#playing with woodland creatures gave him away

[sunnycantaloupe]

"Since when was this marriage valid?!" Piece 2

Malleus's segment

This with Malleus, who as a young child was able to evade his caretakers and find himself in the forest near the palace. Hood over his head, he explored the area, admiring the wildflowers and trees. He was saddened when the small woodland creatures would run from him, but he didn't let it dampen his mood.

As he walked, he eventually came across a semi small clearing. In the middle of it, sat you as a child, making flower crowns and trying (along with failing) to climb trees in order to get to the birds on them. He wasn't sure if he should approach, thinking back to the times earlier when the animals evaded him. Before he could make a decision, you spotted him.

Instead of running, you eagerly approached him. You talked about how you couldn't see his face, but that you didn't care and asked him to join you. He nodded, very happy that you didn't run away out of fear.

For the next hour or so, you taught him how to make flower crowns, how to get the birds to come to him (which did not work), and other trivial stuff. Eventually, he took off his hood, expecting you to run away in fear or embarrassment because of his status. Your actual reaction made him so, so happy.

You stared wide eyed before excitedly going on about how "pretty" he was. How he must be a prince (you didn't recognize him????) for him to look so cool. How you were so glad to have him as a new friend now. Malleus was awestruck as he watched you flutter around him excitedly.

At one point, you claimed that you wanted him to marry you. When Malleus asked why, you said it was because you were never going to let him forget you, and that marriage was the only way to ensure that (you were a kid, give yourself some slack). That made sense to him, so he agreed.

You both picked a wild flower that you liked best and used some magic to preserve it. Then, you exchanged it with each other, you giving him a smile.

You two had been playing for hours, and it began to get dark. You heard your mother call out for you to come home, along with Malleus hearing footsteps coming from behind him. You both said goodbye, you telling him that "you'll know I'm home if the chimney is on!".

The week that followed was a very happy week for the both of you. You told your parents about your new "husband", which they laughed off and joked that you would have to bring him home eventually. Malleus told his caretaker about you, who seemed to already know and cheekily asked if he had fun. You would meet everyday, you bringing him snacks for him to try and him bringing his favorite book for you to read.

All was well, until one day you came to him in tears. You told him about how your parents were going to take you far away, and that you wouldn't be able to see him anymore. You confessed that they talked about how you had a "bad memory", and that you were scared you were going to wake up one day and not remember him. He comforted you as best he could, and assured you that it was ok. "I can remember for the both of us." he said, which cheered you up a bit.

With that, you waved him goodbye for the last time, promising him that you would come back. As your family packed up, you gave the preserved flower a hug before putting it away in your luggage. By the time night fell, your family was gone.

...

Many, many years have passed since then, and Malleus was newly appointed as the king of Briar Valley, after his grandmother stepped down. He was prepared all his life for this, and his grandmother deemed him ready.

Growing up, he always looked out his window. He was keeping an eye out for smoke in the forest near his castle, looking for any sign that you came back. He kept his flower preserved over the years, keeping it on his bedside table next to him while he slept every night.

One day, after his duties, he retired to his chambers. It wasn't quite late in the day, but he was still tired. At that moment, his advisor (the cheeky one that used to be one of his caretakers) suggested that he looked out his window. As he did, his eyes widened. There was smoke.

You had come back, albeit a few weeks ago. Many years have gone by and your parents let you have the small cottage that you grew up in, after you expressed interest in returning to Briar Valley. Soon after, you packed up your stuff and moved back. Nostalgia flooded your mind as you walked through that forest, through the small clearing, and up the steps to the cottage door.

You placed the preserved flower on your bedside table, in the same spot where you put it as a kid. Due to your now diagnosed memory problem, you couldn't remember exactly why you had it, just that it was given to you by someone you cared about. In fact, this mystery person was the reason you even came back. You were always someone that trusted your gut, so you went with that assumption.

The first weeks you were back home were spent cleaning up the place. It had been unoccupied for a really long time (by human standards at least), so it needed a little tidying up. By the time you had finished, a few weeks went by and you decided to enjoy the newly cleaned space by lighting up the old chimney and sipping some tea you bought in town.

Life went by peacefully...until one day when you were trying to make bread yourself, there was loud knocking at the door. You had half the mind to give the visitor hell, and you were ready to do that until you opened the door and came face to face with two royal guards.

At first, you freaked out. You thought you were in trouble somehow, because why else would the royal guard be at your doorstep. Before you could freak out further, the louder of the two guards opened a scroll, loudly proclaiming that your attendance was urgently requested by the newly appointed king, so that you may be formally crowned as his spouse.

See? He told you that he could remember for the both of you.

A/N: Here's Mal's piece! Funfact, his, Leona's, and Idia's segments are the only ones that take place in the original twst universe. Happy reading!

[mjmr493]

I am beyond excited to learn more about Sebastian Grimm in book 2 of the Wildersongs trilogy. But here is a incomplete list of what we DO know about him:

He hates lying to his mom <3

His hair lost its pigment after overusing his magic while casting for the first time

People think he overly scrutinizes spells, but he’s really memorizing them to account for his reading disorder

He planned to take over his mom’s flower trade before discovering he was a caster

His ears turn red when he’s embarrassed

Grimm understood there was a serious issue of Leo’s consent while under the curse (avoided commands, never took Leo’s affection as truth)

He acts similar to his mentor, Phade, who nominated him to the Fount when he was 11

He gets motion sick, poor guy

Phade is the only instructor in the Fount that’ll allow Grimm and Leo to work together

He’s trying to join the Coterie and get a seat in the Citadel so he can change the system from within (we love a man who can organize for systemic change)

People from his village, Dwull, have ostracized him since he was a kid. They blame him for losing control of the rain spell and the subsequent flooding (that distance from others has followed him to the Fount)

He seems only mildly affronted that Leo's Grandmagic threw him out a window in second tier

That man has so much restraint and I just need to know what he’s holding back. Biting his tongue to keep from saying what? Holding himself in check so much that his body trembles from effort. What was he going to do?!

We need his POV in the next book!! Grimm may have be outwardly put together, but Ik inside must be raging.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 12. corruption kink

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “not so angelic”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ the little angel that came down from heaven to spread the joyous spirit… surely omega won’t try anything

pairing: omega ghoul x gn!angel!reader

a/n: this one has been in the back of my mind for a while now. this one is a little more dark than the previous ones. viewer discretion is advised.

cw: nsfw content. corruption kink. dub-con. kinda primal play-idk (?). stalker omega. virginity loss. rough sex. outdoor sex. penetration. marks and hickeys. bites. slight masochism from reader.

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“look at those soft, pearly wings… i bet they’d look even prettier after i fuck you up.” —❤︎

┅✦┅

every winter season, omega finds himself trudging out of the ghoul den, unglamoured and keeping himself hidden in the shadows as he observed the joyous season of christmas.

it was a rather simple holiday to the quintessence ghoul. a time where friends and family come together to enjoy the fleeting wonders this winter holiday had to offer. chestnuts roasted over a crackling fire, accompanied by the fresh aroma of peppermint and mistletoe. omega found solace in christmas. to be able to have so much fun and create a beautiful warmth in the most dangerous season of the year. he found beauty in that.

but, all of those festivities weren’t what caught omega’s eyes about christmas.

just like how demons and ghouls roamed the blackened skies during halloween and the events of november, their counterparts descended from the heavens to help spread christmas spirit, veiled in their disguises to be sure to not give away their holy features.

you were an angel that omega just so happened to stumble upon. he watched you from the branch of a pine tree, being sure to keep himself cloaked in the darkness as he observed you jumping around happily in the snow. he’s been watching you for a while now. you didn’t know him, but you spotted him once during last year’s christmas and gave him a friendly smile— not knowing of his true demonic nature. since then, omega has been hooked. he didn’t have a definite reason on why he was so drawn to you, but the ghoul has found himself trying to find your presence, catching you doing your heavenly duties for the ones above.

omega just found you strikingly beautiful.

while he was observing you from the snowy trees, he noticed how you were frolicking around the snowflakes and singing a sweet christmas tune. how cute, you were having some time to yourself, singing childish carols, but your sweet angelic voice was beautiful enough to serenade the woodland creatures nearby. hell, it was enough to serenade omega himself. your voice was delicate, but it was laced with a certain sweetness that honeyed each word you sung.

it was such a beautiful sound.

omega couldn’t help but wonder how your voice would sound if you moaned his name.

the quintessence ghoul has taken a liking to your… innocence. you were so pure, as white as snow, just like the pearly color of your feathery angel wings, they were like a dove’s. something about that youthful purity drove his mind… crazy. the very thought of numbing your oh so innocent mind, into a broken, sex-crazed bastard was enough to get his dick hard. that just sounded so hot to him. he didn’t care if that made him a creep, he was just yearning to feel your angelic body on his corrupt, demonic one.

omega needed you. he needed to have a piece of that.

he growled lowly and licked his lips as he observed you dancing and singing. omega found himself growing more excited as he slowly got closer to you, creeping down from the branch and slowly approaching you, as you were still oblivious to the piercing slits of omega’s violet eyes staring into your form.

as you neared the end of your song, your eyes slowly opened to look up at the sky. you were about to take a deep breath in to appreciate the chilly air, but an instinctive yelp escaped your throat as you felt yourself get tackled into the snowy grass.

omega hovered over you and snarled as he stared down at you, his face filled with a tainted, greedy desire that only you could satisfy. he let out a low, husky growl and smirked.

“got you.” he teased darkly, and your eyes widened as you stared up at him.

it was a ghoul. you shouldn’t be seen with a ghoul like this— let alone any kind of demon. it was a sin. you struggled and writhed around to try and get free.

“l-let go, demon!” you shrieked, feathers ruffling as you tried to get away. “i can’t be seen with you!”

omega pouted at this. awww, were you trying to escape? too bad, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. “awh baby… don’t be like that. i promise i’m a nice demon.”

he chuckled lustfully and lowly, his pupils turning into hearts as he stared down at you, keeping you pinned to the ground. you just winced as you looked up at him, still not exactly picking up what he wants.

“w-what do you want from me..?” you squeaked out, trying not to cry from how scared you were. omega noticed the glossiness in your beautiful eyes.

fuck. that was so hot.

“you, angel.” he stated bluntly and huskily, leaning down to whisper into your ear. “i want you.”

he giggled sadistically at your shocked, almost intrigued expression as you reached to his words. you? what could he possibly want from you?

his calloused, dark claws moved to grab a chunk of soft feathers that were on your wings. your entire body jolted from the touch. ah, sensitive wings. that’s okay, it only made things more exciting for omega. he practically moaned when he caressed the softness of your wings, appreciating the delicacy that tangled between his fingers.

“look at those soft, pearly wings… i bet they’d look even prettier after i fuck you up.” he said between rugged breaths, just getting so incredibly riled up from the feeling of getting to touch you.

“you have no idea how badly i wanna fuck you right now..” omega whispered seductively into your ear, hot breath tickling your ear as you squealed. “ruin that angel body of yours… making you mine. i bet the heavens wouldn’t wanna see their precious little angel getting all fucked up by a filthy, lowly infernal now, would they?”

you squirmed again and let a few tears trickle down your cheeks as you got completely dominated by this lowly demon. you couldn’t believe it, to think that one of lucifer’s creations would be here, getting it on with you.

but fuck, the way he touched your wings… that was only the first step into numbing your mind from all of that innocence.

“p-please..” you spoke between muffled cries. “i-i just…”

what were you even trying to say? did you want this or not?

omega just narrowed his eyes down at you, before smirking, and trailing his fingers over to your pristine silky white robe.

he smirked darkly, before completely tearing off the robe in one go, creating a loud rip sound that almost felt humiliating. you gasped loudly and tried to cover yourself, the chilly winds hitting your exposed skin. omega just scoffed and grabbed your wrists, pulling them away and pinning them to the snow floor as he got an eyeful of your sexy, naked body.

“shit. you were hiding all of that this whole time?” omega chuckled, marveling at every curve and dip he saw. “this is a body that’s practically screaming to be fucked.”

his words were so dirty, you weren’t used to it. but there was this strange feeling that drew you to it, his presence, despite how much you were fighting it.

omega makes quick work of his own clothes. he uses his tail to restrain your wrists as he stripped himself of his clothes, being quick and haste, desperate to feel himself inside of you already. after a bit of fumbling, omega is now sitting naked on top of you, his hard cock leaking precum onto your stomach. he stroked himself a few times to smear the precum onto the chub and shaft of his dick, lubing himself up. without even giving you a warning, omega completely thrusted his cock into your virgin hole, making you scream from the searing feeling.

“a-aahhh!!” you shrieked, trying to hold onto the ground as omega thrusted into you wildly. “i-it hurts!! p-please it hurts!”

“you can take it.” omega grunted between thrusts, groaning loudly as he fucked you raw. he was having the time of his life right now, watching your fucked out expression as he pounded into you.

there it was, you were no longer chaste. the very heavenly principle that you valued the most. gone. and yet, you found yourself so fucking turned on by the situation. you didn’t know what it was, why the fear, the thrill, the shame of it all got you so horny. you didn’t even know what it was like to be horny until you met this demon. that feeling of pain soon melted into an intense pleasure that pooled in the core of your stomach, and your legs hooked around omega’s waist while he went to town on you.

“g-god yess! more!” you cried out, tongue lolling out of your mouth while omega hovered over you, fucking you into oblivion. he moaned loudly, and dipped his head down to mark your neck with hickeys while he pounded into you.

“there it is… there’s the slutty little angel i’ve been looking for.” omega grinned into your neck, loving the fact that you were begging for more. you’d claws dug into your thighs, creating bloody scratch marks that only made you moan louder.

you knew that you’d be instantly banished from the heavens if they ever found out about this. mingling with a demon and losing your purity, but you didn’t care, not right now at least. you felt too good, and you were breaking every rule written in the heavens book that shaped who you were. shaped you into the obedient, innocent little angel.

but this? this was not so angelic.

“f-fuck! i need to cum! i need to cum!!” you begged over and over to omega, needing a release. he just growled and bit into your skin as his thrusts got faster.

“oh yeah? you need to cum?” he grunted out, his cock hitting all of the right spots inside of you as he fucked you into the snow. it was like the sheer cold didn’t even matter, because he was fucking you so good that it was warning you up.

“cum for me, angel. show the gods what i can do to their precious angels.”

that line just does it for you. you whined loudly and came hard with a whimper, body spasming wildly as your cum creamed omega’s cock. the quintessence ghoul also groaned loudly and came deep within you, his hot cum filling your insides up completely.

omega sighed heavily and stayed inside of you, watching your form pant heavily and trying to register what happened.

you… you just had sex with a demon.

you didn’t even have the time to properly register what happened, because omega started thrusting again, making you cry out loudly. this was just the start.

omega gritted his teeth and spoke to you in a sultry, lusty voice that you will never forget.

“you’re mine, angel. always will be. i’ll show the heavens that you belong to me, and nothing will change that. if i have to keep fucking you to show that, then so be it. i don’t want you to be bound by their petty little rules.”

he thrusted harder, and you moaned loudly.

“so… how about it? you wanna keep fucking this demon? or go back to being a little servant for some feathery pricks.”

you could only whimper and nod in response, completely consumed by this feeling. this feeling of darkness and lust that you loved to taste.

“please.. more.”

the moment you spoke those words, you felt your crystal clear angel wings, wilt into a shadowy, charcoal color.

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[luminiamore]

𝖒𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖑𝖚𝖔𝖚𝖘

a stefan salvatore love story.

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖔

freesia

"Freesia, would you kindly refrain from playing in that man's dreams," Came a soft, southern, silky voice amid an enchanted forest.

A beautiful forest it was. Majestic oak and towering pine trees stretch towards the heavens, their branches glittered with clusters of shimmering dewdrops and flowers that glint like precious gems in the soft light. A chorus of bird song fills the air, accompanied by the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional flutter of wings.

"Ah! S'il vous plaît, Bella. I am not playing. I am merely teasing," The goddess giggled, a delicate smile adorning her features. She opened one chestnut-colored eye to take a peek at her sister.

Belladonna stood stoically, her captivating face betraying no emotion, clad in a cream-colored strapless gown that gathered slightly at the forest's edge. Meanwhile, Freesia was adorned solely in vines and a kaleidoscope of blossoms, her usual attire in the confines of her woodland abode.

"You're well aware we're seeing him tomorrow, hun. Why such teasing antics-" A melodic voice cuts the ancient witch off.

"Is Freesia inserting herself in Stefan's dreams once again? You're making him doubt your existence, sweets. That is if he hasn't already. You know-" The fairy addressed her best friend, a soft fluttering accompanied her statement.

"Yes, thank you, Fi. That's what I was just telling our lovely best friend here." Belladonna quickly cut off the fairy before she could start rambling. A habit of hers. She only gives a sheepish grin before she settles down on a log a few feet away from the pair.

Freesia gives a pout to the two women. Did he really doubt she existed?

Her voice trembles, "I just want to give him some hope. He's been burdened for so long, and it pains me to see him like that."

There's a soft whistling the trees emit at the end of her statement as if comforting her. She gives a sad smile.

"I know, sweets. And he won't feel that way anymore because we're headed to Mystic Falls tomorrow, yes?

The ancient fairy quickly utters. And almost as if the goddess was never down in the first place, she gives a bright smile, birds tweeting around her at the sheer aura it gave off. "Yes! Oh, I'm so excited. Is Nea coming with us?"

This time, Belladonna answers, the green leaves moving in a tornado-like motion under her whim, "Of course, she wouldn't leave us alone in that supernatural-infested town. She's feeding right now, so she'll likely meet us tomorrow at the house."

The house, a beautiful one it was. It was abandoned when they first stumbled upon it, vines and leaves taking over its walls. Freesia saw the perfection in it, and so she insisted on renovating it. It wasn't too far from the Salvatore boarding house; besides, it couldn't be viewed by any non-human creature. Thanks to a lovely spell by her sister.

It was simply a way for them to blend in, they didn't really need it. Selenea lived in the ocean, and the other three girls were found solitary in the forest. It was the source of their power, and they never felt more safe. They figured that since they were newcomers to the small town, a ball seemed suitable to introduce themselves. And that's precisely what they were going to do.

"Allons-y, d'accord? After all, we have a ball to prepare for; we haven't even gotten our dresses yet." Freesia abruptly stands, her vine dress still holding tightly onto her skin.

"I know a wonderful dress store in Italy." Is all the ancient witch says before she opens a portal with a wave of her hand.

The tiny fairy squeaks at the prospect of shopping, and Freesia enthusiastically claps. They both follow her into the shimmering light, giggles and laughs following after them.

chapter one. chapter three.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 21 - Antagonists Again

The rogue decides to dig.

On AO3.

They walk as far as they can. Veer off in the last portion away from the water (she says something about a “sah-vah-nuh watering holes” and “goddamn crocs”).

She’s carrying around three water skins by now. Feels more comfortable moving away from that resource. Then she mopes about because while the fish supplied her with her own stash of provisions, and gave her flammable seaweed bundles over which to cook said provisions, they rather don’t want to draw attention to themselves. So she has to eat sticks of dried fish, which he takes to be rather unpleasant.

At least he’s not the only one not exactly enjoying his respective meal.

“You could have asked your devoted school to hunt for something else, you know,” he says after tossing back another nasty bottle. The best part of drinking fish blood from a bottle and not the thing itself is not having to place his mouth on slimy flesh. Doesn’t even have to pick scales out of his teeth afterward. Gods, he misses woodland creatures. At least their blood was hot.

His tricky leader grunts at him. Literally grunts.

“How uncouth of you,” he says, swearing he hears her roll her eyes. “You’re usually so eager to use whatever resources we come across. I’ll admit, I’m a bit curious as to why you didn’t rob them blind, as it were.”

She doesn’t rise to the joke, however. It’s a pity more people don’t have a sense of humor.

She knows he doesn’t care about using others. More fool them. If someone is going to let themselves be swindled, they had it coming. So she has no reason to perform avoidance here. She’s not going to earn any do-gooder points from the more noble of their companions. But her silence tells him she’s playing to something else, pretending reluctance, so he decides to do some digging. Get inside her defenses.

She’s silent, save for the tearing of dried flesh between her teeth.

“Come now,” he says and settles his weight back on his hands. Wiggles his feet, crossed at the ankles to make himself the very picture of open and inviting. “We’ve nothing else to do before you fall asleep. Why waste that potion?”

He thinks for a moment she’s going to ignore him. Typical. If she’s figured out that he’s figured out her scheme, there’s no point in continuing to play nice with him.

Or maybe it’s the moodiness he’s heard about moon blood.

Then she sighs, long and deep, and grit crunches as she shifts her legs.

“What did you see in my head?” she says.

“Beg pardon?”

“The night with Gandrel. When you were in my fucking head. What did you see?”

Hmm. What maneuver is this?

He decides to let her lead. “Not much, darling. It was a rather panicked jumble. Not that I blame you.”

She quiets again. But he’s wise to her, now. He can wait this out. Force her to make the next move.

“I had a weird childhood,” she says. “Didn’t even know how weird until I got away and, like, met other people. My mother—”

Her inflection changes on that word; becomes more precise, more formal.

“—she married some whackjob religious nut after my dad died. Went whole hog into his bullshit. He convinced her she needed to ‘save me,’ so she took me from my grandpa—dad’s side. Brought me to their, I guess you’d call it a commune. We called it the farmstead.”

Some rodent very far away shuffles in a burrow. Her leg starts to bounce again.

“The technical term is a ‘high control group.’ Most people’d just call it a cult. Never got more’n fifty adults, but there was lots of us kids. Lots. That was…was our whole job. To have kids. Was gonna be my job.”

“Don’t humans generally welcome children?” he says.

“Not like that.” There’s something hard in her voice. Seen in her eyes before; in her actions, certainly. But the raw rage trembles in her voice, pulling the tone into a tight snarl. She’s never let that show so freely.

“I was gonna be a breeding sow. It was my duty as a ‘woman of god.’ I got a functioning uterus—at the time—so my entire purpose was gonna be punching out babies until it killed me or my body shut that down. Spend my whole, adult life pregnant and worked to the bone until there wasn’t nothing left. Do my part to turn out an army for the lord. And to do that, I’d need a husband.”

Ah. Oh. Oh, that’s…

“Women ain’t people to them, Astarion. We’re fucking livestock. Only there to do chores, have babies, and obey our husbands.”

He feels himself frowning. That’s…

To be a thing. Not even a thinking creature. Only there for one purpose. Not the same purpose, but a close relation.

“Those fish creatures considered you their god, though,” he says. “You wouldn’t be subject to any of that. You’d be the one in charge, darling. You could make your own rules.”

Be the master. Make that bastard crawl in the dirt. Bleed him. Kill him over and over and over, and then make his siblings grovel, make anyone who ever touched him plead for mercy and absolutely deny them that.

The sound she makes isn’t a laugh. It’s too small and nasty to be classified as such. “Yeah. Sure. Be the piece of shit I still hope dies in a fucking house fire. Because that’s the dream.”

“Why not? You could have the power to hurt anyone who ever hurt you.”

“That ain’t fucking power.”

Oh, she’s being stupid again. Gods, he shouldn’t have brought this up.

“That sonuvabitch made his whole life about controlling everybody. His whole fucking life. At least until he started getting his favorites to do it for him. Why in the ever-loving fuck would I want to put that much of myself into that shit?”

“Don’t be so naive,” Astarion says. “If you don’t, someone else will, and then you’ll only have a different bastard telling you what to do.”

She pauses. He has the distinct impression she stares at him. Then, “Or you can leave.”

And there’s his opening. “And then you eat a piece of a hallucinogenic fungus and spend the entire evening terrified you’ll be dragged back? I think not, darling.”

He’s landed a blow. Can hear it in the way her heart stutters and then pounds. Her scent changes as blood rises to her cheeks.

Serves her right. Or you could leave. As if it’s that simple. As if he hadn’t tried that and paid that godsdamned price. As if that puts her above the ugliness and violence.

The world is divided into two categories: those with the power to enforce their will, and everyone else. She can spin all the pretty little stories she likes, but that is the reality. She’s not better than him. And he’ll drag her as far down as he has to for her to admit it.

“Is that what you’ve done with the kuo-toa? Leaving them?” he presses. “Because I can assure you, they’re not stopping their sacrifices. And now they get to do it in the name of a new god, completely unsupervised by her. You left a murderous cult to fall upon the next person so unlucky as to find them. And from the sound of it, you did the same thing before. You had family in that place, yes? I saw that, darling.”

She’s no different from him. It wasn’t some pathetic high ground that let her dismiss his actions towards her. It was her own guilt. She couldn’t condemn him lest she condemn herself.

He’s smirking, he knows.

“That ain’t the same thing,” she says.

“Actually, you’re right. It’s not. I had mere moments to make my choice. You planned yours. Plotted it for months, was it? Set up your dearest sister to take the punishment for letting you escape.”

“You said you didn’t see much.”

Gods, he wishes his eyes worked. He could be pretending to check his nails. Let her know how feeble her arguments are without even saying a word. Instead, he has to settle for, “I said it was panicked, not that I couldn’t pluck some sense out of the chaos.”

“So, what? I should go back? Be their god?”

He feels himself pull a face. “Of fish? Gods no. But there’s a lesson here, my dear, and you can apply it to a much greater scale. To the entirety of the Sword Coast, to be precise. We’re on our way to Moonrise Towers. What’s to stop us from finding the source of the Absolute and taking it for ourselves?”

The scent of her blood does not fade. He’s willing to bet his meager possessions that she’s as flushed red as their tiefling’s ass. Not as fun a game to play once someone plays back, is it?

Only, he hopes she doesn’t start crying again. He deserves a chance to enjoy his victory. Though he’s not, actually. His innards are doing something and he’s had quite enough of that, lately. It’s simple manipulation.

“Why don’t you get some rest, and I’ll keep watch?” he says. He can be gracious in victory. Sometimes.

He’s not entirely sure what he expects of her. It’s a coin-toss between her quietly going along out of practicality (when she’s not being insufferable), or setting him on fire.

“Is that what you would do?” she says, instead. Ever the shifty one.

“What, rest?” he says just to be an ass.

“You been hurt. I…I saw some. Didn’t mean to; you was loud about it in your head. You been hurt.”

He bristles. “What has that to do with—”

“So you’d make yourself into what hurt you, is that it?”

His thoughts trip. Body goes utterly still.

“Would that make you feel better, Astarion? Would that undo anything? Fix a single, damn thing?”

She…that’s not…

His lips peel back in a snarl full of fangs. “Of course it would. And you’d best think very, very carefully about your next words.”

“That fuckface deserves to die,” she says. “But that shit you’re talking about? It ain’t no different from being hunted. You start doing that, you’re always gonna be doing that until it gets you fucking killed.”

“Says the coward who fled.” He’s aware of the irony. He knows. He just can’t…he can’t let that stand. “Did that fix anything for you, darling?”

“There ain’t nothing in the world gonna fix what happened to me.”

Finally. Something they can agree on—

“But I got a life of my own. I made a life of my own, and it ain’t perfect and it ain’t even good half the time, but I got to do it and ain’t none of them fucks got a single goddamn part in any of it.”

She can’t say things like that. Can’t mean them, because she bloody well does. He can hear it in her voice and her own, fucking pulse.

“And how has that life been working out for you lately, hmm?” he says.

“Well. I ain’t dead and ain’t a squidward yet. So pretty decent, I reckon.”

No. No, no, no. He started this to prove a point to her. Because he’s onto her. Because she’s playing the same game everyone else is, even if the approach is modified. Because she’s an idiot, alien yokel and a human and she has no idea what she’s talking about. She understands nothing.

So why in the sweet hells do her words stab him right between the ribs? Again.

She can’t keep getting away with this. He’s going to…going…

To the hells with it.

He stands. Narrowly avoids cracking his skull on the ceiling of the alcove.

“On second thought, I think I’ll rest elsewhere. It rather stinks of fish in here,” he says. And leaves.

It’s not running away.

[mechformers]

Ma Miles - Ch. 2

2.3k words

First chapter | Masterpost | Chapter 3

The old shack, and the woodlands surrounding it, are all but destroyed when you arrive. Bullet holes and burns pierce the plants and trees, the wood bleeding heavily from their wounds. A deep pain washes through your chest as you take in the battlefield before you. What had once started healing from the previous battle was now ripped roughly from the Great Mother’s arms. Touching the trunk of the most damaged tree, you are pleased to see that life still courses through it.

Woodland creatures had already started their repairs, the small beings flitting around, buzzing loudly as they worked to save the tree. All energy was borrowed, you tried to comfort yourself, remembering the tales of how Eywa connected all beings. Even though some went before their time, others were helped to heal, to start their life anew by the blessing of Eywa’s second chance. Smiling to yourself, you left the tree, knowing that it was in good hands. Turning back to the shack, you let our eyes fall upon the destruction that spread like a disease wherever these sky people went.

The bloodied arrows that lay on the ground are impossible to miss, and you immediately recognize the craftsmanship as Neytiri’s. Crouching by the sizable metal suit, you noticed how a part of vine was brushed away, exposing weirdly pictured scribbles, the written language of the sky people. You didn’t know what it said, but you recognized the type of drawings, the same ones as the scientists you worked with drew about their research on Pandora. In the back of your mind, you wished you had paid more attention to the drawings, maybe then you would understand what the ones in front of you meant.

Hissing with annoyance, you left the cold suit behind moving quickly to see if you could find anything to indicate where they had taken your child. In the back of your mind, however, you feared that you already knew. And sure enough, as the eclipse neared, you were no closer to finding more than a broken metal gem with drawings, the ones that the dreamwalkers carried around their necks, only smaller. Looking up at the darkening skies, you sighed tiredly as you tied the gem to your tweng, the tiny round metal beads cold against your skin. Walking back to your Ikran, you make the connection, immediately feeling how he worries for you. Resting your head on his, you watch Hawnu close his eyes, a sense of calm rushing through your connection. It gave you the reassurance you needed to do what you had to.

Spider was only a child, although born of the sky people, he was kind and gentle, curious and brave. The sky people would not understand his ways, at least not the ones who took him. You prayed to Eywa that the demon did not know of the role he played in Spider’s creation, that your son had been taken, simply because he resembles them and not the Na’vi he lived among. Sending a small thank you to Jake, you felt lighter knowing that Spider was able to communicate with the sky people in their own language. English had been a fun language to learn, one you studied diligently so that your son wouldn’t feel alone. Although you didn’t speak it fluently, you spoke it well enough that you too could hold conversations with the sky people, something that certainly helped while working with them.

Flying through the lands of Pandora, you let your eyes glide over the beauty of your home. Although the sky people brought ruin and devastation wherever they went, you were proud to see Eywa taking back what was stolen, making the healed land greener and lusher than before. As night fell over Pandora, you couldn’t help but smile at the wonders of Eywa below. Bioluminescent plants and animals moved around, fish and other amphibians swam in the waters. It never ceased to take your breath away. But something wasn’t right.

You could already see Hell’s Gate on the horizon, but where there should be death, there was only life. Panic started filling you the closer you got. Urging Hawnu to fly faster, despite how tired you both were, he flew faster and faster until the area was below you. Screaming out in frustration, Hawnu circled the area as he let you scream. Although you could feel his worry for you, you couldn’t help but let your fear and sorrow rush through you.

Where there should be sky people and death, there was only the lush green of the Great Mother’s touch. The place, long since abandoned, is now overgrown and flourishing with wildlife. Although your heart fills with joy and pride, your instincts scream at you that your son is not there, that he is still missing from your arms, that he is in danger with these sky people, that he is with the demon.

Hawnu lands on top of the tallest building, breath coming fast and heavy as he tiredly rests his warm wings. It takes your mind off of Spider for just a moment as your heart fills with shame. Gently breaking the tsaheylu, you slide off of him, running your hands along his too-warm skin before ending up at his head.

“Forgive me, Hawnu,” You whisper, tears filling your eyes as you listen to your Ikran’s heavy breathing.

But the big male just bumps his head to yours, resting his big head over your shoulder as he pulls you in. Wrapping your arms as far as they will get around him, you take comfort in each other as his heavy breathing eventually slows down to normal. With his skin once more turning cool, you break your embrace, once more running your hands up to his face, firmly stroking him. It had been such a long flight without any rest, the journey made in haste to reach this place. You were so proud of him.

Breaking contact with Hawnu, you turn around to look at the place that had once been occupied by sky people. The sun, now fully in the sky, shone brightly down at the area, shedding light on all the destruction that still lay beneath Eywa’s blessing. It didn’t bring you any comfort.

Climbing down the stone-like building, you cut yourself sharp see-through metal-like things. The wall that was once covered in it was broken, mauled open like a Viperwolf mauled open its prey. The ground was littered with them and although you tried your best to avoid stepping on them, it was impossible not to. Looking around the small rooms, you tried to find anything to indicate where their new base of operations was located. You found drawings you could understand, pictures, machines, the floating mountains, but nothing else.

By the time night cradled Pandora in its darkness once more, you were exhausted. Without pause, you had searched for Spider, searched for the ones who took him, for any sign to show you where he might be. Yet, you were no closer to finding him. Hissing furiously, you blame yourself for not paying more attention to where the sky people lived now, to where your clan’s warriors fought them. Sitting down against a wall, you looked out through the hole in the building, watching how Eywa’s children thrived once more in what was once a desecrated place. Before you knew it, your eyes closed and the Great Mother blessed you with a peaceful rest.

You awoke with a startle as the warm rays of the morning sun caressed your skin. Looking around at your surroundings you were rudely reminded of where you are, reminded that this wasn’t just a bad dream. Shouting with rage you quickly got to your feet and started your climb up the building. Calling for Hawnu you felt relieved when his mighty wings were heard from the forest as he took off toward you. Greeting him, you took the time to rest your head against his, thanking him for his kindness and the loyalty he continued to show you. Making tsaheylu, you were once again met with his calming presence. It soothed you enough for your mind to clear and remember.

The metal path.

The metal path your clan destroyed not too long ago must lead to somewhere. With the thought clear in your mind, Hawnu chirped excitedly, urging you to get on once more. Stroking his long, powerful neck, you thanked him before getting up on his back. Before you even had the chance to sit down, he was off, powerful wings pushing you up, soaring through the wind on your way back from where you came.

Finding the metal path wasn’t hard. The amount of destruction the sky people had done to make their path was possible to see from far away in the skies. Circling the ruined part where your clan’s warriors had attacked, you were faced with a whole other dilemma of which way to take. One would lead further into the forest, while the other would take you to the sea. Unable to decide, you needed time to think, needed food and water for your mind to be clear. Hawnu took you deep into the forest in the opposite direction, surprising you when he landed close to a spartan tree.

Once you got Spider back and got him to safety, you would need to show Hawnu just how much you appreciate him. Without his help, you didn’t think you would be able to get this far. Alone as you were, with no one around, you weren’t the best when it came to watching out for yourself. Now though, you went towards the spartan tree, plucking a fruit from it you hungrily bit into it, closing your eyes in delight as the meat and juices met your dry mouth. Eating the entirety of the fruit, you quickly went to pick another one, devouring that one too.

Once you were full, your mind seemed to clear. Sky people would need protection, something the forest couldn’t offer them. The Na’vi tribes had the advantage there. The sea, however, offered more protection in the way that they only needed to watch one side seeing as the water tribes lived further away from where the sky people’s metal path led. With your mind made up, you called for Hawnu once more, digging into the pouch on his back. Bringing the net with you, you went back to the spartan tree and picked some more fruits for your journey. They would provide both food and water for you during the days it would take to get to the sea. Finding the metal path again, you asked Hawnu to fly towards the sea. You had been to it a few times before as a child, but when the sky people came and the war began, you had suddenly found yourself alone.

You knew you had made the right call when far in the distance, you could see black smoke. The closer you got to the sea, the sparser life got below you, the Great Mother’s blessings taken for granted as life died and withered. Not even the crisp scent of the sea you remembered from so long ago could be smelled. When you came up upon the sky people’s new home, you quickly understood why.

Although you had never been to war yourself, you had heard the tales from the warriors, had learned how the sky people killed the ground beneath their feet, heard how it died and became gray and hard as a rock. Never had you imagined the sheer size of their destruction, but looking upon it now, you were taken aback at the monstrosity of it all. Gone were Eywa’s blessings, gone were all signs of life, of plants and trees. In its stead, colorless buildings, tall and broad, the dead ground below and the sea. You needn't even be there to see the rich color slowly dying, turning gray.

Circling the end of the forest, you looked helplessly at the belt that was destroyed long before their rock walls began, shaved away so that the Great Mother’s wonders could not reach them. Hawnu called to you, tired and worried. Stroking his powerful neck you asked him to land somewhere he deemed safe. Getting to the gates would not be easy. Getting to Spider, if he was even there would be even more difficult. You needed to get inside without getting hurt but was there even such a possibility? An idea came to mind, one so stupid you doubted even Jake Sully would have done such a thing.

Thanking Hawnu for his help, you took the last spartan fruit and ate it as you stooped at the shaved belt. It was a long way to walk without cover, their stone wall so far away from the safety of Eywa and her touch, but you had no choice. Your son had been alone with these monsters for far too long already, you needed to get to him. With your mind made up you started walking, taking long strides that shortened the closer you came to the stone wall and what you hoped was their entrance.

With only a short distance left, you could see sky people gathering with their weapons on top of the wall, could hear their excitement as they watched a lonely Na’vi walk up to their home. You didn’t stop your stride, however, determined to go through with your stupid idea. Once inside, you would figure out what to do. Coming to a stop before the stone wall, you looked up at the sky people perched behind their stone cover. Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself as you tried to find their leader, but they all looked the same to you, nothing to indicate who was the leader of their different groups. With no one catching your eye, you ground your teeth together before quickly closing and opening your eyes. With a steel resolve, you called up to them, immediately noting how their heads turned as a murmur spread among them.

“I need Miles Quaritch…”

Chapter 1 | Masterpost | Chapter 3

[cryptomiracle]

Blue aura (eyeless jack x reader) pt 3

Read pt 1

...

Read pt 2

Warnings: mention of dead animals, decomposition, and blood.

readers POV:

The drive home felt like it would never end, you continuously thought about that blue thing you saw in the woods.

You couldn't help but feel bad for leaving Mark alone.

Even though you practically hated the guy, you didn't want anything bad to happen to him.

You took a left turn, leading to a rocky road surrounded by woods.

It was the shortest way, and by now you were ready to get home, and go to bed.

Some old country song coming from the radio, you reached to turn it off, when suddenly, a deer ran right in front of your car.

You slammed on the brakes, making anything you had in the back, fall, or fly up to the front.

Instead of running away, the deer just stood there.

Your eyes were locked on the deer, when it turned it's head, staring right at you.

it's eyes were gray, and milky.

It was bleeding from it's nose, and it's ribs were exposed, it wasn't near death, it was already dead, and decomposing.

The only thing drawing your attention away from the undead deer was the radio.

It started distorting, the singers voice going from high, to low and back again.

Then it started switching stations, going from country, to metal, to pop, while still distorted.

You pulled out your phone, but it was dead.

At this point your heart was racing, and your nerves were shot.

You know how you'll get a feeling that something is wrong, before it even happens?

Thats how you felt right now.

Staring into the deers lifeless eyes, something deep down told you that there was something wrong with this place, something vile, something that makes your stomach turn.

You always knew that this town was weird, and slightly off-putting.

But this is different, something is happening, something beyond comprehension.

Your fight or flight kicked in, you blew the horn trying to scare it away.

It definitely did something, because the deer stood up on its back legs before running off.

You wasted no time to speed off.

You quickly made it home, you locked all the doors, and windows, closed all the blinds, and put your phone on the charger.

You didn't even wait for your phone to charge before turning it on, and going straight to contacts.

You scrolled until you saw Mark's number.

You called once, no answer.

You called twice, no answer.

You called for the fourth time, and still no answer.

Your phone finally gave up and died.

Leaving you in a state of panic.

You ran to your room and pulled out your computer.

You hopped on your couch and immediately went to tabs.

"can animals come back from the dead?" Is the first thing you searched for.

You were displeased when the only thing that came up was about extinct animals.

"disease that brings animals back to life"

Once again, the only thing that came up was unrelated.

You huffed, still in a state of panic.

You tried one last time.

"woodland creatures that can bring things back to life"

You knew it was stupid, I mean, c'mon a woodland creature? Seriously??

You felt stupid for even looking this up.

Yet something came up.

Some website, titled "entities of the forest"

You hesitantly clicked on it.

Thank God for Ad Blockers and VPNs.

The website looked old, like it had been abandoned a while ago.

You scrolled a bit, when you found something.

A link leading to another forum titled "Slenderman"

You clicked on it

It took you to a video, you pressed play.

The video started, and it showed an old window looking out into the forest.

The camera turned around to show a young man, about 25-29.

He had a nervous look on his face

He looked pale, he looked sickly.

(this next part is one of my personal headcanons for Slenderman)

"I've been having these hallucinations of him."

His voice was scratchy, and lacked volume.

"I'll see him in the corner of my eye, just watching me.

But lately it seems he's no longer satisfied with just watching.

He's started to get psychical, first it was random things in my house going missing, like documents, and note books, in which I kept information about him in.

But now he's starting to send "messengers"

If that's what you could even call them .

I've found that he can "revive" forest creatures, like rabbits, deer, mice, etc.

Last night, I woke up to a decomposing buck on my porch, using it's horns to slam into my door.

It was never able to get in, but I assume that was just a warning.

I've also started to notice that whenever I go into town at night, dead rats will follow me around.

Cornering me in alleyways, or simply watching me from a distance."

He had a tired look in his eyes, there was no spark in them, he had huge eye bags, and his hair was a mess

"Nobody believes me when I tell them about it, not even my therapist.

I don't know what to do anymore, I can't back out now, I'm in too deep."

He ran his hand through his hair, and leaned back into his chair.

"Recently, my father passed away under "unknown circumstances"

I know it was him.

I don't know how, but he killed my father.

he'll probably kill my mother, and then-"

The video glitched, and switched to a shot of the forest floor.

You could hear his silent sobs in the background.

That's when the video cut off.

By this time it was already 2 am, your fear faded, but switched places with frustration.

You decided to just go to bed for the night, considering that the video gave you no answers, other than what's causing this.

You closed your computer, set it on the table, and walked to your room .

You didn't do your usual routine, heat up some leftovers, take a shower, and go to bed, this time you decided to just take a shower and hit the hay.

You flipped onto your bed, the soft pillows, and comforters deflating under you.

The lavender scented detergent you use creating, a soothing environment.

You got under the covers, and reached to turn your side lamp out.

You closed your eyes and got comfortable.

Too bad you couldn't go to sleep.

The thought of everything that happened kept you up.

The need for answers, plaguing your mind.

You did everything you could to try and go to sleep, from counting sheep, to making tea, but none of it would work.

So you decided to do some more research

What's the worst that could happen?

One more restless night wouldn't hurt.

[timehastobecruel]

Hi Tumblr, long time no see. Is anyone here? No anyway. I have been holding this one under my thumb for a very long time. I’m still not sure if I should truly post it. I have already planed a little au in the future under the condition that some lonely soul will read this maybe even if no one is going to. I’m just too exited to write this fanfic and scared. Haha, Anyway

Link x f!Reader

If anyone wants I could make a version without the female pronounces

Summary:

Some times has passed since the hero of time saved the world. He is forgotten by now, not only by the people of Hyrule but the goddess herself, living secluded in the lost woods, the only home he ever knew.

After all one throws away a toy that is no longer of use.

Little does he know that fate in form of you is already on its way. The gears of the old clock have started moving again and who is powerful enough to stop destiny?

It was a good day, or so she thought. The sun had just climbed over the mountains and colored everything in soft morning light. The heat of the day had not yet reached its peak and enveloped the inhabitants of the forest in a pleasant coolness. The morning air couldn't have been better and more soothing with every breath and the chirping of the birds couldn't have been more cheerful. Bright clouds drifted over Hyrule, the soft pink kissed orange and here and there one could already sense the infinite blueness of the sky, which would soon stretch cloudlessly and the burn the sun would provide ungraciously.

But this unpleasant premonition did not reach her at all, for her youthful heart felt protected in the forest. She thought she could feel the presence of the Kroks, which calmed her mind and made her feel protected, so that she did not dread the forest, which would have frightened any wanderer.

The weight of her ocarina in her pocket gave her additional security and the knowledge that nothing worse than loneliness would befall the children of this forest. That's why she greeted the eagle owl without shyness, who scrutinized her with attentive eyes. She walked past him into the woods and wandered around with a melody on her lips. Her own imagination made the forest vivid, so she didn't need to discover the little woodland creatures that lurked at the edge of her field of vision and eyed the young woman curiously. They perceived the naive heart and the childish mind, coupled with an insatiable thirst for knowledge that would get her into a lot of trouble.

The deku tree couldn't be angry with her for entering its woods either, and with a sympathetic eye, it saw how tenderly she brushed aside the tendrils of the trees to slip through and immediately find herself eye to eye with a hut.

The rotten wood made her heart tremble, but her concern for the inhabitant was greater than her fear itself. Her father, a carpenter, had put a keen eye in her cradle and her inquisitive mother had created the best prospects for her to absorb knowledge. Other girls who liked to play with dolls had never understood the inclination to rummage through books or watch their parents at work. She knocked timidly on the door and a harsh cry escaped her throat as the wood gave way beneath her fingers and fell clumsily to the ground. Sunbeams now kissed the bare earth and flooded the interior of the house with their glare. A wooden table in the middle of the room could not escape them and would probably fade under the sudden brightness. She entered, surprised by the simplicity of the hut, for it contained little more than a fireplace and a bed. On the other side of the house, the corners were shrouded in shadows so that she could not see the furnishings.

"Excuse-," the rest of her words were drowned in coughs. She waved wildly in front of her face, expelling the dust that filled her lungs and danced in the house. It seemed abandoned to her, so she didn't bother to waste any more words and risk getting more dust up her quivering nostrils and into her bandaged lungs.

Melancholy immediately gripped her mind as she considered the thorough handiwork, running her fingers over the nicks that had been collected in its surface with passing time. She circled the table and crossed the room, intending to keep looking around. A rough hand suddenly placed itself over her mouth and she was grabbed.

She threw up her hands, tried to free her mouth in agony and kicked out backwards with her legs to hit sensitive areas such as his shin. Her opponent was taller than her and in her fearful excitement she could feel the muscular body behind her. But despite her belief that she was up against a strong man, she managed to escape his practiced but weak grip and stared into the boy's face with wide eyes. The mirrors of her soul widened even more.

Her opposite was dressed in rags, the fabric hanging in tatters from his body. The once green fabric was faded and splattered with mud. She thought she could also make out red stains and the smell of blood, beneath the acrid stench of sweat. A far worse odor of sickness enveloped him, which she saw confirmed in his muscular but emaciated form and face. His collarbone stood out. His face was sunken, the skin stretched white almost greenish over the bones, looking almost like a skull, which was reinforced by the impression of the eyes that had fallen deep into their sockets. But beneath all the horror and squalor, his eyes captivated her. He wasn't pretty, but she was almost certain that one, not anymore, was in order. The greasy blond hair underscored her suspicions and his eyes burned hard into her soul.

It wasn't just the piercing blue which was overcast by a dark shadow, but the expression that was reflected in them. They were on fire, burning. An expression that would have taught any normal girl horror and fear but brought her back to her right mind. Beneath the layer of dirt was something that would have escaped someone controlled by fear. The way he held her hand with his left, exerting a surprisingly strong pressure that he had not exerted with his right, left no doubt. A fighter stood before her. A fighter who was used wielding a sword.

He had followed her movements closely and scrutinized her face almost as intensely as she had his. The warm brown of her eyes, which began to shine at the same time as her discovery, made him wonder. The fear had evaporated and given way to a warmth that sent shivers down his spine. It had been a long time since a human had looked at him with so much admiration, almost benevolence. Years, if not decades. He was no longer used to being gazed at with so much enthusiasm, with so much naïve ignorance.

And it repelled him, bringing back too many bitter memories.

"Rise (Get out)," he growled. His voice sounded hoarse, scratchy, as if it hadn't been used for a long time. But the growl that used to make even a grown man’s knees buckle under his weight had no effect on her. She had to prick up her ears to hear his voice and it took her even longer to match the syllables. They were spoken in old language, borne of old times past.

"Who," she said, thinking hard, trying to remember the sentence structure and the right words. "Millet be."

He stared at her, puzzled and surprised, until he burst out laughing. The ice was broken. She relaxed, let the pent-up air escape and finally felt the warmth of the sun on her skin again, which the scene had grotesquely taken away from her.

Giggling, she joined in and opened her eyes again just in time to see him limping to the bed, the only object, counting the table, on which there was no dust.

As he sat down, he said: "Don’t worry, dear child, to be no longer familiar with the language of the gods. It amazes me that thou recognised and e'en understood it at all. Withal bearing so much knowledge already, thou don’t hast to be familiar with their tongue as well. I understand thou that way too"

"Truly? thou speak both languages" she exclaimed in astonishment, her cheeks and the tip of her nose turning red in excitement. "How most wondrous and thee can actually speaketh both" she exclaimed.

"That is not the problem. I just do not like to mirror their clumsy tongue."

"A lot is lost 'i their translation, that's true." He raised his head.

"Now do not look upon me as surprised as a donkey at lunchtime. I realize most well how much finer thou speak than i doth, e'en would I compose the greatest effort. Thy grammar and sentence structure is much better than a housewife and a simple carpenter could ever have taught me. But what can't good will make up for?" she said cheerfully and sat down on the floor as a matter of course.

"Wherefore thee not taketh a chair?" he shouted hastily, wanting to get up, but she was quicker and pushed him back into the bed. "Do not ! thou'd better lie down again, 'i thy condition! thou want a bath and a meet meal! forgive me, yet thou stink and thy apparel could doth with a stitch! How good that I could be barely mistaken as a good housewife”, she mused sarcastically.

In his bewilderment, he began to laugh, dark and warm. He was no longer prepared to resist her, hadn't he given in to her at her first remark? She spoke the truth and that spoke for her.

He raised an eyebrow mockingly. "Doth with a stitch? needle and thread, thou mean."

Her hurt expression made him row back immediately. "Forgive me, i didn't mean to hurt thy feelings, thou mean well and that's all that matters! thou are welcome 'i mine home! if thou desire to compose yourself useful then hie ahead, behind the house thou shall find firewood, a pot 'i front of the fireplace, ingredients for a meal 'i the house, as well as a needle and thread." On the way out, she heard him add: "After all, thou've already invited yourself 'i"

Laughing melodically, she left him behind and found the things as he had listed them.

She dragged the wood over and deliberately ignored his objections, with which he warned her that the wood was far too heavy, cutting mushrooms and onions too difficult and sewing too dangerous. She also repeatedly rejected his admonition that she really didn't need to do that and, despite this, dragged a tub for him to wash in.

She put the bones of a hare, after cutting it up, in water and put its innards and meat aside to add to the broth later.

Late in the evening, as dusk fell, she was ready. She had left the door provisionally ajar because, despite all her knowledge, she didn't trust herself to hammer like her father would have done. Not yet.

As a result, the cold penetrated every crevice and, despite her efforts to keep the house warm and to stoke the fire, she noticed him shivering.

She had already put all the blankets she could find in the house around his slender body and, despite his protests that she needed one too, stuffed it tightly around him.

It was no use, he was shaking and when the spoon fell into the wooden bowl and he buckled backwards, she rushed to him. She placed him on the pillows and felt his forehead. It was hot and his skin was wet with sweat. He was feverish.

[sebsxphia]

bambi. | the cowboy and the toy horse.

rhett abbott x little!reader.

￫ description: your favorite toy horse needs to be taken to the horse hospital immediately and rhett is there to soothe you.

￫ c/w: age regression, other than that it’s all fluff, fluff, fluff.

￫ word count: 1.3K.

￫ a/n: the toy horse in the picture is mine! i’ve had it for years and its legs have broken after years of love. | woodland creatures | agere masterlist | main masterlist |

It was a Sunday evening. You loved Sunday evenings.

Across your home you could hear the faint clatter of porcelain and the splashing of water as Rhett ran the foamy soap duds over your dinner plates in the kitchen. In the living room, you were knelt on the washed out carpet with your knees scratching the material every time you stretched over to move your toys.

It was a farm toy set that came with plastic fences, a realistic looking barn and an abundance of animals. There were even some lions and tigers, which Rhett argued weren’t realistic, but you argued back it’s imaginary so what does it matter. Rhett gave in when he saw your defiant pout on your face.

Faintly playing on the television was, ‘The World of Peter Rabbit and Friends’.

You had it on VHS as a child and Rhett was able to find (and work) a VHS player for your television. It spluttered and whirred loudly, but on nights like these you could fall deeper into that comforting headspace.

You wanted to turn up the volume as it got to one of your favourite parts, but the remote was resting on the ledge of the television cabinet. So you got up, retrieved the remote and took one, two, three steps back and-

A ghastly and stomach curling ‘snap’ was heard below your feet. You hesitantly removed your foot only for your heart to shatter at the sight.

Your lips parted and you let out a silent cry at the gut wrenching image of your beloved toy horse with three legs parted from his body and laying ceremoniously on the carpet. Your bottom lip started to tremble and you could feel sharp tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

Rhett gifted you this toy horse and you loved it to death. If it wasn’t seen on your living room floor, it was next to your bedside table or sitting on the sink in the bathroom. It’s hide was made out of thin velvet and coloured white, grey and peach, hence the name, “Peach”.

You’d handled Peach so often that the material started to wear off in patches, but it didn’t matter because it matched his white. It even came with a proper Western saddle, “so you could have a horse just like Daddy”, was Rhett’s own words.

Peach was now broken more than you could fix and in a flurry of desperation, you scooped him up, plus his three legs and made your way to the only person you believed could help.

“Hey, Bambi. Give me two minutes and then I’ll join ya’.”

You tugged harder on the back of Rhett’s flannel as he stood at the kitchen sink and eventually he turned around, curious to why you weren’t saying anything, but desperately needing him. Rhett’s gaze softened when he saw your forlorn look of defeat and your bottom lip still trembling.

“Hey, hey, little one,” Rhett’s voice shifted an octave lower and he cooed at you softly. “What is it?”

Rhett could see you holding Peach in one hand, but when your left hand un-furled to reveal his broken legs, Rhett let out a quiet gasp.

“M’ sorry, Daddy.” You weakly mumbled out and dipped your head to avoid Rhett’s gaze.

Rhett cooed again at you and knelt down. He placed his palms under the backs of your hands and with his long fingers, they curled around enough to touch the tips of your fingertips.

“Oh, Bambi. Don’t y’ apologise, there’s nothin’ to apologise for.”

You nodded in response and the sharp tears that had been pricking at the corners of your eyes finally slid over your cheeks at relief of Rhett not being annoyed. Rhett moved one of his hands up to your cheek and brushed your hot tears away with his thumb and gave you a lopsided smile.

“We’ll fix him, ‘kay? We’ll take him to the horse hospital. Can you be brave for me and place him on the kitchen table? ‘ere,” Rhett reached behind him and grabbed the dishcloth, “put this under him to keep him warm.”

You followed Rhett’s instructions closely as you were more determined than ever to keep Peach alive and well. You folded the dishcloth to make a dry side and spread it out onto the kitchen table, carefully placing Peach and his three legs down. You sat on the kitchen chair with your elbows on the table and your face cradled in your own hands as you watched Rhett busy about the kitchen.

He scurried through a handful of drawers and dried off his hands before coming to join you at the table. You let out a concerned whimper and your eyebrows knitted together when you saw Rhett holding some ghastly looking pliers. Rhett placed his free hand on your back and ran reassuring circles through the material of his t-shirt.

His face shifted to a sympathetic look. Your frame was tense and ridged, and your distressed nature was twisting at his own heart strings and he was desperate to fix Peach and hopefully, mend you too.

“I promise I won’t hurt him, Bambi. Somethin’ happens to toys when they get hurt. After, they don’t feel anythin’. I promise.” Rhett accentuated his last promise as a way to reassure you again.

Clearly you must have bought the notion because you nodded in response and allowed for Rhett to settle on the kitchen chair next to Peach.

Thirty minutes later, some nifty handy work from Rhett, quick drying builders glue and some nasty pliers, and Peach was fixed. All three legs attached and he was standing.

Rhett presented the next stage of surgery as a First Aid kit that was kept on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet and nearly empty. What happened to be left was some surgical tape and a thin strip of bandages. For a human, it wouldn’t help at all, but for a small horse it was the perfect length for three legs.

Your worrisome smile slowly started to fall away from your face and Rhett caught a fleeting glance of what could simply be described as joy, etched all over your face as you wrapped the bandages round Peach’s leg and held it out for Rhett to stick.

“He’s better, he’s better!” You squealed out and bounced on your knees on the kitchen chair. You wore a radiating smile when you looked at Peach bandaged up and fixed. You plummeted into Rhett’s side and squeezed your arms around his waist, blurting out your “thank you’s” over and over into his torso.

‘The World of Peter Rabbit and Friends’ had now surely finished and it was retching in the VHS box to tell you so.

You had missed the majority of it while you were performing life changing surgery on Peach, but now you got to re-watch it whilst wrapped up in Rhett’s arms.

With the farm toy set came tiny toy feeding bottles for the baby animals. You were wedged in between Rhett’s broad thighs with his fingers tracing mindlessly along your arms, whilst you fed the bottle to Peach, who definitely needed it after his horrendous day.

But so did you, and after you had declared proudly to Rhett that Peach was fed, he scooted further back into the sofa to allow for you to lay comfortably on his chest. “C’ ere, Bambi. Now you deserve somethin’. So brave for Daddy today, hm?”

You hummed in content agreement as you sucked on your beaker that Rhett was holding in his hand so he could feed you a sweet treat of warm milk, that was hinted with a spoonful of strawberry milkshake powder.

“Atta’, Bambi.” Rhett murmured against the top of your head and followed with a soft kiss.

His other hand and fingers were repeatedly running through your hair and tucking it behind your ear. Occasionally Rhett would provide you with careful head scratches that lulled you closer to sleep and the sound of Peter Rabbit getting quieter.

taglist: @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @beachbabey

tagging those who may be interested: @lt-bradshaw @bradshawsbitch @thesluttyarchivist @mangokitkats

[ramble-bloo]

Princess Petunia basically used to live in the middle of the woods after being sent away by her parents to keep her out of the drama of running a kingdom since she is a sensitive soul with a spell placed on her .

Said spell made her as beautiful as a flower. This could mean a lot of things to different people but often, she winded up attracting unwanted attention.

She had a ton of woodland creatures who kept her company but she also had to deal with unwanted visitors. Often, they were people desiring her hand to marry her or the occasional monster who wanted to eat her because she smelled nice.

Eventually, the constant persisting admirer and awkward rejections or straight up ghostings when she struggled with saying no to invites led to her fleeing from her cabin home in hopes of finding a place she could live in peace without the worries of someone trying to whisk her away into a one-sided marriage.

Her final destination was a run down and crumbling abandoned castle with only one solid standing tower and a sign warning about a big ferocious dragon. It was intimidating and scary and she needed some way to detract attention so she hurried inside, choosing potentially getting eaten over having relationships forced upon her.

Except instead of an empty castle, she winded up discovering heaps of junk. And after some wandering, she winded up running into Flint who looked nothing like the dragon on the sign. And he lacked a whole lot of motivation for anything but just lounging around playing his lyre guitar all day.

Turns out that Flint took residence in the castle after being run out of just about every kingdom in Fantasia. He specializes in hording treasure...but specifically the "one man's trash" kind.

After introducing her to his old roommate, the skeletal remains of the old dragon who used to live there who is the one depicted on the sign, he welcomed her into the trashy castle. Flint also stated that he was "dead when he got here...literally. I pulled the sword out of his skull-poor sap still had it in there from whatever jerk slayed him."

The only downside is there's only one really good bedroom, located in the only tower, and it's the same one he is using but it was nothing a good ole "straight down the middle" division couldn't fix.

Most of the first months were them getting to know each other as well as Petunia cleaning up the castle here and there. She never threw out anything he didn't want gone and just reorganized all the piles into types of junk...though some were more sensible than others. Like "These are the weird chairs" and "these are just all the same color".

But over time they became very good friends as Flint taught her all sorts of forbidden and banned stuff no one in Fantasia let her know about. Like swearing or dirty jokes. Some of his habits also brushed off on her. Like snacking on bugs or belching without restraint and armpit farting.

Of course, Petunia winded up crushing hard on Flint during this time and he also started to but he forced himself to hold back because he figured she'd get swooped up by some hero eventually. But it became apparent she had no interest in such a thing and, once people started showing up to try and "rescue" her, Flint saw his calling and took up the mantle of the "Guarding Dragon". This also gave him an excuse to say "fuck it" and just start dating her since it was very obvious she was serious about liking him and it was getting harder each day for him to to keep denying his feelings.

Since then, Flint keeps Petunia safe from any soul who tries to force their way into her heart...which is just heroic talk for for him keeping everyone from trying to steal away his girlfriend.

[eddiehashands]

effeuiller la marguerite

[post s4 sadness, 742 words. for @stevecarrington, who gave me the prompt]

Steve doesn’t know shit about flowers.

It’s not that he didn’t know he’d have to learn at some point - it’s not like he thought they’d all make it through alive, but. He was never close enough to Hopper for it to matter, and it wasn’t like he’d leave flowers for fucking Hargrove, however much they all “owed him” or whatever.

And that should’ve been the end of it, right? It was over with the dying of the last fireworks. Safe, once again. For good this time.

For good.

He’s not close enough for it to matter this time, either. Yet here he is, a bunch of white flowers in his hands, and he doesn’t know what they are, and they’re crumpled from hiding them in a plastic bag because he doesn’t want anyone to know - even now he doesn’t want anyone to see.

It would’ve been too much. It is too much. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here but he knows he has no right.

He knows there’s no chance for him to earn that right, either. Snatched conversations, stolen touches, hidden glances. No one knew, and there wasn’t time to figure it out.

The grave is hidden. It’s not even in the cemetery - there are too many folk who would disturb it. 

No, it’s out in the woods, but - it suits him. Steve doesn’t know shit about a lot of things, flowers being one - another being all that fantasy stuff that Dustin and Eddie were into. But there was always woodland, or there seemed to be. A dark forest, at least. There’s probably some magic creature out here for Eddie to make friends with. Even if there isn’t, he’s probably still having the time of his freaking life seeing all the people that care about him mourn.

Steve sits cross legged in front of the headstone. Wonders if his eyes will whiten and his body start to levitate before they find him. Tries to will his thoughts away - Max is fine, Vecna is gone - but the whole thing is a mess in his head. It was guilt that fed him, it was loss that fueled it.

Steve wasn’t trying to claim that he didn’t feel guilt. And doesn’t he deserve to have his body broken over it?

Couldn’t Vecna have chosen him?

He lays the flowers down, then picks one of them back up. Twirls the stem between his fingers, contemplating the flower. One finger over a petal, before, in a flash of despair, he rips it out.

“Why’d you have to do it?” he asks the grave. The empty grave. “I freaking told you not to play the hero.”

He rips out another petal, watches it flutter down onto his knee. 

“Seriously,” he says, as if he’s mad that he’s not getting a response. “Seriously, screw you.”

Another petal. A shaky exhale. He’s fine.

“I just - I thought we could’ve been friends, you know?” he sighs. “Not like - I mean, I know I used to be - whatever, but - I thought -”

He cuts himself off. Drops another petal. 

“I just thought,” he says. “That Robin might’ve been right. That we were more similar than I was letting myself accept. I freaking hate it when Rob’s right, but she always freaking is.”

Another petal. “I needed someone who understood what those kids mean to me, and you did.”

Another. “I needed someone who didn’t care who I used to be, and you didn’t.”

There are three petals left - then two.

“I needed someone who believed in me, and you -” he chokes.

“Fuck you, Eddie,” he grits out, willing away the wetness at the corner of his eyes. It's the first time he’s said his name, since. And he couldn’t say it in the way he thought he would, all grief and soft reverence. He couldn’t taste it with anything other than rage. “Fuck you for dying.”

He pulls out the second last petal. Finally lets himself follow the rhythm of the one thing he does know about flowers from movies.

He loves me not.

“I just,” he says, deflating. “I’m sorry.”

Stupid word. Useless word. It doesn’t mean shit. His fingers are tight around the stem of the flower with just one petal left on it.

“I miss you,” Steve tries again. Still stupid. Useless. Pointless. “And I thought I - I think I - could’ve -”

He plucks the last petal from the flower, and lays it carefully at the grave. 

He loves me.

[noodleskeleton]

2 Halves Of The Same Whole

Chapter 1

An original work based on mine and 8moon’s spidersonas. Co-written by my absolute best friend @8m00nl1ght8 <3

Ao3 Link, Wattpad Link

Word Count: 1738

Summary:

David and Mireya are about as different as you could be from someone else, but when a series of events brings them to the same abandoned building on the same night they’ll need to rely on each other to get through the new hurdles in their lives.

A.K.A

We made some spidersonas together and now we’re writing about them cause we’re a tad obsessed :)

PREV // NEXT

Chapter 1 - Before The Big Bang

'Do I miss Russia?' He thinks bringing the cigarette up to his lips, inhaling deeply. David stares up at the bright full moon as he leans on the cold windowsill of a windowless window frame, the moonlight making his snow white hair look so bright and his gray eyes even lighter almost as if the grey is not there. He tilted his head back exhaling the toxic smoke, his hair parting to reveal the scar on his forehead, it was a big brown mark spreading across the left side of his forehead, the thing that changed his life forever. For better or worse you ask? Debatable.

The stars, that is one thing he certainly missed about Russia. New York has hardly any stars due to light pollution unlike his home-village surrounded by miles of woodland, the view of the sky was so beautiful David would lay taking in it's beauty for countless hours every day for so many years wondering how he could escape his prison, his "home". 'What even is home?' He thought to himself, taking one last drag of the cigarette before flicking it out of the window. One would think at 18 years old you would understand what home means, but not David. He has heard many opinions on what home is, some say it is where your family is and others say it's simply where you live or where you feel safe, and yet David feels uncertain still to what 'home' really means. He walked across the empty room filled with cans and other trash, covered floor to ceiling with lousy graffiti made by David himself, exhaling the toxic smoke once again as he leaned against a wall sliding himself down to sit against it. He tucked in his knees hugging them to his chest and pulling his sleeves over his hands in an attempt to warm himself up a little before closing his eyes to try to get a good night's sleep.

He felt a pinch on his hand slightly making him jump. He swiftly opened his eyes and inspected what was wrong when he saw the most disgusting, monstrous, foul creature to exist, David's number 1 enemy, a spider. He gasped, swiping it off, getting up in a hurry. He looked around the moon-lit room, eyes wide in panic, but it seemed as if it vanished into thin air. Everybody knows it is worse to lose the spider than to find one but right before he could collect himself and calm his breathing someone burst into the room. A girl? She seemed young, at least a couple years younger than himself. She had short brown hair with honey coloured skin and these fierce dark brown eyes that looked right through you like daggers. By the looks of her tidy clothes she was not homeless like him, so what could she possibly be doing here?

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

Mireya sighed as she finally left the run-down building people called a school. It was hardly holding itself together most days and it most likely wasn’t safe enough for human habitation, yet every week day she still trudged her way through the streets to spend 7 hours wasting away there. She felt a glare form on her face as her complaints about her school grew in number but she did nothing to hide it. She was already known as the weird goth kid at school and if her anger kept people away from her then she was more than happy to play the role people gave to her.

She put her headphones on as she made her way to the daycare where her younger siblings currently were. Fabian and Juliana were too young to go to kindergarten yet but with both her parents working they couldn’t stay at home. Luckily, the daycare was only a 15 minute walk away from her high school so it wasn’t too much effort to walk there everyday. As she reached the gates of the daycare she turned her music off and hung her headphones around her neck. A few parents waved at her kindly and she waved back, praying to whatever higher power was out there that none of them tried to start a conversation with her.

Thankfully, none of them did and 20 minutes later she was at home with Fabian and Juliana, looking through the empty cupboards for a snack to give them. There were two packets of Cheetos so she pulled them out and gave them to her baby siblings. Usually now would be the time she would quickly rush any homework she had before she got too busy babysitting the kids but before she could even reach her bag, the door opened with a loud bang and her half-sister Lucita swayed into the house.

It wasn’t unusual for her to do so, despite having moved out 2 years back when Juliana was born, but it still brought a scowl to Mireya’s face. The only reason Lucita came round anymore was to take money or food, things the Perez family had little of, and it was almost a guarantee that her sister was either high or drunk. Mireya stomped over to the inebriated 22 year old and crossed her arms, blocking her from getting into the living room where the two toddlers were playing.

“What do you want, Lucita?” She made sure to point her fiercest glare at her. “If you’re looking for food then you're out of luck.” Lucita giggled at her, swaying as she leaned against the wall.

“Hiiiiii Reya!” She slurred, “What’re you doing here?” Mireya sighed, already preparing to kick her out the house. “Anyway, never mind that, do you think you could lend me a few dollars?” Lucita stumbled forwards, almost knocking a painting from the wall.

“No, Lucita. I cannot lend you anything, we’re barely getting enough for food as it is.” Mireya raised her eyebrow, hoping the woman would get the hint and leave.

“Awww, come on! I just need a tenner to get some food tonight.” Lucita whined, doing her best attempt at puppy dog eyes, the look ruined by her drunk smile and tired red eyes. “After that I’ll leave you alone forever I promise, please don't make me go hungry Reya.” Mireya sighed again, knowing already the only outcome of this.

“Wait there,” she ordered and went to the kitchen to grab 10 dollars from the rent jar. She slapped it into her sister’s hands and all but shoved her out the door, ignoring the slurred thank you’s and promises of leaving them alone after this. They weren’t true in the slightest, Mireya had given up on getting Lucita to leave them alone but she could never quite bring herself to refuse the woman. It just made her even angrier at everything.

She shoved all her emotions down, knowing she had to focus on Fabian and Juliana for now. When it was dark she could go out and deal with her anger and other emotions, but right now, she had to make sure the two babies didn’t kill themselves until either her mum or dad came back from work.

It ended up being 10pm when her dad finally came back, the kids already in bed and fed. Mireya said hi, expecting the lack of reply that her dad gave her before she moved to the door to put her shoes on. As expected, her dad didn't mention anything and Mireya slipped out of the house and started walking, finally digging up the anger that had been building all day. She started running, her thoughts solely focused on how unfair everything was as she let her feet take her somewhere else.

As expected, she ended up somewhere she didn’t recognise, surrounded by run down shops and abandoned buildings. It was dark, and crumbling and down right creepy. She loved it. She wandered around the street, taking in the broken architecture and thinking of ways someone more artistically gifted than her could paint it. Perhaps they would try to use bright colours to make it seem more friendly, afraid of the connotations of darkness and ruin. Or maybe they would make it hazy, emphasizing the dark and dangerous atmosphere that surrounded the street.

However they painted it, Mireya was sure that it would look cool. These types of landscapes always took her fancy, the ruined buildings and abandoned houses looked almost gothic in their decay. It always interested her, the beauty of death. The way that even as they crumpled and rotted, flowers still managed to look pretty. Perhaps it was strange to think that way when blossoming flowers held so much more value, looked infinitely more vibrant, but thinking that she was strange was self centered and narcissistic. It was so much better to just say that she was goth and leave it at that.

Her philosophical thoughts were interrupted however, by a high pitched scream emanating from one of the abandoned buildings. She froze her lazy wandering and looked around for a sign of a struggle, finding nothing but empty pavement. She started running towards where she heard the scream and came upon an abandoned building covered in graffiti. Lines of various widths and colours encapsulated what looked to be an old corner shop, bubble writing standing out harshly against the dark brick and concrete of the 70’s architecture.

Mireya slowed her steps as she entered the building, seeing more signs of someone living there as well as muffled grunts. The graffiti only grew more frequent as she ventured inside, words in both English and what she assumed to be Russian covering the walls in stylistic lettering and pretty colours. She almost stopped to take in a masterpiece of a mural covering one of the walls when she remembered the scream and forced herself to the back of the building.

She looked at the door leading to what was probably a staff only room, seeing light under the door and a shadow moving about swiftly. Cautiously she reached for the handle, turning it impossibly slowly to avoid creaking, and pushed open the door. She stepped inside and looked around.

The first thing she noticed was a massive stack of various spray paints. Whoever lived here was probably the artists responsible for the colours infecting this decrepit landscape, and they were extremely good at it.

The second thing she noticed were the startling grey eyes staring directly into her own.

[alsosprachvelociraptor]

IMPERFECT CREATURES

The kingdom of Larnion, located north of the continent, is famous for being inhabited by elves: creatures of beauty and elegance, with extraordinary abilities, nobility of spirit and pure magic flowing through their veins. And yet, not all elves are perfect. Marquis Timothy Burch of BlackLake carries a generations-long curse, a deformed and weak body and occult magic, and lives a lonely but peaceful life- until an encounter with a bard with a hunched back and pale, misaligned irises turns his entire life upside down - for better or worse, not even Tim knows.

South Park - Stick of Truth AU + Post Covid. The designs will be inspired by SoT, but with the adult PC version. Contains violence and Jimmy's unfunny jokes. Exercise caution.

*

CHAPTER ONE

The orchestra played merrily as human servants darted here and there around the great throne hall of the Royal Castle of Larnion, voices in every elvish dialect of the realm overlapping melodiously like a choir to the music.

It was, that day, the one hundred and twenty-fifth birthday of Prince Roland of Larnion, King Kyle's son, who now sat proudly at his father's side instead of under the throne platform, where his younger sister still sat in her little girl's chair. 

Roland was similar to his father Kyle. Red, curly hair and large golden eyes were a sign of the highest elven nobility, though his curls were softer and longer than his father’s, his eyes larger, his face sprinkled with freckles. He still had to mature that nobility of spirit which, on the other hand, the man at his side unleashed with ease.

King Kyle was a tall, lanky elf with a strong physique and broad shoulders, his short, curly hair of a brilliant fiery red clasped in his usual heavy crown of woven golden branches, a short, elegant beard on his sharp face and his eyes as bright and golden as heliodor gems. Majestic and almost divine, wrapped in his long blood-red robe, Prince Roland paled beside him, but that was normal. Even Kyle, as a young elf, had looked like a lost child beside his father.

The blond Donnely, an earl from the capital province who often stayed at the castle, bowed before the throne, clutching a large gem in his hands. His family, the Donnelys, were owners of a mine taken from the orcs several centuries earlier.

"Donnely gave the prince a jewel, of course," sniggered Douglas Petuski, an elven knight with ash-coloured hair and amber eyes, a vivid orange typical of woodland elves, the ethnic group to which he belonged. Even though he was elegantly dressed, the stench of the wild had stuck to him, and would not slip away from his mud-coloured skin- not that he paid attention to it.

The four elves stood in the furthest corner of the room, in an area where they could talk freely without disturbing the tedious ceremony of welcoming the young heir into adulthood, squeezed into a corner near a black-veined marble fountain in the shape of a cornucopia.

"And what did you bring instead? A dog poo and a couple of sticks?" muttered the tall elf by his side, dressed in purple like the colour of his always slightly sad-looking eyes, and with long midnight-blue hair framing his pale face. The drow and the coppery-haired elf at his side let out a light chuckle, under Petuski's displeased gaze.

"A book and horses are a better gift, perhaps?" retorted Petuski, now almost offended. "Can you perhaps build a house, or build a fire with those?"

The drow, short and stocky, glared at him, her eyes red and evil. "This is no ordinary book. Dark magic of the dark realm, something you surely cannot understand, half-animal."

Petuski made to draw the sword hanging at his hip, and the drow swiped her obsidian-coloured fingers over the magic pendant hanging from her neck, but the strangled cry of the beast at the side of the last elf, who had not yet spoken and usually did not speak at all, silenced them both.

The beast, a cockatrice with blind eyes and a muzzle on its beak, rasped a kind of bellow and stomped on the ground a couple of times with its clawed, deformed paws, before returning to its owner, slipping between his heavy metal stick and his legs.

The elf, with short coppery hair on a head that was strangely large and unshapely for his race, and his very long ears pointing down rather than up, bent to stroke the sparse feathers of his cockatrice.

"Only a madman like Burch would bring a cockatrice to the king's court," Petuski replied, with a smile on his lips now.

Timothy Burch stood up straight, towering over the group of elves with whom he was waiting his turn, smiling at the deformed beast between his legs. "I never leave Gobbles alone," he muttered, slurring the words between his large, pointed teeth, something else he shared with no elf, not even the carnivorous drow at his side.

An embarrassed silence fell over the four, and when the king pronounced Lord Jason White's name, the tall, purple-robed elf with long strides walked towards the throne, showing the king and heir, with his merchant's charm, the splendid swords of dwarven forge he intended to gift to the young prince, whose golden eyes gleamed with the desire to wield those weapons and challenge some dummies in the king's private garden.

Then, the turn to show presents to the spoiled son of the king passed for lord Jason, and it was the turn of the next nobleman to delight the heir with gifts he would never use.

"Sir Timothy Burch, Marquis of BlackLake."

King Kyle's voice was crystal clear, and uncompromising. He wasn't going to wait for Gobbles' tantrums, or the marquis' slowed limp, and so Tim braced himself and walked briskly towards the throne, the cane ticking noisily by his side tapping repeatedly against the beautiful marble that made up the floors of the throne room.

He motioned to his servants, who were watching the proceedings from the door leading to the outer garden of the palace, to bring the horse inside while he tugged Gobbles, who was limping behind him.

Arriving in front of the throne, he lowered his head and bent over as much as he could, pressing hard on the stick and praying to the Gods that it would not slip on the smoothly polished floor. The metal tip of the stick moved, but almost immediately caught in a crack between two tiles, and Timothy felt his own heart skip a beat.

"Sire. Prince Roland, I offer you my warmest wishes."

When he looked up, he met Prince Roland's golden eyes, wide open in an emotion akin to fear. His perfect face was contracted into a grimace of horror, anguish, disgust. He did not respond to Timothy's wishes, and the copper-haired elf knew well why.

It was not the first time he had been treated like that, and it certainly would not be the last.

Elves were renowned for their beauty and elegance, perfect beings in such a dirty world, glints of pristine excellence - but Tim was not like that.

He was a deformed elf, sick and weak, who dared to present himself before the king of those creatures considered superior to every other race on the continent. With his deformed head and ears pointing downwards, long, misshapen legs that lacked the strength to keep him upright, and sparse copper hair on his sickly alabaster skin, Timothy Burch, the Marquis of BlackLake, was not someone looked upon favourably. The younger elves, like Roland and like his sister and like the other children who were present at that party, ran and hid and looked away when he passed by.

But his territories, a border march on a lake full of untamable creatures, were in the primary needs of the kingdom of Larnion, and King Kyle knew it well.

"Say thank you, Roland. Don't you dare disrespect the marquis." Kyle growled in a tone of voice as sharp as the blades the prince held in his hands, and perhaps that hurt even more. Roland nodded, looked away and kept his gaze down. "Excuse me. Thank you, Marquis Burch."

With a twinge of irritation in his soul, Timothy thought that if the boy was behaving in that way,  he really  wasn’t as mature as the evening’s ceremony supposedly suggested. He kept the thought to himself, however, because if there was one thing Tim was truly extraordinary at, it was keeping quiet.

With a snap of his fingers towards his servants, Timothy instead said something else; that little speech he had rehearsed for the occasion.

"For Prince Roland, who will surely be as magnificent a king as his father is, I thought of the best steed."

Accompanied by two servants, a proud and mighty unicorn marched behind Timothy, his frightened cockatrice between his legs as the unicorn trotted along, so weightless that its hooves did not seem to touch the ground.

Roland rose to his feet with such vigour that he almost dropped the swords and jewels he held in his lap. "A unicorn, father!!!" he shouted with his voice full of emotion as never before that evening, as Timothy felt the hate-filled stares of the other elven nobles on his back.

The table was set and the food plentiful, but not excessively so. King Kyle was known not to overindulge in anything, and was renowned indeed for his skill in economy, aided by his genial cousin of the same name, Lord Kyle of the Windy Hills, who sat next to him at that moment. Lord Kyle had a notebook in his hands, and dark ringlets fell over his face, which appeared bluish-hued with how pale he was. Timothy was not close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation between the two royals, but a few words still reached his long ears, including bard, and bad idea.

There had never been a bard at any party hosted by King Kyle, as far as he could remember. Timothy's ears twitched on their own, trying to pick up those words from tables away, as only he could - his condition was not only physical, but also magical, and this was little known in the elven community. Using his abnormal abilities among others was not a good idea, but Timothy did it anyway. He was usually skilled enough to be able to hide what he was doing.

Silence fell over the room all of a sudden like a curtain of smoke, and Timothy felt his blood run cold in his veins. 

Were they watching him? Had they noticed his deformities, or his crooked-born cockatrice Gobbles, both of which all the elves he had known had remarked on so many times? Maybe they had caught him spying on the king with his cursed, secret magic?

Looking around, no, he realised that the attention was not on him, but on someone else.

Dragging his stocky, heavy legs behind him, came limping an elf of peculiar colours.

"Is it a drow?" Jason hissed to the elf seated next to him, whose golden ringlets tumbled over her long robe of red brocade. The warrior elf, Bebe, stood gazing in horror at the figure who was slowly walking down the hall, the same look all the elves wore in that moment, after all.

"No!" whispered Henrietta, the drow. “There are no malformed drow, perfection is in our nature! That thing is not one of us! What if it's a silver elf like you, instead?"

Jason hid a grimace of disgust only because he felt Timothy's neutral - but not quite so, really- gaze upon him.

The skin of the elf who was dangling in front of the royal table was not the pearly skin of silver elves, nor the sun-kissed skin of golden elves, nor the obsidian skin of drow. It was grey, like thunderclouds, and his hair was lead-coloured mottled with white - a disgrace to the elves - and his stocky body was bent in a way that was difficult for the eye to bear, for a creature that should have been synonymous with elegance. His spine curved in on itself, so that his head was nestled between his broad shoulders. His face was ungainly and his ears, which were long and curved with the tip bending down, were studded with different kinds of earrings. 

"I o-offer my greetings to the king of thi-this beautiful land, very much." stammered the elf in an overconfident voice, miming a bow as deep as the crutches that held him up would allow. Removing his right hand from the handleof the crutch that was secured under his strong arm, he grasped the neck of a large lute which was slung over his shoulders. "I am the b-best b-bard in Larnion, my name is Jimmy. Today is a happy day for the ki-kingdom, is it not? I have heard that the heir has reached maturity!"

King Kyle gave a tense smile to his host bard. "Yes, noble James. I called you because my son Roland loves songs. Don't you, Roland?" his father urged him, but the boy instead reserved for him the same look of terror he had given Timothy moments before.

Disgust.

Timothy felt his face boil with anger, but he restrained himself. Living amongst the other nobles, who were all obsessed with the perfect genetics of their race, was so unnerving. He hardly ever left his domains for that exact reason, and his parents had lived a life of seclusion for that exact reason, too.

"Is there any s-song you want to hear, my prince?" the bard asked. Roland kept quiet. At his side, the little princess Ethel sank her face into her arms and burst into a loud cry, which increased the muttering among the nobles. King Kyle's golden eyes widened as he passed his gaze over his sons, then his cousin, and finally to his trusted elf guard behind him, Ser Stanley of the Marshlands, who gaped for a split second before acting. "Er... er what about... starting with the classic stuff? Eh, Roland, do you want to hear some jokes?" the elf warrior, strong of body and quick of intellect, who often and willingly helped his beloved king on difficult occasions like those, urged him.

Roland nodded, lowering his head as the princess was escorted out by her nanny.

"Wow, what a great audience!" chuckled the bard to himself, before leaning on his crutches with his broad arms and forking his lute like a weapon. "No shame, my king, it happens often. Children run away at my arrival, and adults laugh. I usually p-prefer the latter, and that is what I want from you all today! A smile on my audience's lips is sweeter th-than wine on my tongue. Well, certainly sweeter than this wine you offer, my liege. S-somebody spent a little short on these supplies, eh?"

King Kyle turned to Lord Kyle, who had blushed to the tips of his ears, while the king laughed heartily. The other lords also followed him in a general giggle. Timothy remained upright and tense in his chair, with no sign of hilarity on his face.

The crippled elf began to play light accompanying notes on his lute, while he continued joking.

"Wow, what a great audience. The n-nobles drive me crazy, I love them. N-not just because their palaces are a delight to wander around in and be ho-hosted! All their secrets and shady dealings... do you know anything about that, ser, you behind the King, wa-wa-waa-gging your tail like a faithful lapdog?" he turned to Stan of the Marshes, who took a step back as the crowd erupted in laughter. Eventually a smile came to his lips tanned by the strong Larnion sun, as King Kyle clasped his red face between his hands.

"Ah, nothing like being back among the elves." cheered the bard, Jimmy, launching into a lute solo as he continued to speak. "You can't imagine the chaos in Kupa Keep. I-I've just been there. I had to wash myself three times in a row to get the stench of humans off me, and the foul v-voice of their Grand Wizard out of my ears!"

There was another loud roar of laughter all around, so loud that Gobbles squirmed between Timothy's legs, his head barely able to stay up to find Timothy's hand under the table. Tim stroked the long crooked neck, eagerly awaiting the moment when he could return to the room he had been assigned in the King's huge palace.

The bard pretended to sniff the air, then turned his gaze in the direction of Timothy's table, his eyes- the irises almost white, the black pupils pointing in opposite directions- searching for more victims. "Ah, that's where the st- the stench came from. The wild elf who doesn't wash, what an ah-ugly stereotype that isn't so much a stereotype this time, eh?"

Petuski spat out the wine he was drinking, while at his side Henrietta the drow matriarch burst into hysterical laughter.

"Ah, the stench is also of bad wine. Very ba-bad mix for a noble's nostrils. Only a drow would d-dare to be around you,” the bard continued, approaching the table limply. Even Petuski eventually burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, Timothy looked up from Gobbles and at the bard, only to find his eyes on him.

Oh no. Oh no, no no.

"I didn't kn-now even malformed elves could sit at the nobles' table," he said loudly, and everyone turned their eyes towards Timothy, his face growing red and hot and his fists clenching under the tablecloth. He ignored the bard, turning his gaze elsewhere.

He felt the weight of the grey elf on the table, directly in front of him. "Oh, were you offended? But no, g-ginger, I didn't mean to offend you. Can we be two crippled friends? We can s-swap crutches and all that stuff!"

Jason pressed both hands to his lips so that he wouldn't burst out laughing at Tim's side, who instead felt the back of his neck freeze and his forehead burn with rage.

He stood abruptly and, clutching the golden handle of his cane in one hand and Gobbles' leash in the other, moved away from the table. "My heartfelt apologies my King, I must go," growled Timothy through gritted teeth, without turning around.

There was a clatter of metal on the marble floor, faster than he thought possible- or perhaps Tim's movements were simply too slow- the bard stood before him, a crooked, wicked smile on his thin greyish lips.

"Hothead, are we? I mean, come on, I didn't mean to upset you! You're cu-cute, I like you. Why don't we d-do a performance together, you and me?"

The bard, Jimmy, smiled sincerely as he did not let Timothy, who was desperate to get out of the room, pass. He felt the eyes of every elf on his back, studying him - watching those two only vaguely elven-looking beasts bicker, two freaks, less than sentient beings at their mercy.

"I p-promise you will like it. Maybe one day people will like you as much as they like me! Maybe. Maybe with a silly little hat on that b-big head..."

At the sound of the nobles' laughter behind him, and the sight of the satisfied smile of that damn freak in front of him, Timothy felt something in him snap.

He let go of the cockatrice's leash.

Fast as ever, strong and full of rage and hatred, he threw a fist into the bard's face, feeling the man's lip split under his knuckles, his teeth breaking flesh and blood bursting forth.

All the bard could do was shut his eyes, almost falling backwards with the force of the punch, his lute falling to the marble floor with an empty wooden thud and a cacophony of snapping strings. Timothy hit him again - in the face, on one eye, on the temple, until the bard fell to the ground. Still Tim hadn’t had enough, and kicked him again once, maybe twice.

When he realised that the laughter had faded and silence had fallen on the room, Timothy's mind cleared enough for him to grasp the rope that served as a leash to Gobbles from beside the elf on the ground, and to yank the cockatrice out of the hall with long strides, and towards his room.

The only sound throughout the entire castle was his heavy, angry breath.

CHAPTER TWO

Timothy's room was, fortunately, located in one of the most isolated wings of the royal castle, where no one could bother him.

Sitting alone on the large double bed, Tim gazed at the excoriated and bloody knuckles of his right hand.

He had never been a violent man. Violence suited neither his meek and reserved nature nor the race to which he belonged, yet he had just beaten the hell out of that malformed elf without a second thought.

The blood on his hand was both his and the bard's, and it was plain to see. Timothy's was a bright and brilliant red, while the bard's was dark and thicker, sticky against his white skin. Their blood mixed in almost psychedelic ways as it flowed over his knuckles, which had been cut open by the bard's teeth. He watched, transfixed, instead of medicating himself, heedless of a few drops ending up on the dusty rug.

He clenched his fist.

No one had ever dared to address him in that tone, using those words. The other elves certainly had those thoughts, but no one dared to express them in words, let alone address them to his face.

But no, that damn bard, all crooked and limp, had found the courage to express them, and laugh at him, and look at him defiantly.

Timothy was not a violent man, but neither was he someone who would be so easily pushed around.

Served him right, Timothy thought then, waking up from the numbness he had collapsed into after reaching his temporary room, and jumping to his feet, causing Gobbles to flinch in the corner of the room where he had been sleeping on a pile of old blankets. He didn't quite know how Gobbles perceived the world, with his completely white, harmless eyes, which Tim assumed were blind. Maybe they really weren't, and Tim didn't care - Gobbles was his lifelong companion, blind or sighted.

Advancing without a cane, his heavy, unsteady legs moving awkwardly and his feet dragging on the floor, he lay down beside his animal and stroked the sparse but soft feathers between his twisted, useless wings.

"It's ok, Gobbles," he whispered softly.

His only regret about that angry outburst was having done it in front of Gobbles, a meek and mild creature who had never seen his master in that mood. Timothy hoped he hadn't really seen it.

"Can you forgive me?"

The cockatrice's serpentine tail wrapped around his leg as its birdlike beak gently tapped and nibbled at his fingers. Yes, Gobbles was a gentle and docile creature, incapable of feeling anger or hatred or embarrassment, unlike Timothy.

The feathers on Gobbles' neck puffed up all of a sudden, and a few moments later there was a knock on the bedroom door.

Tim froze on the spot, regretting not having brought his cane with him. It was a few metres away, leaning against the bed, but he was closer to the door than to the bed.

Whoever was on the other side of the door knocked again.

"Who is it?" Timmy asked, hoping for an answer, but no reply came to his rescue. Typical among nobles.

What if it was an ambassador of the king, recalling his horrible behaviour of a few hours earlier? Maybe it was Stan of the Marshes, ready to drag him by the arm to bow before the king and apologise for his amoral conduct in front of the whole court.

Feeling as though he was swallowing a boulder, Timothy stood up on his frail legs, and in a few short strides leaned against the door, removed the pin that held it shut, and turned the handle.

He had to lower his gaze at least half a metre to look into the elf's unnaturally pale eyes, with their pitch-black pupils in the middle of ice-coloured irises, one of them seeming to float in the blood-red sclera which was squeezed between swollen purple eyelids.

"Can we talk?" the bard said, a big smile on his bloody, broken lips.

Wow, Tim had really beaten him up. In addition to his disgustingly swollen eye and split lips, his cheekbone was bruised, and dried blood and dust in the shape of Timmy’s boots marked his tight, yellow hose. One of the crutches, little more than crudely inlaid branches held together by ragged metal pieces that split in two under his armpits, looked as if it would break in half at any moment.

"No." replied Timothy, trying to slam the door shut, only to find one of the bard's crutches stopping the door from closing.

"I mean come on, you owe me after wha-what you did to me. Look at m-me now! P-pretty p-please, Tim-Tim?"

"Don't call me that. I'm a marquis." hissed Timothy, glaring at the grey elf in front of - and below - him. He knew what he was doing, Tim was no fool. He wanted to play on Tim’s guilt, he wanted to try to manipulate him. Oh, by the gods, how stupid this bloody cripple was.

Timothy would have liked to slam the door in his face, right in his crooked mug, but perhaps beating him up again was not the best thing for his already poor reputation at King Kyle's court.

He opened the door to make sure no one was passing by, pushing the bard aside. No, no one was walking through these corridors. As far as he knew, the rooms adjacent to his were empty, because no one wanted to stay in that gloomy wing of the castle - no one wanted to stay near the marquis whose deformed body carried such a heavy curse, was the truth.

"Did anyone see you on your way here?" asked Timothy, but the other elf had already passed him, walking limply into the room.

"Why? Are you ashamed of me?"

"Yes."

"You are a b-big meanie, Tim-Tim!" chuckled the bard - Jimmy was his name if he remembered correctly - dropping the large pouch he carried on his shoulders to the ground. It must have contained at least the lute and the green cloak, since he currently wore neither. Timothy closed the door, pushed the metal hinge into the wood so that it could not be opened from the outside, and leaned against it as he studied the slow, trembling movements of the bard who had infiltrated his personal chamber.

If he wanted an apology, he would get it. It wouldn't be sincere, but Tim wasn't the type to carry on such pointless squabbles. He approached him and took a breath, ready to express his most insincere apology.

The bard, on the other hand, had other ideas. As soon as Timothy drew near, Jimmy’s big fist crashed into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs. The bard rested his other hand on Tim’s arm as he threw another punch at Tim's stomach, and then another until the taller elf fell to the ground, and then he was on him again.

Tim tried to resume breathing, the shock of the blows seeming to have closed off his lungs, but the bard's weight on his body prevented him from doing so. Jimmy forced a large forearm under Tim's chin, putting pressure on his throat.

There was primal and uncontrolled anger in his pale, disturbing eyes. "You made a f-f-fool out of me in front of the king, m-motherfucker.” snarled Jimmy, like a wild beast with blood between his crooked teeth and his grey face livid with fury and bruises.

Tim panicked. He had never been in a fight in his life. No one had ever dared to lay a hand on the scrawny, deformed elf. What was he supposed to do now? Was he going to die like this?

He brought his hands to the bard's face, pushing his fingers into his eyes, lips, nose, everywhere. He pressed on the open wounds and heard the other cry out as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Jimmy bit his fingers; Timmy felt teeth sink deep into his bones, but pressed his thumb against Jimmy’s swollen eye until he felt the heavier elf roll off him, the air rushing back into his tired lungs.

Tim couldn't allow the bard to resume his  attack, so he pounced, grabbing Jim by the hair and slamming his head repeatedly against the floor, which fortunately-for the bard- was covered by a dusty old rug. Jim screamed, his stubby legs flailing as Timothy sat on his pelvis in an attempt to block his every movement. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the bard's strength, who with a violent thrust of his hips knocked Tim off balance, throwing him to the ground at his side.

From that moment on, chaos ensued. He heard the bard shouting insults, and his own voice shouting obscenities in turn with little control. The two of them rolled on the rug in a riot of hands, fists, slaps and scratches, banging shoulders and backs and knees against furniture, cupboards and walls, shoving elbows into stomachs and fingers into eyes, giving painful headbutts forehead to forehead in a frenzy of sweat and blood and saliva and noise and screams and pain.

When Tim found himself with his back against the brick wall and one of the bard's hands in his hair, he surfaced enough from the fog of rage and heat of the fight to realise that this brawl was going nowhere. Why were they fighting?

"Stop it! STOP!" growled Timothy in a tone that was more animalistic than noble elf, slamming a hand into the face of the other elf, who this time did not bite him. His face was hot under Tim’s fingertips, his skin drenched in sweat. "Enough, this isn't leading to fucking anything!"

The bard's large fist clenched around Tim's slender wrist without squeezing. He pulled Tim’s hand away from his face, collapsing limply to the floor. "Fine." he sighed, voiceless and breathless.

Tim was not in much better shape, barely managing to sit up, his back twitching in excruciating pain as he leaned back against the rough wall with the last of his strength.

The room was half-destroyed. Well, only on the lower level, actually. They had knocked over a couple of chairs and all the clothes Tim had laid on top of them, the marquis' travel trunk was splintered, the bed was vaguely shifted, and the bedside table had been tipped over, the bedside lamp abandoned on the mattress.

Next to it, Gobbles was curled up on the covers, shivering and frightened. Oh no.

"Gobbles. No, Gobbles... come here, it's ok." Tim comforted him, trying to get back on his feet but failing. His back ached so much that every movement caused piercing twinges in his ribcage, and the punches he had received to his abdomen were so severe that even moving and sitting up straighter made him want to scream in pain. "Gobbles, come here, good boy." he called, and the cockatrice raised his heavy head, squaring Tim with his blank white eyes.

He stood up on his paws, jumped with difficulty off the bed and hobbled towards Tim, sitting heavily in the marquis' lap, who barely kept himself from screaming in pain. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose as the creature snuggled up to him. "It's all right, it's all right," he whispered, stroking the feathers now all ruffled in the terror the cockatrice must have felt during the fight.

Poor thing, he had nothing to do with it.

Gobbles flinched when the bard, Jimmy, moved from the supine position in which he had remained until then. He raised his head, looking at Tim and his pet with a smirk, and though it was not one of mockery, it was still unfriendly. "Well, we've let off st-steam now, haven't we? C-can we talk without biting each other’s throat now?"

"The only one who has bitten here is you." Timothy replied, his wounded and bloodied hand held down so as not to soil the cockatrice's feathers. He could not bend his fingers thanks to the bard’s bite, which had been as deep as it was ferocious.

Jimmy stretched out his big, trembling arms, and with difficulty dragged himself like a worm towards the wall, the same wall Tim was leaning against. He ended up at the marquis' side, too close for his liking, so that when he turned and sat down he ended up with his thigh against Timothy's, and his shoulder pushing him to the side.

"G-give me your hand." the bard ordered. Timothy did not react, staring at him resentfully and with distrust. The grey elf grabbed Tim's wrist, and Tim tried to pull back with a violent jerk, startling the cockatrice on his lap.

They both stopped, but Jimmy's big, calloused fingers stayed firmly around his wrist. "You do-do-doon-don't want to scare your turkey again, do you? I s-said, give me your hand."

No, Timothy did not trust him, not after spending that horrible evening in his company. But what could he do? Kick him out of his room, all bruised and bloodied, with his hose ripped and that lost puppy-dog look in those crooked pale eyes?

Timothy turned his gaze from the bard's face and offered his injured hand, looking away at nothing in particular.

Jimmy's fingers were wide, hard, warm and trembling; strong and weak at the same time. He felt the callused fingertips tracing the edges of his bites -made by him, by the way!- a warmth enveloping his hand that Tim knew well. When he turned to look at what Jimmy was doing, he saw a dim light between his fingers.

Magic.

The bard looked up at the taller elf, like a child caught red-handed in the biscuit jar.

"You know how to use magic?" Timothy asked, and Jimmy nodded, still a little confused.

"A little bit. Just the healing kind, you know, you may have no-noticed I have a bit of trouble containing my ah-anger."

Tim's fingers, which had previously been deep red with open flesh bitten to the bone, were now almost completely intact, a vague reddish wound on the middle and ring fingers the only reminder of that nasty bite.

"Would you be able to heal yourself quickly before leaving this room?"

Jimmy replied with another smirk, not letting go of his hand even though it was almost completely healed. He felt Jimmy's wide fingers slip between his own. "You want to send me away, already?"

"You've done enough already."

"Come on, marquis, it was just a t-tussle to settle the sc- the score. We have so much more to talk about. We're friends now, aren't we?"

The bard sighed, leaning his shoulder against Timothy, who was much taller than him even when sitting. "We could talk about our curses, or..."

Timothy sighed heavily, letting the bard at his side lean against him and run his hand gently down his arm in an all too clingy manner as Gobbles fell asleep heavily on his lap. That Jimmy thought he was smarter than he actually was.

Clearly, he had no room to stay in. Surely the king would not have wasted a room on that freak, whom his son did not even appreciate. Tim thought that perhaps it was also his fault. Perhaps, if he had not reacted that way, someone would have accommodated the bard in their room.

He suspected the bard had not performed in the hall for much longer after being beaten to a bloody pulp by Tim, since instead of getting drunk downstairs as all the bards Tim had known usually did, he was there, in Tim’s room, at that not-so-late hour.

Turning to Jimmy, who was looking him straight in the eye with a hopeful expression, Tim smelled the faint odour of smoke, and of alcohol, though not enough for the bard to be drunk. An elf did not get drunk with the same intensity and ease as other inferior species.

"I can even heal you! Those punches I gave you hurt p-pretty bad, huh?" chuckled Jimmy again, hope now mixed with despair in his eyes that pointed this way and that at the same time.

Timothy clenched his fists.

Could he leave that elf, malformed and injured, stranded in the harsh climate of the northern kingdom?

Was this something Tim's strict morals would allow him to do; was it a cruelty he could carry out without feeling guilty for centuries to come?

The answer was easy, unfortunately.

No.

As loud, bossy and annoying as Jimmy was, a ball and chain at Tim’s ankle and a thorn in his side, he was at the same time an imperfect creature just like himself. He was an outcast; an elf who could barely be considered as such and, above all, someone who desperately needed him.

"...all right, you can sleep here for the night. Shortly after dawn I will leave to return to my castle."

Clinging to his arm, Jimmy giggled, like a young girl might when attending her companion's wedding and dreaming of her own Prince Charming. "Oh my b-beautiful lord, you are so generous to let me sleep on your bed!"

"I am a marquis! And I never spoke of-!"

Jimmy broke away from him, beginning to crawl pathetically over the rug, rippling it and pulling portions of it behind him, all the way to the bed onto which he hoisted himself by clinging to its wooden frame, his strong biceps aided in part by his legs, which were not completely unresponsive. “I haven't slept on a bed in uhh... years? About ten or twenty! In Kupa Keep they used to m-make me sleep on the floor, in a stable. Straw is better than hard wood soiled with horse shit, th-that's true, but you can't imagine how many nasty little bugs luh-luh-luuh-... hide in it."

As gently as he could, Tim woke Gobbles, who struggled to raise his head, his long, thin neck turning in Tim’s approximate direction. Timothy lifted him up and leaned against his side as, clinging with difficulty to the bricks that barely protruded from the wall, he rose to his feet. His legs trembled, his knees ached with the strain of keeping the weight of his long, lean body on them, his back sent excruciating stabs of pain and his stomach had turned completely inside out from the punches. Tim tugged his shirt from his trousers, lifting it almost to his bony chest. Large, heavy purple bruises covered the alabaster-white skin of almost his entire abdominal region, from his ribs down to his navel. And they hurt like hell.

Timothy sagged against the wall behind him, sighing and searching for the strength to walk towards his bed. Why had he come here... couldn't he have just stayed at home and sent some servant to deliver that unicorn for the prince?

At his feet, metal clanked. His cane rolled towards him from where he had left it propped against the bed, before... everything happened.

He grabbed it with difficulty and leaned against it, breathing a sigh of relief. It was Jimmy, now lying awkwardly on his stomach on Timothy's bed, who had tossed it to him. He was smiling at him, his broad arms dangling lazily off the mattress.

"You said you de-decided to leave at dawn. You'd b-b-better come to sleep, it's not that many hours until s-sunrise now."

He did not like how the bard was taking so many liberties with him, the Marquis of BlackLake, but at the same time it was a comfort to have someone who spoke so freely to him, who wanted to speak not to someone else but to him, and in such an intimate context.

Timothy regretted a little that it would all be over in a few hours, but at the same time he was relieved. That Jimmy was a bitch.

Tim slumped towards the bed, bracing himself wearily against the mattress, at Jimmy's side. He would have liked to wear his own soft and comfy nightgown, but undressing under the icy-white gaze which would surely be fixed on him the whole time was not really something Tim wanted to do.

He just wanted to sleep, now.

He lay down as far away from Jimmy as possible - difficult to do, since the bard had decided to lie right in the middle of the bed, and despite how short and hunched he was, his shoulders were wide enough to occupy a good portion of the bed - and with a gesture of his fingers extinguished the torches that hung from the ceiling. It was a little magic that had served him well in his childhood, growing up unable to move and confined to a chair in his lonely castle.

"Wow!" he heard Jimmy say. He would rather not hear his voice, in the dark.

With a rustling of blankets, the familiar weight of Gobbles settled by his side, the cockatrice’s head resting on Timmy’s chest, demanding attention and cuddles before sleep as he had done every night for more than a century, his feathers all ruffled and soft under Timmy's tired hand.

And then, similarly, came more blanket shuffling, and a far less familiar weight on the other side of the bed: Jimmy's heavy head on his shoulder and his large hand slamming clumsily just above Timothy's bruised abdomen, causing him to hiss in pain. He did not chase the bard away just because, in the darkness of the room, he felt the warmth and saw the faint light of the healing magic the bard was applying to his aching body.

In the half-light he observed the cockatrice sleeping peacefully against his chest, the twisted and mangled body of a deformed beast who had found a safe haven in someone who could appreciate and love him. And then he passed his gaze over the deformed elf resting limply against his shoulder, his back hunched and his ears curved in an unnatural position, his tousled hair falling softly over his injured face and over Timothy's shoulder, his face relaxed almost into a smile.

Timothy cursed himself under his breath.

CHAPTER THREE

At dawn, as punctual as the bells of the capital city, the sharp gurgling of Gobbles the cockatrice signalled that the new day had begun, and it was time to wake up. It had been so for Timmy every dawn for the last few centuries. What had not been so was the jolting weight that fell suddenly upon his body.

"Shit! What the fah-fuck!? So scary! Fuck!"

Tim opened his eyes, the smile fading from his lips.

Oh, yeah. Right.

Jimmy.

He opened his eyes to find the bard sitting at his side, a frightened expression on his grey face, which was decidedly less swollen and purple than the previous evening. Gobbles was still singing in the dawn, and only stopped his cries to the rising sun when Timmy began lazily scratching the spot behind his eyes.

"G-gh-good morning, my lord." mused the bard once he had recovered from his fright, leaning heavily on one arm, the sun rising behind him and tinting his lead-coloured hair, not blue and not grey, neither black nor purple, with a soft golden halo. In that light, in the gloom, with that gentle smile and broad shoulders and soft, tousled hair, he almost looked like someone Timothy would like to wake up next to every morning.

Sadly, Jimmy also had the gift of speech.

"I slept reeeeally well on this b-bed, my lord, but that hen snores, very much. You duh-don't snore. But you are a little still and cold. It doesn't m-mah-matter, I've kept you warm, scrawny as you are, you d-definitely needed it! Ah, I'm soooooo tired, I've sp-pent a lot of energy healing you... maybe you could let me sleep here a little lo-longer, huh?" he blurted, lazily settling back into the bed, his head on the same pillow Timothy was still lying on. Tim hadn't understood half the words the bard had blurted out. He didn't really care.

The bard shifted and rested his head right on Timmy's long ear, tugging on the earring-studded tip. Timothy had to pull back because Jimmy didn't seem to want to move, his face far too close to Tim's, his breath hot on the marquis' freckled, flushed face.

Timothy sat up, tired of the closeness, and tired in general. "It is time for me to get ready, I must leave for my castle. The journey is long."

He saw the bard's pale pink tongue sticking out from between his greyish lips. "You can undress in front of me if you want. Go right ahead, come on. It's fine with me... m-more than fine!"

Arrogant little grey bastard.

Jimmy pulled his big arms behind his head and arched his back in a motion which was halfway between the languorous stretch of a lazy cat and a disgustingly obscene pose. Nevertheless, Tim kept watching him, unwillingly bewitched.

"Do you want me to undress f-first, so that you might feel less embarrassed...?"

“No!”

The bard sighed, struggling to sit up on the bed. It broke the strange spell Tim had fallen into, and he could finally look away, away from that body, so deformed and yet, and yet so...

"I'm leaving now, d-don't worry. But first I want something."

Timothy grabbed the cane leaning against the side of the bed and clutched it between his fingers, ready to violently kick the bard out of the room if he dared to try blackmailing him, or ask for money. Tim would accept no compromise. What did that bard want from him? Why did he seem so obsessed with him, what on earth had his mind - not particularly brilliant or capable of complex subterfuges and plans, Timothy thought maliciously - found of interest in the deformed marquis of a distant and not particularly rich or famous region?

Yet the bard smiled slyly, his stubby, crooked legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. "A kiss?"

Timothy widened his eyes, which pricked with the sudden sting of wetness. He quickly blinked back the unshed tears. A kiss?

A kiss?

The marquis jumped to his feet, waking up Gobbles, who lazily ruffled his feathers and, with a slowness and calm which was at odds with the tension and embarrassment that had fallen over the room, jumped off the mattress and hobbled over to the corner, on top of the clothes that had fallen to the floor the night before, to continue his morning nap.

Tim did not pay too much attention to this, because his entire focus was on the bard and his proposal.

'I won't t-tell anyone, pinkie swear. I just want to steal a l-l-little kiss, so how about that? I'll disappear afterwards, I promise." continued Jimmy, whose words were certainly reassuring, but whose smirk and vague blush said otherwise.

Tim stood still, pondering the situation.

Physical contact was frowned upon in Elvish society, intimacy seen as something superfluous for creatures who lived nearly a millennium, and reserved for securing a future for their kind. To elves, it was associated with those inferior creatures whose minds and souls were confined to the lowest existential plane.

But... but Tim wanted to kiss Jimmy, and push him onto the mattress, and feel the heat of his body against him again, this time with more force and passion...

Ah, what was the point of abiding by the social norms of his race if he did not even meet its physical requirements?

“Why?” the marquis asked, hiding all those thoughts behind a simple yet difficult question.

Jimmy, arms outstretched behind him, white irises watching the floor and the ceiling at the same time, shrugged his arched shoulders dismissively. "Why not? You're c-cute. I like gingers, very much. And b-besides, you and I are different from all the other elves, aren't we? J-juh-just you and me in this whole castle. Maybe even in the whole kingdom. I've never k-kissed anyone like you... like me."

Timothy lowered his gaze, staring at the sack Jimmy had brought the night before; a medium-sized, filthy heap of fabric into which the entire load of Jimmy’s  lengthy middle-aged life had been condensed. But his mind was elsewhere.

He sounded sincere. He had no reason to lie. If Jimmy wanted to find comfort in someone, who better than a similar soul; who better than Tim? 

Could Tim find comfort in Jimmy, in turn?

"Fine." he replied simply, perhaps not completely lucid, newly awake after a restless night, still with the memory of the knuckles and elbows of that same elf that was now waiting on the bed with open arms.

The marquis made his way over, placing one knee on the mattress beside Jimmy, who was looking at him like a stray dog waiting for a hot meal, fervent and excited, his cross-eyed eyes wide open and his wet, pink tongue dampening his still-wounded lips.

"Will you leave afterwards?"

"I will do anything you want, my lord," whispered Jimmy, in a tone totally different from any he had heard the night before and that very morning.

Tim’s thigh brushed against the bard's, and he rested his hands on his broad, solid shoulders - it was the first time he had touched Jimmy without intending to hurt him, and under Timothy's fingertips the yellow shirt - what a clownish colour without dignity or seriousness! –seemed thinner than it looked. He could feel the warmth of his skin under it, the tense muscle of someone who walked and stood only by the strength of his arms, which were now stretched behind his body.

All right, it was about time. It wasn't the first time Timothy had kissed someone, of course, but... how many centuries had passed since he had refused to take a wife and continue his family, trying to break the curse that had haunted his family tree for who knows how many generations, so many that he had lost count of the millennia of elven history?

Timothy bent over the other elf, shorter than him by quite a bit, who did not seem to move in anticipation. He couldn't tell if he was looking at him, due to his eyes pointing in every direction except at Tim himself, but from his smile he really seemed incredibly amused.

Tim moved closer until he felt the tip of his nose against Jimmy's, and still the bard didn't move. His breath warmed Timothy's lips, and the instinct to pull back was as strong as it was to jump on him and shove his tongue down his throat.

"D-do it, what are you waiting for?" whispered Jimmy, close enough that Timmy could feel his lips moving, and for a moment Timothy just listened, unable to react. "I know you want it. You want it even m-more than I do. You hypocrite."

How he would have loved to hit him again-

He slammed his lips against Jimmy’s in a burst of anger, with his mouth closed and no more thought; he pushed forward with such fury that he tipped the bard back onto the mattress, Tim on top of him.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut, He felt Jimmy's hot tongue against his lips, and his teeth against his tongue, and his breath like steam on his face.

One of the bard's big arms looped around his shoulders, the other around his waist, his thighs tightening around Tim's hips; Jimmy clung to him as though his very life depended on it.

The kiss was little more than a frenzied mess of spit and teeth, more painful than it was pleasant. Jim's teeth kept unintentionally clenching on Timothy's tongue and lips - or maybe it was all on purpose? - and Timmy in turn paid no attention to it,  instead pushing, licking, and clinging to the body beneath him, which was soft and hard at the same time and hot, so hot.

Timothy only snapped back to reality when, beneath him, Jimmy struggled to break away from the kiss that was lasting far too long, tipping his head back and taking a loud breath at the top of his lungs. Only then did Tim remember to breathe too, his face hot and his lips aching.

Jimmy was chuckling, but this laugh was a lighthearted giggle of hilarity; the bard seemed genuinely happy. His face was now more pink than grey and his dark and silver hair clung to his sweat-drenched forehead. His lips were red and swollen.

Without thinking, pushing aside the moral rules and the animosity he felt for that profiteer bastard, Tim reached out his hand and brushed the wet hair from his face. Jimmy responded with an almost innocent smile.

Ah, damn, he was adorable...

"S-se-second round?" whispered Jimmy, his face still close to Tim's, too close to say no. So Tim said nothing; unhurriedly closed his eyes and slowly leaned into  Jimmy again, relaxing into the pressure of his soft lips and the tickling warmth of his breath.

The tension in both of them seemed to have dissolved completely. Jimmy's large hands were gentle as he stroked the bony expanse of the marquis' gaunt back. Tim's hands roamed across the hard muscle of Jimmy's shoulders and down his broad chest, and at Timothy's light touch on his large pecs, the bard responded with a soft giggle against his lips, shifting slightly beneath him.

The tips of their noses bumped a couple of times as they tried to find the right angle for a better kiss, and Jimmy replied with another whispered giggle, and Tim with a smile.

Gobbles started to sing.

And a few moments later, knock-knock.

The handle of the chamber door rattled noisily a couple of times, its hinges loosened by wear and tear and old age, with an annoying metallic clang.

"Marquis Burch?" came the voice of one of Timothy's servants, a distant, dissonant echo from outside the door. "The door is locked- Marquis? Marquis!"

Tim lifted himself up on his elbows with an angry snarl, but Jimmy was of a different mind, still clinging to him, his hands clawing at Tim’s back as he pulled him down, towards himself.

"What do you want?" Timothy growled at the servant beyond the door.

"Marquis, it is almost time to go, I didn't see you among the other nobles at breakfast in the..."

Timothy was barely listening, truth be told. Jimmy was still kissing him, leaving little kisses at the corner of his mouth, along his jawline, up to his ear, a dangerous game that Tim was not avoiding in any way. On the contrary. It tasted like adolescence, a boyish game in which Timothy, in his lonely youth, had never participated.

"Yes, I'm coming. Give me-"

That damned bard chose that exact moment to press his tongue behind Tim’s ear. Tim bit his lower lip to prevent himself from letting a loud moan escape, and the bard snickered quietly as he moved off the spot, leaving a cooling streak of spit between the marquis' ear and hairline.

Little arrogant bastard.

"Marquis, are you alright…?"

"I'm fine!" Timothy replied hurriedly, glaring at the bard below him, who was grinning with mischievous glee.

He wanted to play? Well then they would play.

"I'll get ready now, I just overslept," Tim said with confidence and pressed his hand to the bard's chest, under his crooked, pale, and now very curious gaze.

He caressed Jimmy’s chest through his shirt, barely touching the bard's nipples and feeling the telltale hardness of metal under his fingers. The bastard wore a nipple ring. Really, it was no surprise. Timmy should have expected it from him. He gripped the ring between his forefinger and thumb and, without warning, tugged it through the fabric. Jimmy hissed through clenched teeth, the tone of his voice high with pain - and probably something else.

"Is there someone with you?!" the servant's voice was all too surprised at the thought of Timothy with someone, and that annoyed the marquis quite a bit.

Was the thought of Timothy being intimate with someone so extraordinary? After all, who would ever lie with an ugly and deformed being, a cursed creature, if not obliged by the very marriage bond that Timothy had decided not to contract? This was what he thought, this was what everyone thought, even his own servants?

For just half a morning he had stopped thinking about the awful world he was forced to live in and the rules he was forced to abide by, but that society seemed to nag and follow him with even more relentless intensity than that bard did.

"No. It's just Gobbles," lied the marquis, letting go of the bard underneath him, whose hand immediately went to soothe the pain at his chest. "Now go away, what are you still doing here?" Tim finished, and the sound of the servant's receding footsteps indicated that he was indeed gone.

And now what?

Timothy should have shouted those words at the bard who had slipped into his room the previous night and dared to hit him, but instead that bard was in Tim’s bed, his calloused fingers on Tim’s face and, as soon as the servant's footsteps were so far away that they were indistinguishable, his lips on Tim’s again.

"You have to go." Tim's words were half-hearted and addressed to no one really. To Jimmy, or to himself?

Jimmy nodded, his eyes half-closed and his eyelids heavy and purplish, one swollen and darker than the other, though definitely less than the night before. He brought his hand to Tim's reddened lower lip- sore after so many kisses and bites, swollen and warm and delicate to Jimmy’s touch- and wiped away a streak of saliva which  probably belonged to both of them, gently, almost sweetly.

"I know." he replied, with a disarming simplicity to which Tim could not respond. Too many feelings were coursing through him, all at the same time. He was intimidated by them, and confused.

Timothy slid to the side, over blankets cooled by the cold winter morning of the northern kingdom, limply abandoning himself to the mattress whose chill contrasted so sharply with the warmth of the bard who was struggling to sit up in the middle of the bed.

The bard’s crutches were lying on the floor, not far from the bed, close enough that Jimmy could grab one and, with its help, bring the other close.

Putting pressure on his large forearms, the bard stood, slipping the wooden and metal crutches under his armpits to hold up his heavy and massive - and warm and attractive and very comfortable - body.

The marquis lay tiredly on the bed and watched that enemy, stranger, lover, slip into the heavy green cloak which he kept in the tattered sack, covering his body once more. He watched him, sack slung over his shoulder, fight against the lock of the door with his clumsy fingers. And Timothy simply could not move, this time not because of the pain in his weak joints.

Jimmy turned one last time, a wide, crooked grin on his half swollen, half flushed face. "See you, my lord."

Without elegance, the elf drew himself slowly through the doorway and from the sight of Timothy, who still did not know whether to feel relief or bitterness at knowing Jimmy was now, once and for all, out of his life.

In the bed in the corner of the room, where he had been comfily curled up, Gobbles awoke, and tried to climb onto the bed, and failed the first time. His crooked little legs clung to the covers in vain, and he fell backwards onto the carpet with an almost comical thud. Timothy sighed, rolling onto the bed just to grab Gobbles and lift him up, helping him with  his efforts. The cockatrice jumped awkwardly onto the bed, flapping his useless, crooked basilisk wings, and dropped right where Jimmy had been lying just before, taking advantage of the warmth left on the blankets by the elf.

More footsteps sounded, announcing the return of his servant, who this time found the door ajar. The servant opened it wide and looked to where the marquis lay on the bed, still dressed in the previous evening's clothes, rumpled and bruised, gaze lost in the void.

"Marquis...?" he asked again, and Timothy lifted his head to stare at him with hatred and anger, irises now green, now blue, infused with pure magic, iridescent and never the same colour.

"I know, by the Gods! Fine, whatever! Is my bath ready?!" barked Timothy, more nervous than usual, rising to his feet with snappy movements.

"Well, it was ready almost an hour ago..." the servant muttered as his lord retrieved his own walking cane. The marquis’ grip on the cane was strong and angry, his knuckles poking out from ivory-coloured skin.

"...but now the water will be cold!" the servant complained. Timothy walked past him, unconcerned.

“That's better." growled Tim, adjusting himself in the trousers that were fortunately large enough to hide the painful erection which had remained untouched until that moment- and hoping that a cold bath would take away the heavy feeling of guilt in his chest, and frustration from his crotch.

[kittypets-unite-au]

KU: Into the Wild Chapter 2

Rusty was filled with wonder as he traveled deeper into the large forest, his green eyes wide in awe.

The chilly air nipped at his nose and paws, but he found himself unable to care as he breathed in the rich, earthy scents these woods had to offer. The first cicadas of the season sang with their loud call ringing throughout the leafy canopy above. A gang of crickets harmonized with them, and a distant owl’s hoots aided this symphony of delight.  

It wasn’t just the sounds either. All around him was a myriad of scents, ranging from the strong, cold reek of a mint patch nearby, the earthy scent of the leaf littered that carpeted his paws, the fragrant aromas of the first wildflowers, and even the sharp smell of the occasional pines. Animal trails dotted the woods, still smelling of mice or foxes. His nose had never had so much stimulation before, so much different from the often stale or sickeningly sweet smells of their neighborhood or the sour and overpoweringly smoky aroma that plagued the big city.  

It seemed that all the new stimuli was too much for Rusty, and he had to stop to sneeze and sputter. After a few heartbeats he was fine, and he happily continued his trek further into the woodlands.

The sights, however, were one of the most exciting parts for him. The forest was wild and overgrown, dotted with tall ferns, thick and varied bushes, young saplings, bundles of flowers, and old, rotten logs between the sturdy, moss covered trunks of the forest. The branches themselves seemed to be reaching for the stars themselves, and the canopy that hung above him felt oddly comforting, like it was protecting him. Pale beams of moonlight from gaps in the lush canopy dappled the ground like stars in the sky. The flowers were in an array of colors and grew untouched by the lawnmowers their humans used to cut the grass in their yard.

He turned his head and came face to face with a small firefly floating peacefully in the nighttime air. His wide greens eyes focused intently on the tiny insect’s movements, and he strained to suppress a joyous, kit-like giggle when it landed on his nose.

The sight brought back a fond memory from the previous summer, when he and Princess had only been three moons old and Smudge five. He, Princess, and Smudge had been play fighting in Smudge’s backyard as night fell when he first saw a firefly. He was watching it with wonder much like he was now when Princess screeched from behind him.

She cried about the bug kidnapping the sun and tried to kill it, only to be interrupted by a cackling Smudge. The black and white tom explained that they’re called fireflies, and that the light isn’t the sun, but a bunch of cemy-cals (Rusty still couldn’t understand how Smudge could pronounce these long human words without fumbling) inside it that glow. They had barraged their friend with question upon question until he quickly suggested catching them like he’d seen human kits doing.  

The rest of the night had been spent searching and pouncing for the small bugs, and the purrs of amusement and laughter had become one of Rusty’s favorite memories.

He jerked back to reality when his ears swiveled to catch a rustle in the bushes behind him. He spun around with his tail already bristling and back arched, the motion causing the firefly on his nose to fly away.

For a short moment Rusty stood still with all of his senses tuned to catch whatever this mystery creature was. But no other noises followed the rustle, and while his nose was able to catch a faint whiff of cat scent, there wasn’t anything else, so the young tom slowly relaxed. He gave himself a shake and decided to leave the clearing he was in, just in case.

“Wonder if that was one of the forest cats…” He muttered on the trek.

He soon found another gap in the trees and jostled his way through the thick tall grass and stems of plants he’d never seen before. Right in front of him was an old oak log, about as tall as if he stood on Princess’ shoulders. Wild mushrooms furled on the side of it and thick moss clung tightly to the jagged bark. Rusty leaned into a crouch, his tail wiggling, and leaped upwards.  

His paws landed on the wood with a satisfying thump , and his tail curled in delight. Here, he had a pretty good view of the clearing: the grass here was much shorter than the towering stems of most of the forest, although it still flecked the edges of the clearing like a fence. Holly bushes and dogwood shrubs were scattered around the clearing, and small dandelions poked from the leaf litter. The smooth trunks of birch and the tall, thin frames of cypresses circled the clearing like a protective ring.

The young tom couldn’t help the wide grin that beamed across his muzzle, so big that it practically threatened to rip his face clean in half. He was finally here; in this forest he’d dreamed about and stared wistfully at for so long. And it was even better than he could have possibly hoped!

‘When I get back, Princess is going to be so jealous!’ He thought mischievously, gleefully imagining the shocked looks of his sister and best friend as he recounted his adventure to them. He chuckled quietly but fell silent when he heard a rustle in a clump of ferns nearby.

He whipped his head to look at whatever it was and nearly gasped in delight at the sight of a field mouse snuffling through the leaf litter.

His mouth watered as he observed the cautious yet quick movements of the small rodent. It was pleasantly plump, very different from the much smaller city mice. Suddenly, the rodent stood on its hindpaws and sniffed the air as Rusty tensed, fearful that his cover was blown. He was just about to leap forward in a desperate attempt to catch the fleeing rodent when it stopped, seemingly satisfied, and went back to snuffling for food around the roots of a nearby holly bush.

As it pulled out a large, oval-shaped seed, Rusty felt relief wash through him. It occurred to him that he must be downwind of the creature, or else it would have run away right then! He silently thanked his good fortune and scrambled off the stump, just barely stopping from setting his paw on a leaf. As soon as he was on the ground, he dropped into a crouch. If he went straight forward it would see him, so he figured that if he went around the stump, he could catch it off guard.

The words of his older half-brother, Scourge, played in his head as he stalked forward.

‘See now, mice are much more sensitive to pawsteps, so you’ll need to set your paws on the ground gently- Princess, you just stepped on a wrapper. See, if you were hunting a mouse for real, it would have heard that and ran. Be certain there isn’t anything in your way when stalking.’

Rusty glanced at the forest floor and noticed that he was right about to step on a dead leaf. With his ears pinned back in embarrassment he set his right paw a bit away from it and continued.  

Thankfully, the mouse hadn’t noticed and was still content nibbling on a seed, unaware of its death looming ever closer.

‘Alright, copy what I do. You need to stalk forward carefully, keep your pawsteps light, and make sure you’re downwind. So here, let’s say you’re right on it. So you lean on your haunches- no, no, not like that Rusty! Keep your tail still- the noise could alert the thing if it brushes against something.’

Despite his excitement, the tom forced his tail to keep still. His heart hammered in his chest and his mouth watered as he leaned back on his haunches.

‘Alright then, so you lean back and bunch your muscles, and with a big leap, you pounce on the mouse and bite its neck. If you do this right, you got yourself a meal-‘

Rusty leaped forward with his claws unsheathed and fangs bared, ready to snap the rodent’s neck and fill his growling stomach. Finally, the mouse noticed his presence and squeaked in alarm. But it was too late, he was right on it-

-Only for him to fall flat on the leaf litter. His eyes widened in alarm, and he scrambled to his paws, but it was too late. He just caught the sight of the mouse’s tail disappearing into its burrow.

‘But make sure you don’t pounce too early. I’ve lost more mice than I’d like to admit from this when I was younger, so I might as well get that out of the way.’

Rusty stared for a good minute at the burrow. His tail twitched in frustration and his claws dug into the ground. He didn’t think digging up the nest would work; his claws probably weren’t strong enough, and who knows how deep it was, or if it had other exits.

The ginger tom grit his teeth and growled softly before whipping around, his mood sufficiently soured by this failure. He stormed away from the clearing, ready to go back home when a rustling in one of the dogwood bushes caught his attention.

He craned his neck to the source of the noise and studied the bush for a minute. It sounded too large to be another rodent. His eyes widened in alarm as the once faint cat-scent from before was now much, much stronger. Someone was coming, and judging by the anger laced in their smell, they were not pleased by Rusty’s appearance.

With a yowling hiss, a large cat surged from the bushes, teeth bared and unsheathed claws glinting in the moonlight, and tackled Rusty.

The young tom yowled as his attacker’s claws raked his cheek and shoulder. All of Scourge’s teaching of self-defense scattered in the wake of his panic. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and his breath came in shallow and quick.

With a frightened screech, he began to desperately flail his limbs and claws in the vain hope that if he landed enough blows, his assailant might loosen its grip. But only a few blows truly connected, and none of them were hard enough to do any real damage. This cat still wasn’t letting up as the two of them rose up onto their hindlegs, trading blows.

And then unexpectedly, his opponent smacked Rusty on the side of the head, hard enough to disorient him. The ginger cat stumbled as his head swam before tripping over a small rock. He fell on his back with a pained ‘oomph!’, dust clouds rolling upwards from the motion.

His attacker didn’t waste this chance and leaped forward with one smooth motion, pinning Rusty onto his back, large paws digging into his shoulders. Rusty couldn’t make out many features of his assailant, as they weren’t near any moonlight, but he knew this cat was a tom, was much larger than he was, and had narrow, sharp yellow eyes that bore into him.

An instinctual panic rose from within, as he knew well that a cat’s belly was their softest part; one well-aimed swipe, and it was all over. But no matter how hard he wriggled, this cat held his shoulders firmly.

Rusty couldn’t breathe. His mind raced. Was this it? Was this how he was going to die? He never even got to see Princess or Smudge again! Or Scourge! He should have never gone in here!

His attacker opened his mouth, probably to tear his throat open, Rusty imagined, when he spotted an opening to escape.

His shoulders may have been pinned down, but his hind legs were still free. Thinking quickly, he delivered a swift kick into his opponent’s own belly. Mercifully, the large tom was flung off his him with a wheeze, sliding across the forest floor and into one of the holly bushes nearby.

The ginger tom scrambled to his paws and sprinted away, not daring to look back.

As he bolted through the forest in a desperate effort to put distance between him and the threat, he realized he had no clue where he was. He felt icy claws of panic dig into him; would he be able to escape this cat if he didn’t even know where he was?  

But just as he thought that he began to recognize his surroundings. And the long strip of grass was now just a yard-length away! Just a little bit farther and he’d be safe!  

But he heard the snarls and hisses of his assailant behind him and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that the massive cat was just a mouse-length behind him.  

He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘So close! So close! Just a bit farther! But… what if they don’t not stop over the yard line… What if they try to attack me and Princess in our own home? Or Smudge ? He couldn’t defend himself to save his life!’  

When his eyes opened, they were now dark green pools of fiery fury. With renewed vigor and a determination to protect his friend and his sister, he whirled around to face his opponent, back arched, hackles raised, and teeth bared. Scourge’s self defense lesson came back to him, and though his half-brother hadn’t gone over offensive moves in detail yet, Rusty was sure that he could improvise.

The first thing he noticed was the detail of his assailant, now that he wasn’t running away and was in full view of the moon. He was a much larger tom with shaggy pale gray fur intercepted with much darker, swirling stripes. His size had fooled Rusty into believing that this young tom was fully grown, but now that he could properly see his face, this young tom still has kitten fluff behind his ears and semi-chubby cheeks. His yellow eyes, which previously had looked like cold shards of glass, were now wide with surprise.  

Whatever the young tom had expected his attacker to look like, this wasn’t it. His attacker seemed surprised by Rusty turning to face him and attempted to skid to a halt. But the gray tabby wasn’t able to stop in time, which led the two young toms to collide into each other.

Rusty yelped as their heads knocked together and tried to scrabble backwards to break his fall. He managed to catch himself this time and, after several steadying breaths, lifted his head for another look at his attacker.

The gray tom was still down, laying in a pile of long fur and groaning in pain. Rusty’s tail flicked. On one paw it was the perfect chance to surprise the tom and drive him away, but it also felt wrong to attack a cat while he was down. His tail flicked, his muscles still tensed and ready for an attack.

The fluffy gray tom groaned and had only just begun to pull himself onto his paws when a familiar yowl rang out from above Rusty’s head.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!”  

He saw the tom’s pale yellow eyes briefly widen in shock before he was bowled over by the fawn tortoiseshell pelt of his sister. Her amber eyes were narrow chips of pure rage as a whirlwind of claws and teeth befell the poor sap. Tufts of gray fur began to litter the forest floor.  

But the gray tom’s eyes were wide and fearful and he tried to struggle out of the fawn calico’s grasp, but she didn’t let up. Rusty’s chest squeezed tightly. He knew this cat wasn’t likely to mess with them now, especially when Princess arrived, and he held a look of fear that the ginger tom had felt just moments before. But his sister didn’t notice and continued to rip and tear at the young tom’s thick fur. Rusty’s chest tightened as he saw the gray tom attempt to scramble away, only for Princess to drag him back into her clutches by her shoulders, leaving red, angry scratches where her claws were.

He shuddered and took a step forward but paused. Hadn’t this tom put the same kind of fear in him a moment before? But a simple look at the gray tom’s fearful eye was enough to make him swallow his pride and rush to Princess’ side.

“Princess! Princess, stop !” He cried. He pushed against the tortoiseshell and repeated, “C’mon, let go! I’m fine now, he’s learned his lesson!”  

Princess whipped her head around, and the amount of protective rage in her eyes made Rusty’s neck hairs bristle. “Don’t you dare sell me that crock of shit, Rusty! He was trying to kill you-! ”  

An amused wheeze emerged from the tom underneath her. “Heuuuh, huff… a-actually ma’am, I-I was gonna stop once he went over the border. A-and I-”  

Princess fixed him with a scowl. “Quiet you.” She snapped. Rusty gently butted his head against her tense shoulder.

“Easy there, tiger.”  

He nudged his sister off the young cat and turned to him for explanation.  

The gray tom struggled to his paws, panting but seeming to be gaining his breath back. He shook his head and muttered something too quiet for either sibling to hear, and then groomed a patch of ruffled fur on his shoulder. A quiet hiss of pain slithered from his throat as he groomed a few of his cuts.

He lifted his head to face the two siblings. When he finally spoke, he chuckled, “Wow, never thought I’d meet a kittypet that could fight like that! Gave my fur a good tearing…”  

Rusty had never heard the word that the tom used for him and his sister, but he guessed that it was the forest cat word for house cats. He didn’t like the tone the tom used it in, it was like he was using the word as an insult.

Princess growled as Rusty thought to himself, as if agreeing with him.

“Don’t speak to us like that, unless you want to get real familiar with how strong I am.” She growled, her tail slowly lashing as she stared at the forest cat.

Shooting a glare at his sister, Rusty slapped her flank with his tail. Princess huffed in indigence at that but chose to not argue.

The strange tom stared at her equal parts shock and amusement and giggled.  

“Ha! You two are funny!”. He briefly licked another spot of ruffled fur on his thigh and continued, “But anyways, what’re you two doing out here? I thought kittypets liked being in their houses?”  

Rusty and Princess’s eyes met, equally bewildered. “Uhh… why is that such an issue?” Rusty tentatively asked after a moment.

The gray tom gasped in shock. “Because you’re on our territory!” He declared as if this was an obvious fact of life.  

Princess’ amber eyes narrowed. “I don’t see your name on it.” She pointed out dryly.  

The gray tom scowled. “Yeah, well, ThunderClan didn’t see the point in marking it over this winter, b-but it’s still ours !”  

Princess looked ready to scuffle with the young tom again, but the mention of ThunderClan, whatever that was, piqued Rusty’s innate curiosity. He tilted his head to the side and leaned closer to the gray tom.  

“ThunderClan?” He echoed. The young tom nodded quickly. “Is that where you live?” The young ginger tom pressed.  

The strange gray tabby grinned, his plumy tail curling and his fluffy chest puffing out with pride. “Yep! We live in this forest! ThunderClan is one of the four clans that live in the valley.”

It seemed that Princess grew curious as well and asked, “What do you mean, clans?”  

The young tom gasped in offense. “You two haven’t heard of the four clans ‘round here?!”  

The siblings swapped a bewildered look. “No, the most we’ve heard is about feral cats that’ll line their nests with the fur of their enemies and devour house cats who wander.” Princess meowed.  

The two of them half-expected this ThunderClan tom to be offended once again, or just get into telling them what was up, but he instead stood completely still, whiskers quivering. He looked as if he was trying to figure out if they were lying, but after an uncomfortable silence, he burst into hysterical laughter.

“Oh! Oh stars, that’s-” The fluffy gray tom cackled. Between wheezes of laughter, he managed to choke out, “We don’t- Oh stars above, you kittypets have some creative stories! Ha! ”  

Rusty’s ears flattened. He huffed sharply, “Alright then, can you please explain instead of just laughing at us?”

The gray tom cleared his throat. “Right, sorry about that. Uh, anyways,”. He straightened his posture and took a deep breath, “So the forest is just one part of this area we call the valley, right? And my clan, ThunderClan, owns it. There’s three other clans as well: RiverClan, and you can probably guess why they’re named that, WindClan, who lives up in the moorlands, and ShadowClan, who live in the pine marshes.”  

“We don’t get along so well with the other clans. Or well, sometimes we do, but not now. ShadowClan’s a bunch of rotten prey thieves and RiverClanners are greedy and lazy!”. His muzzle wrinkled in distaste. “WindClan’s alright at least, but they’ve been pretty reserved lately. I dunno what’s up with that...”

The gray tom froze mid-explanation, brows furrowed, and then gasped. “Oh shoot, I forgot to introduce myself!”, and in a quieter voice he muttered, “Mom’ll have my hide for that-“  

He stretched his paw outward to the two siblings, frozen in midair, almost like he was batting at a toy. “My name’s Graypaw! I’m a ThunderClan apprentice!”  

Rusty and Princess regarded his extended paw with utterly bewildered looks. After an awkward few seconds, Rusty replied, “Uhh… my name’s Rusty, and my sister,” he gestured with his tail in his sister’s direction, “Is Princess.”  

Graypaw looked oddly embarrassed as he set his paw down, chuckling awkwardly, but shook it off and remarked, “You kittypets have the weirdest names!”  

Princess snorted, “Not that your name is a whole lot better. What kind of name is Graypaw ?”  

Graypaw, shockingly, didn’t take much offense to that and explained, “Ah, well, it’s a temporary name actually! When I become a warrior I’ll get my full name, but all apprentices have the -paw suffix.”  

“Why?” Rusty questioned.  

The large gray tom shrugged. “Eh, who knows? I mean, the lorekeepers probably do, but I never really bothered to ask…”  

“So, uh… since, you’re the same age as us, you’re not a warrior?” Princess questioned.  

“Why, did you think I was? Oh stars no, I won’t be a warrior for ages! I still have six moons to go!”. The fluffy gray tabby then gained a mischievous glimmer in his yellow eyes. “Lucky thing I was only made a -paw a few nights ago, or else I might’ve had more battle practice to really mop the floor with you two!!”  

Princess’s fur rose at the statement, which Graypaw took notice of as he backtracked. “U-uh, and with the other clans! Well, we don’t always fight, but scuffles happen, and then there’s aggressive rogues, foxes that are too stubborn to leave, grumpy badgers, coyotes, loose dogs-”  

“That…” Rusty mewed softly, his vibrant green eyes round with concern, “That sounds really dangerous. You could come back with us, y’know? You’d be safe, at least. The humans love kittens, and-”  

“And eat disgusting pellets and get all soft and lazy?!” The larger gray tom cried indignantly, “No way! I prefer it out here, where it’s wild and free! ThunderClan is a community anyways, so it’s not like we’re roughing it on our own.”.

He huffed. “Besides, humans are evil creatures anyways. What, with luring in kittypets and creating stinking thunderpaths that cut through our homes.”  

Princess shrugged and responded off-handedly, “Can’t argue with that.”

Graypaw stared at her for a second with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. “I thought all kittypets liked their twolegs?” He meowed.

Rusty blinked at the strange word. Did he not know the word human? But he pushed this confusion aside and replied with a voice full of bitter melancholy, “Most do, but ours are too busy going out and doing whatever. If we didn’t know how to hunt, we’d probably be in real trouble.”

Graypaw’s face fell. “So that’s why you two aren’t fat!”

Princess hissed. “I’d rather be fat than struggle to find food!” She snapped. The fluffy gray tom ducked his head and flattened his ears, looking apologetic.

“Ah, sorry. But you really shouldn’t hunt here anymore.” He replied, “Most border patrols won’t be as friendly, I’m afraid.”

Rusty furrowed his brows and asked, “Why not? Surely there’s enough to share?”

The ThunderClan tom bristled indignantly. “Why not?! This food’s for us, not kittypets!” He hissed. He looked like he was going to say more, but his nose twitched as if picking up a scent in the air. The fluffy gray tom gently inclined his head upwards to catch a better whiff and gasped. His yellow eyes widened.

“I smell cats from my patrol. You two need to get out of here!”

When Rusty and Princess paused, Graypaw looked almost desperate. “Quick! I don’t think they’ll take kindly to you two!”

The siblings began to back away as the stench of cat-scent swamped their senses, but before they had time to flee, a voice came from the thick undergrowth surrounding them.

“What’s going on here, Graypaw?”

[theravenstag-andtheteacup]

Honey, Honey

It was shopping day with Will, we do this whenever we decide to leave the house for fun rather than to get the essentials. I took him shopping for some new clothes today, as he needed them. I wasn’t expecting a drastic change in his style. Keeping up with the flannels, and other things. He picked out everything, and I just paid for it all. I didn’t mind, but I do wish he didn’t look like a cartoon character. After that was done, I spotted a Build-A-Bear. I asked Will what exactly Build-A-Bear was, and the next thing I know, he’s dragging me into the store. I looked at all of the animals, and Will told me about the whole store, and how it was a children’s “happy place.” I can see why he was right, given all of the families in the store. Will came up with the idea to make each other out of the plush animals that they had, and surprise the other. I agreed as I thought that it would be a good time for us. I looked around the store for the perfect animal for Will. I found the softest brown dog with curly fur and blue eyes to match Will, and I saw Will grab some sort of woodland creature. I couldn’t make out what exactly it was, but it did appear to be gray. I decided to get a sound for Will’s new toy, and I chose a heartbeat, something that will help him calm down during an anxiety attack. After that was done, I went up to the stuffing machine, did this ritual, and then browsed for a scent. I chose roses because they didn’t have Sweet Williams. After that, I looked around in the clothing section. I chose a blue and green flannel, a pair of black glasses, blue jeans, and a pair of black and white Converse. Once Will was done with his shopping, I paid for the animals, and we headed home. Once Will put his clothes away, it was time for the gift exchange. I went first, and Will was more than excited. His eyes lit up when he saw that he was a dog. Will then gave me my gift.

"A raccoon in a suit." "They didn't have any animals with antlers, so I went with the second best choice. I also picked out the scent of fresh cut flowers." "That's so sweet. I love it." "Really?" "You put a lot of thought into it, as well as care. I love it."

His kiss was soft and sweet, nothing like how I imagined. Today was a very successful day, as well as a fun one.

“Can we watch a movie?” “After dinner?” “That’ll work.” “Sure thing. What did you have in mind?” “I was thinking about watching ‘The Fox and The Hound.’“ “I’ve never seen it.” “Then it’s a must.” “Very well then. What would you like for dinner?” “Burgers and french fries.” “You test the limits of my love consistently.” “You love me.” “That I do. Alright, we’ll have burgers and the watch that movie.” “Can Winston join?” “Of course.” “Yay!” “My dear, you get excited very easily.” “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way.” “I know, which is why I don’t mind.”

I made and served dinner, and then Will turned on the movie. I was very interested in it, however not as interested in it as Will was. His eyes were practically glued to screen while he was fidgeting with his hands. I gave him a fidget toy.

“What’s this for?” “I noticed you playing with your hands, and I decided that the device I gave you might help.” “Oh, thank you.”

For the rest of the movie, he was equally invested and calm.

“What did you think of the movie, Hannibal?” “I liked it. It does seem to be a fitting movie for you.” “How so?” “Woodland creatures living a full life with very few consequences, but not for Todd and Copper.” “Todd lost his best friend Copper and the old lady who helped him.” “Copper lost Chief and the old man.” “The old man was horrible.” “I’ll give you that.” “Thank you.” “Of course, now, what shall we do next?” “Old movie marathon?” “Like what?” “James Dean and Anthony Perkins movies.” “We can do that.”

For the rest of the night, we watched all sorts of old movies, and talked about them. We both fell asleep on the couch in comfort. Will was holding onto his stuffed toy with Winston by his side. I joined him in sleep shortly after turning off the lamp. I think we had a very successful day.

[abbatoirablaze]

His Sunshine, Chapter 6

Word Count:  1.6k

Warnings:  manipulation, major angst, MAJOR TW:  rape, noncon relationship, being drugged, jealousy, threats of death/violence, age gap, smut,

I’ll take care of you Sunshine,” he said softly, his forehead gently bracing itself against my own.  I gave a shuddered breath as I looked at him through wet lashes.  My heart ached for having just abandoned by soul mate again, but I found comfort in Court’s arms.  He gave me a sweet smile, “I’ll take care of you sweet girl…just like I always have.”

“C-Court.”

“Shh,” he whispered.  His lips grazed over mine once more and I felt a shiver go down my spine.  Recently I’d imagined what his lips would feel like against mine.  But now that it was a reality, it felt wrong.  I frowned, and tried to back away, but then I felt a pinching sensation in my neck.  I went to jump away from him, but he kept me held tight against him, “just lean into it, Sunshine…it’ll all go a lot smoother if you just lean into it.  Don’t fight it either…fighting it will only make it more painful.”

“C-Court?” I asked nervously.  The pinch receded and his arm moved in a sweeping motion that let me know he was throwing something away from himself.  My eyes felt heavy as I tried to push myself away from him, “C-court…what did you do?  Wh-why do I feel like this?  What’s g-g-going on?”

“I’m doing what has to be done, Sunshine,” he said softly.  His lips grazed over mine once more, and my entire body felt like it was on fire, “he’ll let you go once he knows you don’t love him.  Once he sees that you’re a monster…just like him…”

“Court-I-I don’t even know him,” I said groggily, “Lloyd means no-“

His hand gripped my jaw a little tighter than I would have liked.  But in my current state, I only leaned into it unable to fight the calloused hands that held me, “don’t you dare lie to me, Sunshine…I don’t deserve that.  I deserve your respect…and your honesty.”

“I-“

“Don’t worry, Sunshine,” he whispered softly.  He let go of me, and I crumbled like a stack of bricks.  He smiled as I looked back up at him.  His leg gently kicked at my thigh, “you don’t feel it, do you?”

I couldn’t speak.  

I looked up at him in horror as my mind wondered what he was trying to do.  He gently stroked my cheek before lifting me up, “don’t worry, Sunshine…it’ll all be over soon.”

I’d woken up with a pain in my lower stomach, and a deep ache between my thighs.  Court was nowhere in the safehouse.  That much I could tell. 

It was too quiet.  I could hear the chatter of the woodland creatures outside.  Sitting up, I felt anxious, when the air hit my exposed frame.  I looked down and noticed that I was naked.  It felt like my heart stopped and I could hear the blood pumping all too loud in my ears.  It was a constant rushing noise that filled every sense.

Looking to the left, I saw a mirror, and my eyes immediately watered when I saw the markings that lined my chest and neck.  My heart lurched in my chest. I felt like I was going to be sick. 

A few stray tears worked their way down my cheeks as I felt my stomach turning.  I leaned over and fell to the floor, my knees cracking hard against the wooden floor.  The contents of my stomach came spilling forth, as the tears swam down my cheeks.  The acid that was left on my tongue made me cringe.  I looked up and gave a shaky breath. 

It was still just me. 

Pushing myself up, I made my way to his office.  And of course, he wasn’t there.  But it didn’t matter.  I sat down on the heavy chair, the old wood sending new aches up my body, the cool material seeping into my very bones. 

His laptop was open.  I clicked a few things and found that he was last in his email just a few hours ago.  An address that was known to be one of Lloyd’s aliases was in the sent folder. 

My heart felt like it was hammering heavily inside my chest. 

I clicked on the message.  But it wasn’t just any message.  It was an attachment. 

The video played; the room I’d woken up in was the scenery…but the main attraction was what made my breath hitch.  My body ached at the sight.  As words and noises trilled together until it was nothing more than white noise, I subconsciously felt every mark and bruise as I watched them play out on the hi-def video.  The sound had long become tuned out in my mind as I instinctively reached out for my soulmate mark.  My heart hurt and I felt a new wave of betrayal rushing over me.

“It’ll all be okay, Sunshine,” his voice came from the speakers.  A heavy grunt came next, and the whimpers that followed felt so foreign, as I watched my own body limply shift.  He continued at a brutalizing pace, his hips rutting into mine in uncontrolled frenzy, “I’ll take care of you, sweet girl…just like I always have.”

“S-stop…” I whimpered softly; my weak protest barely being picked up by the microphone.  I noticed tears falling down my cheeks as I squeezed my eyes tightly together, “s-stop…six…please.”

“There’s no stopping this, Sunshine…this is the only way,” he offered, kissing my tears away.  My heart ached as I cried, my hands held together in one of his own, while the other pressed harsh circles on my clit, “I’m so close…”

“No…no…” I cried, begging for him to stop.  My eyes opened, and it was like I knew right where the camera was, at the peak of the wall, right near the ceiling’s molding, “Lloyd…”

“There’s no saving yourself for your little soulmate,” he teased, biting harshly on my shoulder.  I felt his own hand touch my mark, mocking it, “no…I’m your first, eight…now tell him you’re over him…tell him you don’t need him…”

“L-Lloyd,” I cried, my tears burning streaks down my face.  I began hiccupping, my body shaking as though I was choking on my words, “m-make it stop…Lloyd…p-ple-please.”

“OH THAT’S THE SPOT!” six growled harshly, his hips stuttering deep inside of me.  I screamed, trying to push myself away from him only to be easily overpowered, “Feel that, eight?  That’s what a real man feels like…and no matter what happens…you’ll remember this…remember h-how it feels, when I-OH, FUCK!” ”

“No…” I groaned, breaking out into a sob.  Six pulled out, and I felt my stomach turn when I noticed his seed spilling out of me.  My stomach lurched, and I was on the floor, getting rid of whatever contents of my stomach had remained.  I could hear myself sobbing on the screen, and I was apologizing to Lloyd, as though it was all my fault. 

Tears worked their way into my eyes as I pushed myself off the floor.  The video had stopped playing, having reached its endpoint. 

But a chat had appeared in the corner of the screen.  Not a chat, rather a video request.  And while I didn’t want to face my soulmate, my heart ached for him.  I hit the answer button. 

He appeared on the screen, his back turned towards me, “you know…She was the last bit of light in my life…the last piece of innocence.  All I wanted to do was protect that, Gentry.  I’m going to kill you slowly for what you did to her...for that fucking vid-”

“L-Lloyd…”

His machismo dropped.  His shoulders went rigid as he turned towards me.  I could see nothing more than my nose and eyes popping up over the bottom of the desk in my own video screen.  I could feel the ache on his side when I touched my mark. His eyes went wide, and he stormed the desk, his body nearly collapsing on top of it, “Sunshine.  Wh-where are you?  Wh-“

“I don’t know,” I cried, my tears falling more freely as I saw the man who I’d first met for what he was…just a man…trying to protect his soulmate, “I-Lloyd…I-I don’t know where I am…he-“

But my audio cut out. 

“SUNSHINE!”

“Well…well…well…” a voice interrupted.  A third video showed up on the screen and I felt my heart drop to my stomach as six appeared, picturesque and in all his glory, “isn’t this cute…the two little lovebirds finally connecting…”

“I’m going to fucking end you, Gentry!” Lloyd seethed, slamming his hands down on the desk, “I’m going to find you and kil-“

“I’d be more interested in finding her first, Hansen,” Six smirked, “the agency knows you’re looking for her…and while I stashed her for…personal use…they know where she is…and they’re on their way to her…you see…she never reported after her last mission…they think she’s a rogue…”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

“Happy hunting, Hansen,” he smirked, cutting off the camera for Lloyd.  Then he looked directly into the camera, “I’m sorry things had to work out this way, eight…I really am…”

“Fuck you, six…”

“You kind of already did,” he taunted, “but if you’re saying you want a round tw-“

“How about, round whenever I find you, you’re fucking dead.”

“Catch me if you can…sweetheart…” he teased, “but you might want to get out of there soon…according to the security I have there…they just hit the mile marker…you’ve got less than five minutes to disappear.”

And with that, the camera cut out, and I raced back towards the bedroom to find anything I could to disappear in broad daylight.  My heart ached even harder, knowing that there was no way for me to truly find Lloyd.

Chapter 7

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