloak he’s wrapped you in. “What happens now?”
He reaches out and gently touches your hair and you feel as though you’re under a spell. Stood here in the cool night air in your nightclothes, with a stranger, wearing his cloak. Everything about it is wrong and yet you feel so at peace.
“I will return in two days, at noon; that’s the deadline that I gave to your father. Will you meet me at the road at half past eleven?”
You’re nodding ‘yes’ even as you frown and say, “Why have you given him a deadline?”
He doesn’t answer, but takes your hand and raises it to his lips, kissing it softly and you’re sure you can feel the skin tingling where his mouth touches. He gently turns you back around and ushers you towards the still ajar door, slipping his cloak from your shoulders. “Today is Tuesday. Come meet me at the road on Thursday and we can talk before I visit with your father.”
You move through the door and then quickly turn back, but he’s already striding away from the house and you know that you can’t call out. You quietly push the door closed and lock it up again before creeping back up the stairs to your room. You go straight to the window in case you can catch a glimpse of him but the darkness reigns and you can’t make out much at all. Still slightly chilled from the outdoors, you climb back into bed still with your robe on and turn on to your side. You close your eyes and bring the hand that he kissed up to your face and drop back off to sleep with your lips resting close to where his brushed your skin.
TBC
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freetheshit-outofyou · 7 months ago
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The Paris Gun
The Krupp arms-making dynasty was founded in Essen upon the fortune amassed by Arndt Krupp, who settled in that city in 1587. His son Anton expanded the family’s endeavors into making firearms during the Thirty Years’ War of 1618-1648, and the family progressively expanded its operations over the ensuing decades. In 1811, Friedrich Krupp (1787-1826) established a steel casting facility, and, although he successfully began casting steel in 1816, he expended considerable funds in the process. His son, Alfried (1812- 1887), continued his father’s work and eventually re-established the family fortune. By its nature steel was very difficult to cast, and internal faults were often impossible to detect through existing testing procedures. Defective cast steel pieces were also much more dangerous to crews than iron cannons, as the softer iron tended to split or burst with less energy than the harder steel, which more often ruptured with deadly violence. The Krupp firm’s success in casting steel was considered one of the major metallurgical achievements of its day.
Beginning in 1844, Alfried Krupp began experimenting in machining guns from solid cast steel blanks and in 1847 produced his first steel cannon. That same year he presented a steel gun to the King of Prussia, Frederick Wilhelm IV (1795-1861)-an act of entrepreneurial generosity that later won an order for 300 field guns. He went on to display a 6-pounder muzzleloading gun at the Great Exhibition of 1851 and began experiments in developing breechloading weapons. In 1856, Krupp introduced a 90mm field gun fitted with a transverse sliding breechblock that fit through a corresponding slot in the rear of the barrel.
Germany subsequently made the transition to rifled breechloaders during the 1860s, a move that gave it a distinct artillery advantage during the 1870-1871 Franco-Prussian War. Shortly after the war it adopted 78.5mm guns for its horse artillery and 88mm pieces for field use. The logistical difficulties associated with supplying two sizes of ammunition in the field and recent advances in metallurgy and gun design then led to the Model 73/88 system, which used the 88mm caliber for both horse artillery and field use and the later Model 73/91 system, utilizing nickel steel barrels. The Model 73/91 was finally superseded by Germany’s answer to the French 75-the Model 96 or Feldkanone 96 neur Art.
The development of specialized antiaircraft artillery also intensified during the war. The first documented use of antiaircraft artillery occurred as early as the siege of Paris during the Franco-Prussian War in 1870. At Paris, the Prussian commander von Moltke ordered weapons from Krupp in order to shoot down balloons in which the French were trying to sail over the Prussian lines. Krupp eventually delivered a number of single-shot, caliber 1-inch rifles that were mounted on pedestals bolted to the beds of two-horse wagons; they theoretically could follow the balloons on the ground while maintaining a steady firing rate. The Krupp pieces were relatively ineffective, yet at least one French balloon was apparently downed by their fire.
The rapid proliferation of powered military aircraft at the turn of the century, however, spurred an equally dedicated effort to neutralize the threat of air attacks. During the 1909 Frankfurt International Exhibition, Krupp unveiled three antiaircraft guns in a bid to monopolize the emerging market. These included a caliber 65mm 9-pounder and a 75mm 12-pounder. Krupp claimed that the largest, a pedestal-mounted 105mm gun intended for shipboard use, achieved a maximum ceiling of 37,730 feet. The caliber 65mm gun had an 18,700-foot range, could elevate 75 degrees, and its carriage had unique hinged axles that allowed the wheels to be pivoted to a position perpendicular to their traveling position. With the trail spade acting as its axis, this arrangement enabled the crew to traverse the piece 360 degrees to track enemy aircraft. With a claimed maximum ceiling of 21,326 feet, the caliber 75mm gun was mounted on a truck bed, thus giving it a high degree of mobility. Not to be outdone, Erhardt, Krupp’s closest domestic competitor, also exhibited a 50mm quick-firing antiaircraft gun mounted in an armored car’s turret.
The period also witnessed considerable experimentation in antiaircraft shells and fuses. Krupp introduced a high-explosive shell for its 3-pounder equipped with a “smoke-trail” fuse, an early tracer round that both aided the crews in sighting and was an effective incendiary against the hydrogen-filled airships of the period.
During World War I the Germans continued to experiment in antiaircraft weaponry, beginning in 1914 with the 77mm Ballonen-AK. The Ballonen-AK was then, in turn, followed in 1915 by the 77mm Luftkanone, a basic 77mm field cannon barrel mounted on a rotating scaffolding. The more effective Krupp 88mm FlaK entered service in 1918 and eventually became the inspiration for the famous World War II German “Eighty-Eight.”
Popularly named after Alfred Krupp’s daughter, the 41.3-ton, 420mm “Big Bertha” had a horizontal sliding block and fired a 1,719-pound shell up to 10,253 yards. Big Bertha required five tractors to transport its components, and it had to be assembled on site. In conjunction with a number of Austrian Skoda 305mm howitzers, the L/14 was first used with devastating effect against Liege in August 1914; it saw other action on both the Western and Eastern fronts. Owing to its relatively short range and vulnerability to Allied fire, Big Bertha was obsolete by 1917. Another heavy piece, the 211mm Mörser was adopted in 1916. It weighed 14,727 pounds and fired a 250-pound shell up to 12,139 yards.
Designed by Krupp engineers and adopted in 1918, the Paris Gun used the basic 380mm Max railroad gun barrel fitted with a barrel liner and lengthened 20 feet. The 210mm Paris Gun weighed 1,653,470 pounds and mounted a 2,550-inch barrel with a horizontal sliding block. It fired a 264-pound shell up to 82 miles. Crewed by naval personnel, the Paris Gun was so powerful that it fired its shells into the stratosphere, where the thinner atmosphere exerted less resistance, allowing such long ranges. The stress on the bore, however, wore the barrel significantly, and each succeeding projectile had to have progressively larger driving bands and heavier powder charges to compensate for the increasing windage. Although hugely inefficient in the final analysis, the Paris Gun’s greatest value lay in its use as a propaganda tool rather than an artillery piece. Source
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live-from-flaturn · 4 months ago
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Meet you at the blossom KimChay AU?
Yeah okay I'm not going crazy about this in the SLIGHTEST darling.
---
"Who is that?" Chay breathes through the open carriage window. Pol shoves his head back inside and hastily blocks his view with the curtain.
"Nobody of any importance, Khun Chay."
"She's beautiful!"
Pol and Arm exchange meaningful glances but dare not correct their boss's favorite in-law. Not yet, anyway.
"Why aren't we offering to help?"
"Because you're no good with a sword and we aren't paid to rescue waylaid strangers; we're paid to protect Khun Porsche's beloved little brother."
Usually any mention of Porsche brings Chay right back into the realm of making good choices - but the bodyguards' luck has seemingly run out. He nods, elbows arm, and tries to dart forward out of the carriage. He is very bodily shoved back inside. No matter, the bluff worked! His faithful bodyguards rescue the lady-who-is-actually-a-man and they return to his in-laws' sprawling family mansion.
---
Chay huffs and lays down with his back to Kim. They move like tides, always pushing and pulling each other around. He wishes Kim would tell him what's really going on with his family, their trip to find a doctor for P'Khun, or why he showed up in the woods that night in the first place. The lies he's gotten so far aren't cutting it anymore.
But Kim is tight-lipped.
Not a split second after getting somewhat comfortable on their makeshift pallet mattress, Chay finds himself being bullied into rolling over. Kim's face is blank, ever so beautiful and icy cold in the darkness, but his eyes are warm. An apology in the silence.
"What? It's cold."
Kim quietly takes his hand and clutches it tightly, palms pressed together and fingers twined. Chay's heart is a startled horse in his chest, bucking and bolting at the first sign of trouble.
"Oh- I-" and then Kim's aura flares and a wave of warming energy sweeps through Chay's exhausted body. Shit, that's nice.
He falls asleep with Kim's adorable half-smile taking up any and all available space in his mind's eye. This is probably fine. They'll be fine. Nothing can hurt him with Kim at his side.
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painted-kneecaps · 2 months ago
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Hello P&P&T enjoyers !!
As warned, i do not have a chapter for you today. i’m taking a short break for my sanity- but don’t worry, we’ll be back next week !!
in the meantime, here’s a snippet from the upcoming chapter !! Enjoy !! :))
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“You getting tired yet, son? Perhaps you should go inside and rest for a bit, it’s getting real late.”
“I’m not tired,” He protested, clutching the reigns protectively, and shot an accusing glance at the driver, as though he might try to take them from him.
Mr. Yogi chuckled. “Alright, kid,” He said “Don’t blame me when you’re falling asleep at the wheel.”
He scoffed. Of course he wouldn’t do such a thing, that would be irresponsible. His father had trusted him to drive them home, and he was going to get them there safely.
Mr. Yogi yawned and stretched on the bench beside him, his joints popping loudly. His eyes were drooping, and he crossed one ankle over the other and leaned back, tugging his hat down over his eyes.
“Well, if you insist,” He sighed “Don’t mind if I take a little catnap. Wake me if you need anything, kid.”
He had no intention of doing so. He was a better driver than Mr. Yogi anyway.
After a few moments of shuffling for the most comfortable position possible on the swaying carriage bench, Mr. Yogi was still, and the only sound coming from him was a soft, whistling snore. Annoying, but tolerable. At least he didn’t have to listen to the man’s boring stories anymore.
It was dark, and the only sounds besides Mr. Yogi were the clop of the horses hooves on the packed earth, the jingle of their harnesses and the creak of the carriage wheels, accompanied by the everywhere trill of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. It was quite peaceful, he thought dreamily, and quite without his noticing, his own consciousness began to slip away as he wondered idly whether he might bother Cook for a mug of hot chocolate when they finally made it home.
He was startled back awake by a loud crack, and the shrill, terrified whinny of the horses as they began to bolt, ripping the reigns from his hand.
“Oh, for- Get inside, boy!” Mr. Yogi shouted, gesturing wildly toward the hatch that led into the carriage with one hand, while the other grasped desperately for the reigns.
He couldn’t move. He sat, frozen as Mr. Yogi caught the reigns, glancing wildly over his shoulder. “There’s someone behind us,” He said grimly, unlatching the small holster at his hip and curling his lip in frustration “Bandits, most likely. What did I tell you, kid? Get in- AUGH!”
Another loud crack. Mr. Yogi screamed. The pistol fell from his grasp onto the bench, and Mr. Yogi fell from the bench onto the road.
The boy sat for a moment, stunned; frozen in horror. His mind was screaming for him to do something, to catch the reigns, to call for help, to do something-
Why wasn’t his father awake? He wondered, out of his wits with fear.
More loud cracks. Gunshots, he recognized them as, now- the bandits were shooting at the carriage, shooting at him, at his father-
His father had trusted him to get them home safely. He had trusted him.
A strange calm settled over him. His ears rang. He tasted bile.
He picked up the pistol beside him on the bench, and turned.
He could see the bandit now. It was just one man on horseback, hooded, his face obscured and he was gaining on them. The man lifted his pistol, cocked it, and the boy’s heart leapt into his throat as he raised and steadied his own. He held his breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and-
The hatch opened “Miles?” His father’s voice “Miles! What in the-”
A hand grasped the barrel of the gun.
Two shots.
A scream.
Something heavy hit the top of the carriage.
He opened his eyes.
His father was slumped, face down atop the carriage, blood pooling beneath him.
“Father?” He said hoarsely, dumbly. There was blood on his shirt. There was a gun in his hand.
There was blood on his shirt. There was blood on the top of the carriage. There was blood pooling beneath his father’s body. There was blood.
There was a gun in his hand.
He screamed.
The carriage jolted, then tilted. The horses screeched, and wood cracked as they pulled away, and the carriage rolled and rolled-
And everything went black.
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archivist-crow · 1 month ago
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The Haunted Atlas
Bachelor's Grove Cemetery - Bremen Township, Cook County, Illinois
41°37′51.16″N / -087°46′14.27″W
One of the Chicago areas most haunted sites, with a long history of more than 100 reports of paranormal phenomena occurring there. It is often called one of the most haunted cemeteries in the world, fascinating ghost investigators and ghost thrill-seekers for decades.
Bachelor's Grove Cemetery is a small, one-acre plot near the Rubio Woods Forest Preserve near the southwestern suburb of Midlothian. The cemetery is fenced in, with a single gate on the south side and a single path winding through the plot. A stagnant pond lies just outside the northwestern corner.
The cemetery is overgrown and unkempt and is subject to frequent vandalism, perhaps because of the popularity of the haunting legends. Graves and markers have been defaced and mutilated, and coffins have been disinterred and opened. Evidence of animal sacrifices near a lagoon at one corner of the cemetery has pointed to possible occult rites practiced there. It is not certain why the cemetery became known as Bachelor's Grove in 1864. According to one popular story, the name came from unmarried men who were among the first settlers. Perhaps more likely, it was derived from a German family name such as Batchelder. During the gangster era of the 1920s and 1930s, bodies of the victims of gang warfare allegedly were dumped in the lagoon.
Stories of haunting phenomena began to proliferate in the 1960s. Burials decreased after 1965, and the area became popular as a lover's lane and gathering spot for youths— many of whom were eager to be spooked. Youthful vandals also began visiting the cemetery, overturning tombstones, desecrating and opening graves and strewing bones about. Haunting reports reached a peak in the 1970s and 1980s. The last recorded burial was in 1989. Little of the strange phenomena has been connected to known historical fact or to specific individuals buried there. Rather, most of the stories are more like urban legends circulating elsewhere in the United States, especially in the Midwest. Some historians believe that some stories have been fabricated by ghost hunters in order to draw customers for ghost tours.
The most-often reported apparition at Bachelor's Grove is a vanishing house or floating house. It is a two-storied Victorian farmhouse with a white picket fence, a colonnaded porch with a swing and a warm light shining within it. The house is always seen at a distance and looks convincingly real. But those who approach it find that it shrinks in size the closer they get, or abruptly disappears altogether. According to legend, anyone who succeeds in reaching it and entering will never return. The vanishing house has been widely reported since the 1960s and drawn by numerous witnesses; however, there is no historical record of such a house existing in the vicinity.
A number of ghosts of human beings have been reported, including repeated sightings of hooded phantom monks, and a woman, called either the "White Lady" or the "Madonna of Bachelor's Grove." The presence of phantom monks is puzzling as no monastery was ever in the area. The White Lady carries a baby in her arms and wanders aimlessly through the cemetery on nights of the full moon. Popular myth says she is the ghost of a woman who is buried there next to the grave of her baby. No historical records document the story.
Other apparitions are a two-headed man, a child, a black carriage and a glowing man in yellow. Many reports have been made of sightings of a ghostly farmer and his horse and plow. The story goes that in the 1870s, a farmer was plowing land near the pond when his horse inexplicably bolted into the water; both man and animal were drowned. Phantom vehicles also have been reported on the cemetery's path and on the Midlothian Turnpike just outside the plot. The vehicles vanish as people approach them. Some people have reported seeing or being in phantom accidents. Flashing and dancing lights have been reported in the cemetery, especially a blue light that resembles that of a police car.
One of the cemetery's best-known legends is "The Hooked Spirit" or "The Hook," an urban legend. According to the story, a young man takes his date to the cemetery and tells her about the Hooked Spirit, hoping she will be frightened into his arms. Instead, she asks to be taken home. The young man obliges her. When he reaches her home and gets out to open her door, he finds a hook swinging on the door handle—supposedly the spirit had been attempting to open the door just as they drove away. Another urban legend linked to Bachelor's Grove is "The Boyfriend's Death." A young couple park at the cemetery one night for necking or lovemaking. They are interrupted by a radio report that a mass murderer has escaped from a psychiatric hospital nearby and may be headed in their direction. They decide to leave, but naturally, the car won't start. The young man gets out to go for help and instructs the girl to remain in the car. Presently she hears a strange scratching on the roof but thinks it's only tree branches. Her date does not return, but soon a police car comes. An officer tells her to get out, walk toward him and not look back. She does. More police cars arrive. The girl’s curiosity gets the better of her, and she looks behind her. She is horrified to see the body of her boyfriend hanging head down from a tree, his throat slit ear to ear. His fingernails are scratching the car roof.
Though the incidence of phenomena peaked in the 1970s and 1980s, hauntings continue to be reported. In the 1990s, reports began of a spectral Black Dog. The large dog is seen near the entrance to the road and vanishes as people draw near. According to lore, such "graveyard dogs" are either guides or are warnings to visitors not to trespass on cemetery grounds.
Text abridged from The Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits, Third Edition by Rosemary Ellen Guiley (Checkmark Books - 2007)
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mercysought · 3 months ago
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When the knife hits, an involuntary grunt leaves Maxima. It is, after all, part of the theatre.
Seated for dinner at the home of Magister Talerio she knew that he had planned something for the evening. He had for months attempted to undermine her and her family's efforts both in and outside of the Magisterium and Minrathous. He was a slithery man; she thought him a threat but one thing she hadn't expected was a direct assassination during dinner at his estate.
There was one thing that it spelled out: more and more of the Magisters were growing sloppy, growing restless and leading them to more direct and barbaric approaches to politics and problem-solving.
She wasn't the only one there, and she could only assume that this had been one attempt at keeping the rest of his guests in line. A warning: If he could have her assassinated in such a easy manner then imagine what he could do the likes of them. A snap of the finger, a ringing of a fork against fine china and from the depths one of his slaves would be sure to do the deal without having so much to duel her, without having to get blood on his own clothes.
It was, frankly, disappointing. This sort of approach only got you so far and made you out to be a lunatic who could not be afforded any trust or meaningful allyship though with the encroaching war of the Qunari she thought that too was making Men's brains weak.
Maxima simply gives him a smile, seated at her chair. Her pale skin and white dress broke into a thousand small shards of multi-coloured glass with petals blooming between pushing from within. Smaller and smaller, sharper and sharper they broke and erupted all around her.
Small shards piercing into food and all-around magic-filled shields made sure that whatever shard was directed in their direction would be eradicated before it ever got the chance to get to their skin. Her own vision and hearing within the room starts to fade swiftly. She cannot see the man's face any longer, his voice starts swimming as she feels herself return to her own frame "That slippery bitch... Find her, she can't be too far from this room. Kill her serv—"
She returns to her body with a thud.
The air is forcefully exhaled from her body as she feels the carriage shake beneath her. The scent of burning immediately sends her into a coughing fit as she rolls to her side hitting her head against the padded seat of her carriage. Her head swims and despite knowing there is nothing there she feels sore on the side that had been stabbed just earlier.
   “Fuck."
Outside she hears screams, heavy thuds around them. Her hand finds her staff, pulling it closer to herself to aid her. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She pulls herself up, slower than she'd like, and the door of her carriage is flung open. She sees one of her guards looking at her with a wild panic in their eyes.
   “My Lady are you alright?! What happened in there?!"
But Maxima is not paying attention to him, she isn't even looking in his direction. Truthfully, she didn't register his question. Beyond him, through the small windows, she sees the building that she had just used her illusions in.
That half of the large Magister home. The maw that was left behind was aflame.
   “Livius." she heard herself say and she felt the wind pick up now that she was outside in the night that had once been cool. Now, she heard the horses start to bolt with none there to soothe them. And she felt the licking of the flames on her face still. She starts walking towards the building "Livius was outside the room."
   "My Lady— " she feels her arm be grabbed and yet she keeps walking despite resistance.
Pulling her arm free she doesn't even glance in his direction. Instead her free hand alongside the one holding the staff motion forcefully to the large fountain of water, her fists closing she lifts it above her head into a volatile body of slashing water. The rings at her fingers, the necklace at her neck shine brightly and the body grows in volume. With a swift slam the water covers part of the flames closest to her.
It is enough to make them smaller, but knowing of similar attacks in the past she knew that continuous water would be needed. Gaatlok was a vicious beast.
With the flames calmer in those areas, she starts at diminishing them further. Fire was never her element, but she could at least aid. She could see some guards running with buckets to douse the flames, others were attempting to remove screaming survivors from the wreck.
She turns to the bewildered guard. To his side Lucilla waited, her eyes set to the flames with an unreadable expression.
   "I need you to get Cato. Now." she turns to the guard and his attention swings from the building behind her and her face. biting down on her frustration, she holds his shoulder tightly over the armour "Tell him to come here without delay."
The man nods, jumping on a horse and rides away. Maxima only watches for long enough to know that he has crossed the inner gates of the mansion. Her attention turns then to Lucilla, silently indicating for her to follow.
Were she to not know better she would have assumed that this was an attack from the Qun, that they had somehow truly warmed their ways this deeply. And perhaps it was partly them, the Dreadwolf was known to use such tactics, after all.
However, the only reason why she had accepted this invite was because she knew that they were planning something, that Talerio had somehow become a breeding ground for more than a handful of helpful spies for the Dreadwolf. She had only found out about it upon discovering one of his within her staff. She could only wonder how many more still remained in place.
She had expected much, but not this.
She walks into the flames, and they make a path for her as she raises the staff, one hand still directed towards the fountain. There was a chance, a very slim chance, that Livius might have survived. He was outside the room, not within it. With her teeth destroying the red lipstick upon her lips she realises that she doesn't even know where the explosion might have come from.
Focus.
   "If any of the people of interest survived, I need you to find them and get them to me, by any means necessary." the other woman nods, immediately walking beyond the wreck into the scrambling crowd. Maxima, however, continued entering the building, pulling at more water from the outdoors, lifting the rocks and hoping, hoping she would not find Livius in the wreck.
It wasn't just the Magisters who were becoming bolder, impatient it seemed. She too would need to take a more aggressive stance moving forward it seemed.
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stantler · 5 months ago
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Hey I need all the wenches hags and peasants to tap in I’m throwing a gathering and it’s going to be a gapeseed so if you a calf-lolly just stay at home cause there’s gonna be beard splitters and merchants everywhere so make sure that the side hoops match the corset ladies and guess what we got Brother of the String on the harp and Brother of the Blade at the front door so don’t even be tryna come over here on no tyranny shit cause we all just tryna have a chirping merry you feel me? If you a heathen philosopher stay at the dock put y’all roast meat clothes on or go milk the cows and by the way the streets a little jumblegut right now we are missing a few cobblestone on this side of town so make sure your carriages got fresh bolts I’m not responsible for your hooptie folding in front of the hoes bruh and if you bringing a horse park it in the back nobody’s trying to smell that shit like they just cleaned the streets two sunsets ago and no pickthank allowed let’s play fair and if it starts getting affray take it to the field and fence it out and make sure you got them coins on you cause we got the apothecary on site so if you need that let me know we also got that tapster all night let’s have a ball ima send a smoke signal after the final church bell and that’s when you know it’s time to commence
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rockyroadsmith · 5 months ago
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If Hare had Cinderella's life, how would it go for him and would Tiger of the wind be his prince charming? A TigerxHare question.
Heya! This is an interesting question! I honestly haven’t watched Cinderella in about two decades, so I apologize in advanced for my lack of knowledge as I try to make my way through this from memory! XD
So if we’re looking at Cinderella with Monster Rancher characters, I guess we’d see Hare’s father marry the cruel stepmother, Lilim, and would live the next so many years as pretty much a servant after his father’s death. Hare, being smarter than his two new jackass step siblings, Gali and Naga, would find ways to not only make cleaning more efficient, but to also make money on the side. Instead of mice for friends he’d have Suezo and Mocchi, two monsters who secretly freeload off the family and help Hare with chores (as long as they get fed XD).
One day a huge ball is announced and Hare wants to go, but is told he can only go if he gets his own clothes. After giving Mocchi some candy and Suezo some porn, the two monsters sew together an awesome suit just for Hare. The day of the ball, however, Hare’s step siblings destroy his suit, leaving him completely devastated.
Suddenly, a super magical light appears and a hooded figure appears before him. It’s Holly, his fairy godmother, and she’s gonna help him out. Yay! She transforms Suezo and Mocchi into horses, a pumpkin into a carriage, and creates a gorgeous dress just for Hare. Confused, Hare asks Holly why a dress and not a tuxedo, and she just shrugs. He then asks why give him glass slippers since they’re terrible for posture, which Holly just shrugs again. So! Before he leaves, Holly gives Hare a warning that all this magic will end at midnight and to beat feet before that happens. Hare thanks his fairy godmother and takes off in the carriage toward the castle, leaving Holly to feel a little sad she wasn’t invited.
At the castle, Prince Tiger sits in boredom with his dad, King Golem, and the Grand Duke, Genki. Genki threw the ball together so Tiger would finally stop being a closet otaku and meet someone, but Tiger just wants to go to bed. Golem, who is so proud his son is growing up, can’t help but give Tiger a rib crushing hug every few minutes, much to the wolf monster’s dismay.
Suddenly, the castle doors open and a new guest arrives, a Hare wearing a beautiful gown! Instantly enthralled, Tiger bounds over to the newcomer and asks to dance, in which Hare accepts. Dancing isn’t easy for quadrupedal monsters, but Hare doesn’t mind. Tiger is surprised to find out Hare isn’t female, but it doesn’t change how he feels about the stranger. This feeling must be love! Also, doggy style is doggy style, right? Further away, Naga and Gali watch with anger and can’t help but feel the newcomer looks familiar…
The clock strikes midnight, and Hare hastily bolts away in panic, knowing the spell will wear off, and one of his glass slippers falls off during his escape. Tiger runs after him and he’s fast as hell so he’d have been able to catch Hare easily, but he’s stopped midway when Golem grabs him for another bone crushing hug since it’s been five whole minutes since the last one. He’s just so damn proud of his son!
The next day, Hare’s family finds out Genki is lugging around a two foot long glass slipper to find the owner. Lilim, worried Hare might interfere with her children’s chances of marrying into royalty, locks Hare away before Genki arrives. Naga swears the glass slipper is his, but Genki points out he’s a freaking serpent with no feet. Then Gali claims the glass slipper is his, but he has even less limbs than Naga. Silly goose! Lilim then claims the glass slipper is hers, but the glass slipper is almost as long as one of her goddamn thighs, so there’s no chance it would fit her feet.
As Genki talks to the three monsters, Hare cries in despair that his chance at true love is being ruined. Before he completely gives up, though, Mocchi and Suezo show up to help! Hare tells the duo where to find the key, but Mocchi just uses his Mocchi Cannon to blow the door down. Hare blinks in surprise as he suddenly remembers he has powers. Damn.
Just before Genki leaves, Hare runs into the room and with the horror filled looks of his family, he puts the glass slipper on and it fits perfectly. Genki is thrilled to find the one Tiger has fallen in love with and immediately drags Hare to the castle. There, Tiger and Hare reunite before Golem brings the couple in for a lung burstingly tight hug. Then, Tiger has Hare’s family imprisoned for their years of abuse. He was actually going to kill them himself, but Hare suggested a little mercy.
Finally, Hare and Tiger are married and the two live happily ever after! The end! ^_^
I hope I didn’t ruin anyone’s childhood with my butchering of this story. XD
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queenpiranhadon · 10 months ago
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A/N: UGHH IM SO SORRY I'VE BEEN SO CAUGHT UP WITH EXAMS I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO POSTTT. Anyways here's chapter nine :D. This chapter is written by the lovely Nyota (@labaguetteisdabest). You can find the masterlist here
Warning(s): Apex gets panic attacks (kinda), mentions of death
Pairing(s): Kaepex
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Three Days Later... 
I snack on an apple I discovered I had, at some point, packed in my bag, and flip the pages of one of my favorite books. 
But the excitement flowing through my veins keeps me from focusing all the way. 
Clip clop. 
Clip clop. 
Clip clop. 
The rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves had become reassuring by now. It tells me that we’re on track and that everything is fine. 
Totally fine. 
But there’s still something nagging at me. It feels... weird that there’s no other carriages traveling this route. This one isn’t the most popular, but it’s commonly used. 
So, then, why is there no one here? 
The carriage begins slowing down. I peek out the window, delighted to see the lush gardens and pristine pathways that surround the palace I call home. 
Burgunjax Palace. 
The carriage stops moving, and I hear Avior jump down to open the door for me. I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and adjust the red vest I’m wearing. 
Once the blond knight opens the door, I hop down, my black boots thumping against the cobblestone. 
I look ahead and I feel a smile spread across my face. 
Home, I think. Finally. 
The palace looks just like when I left. The same white bricks, the same colorful mosaic window on the largest tower that shows the Pyracent crest (a golden crown with a flame in the center; simple, I know), the same red-roofed towers... 
But it’s eerily quiet. 
Too quiet for a wild 11-year-old boy who’s probably overly excited to receive his Reya. 
What shocks me the most is that the drawbridge is open. … My parents would never leave it open. 
Something’s not right. 
Avior says something I don’t hear and walks off. I begin to walk towards the palace. 
Something rustles in the bushes behind me. I whip my head towards the noise, but there isn’t anything there. 
I step in the palace warily. 
“Hello?” I call, uncertainty lacing my voice. 
My footsteps echo through the halls as I make my way to the throne room. 
No one. 
The kitchen? 
No one. 
The maids’ quarters? 
No one. 
The stables? 
No one. 
I rush up the stairs, worry flooding my veins, my heart racing. 
“Is anyone up here?” I try to disguise the shakiness of my voice, but it doesn’t work too well. My voice is still noticeably shaky. 
Covyn’s room? 
No one. 
It's messy, as if someone trashed it and bolted away so they weren’t caught in the act. 
And while the Covyn I knew was young, I feel like he would never mess up his room this badly. 
Daxton’s room? 
It's a long shot, but maybe he came back for a visit while I was gone? 
No one. 
My parents’ room? 
No one. 
“Where is everyone?” I ask aloud. My eyes begin to water. 
It feels like I’ve been abandoned. 
They all knew I was returning soon. 
The letters I exchanged with my parents and Covyn said that he was counting down the days. 
So why is no one here? 
Is this a cruel joke? 
I hate feeling like I've been abandoned, thanks to my older brother, Dax. 
I rub at my eyes gently, careful not to irritate my burn. 
But the emotions overwhelm me, take control of me, and I fall to my knees, trying my best not to cry. 
A sudden crash comes from outside. 
I jump, startled, and leap to check out the window. 
I clap my hands over my mouth in horror. 
A reddish-brown wild animal – but not an animal, somehow? - had jumped at the carriage. It tears the wood apart, splintering each piece and throwing them around. Then it stops, suddenly. It sniffs the air and turns in the direction of the palace, so I can finally see what animal it is. 
It's a bear – but at the same time, it isn’t. It has the body of an espyn, but bear attributes are all over its body. Reddish-brown fur, sharp claws and teeth, fuzzy ears. ...  
Its eyes. 
Its eyes are teal. 
The same shade as my father’s. 
The same shade as Daxton’s. 
And when I look closer, it’s clear that the bear-espyn-thing is Dax. I don’t know how I can tell – the behavior of the creature that used to be my brother, maybe? 
The creature that used to be my brother. 
Those are the words that throw me over the edge. My body is racked with quiet sobs and hot tears stream down my face. 
Someone screams from outside, and I hear a loud snarl. 
I whip my head towards the sound. 
The bear-creature had attacked Avior. 
“No!” I shout, disregarding my own safety. 
I want to run down there, to save Avior, but I’m frozen in place. 
I watch the animal slash its sharp claws at my friend, deep red lines appearing in their stead. 
“No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter under my breath. 
My eyes continue to widen to levels I didn’t even know were possible as I watch the scene play out below me. 
Avior shrieks in pain when the bear-espyn-thing knocks him off his feet. 
The animal pins Avior down. 
And slices at his face. 
The tears only keep streaming from my eyes as I switch to thermodynamic vision and watch the heat gradually fade out of my friend. 
The bear-espyn-thing – whatever it is – clambers off into the gardens farther away from the palace, sensing that its job is done. 
I want to run down and... save Avior? I don’t know. 
But what I do know is that it’s not safe yet. And I don’t know if it ever will be. 
My stomach growls and I realize that I desperately need to find food. 
There's no way I’m surviving off a singular apple. 
I've scoured the entire palace – and for the record, this place is huge. And I haven’t found a single scrap. 
So, either my family escaped and took everything, or my newly-turned-bear-brother ate everything before I arrived. 
The latter seems more likely, considering I have no idea how long Dax has been here. 
Panic begins to pulse through my body. 
I have no food, for one. 
Two, my brother is half bear. 
Three, I don’t know why he’s half bear. 
And four, I have no way of communicating with other survivors – namely Cari and, ugh, Kaeda. 
Even worse: Kaeda’s my best bet on surviving. She lives closest to Asraxvale and is probably having the same thoughts as me. 
Now, I hate Little Miss Flawless with my whole soul, but if she’s my only way of survival, I must accept my fate, right? 
Or she’s already been attacked by some other wild animal and is unfortunately (read: fortunately) bleeding to her death. 
I don’t know which I prefer. 
But my preference on whether Kaeda survives or not shouldn’t be my greatest concern right now. 
I should be worrying about my survival. 
As I walk back to the immaculate staircase, I hear a low growl come from far behind me. 
I freeze, then slowly turn my head. 
The Daxton-bear-espyn-thing is in the entryway. 
Crap, I think. 
Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. 
I need to run. 
I sprint up the stairs, two or three steps at a time, and run into the first room I see. 
It’s Covyn’s room. 
Where can I hide here? I think. Panic clouds my mind and I can barely think straight (not that I could in the first place). 
I scan the room frantically, then realize: 
The closet. 
I dash across the room, dodging the disarray on the floor. Hopping into the dark closet, I gently shut the door behind me. 
Then it hits me. 
Oh, how cliche. 
I quiet my breathing so that, if my brother comes in here, I don’t get caught. 
One minute passes. 
Then two. 
Then three. 
Heavy footsteps come from the hallway, and I bite my lip so I don’t shriek. 
Just don’t die, Adrienne. 
Just don’t die. 
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astarab1aze · 5 months ago
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@tunichtgxt
Fleeing to the north had been a...good idea, decidedly, for in the town Kaede'd found himself in, there was enough snow that when spring came, the melt would wash away the terror nipping at his heels. Someday, the mages from Zuri would catch up with him, if his clan didn't do so first - but that was neither here nor there, in the moment, not when horse-drawn carriages and dirty, bundled up little ones were bolting about the town streets. The sound alone was enough to jolt him free of his reverie. Or, rather, alert him to the fact he was soon to run smack into another--
Rounded ears perked up, cornflower gaze tearing away from simply detailed wood carvings and hammered metal, clay displays, folk of all sorts relatively peacefully trading- and he looked up at the man, wearing clothes and hints of armor denoting a particular social station the elfhen ought to have stopped to properly appreciate lest he be thrown in a cell. When visiting a new land, especially as a...refugee, it was important to observe local customs, none of which he knew, but even in Yuurei, even in the Diremark, bowing his head, keeping himself small, being respectful beyond reason, was what would ensure his safety for the time being - so he did just that.
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"Forgive me, My Lord," he said, only barely catching an eyeful of white hair and icy blue eyes. His tail wriggled in the leg of his hakama, strokes of gray amid midnight coloration, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. "It was not my intention to come so close to you. You must be very busy... P-please, allow me to get out of your way."
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shadows-of-almsivi · 1 year ago
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For the writing prompt list: 18 & 15
18: Autumnal
The old ostler put out a notice for a horse trainer, when the Rorikstead crops were coming into their height. A small room for my boarding built into the stable, a meal and ten septims a day were, apparently, enough to buy me, to my own surprise. Still, it is only until the ostler’s son returns from some wedding or other, and I’d grown tired of sleeping on stony ground.
It’s been rather a delight for me here, truth be told, though the pay is poor and the work leaves my body numb with exhaustion. Horses are a fondness of mine, and even the meanest and foulest-tempered of the beasts passing through the ostler’s yards can kindle a little tenderness from me. I’m tasked to breathe a little spirit back into these worn-out old carriage drafts, to take wild-eyed Reach ponies and make them fit for the smallest child’s first saddle, and by and large I do succeed by some measure. Having no friends here to speak to nor inclination to find any, I spend all of my time with the horses, and the training goes all the swifter for the closer attention. The ostler seems pleased with my progress, as am I.
Is this what it would have been like, to have held more conventional employment?
The mare I’m working today is a lively young Chorrol Red, near leaping out of her skin with excitement to be out of her stall. I can feel, in the shiver of her flank against my calves, how badly she wants to canter headlong into the open field, kicking free the stiffness of those long and boring days in the stable. Her previous master ought to be ashamed, to have let such a high-natured beast molder away indoors before trading her to us.
Her hooves churn the dirt as she dances anxiously in place. The brass bells about her bridle and breastplate, the training-tack for horses prone to flight or nerves, chime at every restless step. I hold her reins just firm enough to let her feel me; I prefer the more subtle touch of directing from the knee, but she’s liable to bolt without the extra guidance. Her breed is known more for racing and courier work than for level-headedness, more spirit than sense perhaps. She sees open grass before her and nothing else, and I’d best not let her have her head or else she’s likely to throw me at once, or snap a slender leg on some hidden stone outcrop.
But still, how beautiful she is, how uncommonly fine for this place. That rich chestnut coat shines so lovely in the pale sun, bright as a new-minted copper flashing between a street-magician’s knuckles. Her restlessness is infectious; I find myself, too, looking over those rolling plains with sudden, aching longing. There’s a crispness to the morning air that would feel wonderful raking through my hair, a sluggishness to my blood from my days here that I can’t wait to shake loose. Honest labor has its sweetness, but precious little thrill has stirred me since taking up the old ostler’s offer.
Perhaps a sprint down the road to the bridge would let us both focus a little better…
15: Soup.
I’d had such hope for a good fish soup for tonight. I should know better than to think of cooking before the catch, it’s bad luck to fish with a certain recipe in mind. My nets came up in empty tatters, gnawed through and picked clean. I’d thought slaughterfish, of course, until I heard those bellowing, ugly barks from a ways past the shoreline. I was surprised to see one in a lake; Skyrim’s fauna continues to astound me the longer I stay here.
But, regardless, curiosity does not fill the stewpot. No fish soup tonight, but my recipes adapt.
Tonight, then, it is seal.
I have heard horker is best treated like pork, and a seal shouldn’t be much different, I imagine. With this in mind, I selected a shoulder, diced middling-sized, and one fin to enrich the broth. The skin I set aside; its fur carries lovely marbled markings, and should be a fair trade for a new net at the tradehouse.
The raw meat was a deep red, less like an apple and more like wine, almost the same as the wine I poured into the hissing iron pot to steam and spit. Some cabbage I added next, some garlic, a little mora tapinella from the morning’s walk. Finally, a couple of bees, finely ground, just for alchemical safety-- I don’t believe the mushrooms’ poison to survive a long cooking, but you can never be too careful.
Now, the house smells quite delightful, and I can put my feet up for a while. The soup will want a few hours over a gentle fire, and I have some reading to catch up on.
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owlsandwich · 1 year ago
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Alphabet Superset - Week 2
B - Betrayal
Again, I am having to post this via my phone as Tumblr's browser version won't let me make posts. No idea why! The "Post" button is just always greyed out.
Anyway, It's week two, and this short story is set a good few hundreds of years before The Mechanics of Magic starts, with characters never seen or heard of in the narrative so far. It's one I've had in my mind for a while, and this event will have some small knock-on effects in book 2 and also if I ever write my epistolary of Ewen's life.
I really love the scene, and I hope you do too!
@teacupsandstarlight :)
***
The coach juddered as it sped along the dark road. Aelricus pressed his fingers into his temples. Every hoofbeat seemed to throb through his head, and he dimmed the magelight floating above him until its light barely showed his thin, pale hands. Even this simple magic proved a strain. It had been a day and a night since he’d last slept. Deep bags hung under his eyes, and his brown hair tumbled loose around his ears.
Those who had been struck by the new illness fell suddenly, and he’d been called from Ademeer’s Palace to various country manors and back again with barely a pause to eat. If he hadn’t used enough magic healing, the rest had been spent fighting his own exhaustion. Only a champion could have done it, and even he was reaching his limit.
“It makes no sense.” Turbert’s words floated through Aelricus’ mind. “Yes, there are diseases that display these symptoms, yet there have been no signs in the general population. Those taken were not in close proximity. In fact, the cases could not be a further distance for us to travel.”
The voice was more an impression of idea than a sound, though the tone held the same staccato as his mentor had demonstrated in life. Emotion flowed from Turbert’s presence; an anxiety that sparked through Aelricus’ own heart.
“There is no proof of malicious intent.”
Aelricus sent the thought back, but he knew Turbert would sense that he didn’t believe it himself. Generations of experience had taught him what to look for, and had it been just one... But what motive was there for these specific victims? What foolish poisoner could think he wouldn’t see the signs? Not after Emeline.
“It won’t be a matter that concerns us much longer.” Aelricus thought bitterly.
Another bump rattled the window shutter despite the passive spells he sensed woven into the wood for strength and soundproofing. He gripped the cushioned bench he sat on as a wave of nausea overtook him.
Not much longer. Then he could rest.
From his cousin’s home, it would be a small matter to acquire a fresh horse. By dawn, he would be among allies. As for the King... By the time King Silvester and the others knew he had gone, it would be too late.
His eyelids drooped. The floating magelight flickered as the onset of sleep stole his concentration, and his dulled senses only picked up the foreign burst of magic a second before it struck.
A bolt of energy slammed into the side of the carriage. Strong enough to blast through any defence, it exploded through the wood. A splinter sliced across his cheek before he could think to generate a shield. Then he was tipping, falling, weightless as the coach swayed to the side. The door hit the dirt, and Aelricus crashed against it. His head cracked against the panel, and he was plunged into darkness.
Panic dripped through the fog of unconsciousness.
“Aelricus! Aelric! You must get up!”
Aelricus groaned. He blinked, but no vision of the carriage swam into view. His limbs screamed in pain as he forced himself up, and he rubbed at his eyes before realising his magelight had died with his loss of focus. He was shaking. Cold. Damp? He plucked at a billowing sleeve that now clung, wet and heavy, to his skin, and sucked in a breath. Not blood. A stagnant smell permeated the confined space. River water. Seeping in through the buckled door beneath him.
As he noticed it, the coach lurched, and he lost his footing once more. Broken wood tore across the palm of his hand as he braced himself. He cried out and instinctively reached for his magic to heal it. The effort made his head spin, but Turbert’s presence flowed in close beside him.
“Leave it,” Turbert ordered. “The water- We need to get out.”
“I can’t!” Aelricus exclaimed out loud. The door was jammed. He barely had the strength to move.
“The other door. Climb! Hurry!”
Aelricus crawled across the carriage. With no light, he had to grope for the handle. Finally, his fingers touched smooth brass. He forced the door up, feet slipping in the slick damp, until finally it swung open. It was only with Turbert’s encouragement that he managed to drag himself free.
They had crashed where the forest met the river. Long grass tangled his clothes as Aelricus pulled himself towards the path. Night insects chirped through the gloom, like screams of warning, deafening in the calm night. He was filthy with sludge. From here, he could see a sharp bend in the road ahead. The sight made him shudder. Had they gone over there, he doubted he’d have had time to escape.
The mud was soft and inviting. Aelricus felt his arms give way, and then he was lying down, gazing towards the upturned, sinking carriage. Broken wheels, like the bones of some long dead creature, jutted out against the gap of sky. The horses were gone. Their harness lay loose on the ground where it had fallen. It seemed a minor curiosity at first; his addled mind unable to comprehend the sight. Then he saw his driver, crumbled and unmoving, against a tree.
No living body could have bent into that shape. Acid burned his throat, and he rolled over to vomit onto the wet grass.
As he did, light illuminated the surrounding space, followed by a familiar voice, deep and smooth.
“I’d have thought you to have a stronger stomach, Aelric.”
“Randall?” Aelricus croaked. It turned into a fit of coughing as he spoke. He gasped for breath, blinking through the bright glow of the magelight to find its source. “I can’t... Help. Please.”
Randall emerged from the trees. A tall man, though surprisingly slight for his voice. He moved silently over the leaf littered road until he was standing close enough that Aelricus had to crane to look at him. His green doublet seemed bleached white by the night, and the ruff of lace at his throat danced in the faint breeze.
This close, Aelricus could feel the weight of magic radiating from him. As strong as his own at full strength, his fellow Champion appeared unconcerned by the circumstances around him.
“So you do live.” Randall spoke as though talking to himself. “Good.”
“We were attacked, Randall. It is only by luck that the carriage didn’t plunge fully into the river. My driver-“
“Yes, my timing could use improvement.” Randall tilted his head, and his eyes seemed like deep pools of darkness as they met Aelricus’ own.
Dread settled into his empty stomach. In his mind, he felt Turbert’s own exclamation.
“No!”
“Where were you going, Aelric?” Randall said.
“I...” Aelricus’ thoughts moved slowly. The story... He couldn’t remember.
“Your cousin!” Turbert spoke urgently in his mind. “She’s expecting us.”
“Do not keep me waiting,” Randall prompted sharply.
“My cousin...” Aelricus replied. “I left a note with Jacob to expect me back in a few days.”
“At least do me the courtesy of honesty,” Randall replied. “Do you truly think I don’t know?”
Another coughing fit stole Aelricus’ voice, but Randall made no offer of assistance. Of course he knew. Of the four Royal Champions, it was Randall who presided over intelligence. A spy. One who tracked his own people. As the coughing subsided, so did his fear. He was too weak. There was nowhere to run.
“I go to seek justice,” Aelricus spat.
Randall narrowed his eyes. “You’re a traitor, Aelric. Of all people, you are his Friend!” He said the word as the title it was.
“And he was supposed to be mine!”
The burst of anger left him dizzy, and Aelricus tried to slow his rapid breaths. “How could he? Emeline-“
“Should have been of no concern to a Champion.”
“She was innocent!”
“As innocent as her conspiring family?” Randall replied. “Your naivety makes you an easy target, my friend, but your affection would have doomed her either way.”
Aelricus paled. The cut on his hand carved a line of burning pain across his palm, but the guilt stung harder. “I would have done nothing,” he whispered. “It was harmless. Sylvester had no need to order her death. He is no king, but a tyrant, and I will have no part in it!”
Randall gave a thin smile. “Perhaps it will comfort you to know the King did not know.”
Aelricus’ mouth fell open.
“We all do our duty,” Randall continued. “Such things are messy and unpleasant. It is my line who spare his heart.”
“You!” Aelricus growled. He tried to force himself to his feet, but his legs slipped out from beneath him. Tears stung at his eyes until his vision blurred. Tubert was speaking to him, but his presence was far away, pushed back by the turbulent emotions that overwhelmed him.
“You are messy, Aelric,” Randall spoke from somewhere above. “A Champion turned traitor. Betraying your own King.”
“I never wanted this...” Aelricus croaked.
“Can you not see that losing you that way would have broken his heart?” Randall crouched down, and Aelricus could hear the steady flow of his breathing. “It is lucky that he never needs to find out.”
Aelricus’ head shot up. “You would let me return?”
“Oh no, you misunderstand. It’s far too late for that.”
Magic flared from Randall as he called his power to the surface.
“You can’t!” Aelricus scrambled back, as though distance would protect him. “I will inform the next in line when they awaken. You cannot hide this.”
Randall paused in his movement. “Ah yes, the potential. We all know it’s most likely to be Jacob. It will grieve you to learn that he has been taken ill. Without you in the palace to tend to him, it is likely he will not survive the night.”
A chill wind sucked any remaining heat from Aelricus’ body. He spoke through the shiver that wracked his frame. “Please, Randall! Were we not children together? If I have destroyed any love you once had for me, then for Silvester’s sake, do not harm Jacob. I swear I will say no word of tonight. I told him nothing of my plans.”
“Be grateful you did not, or you would have further blood on your hands.”
Any emotion faded from Randall’s face. His magic flared once more, choking the cry from Aelricus’ throat as it gripped him.
The last thing he heard was Turbert calling his name. 
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