#short Story

[cosmonavo]

Fun fact: Gwen always look more "young" or small in jade pov's

[paperclip-skz]

First Play

fem*Reader x Bang Chan

*WARNING*

contains: kissing, secondhand embarrassment, "first time" in a sense, fingering, oral (fem receiving), not proofread; I'm sure I missed something; let me know in the comments.

WC: 1.8k

*****

You sit patiently in the waiting room. Your nails dig into your thighs as anxiety spikes through your spine. 

“ Ms. L/N, the doctor will see you now,” the pretty secretary sparkles at you. 

This is it—your first-ever scene. Your friend signed you up for this because she knows you’ve been wanting to do this forever. She’s listened to you rant about this for years! Finally, she put in a good word for you with the intimacy company she works with. 

You knew what she did for a living, and it never bothered you. Actually, you thought she was cooler because of it. She helped people achieve their utmost hidden desires safely, securely, and thoroughly. 

The blinding bright walls illuminate your way to the farthest door to the right. “Right through there, and the doctor will be with you shortly.” The lady opens the door for you. You walk in, but not before turning back and seeing the lady give you a wink before closing the door. You could hear the subtle click of her heels walking away from the door. 

Your throat closes in both fear and excitement. You take in your surroundings, noticing the “set” replicates a stereotypical doctor's room. It has a big foamy bed right in the middle, a counter with small gadgets and gloves organized right next to the sink, and a bright light right above the bed. The two things that stand out to you are the bright meddle poles with places for feet connected to the sides of the bed and the giant mirror plastered on the wall right in front of the bed. 

No one is in the room, so you assume the “doctor” is on his way. You told your friend you didn’t want to know who your instructor was; the last thing you wanted was someone you knew to see your most intimate sides of you. You slowly make your way to the bed, sitting down and crinkling the foam. You awkwardly fiddle with your hands as you wait patiently; you stare at yourself in the mirror, fiddling with your hair and how the top you chose to wear rests on your body. 

“Okay, so Ms. L/N, it says here. " Your head whips around to meet the eyes of your “doctor,” but you're surprised to find coffee-stained eyes parried with steel-rimmed glasses. His dimpled smile reaches his eyes, and his big hands grasp the clipboard. 

You feel a sudden drop in your heart as you see him. He's incredibly handsome, and his size is impressive. His broad shoulders and imposing frame make you feel tiny in comparison. Suddenly, you feel intimidated and nervous; the tingles of anxiety claw at your skin.

Chan’s eyes widen, seeing your discomfort. He’s quick to close the door behind him and turn his body to you. “Are you okay?” his voice is even sexier than he is. His intoxicatingly thick Australian accent captivates you as the dark strands of hair effortlessly fall against his handsome face.

You almost forget to answer him until he reaches out to touch your arm. “Yes…yes... yes, I’m okay. I'm just nervous,” you say weakly, still shaky with nerves. 

“There's nothing to be nervous about. You can stop this whenever you like, and you control how fast I go and every other aspect of this. All you need to do is trust me.” for whatever reason, you do. You do trust him; you trust him and his deep eyes that you could get lost in. 

You nod your head, not forgetting to answer him with a quiet “okay.” You read in the contract that verbal confirmation from both parties was a must. And with that, Chan snaps back into character. 

“Alright then, Ms. L/N. You're here because you had some complications with your canal?” Chan stretches the room around to reach a rolling stool. He grabs it to his at the end of the bed, right in front of you. 

“Y-yes. I tried masturbating, and I noticed the stretch stung,” you answer with as much confidence as you can. 

He nods his head in acknowledgment. “Well, my name is Doctor Chan, or you can call me Chris. Whichever you like works for me.” He flashes that wide smile at you one more time. “Shall we begin?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow. 

“Of course, doctor,” you whisper. You begin to lift your legs as Chan fixes the medal bars. 

“Oh, Ms. L/N., you’ll need to remove your pants.” Chan is trying to hold back his smirk, but you can still see his lips twitch. 

“Oh, right!” you giggle to yourself. You unbutton your jeans and start to shimmy your way out until two large hands stop you from lifting your hips. 

“May I help?” 

You swallow and slowly lay your back down. Chan makes a dramatic show of feeling out the fabric of your jeans, raking his hands up and down the sides of your thighs. Finally, he reaches the button and zipper of your jeans, irritatingly slow. His hands cascade the fabric down your legs, with the help of you lifting your hips, leaving you in just your innocent white panties. 

Chan bites his lower lip, seeing the little wet spot on your panties. His body rumbles with the idea that he created that little spot, that he’s the reason you're so wet right now. “I’m going to have to remove these as well.” You crane your head up, watching him stare at your covered sex. 

“Please do, doctor.” You rest your head back on the comforts of the bed. You can feel his fingers dance on the edge of the thin fabric. Eventually, Chan hooks his finger to pull your panties down your legs, leaving you bare for him. 

“You are stunning,” he says in a breath. It makes your skin heat and your core thump with need. 

“Doctor, I think we’ve gotten to a point where you can just call me Y/N.” 

“Very well. Y/N, will you kindly place your legs here?” Chan directs your attention to the perfectly placed feet rests on either side of your feet. You do as you are told, creating a perfect, open view for Chan. 

Chan sucks in a break at seeing your already-soaked cunt, perfectly on display for him. He can feel his cock twitch in his boxers. Every sheer nerve inside him wills not to lose control in front of you right now; he wills himself not to devour your leaking arousal or to take you here and now, raw and with no end in sight. 

“Chan?” 

Your soft voice shakes him out of his head, and back to the scene in front of him, with your lust-filled eyes and your dripping pussy staring at him. Chan clears his throat and easily slips on his “mask.” 

“I’ll start by warming you up and seeing if anything makes you uncomfortable. You will tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable.” He says this like a demand rather than a question, and the mix of authority and admiration in his tone fills your body with an unfamiliar feeling… a good feeling. 

You can feel his fingers explore the outskirts of your folds, teasing you before actually touching you. It makes you squirm slightly.  

"From your consultation, you've said that you notice your canal being too tight for masturbation, right?" he asked, sitting on the stool between your legs. You nodded, "Yes, I tried inserting two fingers like I normally do, but the stretch stung,"

“Alright… tell me if this is too much.” he rubs his fingers across your slik folds, coating his digits. Slowly he inserts his two fingers into your warm cunt. He can feel you clench at the stretch, which makes his jaw clench. 

“Does this hurt?” Chan looks up from between your legs only for his breath to get caught in his throat; your eyes are closed, and your lip is biting into your lip; your face is the definition of pleasure, and he’s not sure how long he can hold back.  

“No,” you respond with a whimper. 

“Okay then, I’ll begin to move.” with that, his finger starts to slide in and out of your walls. Your pussy is gushing with your arousal. As you breathe, your chest rises and falls in sync with Chan's fingers.

Your body squirms for more, and Chan is quick to pick up exactly what you want. He curls his finger every so slightly to reach that gummy spot inside you. Once he hears the low moan, you admit he continues to rub against that particular spot. 

Your moans blend with your whimpers and they become the only sound in the room. Chan’s fingers have picked up a slight rhythm, enough to make your arousal drip over his fingers and down the curve of your ass. Your body searches for more friction; your orgasm is so close you can feel it on the tips of your fingers. 

Chan can’t take it anymore, with how much you are gushing around his, how your moans sing around the room, and how much your body is craving to be touched. He shouldn’t; he knows he shouldn’t. You're here to get fucked into oblivion. You are not here for his pleasure…..but he needs to taste you. 

Your orgasm is hanging on the cliff, and your repeated “yes’s” are a sign of it until his fingers are gone. Your whine is cut off by an unfamiliar wet muscles pressing onto your clit. Your head snaps to look at the man eating you out like you are his last meal between your thighs. Your hand reaches out to tangle into his hair, and your hips lose all control, grinding against his tongue. 

Your moans are louder than you care to admit, but you couldn’t keep them quiet even if you wanted to, not with how Chan’s lips suck around your clit and how his tongue darts out to enter your wet walls. It's not long until you're screaming his name and coating his chin with your juices. 

Chan looks up at you, leaving gentle kisses along your thighs and gently on your folds. He can see your pussy clench at the overstimulation and his cock throbs in his pants. He has to hold himself back. He can’t overstimulate with his tongue….not yet, at least.

Looked fucked out already, your head leaned back on the chair, your bare chest heaving with every breath you take, your thighs slightly shaking. “Did that hurt at all?” 

You look down at Chan. His shining eyes sparkle with a newfound hunger. Slowly, you shake your head, unable to gather your scattered thoughts fully. Your met with a wide evil grin, “good,” he took a moment to step away from your thighs, only to tower over your small frame. “Then I guess we can continue”....

a/n: I have a long one ready to post next week; I just need to touch it up a little. The thing is, it's also Bang Chan. I'm debating whether to wait to post it since I'm posting this one or if I should just post it anyway. Please, please, please let me know in the comments if you all care if I post two Chan fics in a row or not. Love y'all.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Put Up a Sign

I crave. I want. I hunger. My days and nights are filled with the thought of consumption. My empty heart simply needs to take and take and take, like a greedy thief. It is not enough that I feed it affection and attention and accomplishment. It must have more. It must have adoration, idolisation, absolute dominion over all others.

Simply being better than most is worthless. Simply being one of the chosen few is worth mockery. I must crawl up to the top amidst a mountain of the corpses of my rivals. And with each time their bones crunch underfoot, the hunger only grows.

It is not enough to be known, liked, 'popular'. Nor is it sufficient to be infamous, beloved, renowned. I must have armies prostate themselves before me, statues erected in glorious worship, my name scattered across the 7 winds. But the gales merely chill me to the bone, the statues just crumble to dust with time, and the armies go into my maw to feed my empty heart.

And what of power? Can I be satisfied with my little band of merry women and men, my precious clan tucked away in the depths of the forest? Of course not. Would an empire sooth the gurgling cries of a bottomless hunger? Could the world itself fill me up, or would it be but a speck in the endless pit of want?

They say Alexander wept, for he had no more worlds to conquer. I fear I am Alexander incarnate, thirsting after eternal war and an endless reign. I just with to be satisfied, satiated, sated; why must I be born with an empty heart, meant to take and take and take?

Were I a better man, I would carve that offending organ out and let myself wither away. Were I a worse one, I would gorge myself on power, and learn once and for all just how much I can consume. But I am me, and I sit upon a throne of my enemies' corpses, reigning over a little empire, nursing my hunger with little tidbits all the while.

I do not feel repentant. It is not in my nature, after all. Nonetheless, as my people give their harvests, their gold, their lives for me, I cannot help but feel a twinge of guilt.

Perhaps I shall put up a sign: "Please do not feed my empty heart. It will only want more."

This was a silly little writing exercise I did for funsies, but I loved how it turned out so y'all get to see it too!

Taglist: @coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[whereserpentswalk]

You're the personal subject of a vampire. You have been since you were young. You were taken from human lands as a child, before you had any memories. Whoever your birth parents are they're not alive now.

Your only job is to give your vampire blood. Other than that you're almost entirely free. He takes blood around once a month, it hurts a bit but it's not like when other humans have it happen because you don't struggle. You're always a bit pale and weak, and you have trouble putting on weight, but you're mostly ok. He's always so nice to you, he pets your head, and let's you live in his castle, and buys you cute clothing and pretty things.

You know you're not undead like most people in the place you live. But you've been here so long you don't really think of yourself like the normal mortals undead kill. You don't scream or struggle, you don't speak a strange language or follow strange gods. You're technically below things like wraiths and ghouls and revenants when it comes to your rights, but your vampire is a lot richer than most of them so you're treated so much better. You even have some ghoul servants who take care of your needs.

You feel closest to other mortal subjects of vampires. Humans and orcs and dwarves and all sorts of mortal races who are in similar arrangements to you. But even amoung them you're pretty high status. You are allowed to walk around the city without an escort, and see all it's wonderful things on your own. Your vampire tells you nice things, and is so sweet to you.

A lot of the other subjects are hit or slapped or worse by their vampires but you never were, or at least you never disobeyed in the way that would make him want to. Like most subjects he had you neutered, it was a quick and painless process, before your first period. Because of how your neutered body developed and how your vampire treats you, you kind of felt like you never stopped being a kid.

You've seen human ambassadors negotiate with your vampire. They look so strange, wearing clothing, and speaking words you don't understand. You saw one with a sword, it's so weird to think of a human as having a sword. Part of you wants to want to be them, but you can't anymore, even they'd see you as strange and other to them.

Of course there will always be things subjects can't do. Even though he let's you walk alone in the city you have to be home by sunrise. Nomatter how loyal you are it's dangerous to be outside when everyone is supposed to be asleep. You're expected to dress as not to expose your skin especially around your neak, so no undead are too tempted to want your blood, there's a lot of things you aren't supposed to do because you don't want undead to try to eat you. And you can't own land or weapons of course, and can't pray to human gods or learn human languages. And of course you have to obey him, you never disobey him, but you know that you can't.

But for the most part it's nice. You get to draw and study and write. You even have a few books published. You're in your mid-twenties, it's been so long it all feels so normal. You have a safe comfortable life. But part of you secretly hopes you'll be turned into a vampire someday, as strange as it sounds, you'll see vampiric red knights, or wealthy vampire traders, and you'll wish you could be them. You could do it, you'd just need to grab your master for a few seconds, and let him bite you for longer than he's supposed to. You'd be on the streets when it was over but you'd have the rights to not be punished for it, for nearly anything.

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

"Floral Affections" - Part 4

GN!Reader x Plant Monster

CW: slight suggestive themes.

It's here!! :DD Sorry that it's been ages since the last part. I'm just happy I finally finished part 4. Enjoy, fellas!

Part 1 | Previous Part |

~~~~

It was almost time. Oh boy.

You stood before the grand doors of Lord Sorrel’s home, the ornate wood looking particularly intimidating on this fine morning. But despite your nerves being strung high, you were still very excited.

With a final lookover, you admired the floral patterns adorning your outfit one last time before knocking upon the doors. As you waited, you hoped your appearance was presentable enough; you didn’t possess anything as lavish as your lord did after all.

You reassured yourself he wouldn’t judge.

Eventually, the door opened, and Lord Sorrel’s bright face greeted you with a smile. Somehow, he looked even prettier than usual... and seemed to feel the same way about you.

Both of you got distracted appreciating one another’s looks before you took the charge and exclaimed, “Lord Sorrel! Good morning!”

A flustered blush heated your face as he broke out of his own trance. “G-Good morning, my dear! You’re right on time—I just finished setting everything up!”

Very eagerly, the Lord stepped aside and welcomed you inside. You followed his gleeful self through the house, admiring the architecture. This was your second time inside the mansion, the first being the day of your employment. Back then, you had been here for business, but now?

Now you were here... on a date?

You flustered more at the thought. It seemed crazy! And yet, it was happening right before your eyes.

Your smile grew as Sorrel led you outside, sunlight warming your skin. He took you down a familiar path, right into the heart of the garden, where a beautiful gazebo stood proudly. The sight was mesmerizing. Butterflies and bees fluttered about the place, and the flowers waved gently in the breeze.

Set in the gazebo’s shade, your breakfast patiently waited. A pair of plates covered by metal lids sat on the table with a glass vase between them, filled with a combination of plants that had your body lit aflame with unmatched heat.

The small bouquet consisted of red and pink morning glories, which spoke of passion and love, respectively. And although their presence already warmed your heart, they weren’t quite what had gotten such a reaction out of you. No, it was the coriander surrounding them.

Coriander, which was a symbol of... lust.

The message couldn’t be more clear, and you were suddenly—but curiously—questioning how this little date would end.

Once this revelation finished processing in your brain, you turned to Lord Sorrel, who appeared equally flustered. He was also, however, quite literally shaking with excitement.

The petals around his head moved in a wave as he briskly approached the table and politely pulled out a seat for you. The gesture had you swooning a little more as you thanked him and sat down. He pushed the chair in for you before damn-near dashing to reveal your breakfast to you.

As he lifted the metal covers, a variety of sweet scents drew into the air. Your mouth watered at the delicious sight of nearly a dozen rolled pancakes, all with different fillings, and a side of juicy fruits. A glass of wine was also set beside you before your gracious host finally took his own seat.

You looked at him with starry eyes. “Lord Sorrel, this looks amazing. Thank you again for inviting me.”

His smile turned shy. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, my dear. And please, just Sorrel is fine.”

“I may call you by name?” you questioned in surprise and were answered with a delighted nod. You gave a grin in return. “Alright then. Thank you for this lovely breakfast, Sorrel.”

Hearing you utter his name so sweetly seemed to put the plantman on cloud nine. He looked especially thrilled by it, and you had to hold back a giggle from how cute he looked.

In an effort to distract yourself from his charming face, you chose to dig into your food, gleefully stabbing a piece of pancake onto your fork. The moment it touched your tongue, a quiet moan slipped from your lips. You couldn’t help yourself; it was delicious.

The flavors danced upon your tastebuds, each bite better than the last. Sorrel was quick to join, though he kept stealing glances of your pleased expression. You were just too stunning to him like this, absorbed in the simple yet effective pleasures of food.

And to top it all off, it was his food! He couldn’t be happier... or so he thought.

The breakfast continued in relative silence, going by quickly but calmly as the two of you enjoyed one another’s presence. Once you finished eating, however, your eyes wandered back to the daring little plant decorating the table.

As you slowly sipped the last of your wine, you gathered your courage and bit the bullet. “These are... very lovely flowers,” you began, immediately catching his attention. “Any reason why you picked these ones exactly?”

Sorrel’s petals stood on end, stiff as rose thorns, until they suddenly bent inward, completely hiding his face from view. You jumped at the sudden movement, going from shock to confusion to amusement.

“Sorrel?” you asked with the tiniest hint of a laugh.

The plantman groaned in defeat, bowing his head and putting it in his hands as if they could hide him any further. “Forgive me, my dear, but I... fear I cannot say it out loud. It is too much for my heart to bear.”

If you had any doubts about falling for him, they were completely gone within an instant of hearing his words. Gods, the more you got to know him, the more he seemed like a lovable goofball rather than a scary nobleman.

His goofiness had your heart racing all the same.

“Then perhaps...” you started, “if you struggle with your reasons for these… daring admissions…” His breath hitched as you talked, and a few of his petals shifted ever so slightly, letting him peek out and look at you. “...you could speak of what you wish to do?”

“To do...” he mimicked, trailing off unsurely.

“To me,” you finished daringly, pushing him back into hiding once more.

His petals shook vigorously before he quietly began, “I… wish to hold you close…”

“What else?” you urged, lowering your voice as if speaking of filthy secrets.

He slowly began to unwind from his shell, though with great effort. “I want to… kiss you… touch you… I–”

Once his petals pulled back at last, he looked into your eyes with a gaze so hungry it threw you off course completely. “I want to make you mine.”

Just seconds ago, you had the upper hand but suddenly found yourself shy. Your face only grew hotter as Sorrel took hold of your hand and gently pulled, urging you to come to him.

Your now-wobbly legs carried you around the small table where you settled in his lap. He tilted your chin up to look at him, the soft caress drawing excited shivers down your spine.

“Darling, may I?” he asked, leaning closer, his lips but a breath away from yours.

You swallowed your nerves in favor of tasting excitement and gave a faint nod. “Yes…, please.”

Once the small gap between you two was sealed, control began to wither in both of you. Soft, shy moans were exchanged between kisses. Nervous but interested hands wandered as things slowly heated up.

Your fingers glided through the mane of fuzzy leaves on his neck as Sorrel explored the locks of your hair. The feeling was fantastic. It urged you to properly straddle Sorrel’s lap, your thighs encompassing his waist.

His hand tightened its grip on your hair as you pressed against him, grinding your sex against his. Sparks of pleasure shot through you two, dragging out more wanting moans.

The moment did, however, end up being partially disturbed.

Your Lord got a little too excited. The brilliant petals of his face surrounded yours in a sudden move, pulling you closer. The unexpected grab had you jumping back with a gasp for air. And you only now realized just how breathless you’d become.

Sorrel looked equally surprised with himself and rushed to explain, but you shut his stuttered yapping with a firm kiss. After taking a moment to recompose, you finally took notice of the golden dust fluttering in the air and covering your entire face. It had a lovely, sweet scent.

You trailed a few fingers down your own cheek curiously to examine it better. “What is this stuff?”

When you turned back to Sorrel, he looked ready to vanish into the earth. His petals twitched, stuck between wanting to hide him and to curl around you once more. “I-I’m sorry, love. I should’ve mentioned this sooner. This is… my pollen.”

“O-Oh!” Your face flushed, both from the new pet name and info.

“I-It’s not quite what you think though!” Sorrel stumbled out the words, absentmindedly pawing at your waist. “This is… how my kind marks their partners. It is how I leave my scent on you.”

You eyed the golden powder on your hand with a new perspective before looking back to Sorrel. You cracked a smile. “Well, kind of a shame I can’t do the same, huh?”

“Ohhh, love…” Sorrel groaned in a way you had yet to hear, the sound coming deep from his chest. “But you can… Your scent, albeit fainter than what I’m used to, still makes my mind go blank; it makes me think only of you.”

He leaned closer, speaking in a hushed whisper. “Even if you cannot sense it yourself, know that it turns my desire for you into a starving wolf, eternally hungry for more. ”

To say those words got you excited would be an understatement. And while you could feel that excitement pooling between your legs, Sorrel could smell it in the air.

This new knowledge was going to ruin you in the best way possible.

The desire Sorrel felt for you was heavy and overwhelming, prompting another groan out of his lips. His head fell to rest on your shoulder; husky words whispered in your ear, raising goosebumps across your skin. “Darling, please. May I have you?”

Even if you weren’t drowning in a cocktail of excitement and horniness at the moment, you don’t think you would’ve declined him.

[mentha-vacciniumrainbow]

Zestmilla tickle fights with the girls?

Nice idea, can do! (Hope you enjoy, is a silly little thing 💜)

《Clara, no 》 warned Carmilla, but it was all useless, as her daughter got ready to pounce on her

《Clara yes! 》 The kid screamed, jumping from the top of the wardrobe and onto her mother, her little hands busy tickling her 《I got you! Mum is my prisoner now! 》

《Stop it! I'm serious! 》 scolded Carmilla between laughters, carefull to move herself so that both her and her daughter would hit a soft surface when they would inevitably fall 《No TV the whole weekend! No spicy chips! No... No skateboarding! 》

《Worth it! 》 giggled the child, well aware that none of those threats would be followed by action. Her mum liked to act as she didn't enjoy their surprise attacks, but truth was, she could always see them coming from a mile away and never did anything to stop them from happening

《Stop! 》 She ordered again, as they fell on the bed and her dearest friend entered the room, alerted by the noise but not particularly panicked

《Zestial, a little help, please! 》 She pleaded, but Zestial, her oldest friend, the almost father of her daughters, her lighthouse in the storm, simply watched her with a knowing smirk, as he made his way towards them

《Thou doth not seem to particularly mind, mine dear 》 he noted, simply standing as her hyperactive child had the time of her life tickling her and undoing her neat updo.

So, apparently that was how he wanted to play, this time

《Traitor 》

《At least thou art getting cuddles 》 he comforted, and Clara stopped her assault to look at him dead in the eyes, a fanged smile brightening her round little face even more

《Don't worry jefe*, we won't make you feel left out》

《We? 》 asked Zestial, starting to look around the room, but it was already too late

《SURPRISE ATTACK 》

《Odette! 》

The child threw herself from the chandelier, successfully managing to knock Zestial to the ground and climb on him to deliver her own ticklish assault

《I'm speed, I'm stealth, I'm grace, I'M THE INVISIBLE TICKLER! 》

《I see thee perfectly, little lambkin 》 he laughed, still a bit out of breath, as he tried to rise, but his daughter was of a different opinion, and climbed on his chest as she pulled a long feather out of her sleeve

《Not for long! Feather attack! 》

《No! Not the feather, my only weakness 》 he played along 《show some mercy, I beg thee! 》

《No! Clara, I need help, dad is too tall to tickle alone! 》

《Reinforces are coming! 》

Assured the other, climbing off of her mother and joining her twin in her endeavour.

As his two little beloved menaces went wild on him and his poor clothes, Zestial noticed his dearest swiftly recomposing herself and preparing to slither out of the room

《Carmilla, mine dear... 》

He tried in his meekest voice, but this time it was her turn to smirk as she watched from above

《Na-ah. You were ready to leave me to my destiny, I'm leaving you to yours. Good luck, dear friend! 》

With a satisfied smile, she made her escape and closed the door behind her.

"Oh well, I deserved it." He thought "Yet, I shall nonetheless have my own ticklish revenge on mine loveliest lady... after our little ones are settled for the night, without a doubt."

*"Jefe" is the Spanish word for "boss", but is also affectionately/respectfully used for one's parents. I have a whole headcanon around it -used in my main fanfiction "You bring back my Springtime"-, but long story short, it's Clara's way of indirectly recognising Zestial as her dad, where Odette is more explicit.

[calliecwrites]

Pretending

Sometimes pretending to be a person is easy. Sometimes it isn’t. On the bad days, numbers start crawling on the page, straight lines curl, and I’ve got to remind myself to keep my face on. I want to stretch my other limbs, but the world down here is so thin, and so easy to tear. I have to be careful not to think too hard about anything, or it might start seeping through. You have no idea how much power you have, someone told me once, being able to create with a thought. And the children of my mind look too much like madness to humans.

Cases of madness worldwide are 1.3% higher on days like that.

But I don’t want to drive them mad. I’m here to protect them, not devour them. Not this time. So I have to pretend. Though with some of them practically throwing themselves at me, that isn’t always easy.

Writers are the worst. I let my ‘pretending to be a person is hard’ line slip into the coffee I’m nursing while my head pounds with the effort of keeping it all together, and her only response is, “Yeah, I know.”

“‘A writer is a world pretending to be a person’,” she quotes at me, and then, “That’s a deliberate misquote of something Victor Hugo said: ‘A writer is a world trapped in a person’. But I like my version better. If my soul wasn’t in a human-shaped body, sometimes I think I’d turn into a galaxy or something. Or maybe more than that. A multiverse.”

Humans are famously good at detecting things that don’t quite look human. I’m not doing a particularly good job of staying out of the uncanny valley today, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed. Or, worse, she’s noticed and likes it. Writers are like that sometimes. But I’ve been deliberately staying out of her mind. I can tell it’s twisty and complex, and I’m afraid the slightest touch from me would tip her over into madness. Or, who knows, maybe she’s right, and it would trigger her transformation into some kind of eldritch goddess that would put even me to shame. I don’t want to think about what that would do to the paper-thin world down here.

I’ve been so focused on my coffee, I’ve accidentally created another one. She hasn’t noticed.

“I do wonder what being a person is actually like, though,” she goes on. “You know, actually fitting in with all the weird rules humans have. Actually feeling at home here. And most of them only get to live one life, not all the fragments of all the lives we get to. Imagine that. They’ll never know what it’s like, being able to create with a thought.”

That last part hits too close to home, and I can’t resist taking just one quick peek into her mind.

“Oh, hello,” she says, and looks me in the eye.

I withdraw. No way she should have been able to feel that. And what I saw there – she’s practically a multiverse already, all jammed up there somehow into that tiny human brain.

“I always wondered if telepathy’s real,” she’s saying, “and now you’ve gone and proven it. Do that again, so I can see how you did it.”

No way, I’m not risking that – but she fumbles around and somehow does it anyway.

“There you are!” she says. I twitch back into my defences – why does this have to be happening on a day like this, when I’m barely holding it together anyway? The writing on the menu twists and curls, and customers start walking in circles. This time she notices.

“Ooh, eldritch abomination, is it?” she says. “Here, let me try.”

She squints, and now she’s holding another coffee, too. She takes a sip. “Mmm, just like in my dreams.”

Then she’s looking at me. Not just at my rapidly-slipping human disguise, but really looking at me, all the parts that no human should ever be able to see. But I don’t think she’s human anymore – I think she’s been right at that boundary for a while.

“You know, you really should pay more attention to that,” she says. “I find pretending is much easier if I do something like this—” and she does something, and my own human form snaps back into clarity. “There you go. Get those few things right and most people won’t even notice.”

Meanwhile, her own form is becoming more solid. That’s the only way I can describe it. Soon she’ll be so solid that her slightest movement will tear right through reality like tissue paper.

“Be careful,” I say, “you’re new to this, and this world is fragile—”

But it’s too late. She twitches in just the wrong way, and something tears.

Now everything is inverting. Everything that was packed up tightly inside her brain is becoming outside. The whole world is reforming around us, into one she considers home. I’m unaffected, but the humans are being completely rewritten.

“Hmm,” she muses, observing all the worlds at once. “Looks like I was right about myself.”

And she sees my dismayed expression. Avoiding something like this is exactly why I was being so careful down here. So much for that.

“Don’t worry,” she says, and gives me a reassuring pat somewhere in the fourth dimension. “There’s more than enough room in me for everyone.”

I really like that quote she uses, and use it myself. This story came from thinking - what if it was literally true, and not just a metaphor?

Tag list (tell me if you want to be added):

@avery-victoria-winterlight @dierotenixe @leahnardo-da-veggie @lunadook @mint-and-authoress

@sandyca5tle @scrubbinn @theriomythic-lesbian @void-botanist @wuwojiti

@zzzestyy

[the-dashing-miss-ollandre]

Shortly after your mother gave birth to her first child, he was taken away by the people who live in the burial mounds. You were given to her instead. The ones from under the hill cursed her so she could never speak of this, and so you never quite figured this out. You looked enough like your mother and your father to be their son, and so they raised you as such. Not even changeling children can remember the first year or so of their lives, so you grew up knowing nothing of your heritage. You grew up as a normal human child, more or less.

You never felt the pull of the forest, you tell yourself. Not more than anyone else you could think of. Besides, everyone has a calling, don't they? Your father had the sea, your mother stargazed, and so on and so forth. Even still, you never quite felt like you belonged. Most other children's minds didn't linger on the lichen on trees, the shine of the sun on the stream, or the cawing of crows. So as you grew up, you adapted. You found things for your mind to linger on that no-one seemed to mind. Friendship, music, cooking, girls, and such.

You decided against going in your father's footsteps and becoming a sailor, and instead you learned to sing and play the lute, and you were excellent. When you had surpassed the people in your village who could play, although they weren't musicians as much as just those who owned instruments and brought them out on the big festivals and holidays, you set out to the capital city to learn more.

In the city you met more people like yourself, that is to say, regular people who were... perhaps a little irregular. No-one there knew the words for what they were, as in the city the call of the forest is muffled indeed. You met friends, you played your songs with them, you helped them cook, and you met a girl. She had also come to the city from elsewhere, and you recognised something in her eyes that you would never dare set words on, afraid of being recognised as an outsider yourself. So soon you married.

Shortly after your your gave birth to your first child, he was taken away by the people who live in the burial mounds. Someone else was given to you instead. Right? Your wife never spoke of it, but that is the only explanation you can think of for why your firstborn is the way he is. There is a glimt in his eye that everyone knows only changeling children have.

[gummysunnybear]

Sun x Dark Sun? I feel like they'd be some fluffy lil guys.

YES- YESSS!!!! :D

"You can't escape me darling!"

A sun x dark sun fluffy story! :D

Suns sitting in the daycare bored and upset...His brother is hurt and had given up and sun can't do anything! Dark sun appears behind sun and hugs him

"Hey love~" he says

"Hey..." Sun says sadly

"What's wrong?" Dark sun asks

"Nexus attacked moon and he gave up...Moon...gave up" sun says

Dark sun tightens his grip noting that him and nexus...are going to have a serious talk after he gets back he leans down and gently kisses Suns head

"I'm sorry baby" dark sun says "let's just do something to distract you?"

"No..." Sun says and gets up walking to the daycare door to leave

Dark sun walks up behind him and grabs him pulling him close and whispering "you can't escape me darling~" and backs up

Sun blushes and leaves the daycare...flustered by what dark sun said...it was strange but adorable!

End

UGH THERE SO ADORABLE- STOPPPPPP

Thanks anon! :D

[bunabaeee]

"Each piece of my broken heart became a masterpiece. It was unfair to love you despite the pain, and cruel of you to make my love and suffering look so beautiful."

A. "Bunabae"

[thestuffedalligator]

“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

[microsff]

The patron

The alien came to the library again, shortly before closing time, and quickly found a book.

"May this entity borrow The Complete History of Knitting?"

They always return the book they borrow after five minutes, but the ritual of checking it out seems important to them. 

"Of course. Did you bring your card?"

I looked them up, after the first time I saw them for real. They first registered with us over ninety years ago. The senior librarian who first told me about them said I shouldn't stare, or pry.

"Whatever else they are, they are a patron, and should be treated as such," she said. "If they seek knowledge, it is our duty to help them find it."

There isn't an ancient and secret code of librarians, but that is definitely a core part of it. If such a code existed.

I scan the card and the book. "There you go," I say and hand them over. "Please return it within two weeks."

They tilt their head. "This entity will honour your terms."

"Oh! That reminds me, we have updated the terms since your last visit." I hand them the pamphlet we got from the printers last week. "It's mostly about internet usage, but I'll need you to read them and agree."

They study the pamphlet.

"These are terms this entity can abide by." They pause. "Is there no requirement to keep your existence secret?"

"Of course not," I say, "we always welcome new patrons."

They stand silent, long enough for me to realise the implications of what I have just said. 

"This entity had made an assumption, based on prior experiences on countless worlds, where knowledge is always closely guarded and costly to obtain" they say at last. "You will provide knowledge for free to all who seek it?"

In my mind, I weigh humanity's ignorance of those countless worlds of alien civilisations against the code.

"Yes," I say, "this is a library."

[reidiot]

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

[strangelittlestories]

After the occupation, the princess was confined to the palace.

Once a month she'd be taken on a walk around the city, heavily guarded of course, to show the people that she still lived. It also served, of course, as a reminder of what they stood to lose if they made trouble. The princess did her best go wave and smile and give the people what encouragement she could.

The rest of the time, her life was spent in musty rooms and dusty towers. She filled most of her time scouring the castle for materials which she would sew into more and more elaborate outfits, which she would show off on the days when she was allowed outside.

Indeed, the public loved their princess and her dresses so much they'd often sketch or paint them along the route and pass the images on so that all could see the princess at least was well.

This pleased the occupiers for two reasons. First: it kept the princess out of trouble. Second: it gave them a reason to sneer and they did love a good sneer.

"What a vain creature she is!" They would remark.

"Doesn't even care we murdered her brothers so long as she gets enough satin to make her little dresses!" They squawked.

This was unfair, of course, for to call her creations "little dresses" was to call Queen Murderfun the Needlessly Genocidal "a tad piquey". Her dresses were gravity-defying wonders lace and pearl. They were thunderstorms captured in velvet and waterfalls summoned in silk. She was a wizard with silk.

Still, she bore their mockery with a tight smile and careful deference.

"Please, good sirs, my home, my people and my city now belong to you. Let me keep, at least, this one last joy."

And they sneered and they crowed most unpleasantly, but they let her keep her sewing room.

Of course, they would have known their mockery to be doubly unfair had they realised the true purpose of the princess's elaborate designs. For hidden in the intricate embroiderings across her gowns, jackets and fans, the princess had encoded secret (and very detailed) messages. When she would go on her monthly walk, the city's loyalists would line the route, sketching down the patterns to decode later.

Thus did the princess transmit all the occupiers' secrets (unearthed while supposedly 'searching the castle for old fabrics') to the city and thus did she build her resistance.

On the day the revolution finally came, she girded herself in armour of thick spider silk and whale bone. She cut a fine figure with a lacy handkerchief in her top pocket and a razor sharp knitting needle keeping her hair up.

As she waltzed through the castle to open the door for her army, the Usurper King tried to stop her and she simply unfolded her handkerchief and showed it to him.

Upon seeing the impossible arcane pattern emblazoned across it, he fell to the floor with blood streaming from his eyes.

She always had been a wizard with silk.

---

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[bearsockz]

Part one

[agirlwiththoughtsandnegativity]

”oh so how did you get into writing?-“ no, writing got into me. Actually it infiltrated my brain, starting with the slow takeover of my room with books to the extremely fast claiming of my notes app and now there’s no way to stop it and no way for me to stop.