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draftycastle · 8 months ago

Text

the language of touch

this is the first short story I've ever written, and I absolutely loved it. It's a bit long, but I hope it's worth it if you stop to read.

tw: implied mentions of SA

I cannot speak my own language.

I can't tell my mother why I started shaking the first time she touched me After. I can't tell my father why I started crying when I walked into the kitchen and didn't notice him there until he spoke.

I can't tell my mom I love her anymore. I can't tell her that I still love her even if I can't touch her like I used to.

Mom still reaches out to touch me, instinctively, probably trying to ask what I want for dinner or which color of fabric she should buy. I don't know, though, and I couldn't answer if I did.

I watch as she lays her hand on Dad's arm and they both laugh about something. I can't be part of it. They can't touch me anymore, and that is the only way any of us knew how to talk to each other.

They don't even know what happened or why I suddenly became unable to experience the sensation of other people's skin against mine. This is all I know, and now it has been taken from me.

I ball my hands into fists. Mom tries to ask what's wrong, to reach for my hand, and I jump away. The hurt and the worry in her eyes nearly breaks me. I can't keep doing this. I won't.

I've never truly gone to the library before. I sneaked in once of twice when I was younger, and another time more recently. I liked just looking at all the books, wishing I knew how to read and write like the scribes.

Now it's a longing for anything to escape the fact that I can't touch. If only I could read, I could get out of this body, this tainted skin, for just a moment. If only I could write, maybe... maybe I could tell someone. I could finally explain.

Unfortunately, reading and writing has mostly died out since telepathic touch has taken over, just like spoken language. The only people who could still do any of those were the scribes, who were meant to preserve everything.

Mom still believes I will just get better with time, the way she kept watering her wilted flowers thinking they would come back to life if she just cared enough. I refuse to wait any longer. I have to do something. The library is the only place I know to look.

The huge tree stands both wide and tall in the center of our village. My whole house could fit inside it twice. The door is hidden, but I was the kid who'd spent hours when I was small searching for a key, trying to find my way into it so I could look at all the books. I had wanted to be a scribe.

I pick up the same fake stone I had found all those years ago, and push it into the indented spot on the side of the tree and the door slides open. It creaks some, but it's just quiet enough that I had been able to sneak in without being noticed.

I resist the urge to hide among the shelves now, too. To find a corner in here with a book or two and just look at the pages, feel the smooth texture of paper beneath my fingers because that is still soothing--at least, I hope.

The second I make myself known to the people here, they will want to touch me. I will have to find a way to explain myself without that. Some of the scribes could speak, all could read and write, but I couldn't do any of those things.

Still, this is the only way I could fix my touch problem. I need help.

The shelves and desks filling the center of the room are man made out of dark, rich wood, but the shelves along the wall look... natural. Like the tree grew shelves inside it's hollow body. It seems to have grown this way, somehow. Leaves and branches grow out of those shelves, and fallen, decaying leaves are scattered along the grassy floor. Little mushrooms and flowers peek out among the grass.

I finally walk in further, glancing at the books scattered on the tables as I go, some open, some open but set upside down to hold the pages in place, some filled with way too many bookmarks.

It's like a maze trying to find my way to the desks in the back, where the resident scribes are studying and working. There is only one today. I remember him from the times I sneaked in.

The low, amber lighting, just enough to read by and not enough to strain the eyes, shines on his face just right, the same way it did when we were kids. I watched him, that first day I went exploring. I think he saw me, but I doubt he remembers. He's the only scribe I've ever seen in person.

His face is scrunched up as he tries to focus on whatever he's reading. I feel bad for interrupting, so I try to do it politely, just quietly coughing to get his attention.

He glances up after a moment and startles when he realizes there's actually a person right in front of him. It's kinda adorable. He sighs and stands, coming around the table to touch my arm and ask what I need. I anticipate what he's about to do because it's what anyone here would do and step back before he reaches me.

He frowns, confused. He takes another step, hesitantly. I take two. He runs a hand through his hair, but gets the hint and doesn't come closer. I turn around slowly, still keeping my eye on him, so I can move if he tries to touch me again.

I search through the books on one of the tables, looking for a picture that can help me explain. I couldn't think of another option. He stood next to me, and I took another step to the side to give myself more space.

I look through book after book with pictures of flowers and buildings and fires and the sparkle of magic. Some with people but nothing quite right. He just watched curiously, looking back and forth between my face and the books.

After doing this for who knows how long, I throw my hands in the air and flop into a chair, dramatically. My body language is all I have, so I exaggerate it. He just tilts his head a bit.

He moves his hands around and says some words I don't understand, trying his forms of communication to ask what I need. I know what he's asking, and I know the answer.

Fix me, fix me, fix me, I want to scream. But I have no way to say anything.

He pauses for a moment, then beckons for me to follow him. That, I can do. He leads my to one edge of the library, where there is more space for grass, and picks a flower. It's a bundle of several tiny purple flowers. He turns around and hands it to me.

I hesitate, studying the flower and trying to remember what they are. Sea lavender, maybe? Statice? Or were they the same thing? I try to figure out why he's giving it to me, but I have no idea. I take it anyway, and decide that I'm going to come back tomorrow.

I go back to the library the next day, like I said I would. I'm not sure I could stay away if I tried. The flower means something, maybe several somethings, I can feel it. Maybe he knows a way to fix me and he needs some time to get the stuff or figure it out, so he gave me the flower to ask me to come back. That's my favorite idea, anyway.

He smiles when he sees me. I wish I knew his name. It would be a nice name, I think, to compliment the way the sunlight shined on his golden brown hair as he led me out to a meadow just outside the village.

I used to come here all the time, Before. After, I developed a fear of going places outside the village alone. I started staying close to home more and more, and I still haven't started coming back. I'm glad I have someone with me for the first time.

I missed this place.

The smells of flowers and grass and early spring air fill me. This is what peace smells like. The birds chirping now that it is warm enough for them to be flying everywhere makes it even better. I can't help but feel at ease here.

Little bursts of color dot the landscape, so many different flowers starting to stretch out above the grass. I wish I could name all of them.

He crouches down and points at one of them, a small pink flower I don't know the name of. He reaches his hand out to me, offering to tell me something but not pressing.

I want to. I really want to hold his hand, to get to know what he wants to tell me, but more than anything, to touch someone without wanting to throw up. I reach for him, too. I think I can do it, that I'm ready.

Our fingers are an inch apart when I turn and run home instead. He called out for me and tried to tell me something, but I don't know what it was and I didn't stop.

I couldn't do it. What is he's like the one who hurt me? How can I let him touch me when I don't know if I can trust him?

I made my way back to the meadow on my own the next day. I walk quietly, wondering if he would be there. I can't decide if I hope he will or won't. On the one hand, I don't want to face him after all of that, and I just want to be around the flowers.

On the other, I do really want to see him again, despite myself. And I don't want to be alone.

He's laying in the field staring up at the sky. It's full of big, puffy clouds, today. I debate whether or not to stay. I reluctantly lay down in the grass beside him.

His hair is so neat that I'm surprised he was willing to lay down on the grass, but I don't really know him yet. I don't even know his name. I should find something to call him, other than "him". I thought about the first flower he gave me.

Statice would be a nice nickname until I can find out his name. Which I will, and soon. I will lose my mind if I'm not back to normal by the end of spring.

Statice smiles at me when he notices I've laid down beside him. I get that warm and fuzzy feeling the other girls were always telling me about when he smiles at me like that. I'm just really glad he wants me to be here, too.

He holds up a stack of cards with pictures on them and points to the flowers. It takes me a moment to pick up on what he's telling me, but when he does, I smile so big it must have covered my face. I start nodding aggressively.

He wanted to use the images to tell me about the flowers.

He picks up a sweet pea, with a picture of a person leaving. The flower itself could just be leaving or maybe departure. Something along those vibes, at least I assume that's what he was trying to tell me.

We spend a long time out here, going through different flowers with pictures, me guessing at what they meant exactly because they weren't all straightforward. I had no way to confirm my guesses and assumptions, though.

I wish I had asked more about plant types, so I would know what to call all these plants and how to describe them properly. I recognize rhododendron when he shows me one, along with a picture of a sign that feels like a warning or maybe something like "look out" or "pay attention". Possibly danger?

There were several more I can barely remember now. I need more practice, more time, but I want to know it all now. I have been unable to communicate for so long, and I am so close now to finally being able to talk to him that I can taste it.

He lines up all the flowers we looked at today, and starts making claws with his hands and making faces like he's a bear growling or something. I laugh and glance at the flowers, assuming this is some kind of quiz. The rhododendron was my best guess since there was nothing about bears, but "beware" encompassed them pretty well, in my opinion.

He smiled and nodded.

He leans his body to the side, like he's about to fall over. My brow furrows. I glance at the flowers, trying to remember. The closest thing I can think of is the wilting flower image, but which flower was that? One I don't recognize, I know that much.

I decide on the purple one with the long, thin petals. He nods again.

We go through all of the flowers he taught me today, and I get most of them right. I do well with quizzes. They help me remember things. It seemed crazy that he could figure that out so quickly, without ever speaking to me.

Would he ever be able to speak to me? This was lovely, right now, when we both believed I would be able to touch and communicate eventually. Would I, though? Even if I can use the flowers, that's still not the same. That's not my language.

How will I speak to my parents with flowers? They don't know this language. I'm no closer to telling my mother I love her, not in a way she will understand.

I sat on the ground and pulled my knees into my chest, curling my spine, making myself into as small of a ball as I could. As if I was trying to escape my skin by crawling so deeply into myself that I was not part of my body anymore.

I hadn't noticed I was crying until the tears start falling on my clothes. Statice sits on the ground next to me, trying to be close enough to be comforting without pushing my boundaries. I appreciate that.

He stays with me for a while, but then he gets up and goes over to some bushes near the edge of the meadow. I don't move. I'm not sure I can. I desperately need to be held, to be told that I will be okay, that things will get better, but I cannot stomach the touch required for any of that.

I hear Statice's footsteps coming back, so I glance up, and he is holding some form of carrot he seems to have pulled from the ground somewhere. A winged rabbit is chasing him with the carrot as he comes back toward me.

My jaw drops. He lets the rabbit have the carrot right as it gets up next to me. I've never seen a winged one in person before. They're so rare. I can't figure out how he found it.

It sits next to me for a while, munching on it's carrot. When it finishes, it looks up at me, runs in a circle, and then reaches it's paw up, and I put my hand out, just to see what it would do. The rabbit gave me a high five.

I don't think I've laughed that much since Before. Statice laughs with me.

I gaze up higher and higher, looking at the natural shelves that seem to stretch up and up, towering above the tallest buildings I've ever seen. Trying to climb the stairs to Statice and his family's rooms at the top of the tree seems impossible.

There are small ledges before each new row of shelves with staircases along the sides of them. The highest ledges no longer have books, but old scrolls that are falling to pieces.

With such a tall ceiling, this place must be wonderful to grow up in, with such an expanse to fill with dreams.

I came looking for Statice, like I always do, but I saw him with his sister. At least, I think that's who she is. She looks like him, but not much older. I didn't want to interrupt, so I waited in the bookshelves just out of sight, but the interaction I accidentally witnessed clearly wasn't something I was meant to see.

She reached out to grab his hand, and he flinched away, the same way I have from so many people. The anger on his face contrasted with the hurt on hers. I don't think I've ever seen him angry, at least, not like that.

I've retreated into the front of the library now, rather than the back where he tends to be. He could come find me here when they were done. I don't want to see anything else that was meant to be private.

I start to worry about the anger I saw in him. I've never seen it before, but that doesn't mean it's not commonly occurring around other people. What if he's only being nice to me to gain my trust?

I can't start thinking like this again. I sigh, annoyed with myself. I need to get better. It's nearly the end of spring, and I told myself I'd be better before summer.

I might as well do something useful while I wait, so I start scanning books I look at image after image, trying to find anything that might be useful or even just something to share with Statice.

I find a picture of a man who is angry, violent. I flip the book over, marking that page. I look at a flower book. It's gorgeous I recognize most of these now. I wish I could read what it said, though. Maybe I could learn faster that way, at least.

Statice finds me, finally. He looks stressed, and he's running a hand through his hair, but when he sees me, he lights up a bit. I'm feeling warm and fuzzy again.

He looks at the books I've been scanning and tilts his head. I flip over the one with the angry man for him, and he winces. I notice it only because I was looking. The picture had nothing to do with Statice and everything to do with the man from the night that Before became After, but he found guilt in it anyway.

That worries me.

Statice looks around at my collection of books, then walks off into the library. I frown, but follow him. He leads me into a section with books that are extra colorful and bright. I'm sure I've been here before, but I've never stopped to look at anything here. It looks like it's all meant for small children.

He picks up a few books, though, and we head off to the meadow together. It's getting late, but that's okay. I think he wanted to stargaze, and I would love that.

Laying on the grass together, staring at the stars, would continue to be one of my favorite memories for years to come. To stare at the stars and realize how big the universe is, how much this all stretches beyond the two of us, and yet we get to be here together.

He is choosing to spend time with me despite how hard the lack of communication makes our friendship.

I want to touch him. I have so many questions and so much I want to say. If I can just grab his hand, this will all get so much easier. Then I can touch my mom, too, tell her thank you and I'm sorry and I love you and you don't have to worry anymore. I can make friends again.

Everything will get better if I can just grab his hand like a normal person. That's all I have to do.

I psych myself up, and I go for it. I reach for his hand lying beside mine, and I take it, feeling his skin against mine. For a moment, I thought I'd done it. He felt warm and safe but-

I still want to throw up after a few seconds. I don't notice his reaction at all because I'm shaking, and I just want to get out of there.

Why can't I just be normal? I just want to be the person I was Before again. I didn't ask for any of this. I am shaking and crying and nauseous because my ability to touch, to communicate, was stolen from me. I can't even fix it. It seems to keep getting worse.

Statice walks beside me as I go home, gripping the sides of my arms, trying to fold them into myself. He gives me plenty of space, but stays by my side the whole time.

I open the door, ready to leave the house, but there's a bouquet on my doorstep. White yarrow, some tiny purple flowers I don't know, yellow tulips, and of course, statice.

I smiled at the gesture. I knew the yarrow meant something like health or healing, but the others I didn't know. Even so, it was reassuring. He still liked me after last night.

I won't go to him today, though. I'm not ready, and I'm taking this bouquet as a sign that he understands that, too. After last night... I don't think I'm ready to be around him yet.

It was still hard to believe that I had touched him. Neither of us were fully prepared for it so we still didn't say anything, but I did get to feel the warmth of his hand. Clearly, I didn't want it enough, though. I would've been able to do it if I did.

The next few days are a blur. I stay home for most of them. I'd stopped going to school After since no one could speak to me. There isn't any reason for me to be there now. I miss my friends, though.

I have nowhere else to go without seeing Statice, so I stay in bed. I work on my sewing a bit, trying to stitch these pieces of fabric back together. Maybe I can't fix me, but I could fix these clothes.

On the third night, I lie in bed and sigh, staring at the ceiling, wishing I could see the stars and Statice was beside me. Wishing I could feel the touch of the people I cared about again, the way I did every night.

Touch really wasn't an option right now, I guess. I had been the one to initiate, and it still felt horrible. It had felt like the perfect time. I can't do it yet, as much as I wanted to be able to before the end of spring.

Would I ever manage it again? I'm not sure anymore.

Statice brought books to the meadow again. We didn't do anything with them last time since I... needed to leave, but now he was excited to teach me to read. He was nearly bouncing as he got a bunch of pictures to go along with children's books and flashcards with words.

I laugh at how excited he is. He's adorable.

I'm excited, too. I've dreamt of this since I was little, and now it's finally happening. I'm going to be able to read stories. I may have lost touch, but I was finding so many other things, so at least there was good in that.

We went through letter tiles first where he'd put together a couple cards and then show me a picture. First was "B-E-D" followed by a picture of a bed. We went through so many words like this, but eventually I started to make sense of it, to remember what all of this sounded like when I had been communicating in my head.

It was probably easier for him, knowing how to actually make the sounds and hear the words he was trying to learn to connect to these symbols on the page. That's likely why they stopped teaching us to read in the schools. It was hard to teach kids who no longer spoke.

I read my first book today, and we both started dancing wildly in the middle of the meadow where no one else could see us. It's one of the best days.

We keep working on reading for a while, but it keeps getting harder the next few days. The excitement starts wearing off and the confusion from the words that are harder to explain through pictures is getting stronger.

I don't want to do this anymore. I just want to be able to tell and hear stories with my hands, with my love, with my touch.

The movements of my hands as he keeps encouraging me to read get more jagged and sharp. I think he notices, but he doesn't do anything different. I get up and storm away a bit, pulling my arms around myself. I felt ridiculous, but dramatic movements were still the easiest option I had to communicate.

Statice walks up behind me. He gives me a small, encouraging smile, and a flower. It had a long, tall stem with lots of small, white flowers poking out from the sides. I remember the picture it went with being someone cheering someone else on.

I don't flinch when his fingers brush mine as I take the flower.

The air has grown hot and sticky. Spring is long gone, now, but I was okay with that. I still really want to be able to touch again, that hasn't changed a bit. I'm willing to give myself time, though, and I have hope that it will come when it's ready.

If it doesn't... well, I'll figure that out, eventually.

It helps that Statice is teaching me to write, now. I'm getting the hang of it, so we are getting close to the ability to talk. It's still hard though, nothing like the natural feeling of being able to graze someone's hand and ask a question.

There's still no way for me to talk to my parents, though. I want to tell them everything that had happened these last few months. Mom has stopped trying to touch me at all, and it breaks my heart every time I know she wants to.

I'm at the meadow now, without Statice for the first time in a while. I just want to try to make a bouquet. I want to tell them what happened or give some indication.

Danger. I pick up the rhododendron. I need statice, of course. Though no one else would understand why I picked that flower. I put it back. What else would I put for him? Acacia, friendship. That works.

I spend hours going through flower after flower. Trying to find the perfect combination to express what has happened to me and what I'm feeling now. I can't explain them, though. I have no way of telling them what all the flowers mean to me.

What's the point? They don't understand the flower language anyway. There was no reason for me to keep doing this.

I wrote it down. Or started to, anyway. At least that would make more sense than random flowers. I wrote the story, the explanation for every flower and the hurt and the hope that I've experienced. I stopped midway through.

I don't know why I insisted on doing these things, even know they won't be able to understand or read any of it. They can't speak my new languages. There's still no way for me to actually communicate with them.

I sigh, laying down on the grass. I had insisted on starting this story, for some reason. I might as well finish it. Maybe not for them, but for me. Maybe I'll show it to Statice if I'm feeling brave.

By the time I finished, he had shown up. I wonder how often he's here without me. I can't figure out how he ever gets anything done with how much time he seems to spend in the meadow.

He smiles when he sees me, just like he always does, and picks up his pace with a little spring in his step. He lies down on his stomach beside me, glancing at the notebook I'm writing in and the mess of picked flowers on the other side of me.

I cover the page of the notebook for a moment, trying to decide if I really want to do this, if I'm ready. His brows raise, but he doesn't push.

I sigh. I've wanted to talk about this for so long. He's lying here beside me, waiting patiently, just as he has through all of this. He hasn't pushed for a single thing, especially not touch. I have no good reason to believe he would be different if he knew.

I take my hands off the book and slide it over to him.

His smile grows as he starts to read the pages, but dims the more he reads. The beginning... isn't the brightest of tales. His expression grew grave. His jaw clenches. As he gets closer to the end, though, he relaxes more again. He laughs at something, though I'm not sure what. He grows more peaceful. Hopeful.

He hops up without looking at me. My brows scrunch together, and I sit up. He's just... leaving? He comes right back though, with two flowers in his hand. Statice and almond blossom. Remembrance and hope.

He sits next to me, as close as I can tolerate. He moved slowly closer, giving me a moment each time to move away or to give some indication that he should stop.

I waited until our thighs met, the only barrier being our clothes. This was okay, now.

He gave me the flowers and a book I hadn't seen him bring in with him. I have no idea where he got it. A galaxy painted made the background, with a couple staring at each other lovingly, but not touching, were on the cover. Love and Stardust.

I grabbed his hand. I didn't think about it. I was just excited, and this was all very sweet, and I was ready. So I took his hand in mine, for just a moment. I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. It's the first time I've had the chance to say anything, and I have no idea what to use it for.

Statice? he asks, grinning.

My cheeks burn. I didn't know your name. It was the best I could come up with.

He laughs a bit. It's Zenith. But you could keep calling me Statice, if you like. It's adorable.

I turn my head away. I must be bright red.

Would you like to know what it means?

I nod, holding his hand a little tighter. I can't quite believe this is happening, that it's real, and he's real, and this isn't all a dream.

The zenith of a star is the highest point in the sky that it will reach. My mom named me that because she always had the biggest dreams for us, me and my sister.

That's beautiful.

He nods, smiling and staring at the sky like he can see the stars in the middle of the day.

My name's Evera.

He grins, but it's wistful. Of course. Brave one suits you perfectly. He pauses, glancing back at the sky. I'm so proud of how far you've come.

I touch the tip of my finger to the skin on his arm. The slightest touch, but he won't ask for anything more than I am ready to give. That trust is what has helped heal me the most, I think.

I'm ready. I'm going to tell them my story, and that I love them.

I've been leaving them almond blossoms and aster, red chrysanthemum and amaranth, all around the house. Every flower for love and hope that I could find, whether they know what any of it means or not.

Maybe love is a language of it's own, and you can feel it, even if you don't know what the other person is saying.

He hands me a galax flower, just like he did the day I was struggling with reading. I knew what it meant for sure now, encouragement, and it's name. The impact of it was the same, though.

I thought that was all he had, but then he was handing me a gladiolus, too, and I can't figure out where he got it. I don't think they even grow around here. I nearly start crying, though.

I can't tell if he knows that I've read about it, or if he doesn't expect me to know what he's saying since he never taught it to me. I remember, though, waiting for him in the library, and reading it's most common meaning.

Bravery and the courage to overcome challenges and preserve despite the odds.

I turn back once more as I leave, and he is smiling at me, proud and excited for the person I am becoming.

I walk in to the smell of homemade cookies and my mother's joy. She has been happier lately, and I can't help but wonder if she knows somehow that I am getting better, that I am okay.

The warm, sweet cookies are also the smell of home, of safety, of my childhood, and of love. Of course love is a language all of it's own that transcends language barriers entirely. It is in every memory, every moment. It's in sitting beside each other unable to touch to comfort one another. It is in my parents waiting for me to heal even if it killed them not to understand.

I never needed words, really. They're just an easier way to explain what we can already feel.

I hesitate, though, to touch them. Not because I'm afraid of the touch anymore. I can handle that now. But because I'm afraid I will forget this, or I will become a different person once I am able to touch them again.

Everything has changed. I am different. Will they be okay with that, once they understand? They'll have to get to know me all over again. But maybe some things are still the same.

Maybe this old part of me can be part of the new, too.

I throw my arms around my mother for the first time in months, and she's already sobbing. I reach for my father, and he joins us in a group hug.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I can't even tell who's speaking, if it's one of us or all of us or if we can just feel the words.

I missed you both so much, I whisper.

We keep holding each other tight, and I can feel the memories and the love transcending through the three of us, not just because we were touching but despite it, too.

I tell them the story, my story. I tell them about the girl who was so hurt and broken that she became incapable of communicating with anyone. I tell them about how she tried to force it, to force herself to get better before she was ready. I tell them that she found help, that she met Statice, Zenith, and that he believed in her and stuck with her until and after she did find her way again.

I tell them about how this was for them most of all. How more than anything, I wanted to tell them I still loved them.

They tell me that they always knew that, and that they still loved me through all of it, too.

Zenith takes my hand. I smile at how naturally it comes now. It's still not the same as it was. I flinch when I'm not expecting it, and there are nightmares to contend with still. But I have never been alone through any of it.

I talked to Ambrozia today, he says.

Yeah? How'd it go? I still don't fully understand his relationship with his sister. He rarely talks about her. I can see it, though, when they're together, that he resents her and misses her all at one.

I'm not mad anymore. I smile and squeeze his hand, urging him on. It's the first time in years that I'm not angry with her. He pauses. It's because of you.

I had a feeling I brought some yarrow with me for a reason. I pick up the tiny bundle of small white flowers that gather together into circular shapes. Of course, I always have gladiolus with me, too, and so I grab some of that, too.

I hold them out to him, encouraging his healing the same way he did all those months for me.

#writing #writeblr #writblr #short story #fiction #original character #romance #healing #lyra's hopeful whimsies #tw sa implied #tw sa mention

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stonewind · 1 year ago

Text

Fireflies

Once an adventure got lost deep within a cave.

Desperate, he began to sob.

Bugs appeared, one after the other, and surrounded the man. They wanted to help, but didn't know how.

They saw a torch by the man, burning bright. They all thought of the same.

They fed their butts to the fire in exchange for light.

The man raised his head and saw dozens upon dozens of bugs lined up one after another flying around, shocked he followed them.

The man was led out of the cave.

From that day, those same bugs decided to help all lost travelers along the darkness of each day.

Why more fireflies during the summer, you might ask. Who knows, maybe more people are lost during summer. Or maybe the bugs are scared their light might fade on the cold. But if you ever see a firefly, make sure to blow a little on them, to ease the burn on their butts.

#short fiction #original #folktale #creative writing #flash fiction #fiction #Fireflies #whimsical #whimsy #story #short story #writing #original fiction #short stories #art #original art #drawing #traditional art #night

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maker-breaker-soldier-spy · 2 years ago

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Distance to the Moon (2019) | watercolor and ink on paper

#italo calvino #nick drake #pink moon #watercolor #traditional art #art #short stories #music #wanderlust #whimsy

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badolmen · 2 years ago

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They had sought her out. They had plead for her aid. Begged for her help. The great witch Morgan of the Fae. She should have known better than to trust the words and rules of humans.

They held up their end of the deal - in word, not in spirit as they should have - so she had no recourse against them. And she followed the rules, unlike them.

‘He’s useless to us.’ How cold, how cruel could a mother be? The king was no better.

‘No use in sentimentality.’ Did they even think him human?

The anger that festered in her heart sprouted pity. If they had no love for this child, she would give him tenfold what they owed him.

“Mother?” Her child could barely see over the edge of the table, watching her work. “What are you making?”

“Bread.”

“It looks weird.”

She couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at her lips. The dough was shaped to the form of a bear, enchanted to last the pair through the winter.

Well, the boy at least. She had no need to eat mortal food.

“It’s part of the spell.” The witch explained tugging the dough into shape. “It will make you strong.”

“Why?” His eyes were bright with excitement and curiosity. “Do I have to fight a bear, like Gorta?”

“No, little one.” How he loved the stories of the spectral beasts of her realm, and how he marveled at the scars she carried to prove them. “You will not be strong to fight a bear.”

“What if I want to fight a bear? I want to wrestle with Gorta.”

“Maybe one day, my love.” Sadness ran through her. He would need to be stronger than any bear, should he ever seek out those who so hated him that they cast him aside.

—

“Are you alright, little one?” She could see her child peering at her through the crack in the door. It was late, her candles burning low as she wrote.

“Can’t sleep.” He climbed into her lap. How was he still so small? Were all human children this frail at this age? “What are you writing? Is it a story?”

“No,” She laughed, pressing a kiss to his head. “It’s a spell.”

“What kind?” He was enchanted by even the simplest magic, every small breeze and glimmer a fascination. She planned to teach him, when he was older.

“Oh, a fun kind.” She tapped the runes, the magic wrapping around her to completely change her appearance. The once imposing, ethereal fae was made a stout, beer bellied man with ale on his breath. She expected a shriek of excitement, a stutter of shock. The boy only looked up at her with wide, black eyes.

“Wow.”

—

Her reconnaissance was successful. Indeed the kingdom had happily welcomed a firstborn daughter to the world. Joyful, warm, and welcoming.

Their apathy for the boy was genuine. Some small part of her had hoped, in futile human fashion, that they were lying to her and to themselves.

That they missed the boy.

It was clear he was nearly forgotten, a footnote of the genealogy without malice for the witch who had stolen him away.

What life would he have lived had he stayed?

—

He breathed deeply, standing before his mother’s mirror. She was away, in some distant land doing dangerous things. And he was standing in an ill-fitting dress, looking at himself as though he had never seen the person in the mirror before.

—

“Mother?”

“Yes, my love?”

“What did my parents name me?”

It was a question that made her stomach turn. Eventually he would want to know. He was old enough now, to realize he was not of her realm. Not of her kind. And that human curiosity infected his mind like rot.

“It doesn’t matter what they named you. You are not their son.”

“I know, but…” Ah, that traitorous word. His lip trembled and he looked away. She knew her anger at his parents was dying her skin violet, and he did not know that that rage was not intended for him.

“Child, why does it matter to you?” She kept her voice soft and willed the calming tinge of gold to stain her hands as she held his face.

“I - I know - you told me names are powerful. That you can steal them from people if they’re careless with them.” He swallowed hard and put a hand to hers as she cradled his cheek. “I want a name.”

“Why one chosen for you?” She smiled and shook her head. “Choose your own.”

“I - you said names are powerful because of who gives them and the history behind them. My parents; they - that name is powerful. It’s a history I don’t know. I want to know.”

“If I tell you, you must promise me - ” Her breathing stuttered, calm expression strained. “Promise me you will never let them take it back. Make it your own.”

“I will.”

—

It wasn’t entirely a surprise. She noticed her wardrobe disturbed every time she returned from a long trip to the human realm. How long her child’s hair had grown, combed in a specific human fashion and tied in intricate knots.

“Mother,” How the voice that called her trembled. Every book she had on the human realm came from his home kingdom and taught him of their rigid roles.

“Yes, little one?” She kept writing her runes, the spell for her child half written already.

“I want to change my name.” Her child’s eyes flickered to the runes. “I want to change. The way the moths do. The way the Narcius blooms and becomes a Lotus. The way a puca becomes what it must be. I -”

“Of course, my little one.” She smiled at her daughter, wiping away a happy tear from the girl’s eyes. “What name shall I call you by?”

—

Her daughter read incessantly. She begged for books from further and further from her home country. She read of war and weaving. She studied pottery and politics. She trained in sword and poetry. Arts and crafts of her people, the ways of humans and their fickle hearts.

Not magic, as she had plead so desperately to learn as a child.

“Why?” Asked her mother, both fearing and at peace with the answer.

“I may go there one day. Travel, meet people.” It was unsaid who she wanted to meet.

“I worry for you, if you go.” The Fae sighed, sitting beside her daughter in the grass too green. “When you go, I have a but one request.”

“What?”

“That you do not let them change your heart.” Her eyes smiled despite the aching in her own chest. “I love you too much to survive seeing them destroy you.”

“They could not if they tried.” The girl held her mother in her arms, a loving embrace. “You made me strong, remember?”

“Yes,” She laughed despite her tears. “Strong enough to wrestle bears.”

—

It was sad news. Truly - the king and queen struck down in battle suddenly and violently by the advancing warlord, “The Bear of the North.” A princess left orphaned and grieving, now expected to fulfill a role left open like a flesh wound.

The kingdom, still locked in battle and unwilling to submit a child to the horrors of war, agreed upon an ancient contest: the Sword.

Many, many queens ago - so ancient not even her name survived - a wise and just queen had set forth this contest.

“Whoever should pick up this sword shall rule; for their hands are strong and just, and their heart wise and wonderful.”

At least, that’s what the inscription, weathered by time and occasionally vandalized, read. Though it’s origin was murky, the magic that was woven into the Sword was clear: it was waiting for someone.

Over the centuries it was assumed to be a member of the royal family, or a commoner who would replace their dynasty, or even invading warlords. None were worthy, as far as the Sword was concerned.

The kingdom did not gather to mourn - there were no bodies, the pyres of the battlefield long reduced to ash. The spectacle of the Sword was rarely sanctioned by the high counsel, and thousands tried their hand at claiming queenship. Butchers and blacksmiths, nobles and nomads, in teams or separately were unable to budge the Sword.

But the kingdom was desperate, and to appoint a regent for the young princess would surely lead to corruption and ruin.

The fanfare faded over the weeks, winter setting in and snow framing the scene. The warlord was advancing, and hope that they would endure to see the spring was fleeting.

The maiden who stood before the sword was like many before her. Her arms were strong and her back straight, her clothes gilded in frost from the weather. The crowd of thousands had shrunk to dozens, and they watched her with pity and fragile hope.

Her hands fit the grip of the Sword perfectly, and the sound of its blade scraping free from the Stone seemed to echo across the whole kingdom.

What few people were in the square shrieked for joy, the uninterested watchmen jumping to their feet and sounding trumpets. Lights sprung to life in dark windows, and an ecstatic energy spread out like wildfire. Whispers passed between villages overnight, turning to feasts and celebrations within the week.

“The one true queen has show herself!”

“She is surely as wise and strong as the Ancient One!”

“Who is she?”

Indeed, as she stood in the throne room, addressed by the counsel and the young princess, that was the question they seemed most keen on having answered.

“Who are you?”

“I am Arthuriana.”

Edit: Donate to Palestinians in Gaza

[Sorry if you preferred the original ending - I knew I could better tie up this story and I can’t believe I didn’t think to include the Sword in the Stone when I first wrote this! I know most people won’t read this version but I think this ending tied things up a bit neater :) thank you all for your kind tags, comments, and reblogs!]

The witch demanded the customary price for helping the royal family, the first born son of the queen, as payment. Little did she know that the realm’s society is matriarchal in nature and so controlling the first born son of the queen is of no use to the witch at all.

#ra speaks #writing #writing prompt #joy! short story be upon ye!#:) happy with how this turned out.#one day I will finish my grim dark to joyful whimsy version of this story. have a lighthearted and tender alternate universe short instead.#writing prompts I wrote

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lines-from-noelle · 24 days ago

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sympathy for the greenhouse

This church holds many dusty memories from the Old Life. She faintly remembers when she would carry the infants, comfort the sick, and help the old pass on. She clearly remembers when there was suffering love within her, when believers were baptized, and every sermon that was conducted at her pulpit. She had hoped, before it all was Raptured, that everyone would be there for her first mass in the New World, but as she sees now, that hope was not enough.

This church is not the only one left in the country nor the world, for she has brother and sister churches only miles apart that are graced by the wonder of nature and the care from their guests. Unfortunately, she can't see beyond her grounds, as much as she would love to see her siblings. She doesn’t envy the siblings within her, though; no she doesn’t envy anyone.

In what’s now a forest, she sits as more of a reverse greenhouse. She’s covered in green of many species that aren’t even native to the country, and yet her insides are clean of it all. She provides the Light for the life outside her. In her ecosystem, there grows sea marigolds along the cathedral’s walls, yellow bellflower line the path to her doors, and her Siberian carpet cypress is perfect for picnics on the lawn. The Light within is all that's needed for these plants to grow. Her rose window looks over it all and glints as she sees people coming. Even in their New Life, there are those who come to pray and hear the Word when they can. Even if they are spread thin from foraging and farming, for they don’t want to dirty their robes with the blood of innocent animals. This is the age beyond the past practices.

The priest that cleanses the church of dirt is setting up a new sermon and prayer at her pulpit, candles forever lit. The sisters and brothers and friends that live within her walls put together fresh floral arrangements for the vases and sconces. Her guests arrive in snow white robes, buttons and stitching as gold as the jewelry that will adorn them when they are taken by God for the second Earth. These Grace-Given people treat her with kindness, but also a permanency not taken for granted, even as they chase down halls in amusement. They dress and treat her as one of the brides to their Father, and the church feels the love for her. If she could preen, she would. She only imagines her sibling churches to look and feel the same.

As she looks outside her borders again, she knows the world was turned newer than it ever was before. The life given to them by grace is more beautiful than that of amnesty or asylum.

The new wildness of nature doesn’t harm or despair her guests, but they would rather be careful than drive anything to extinction. This is New Life, after all. Memories of their Old Life are gone, and they may be within the in-between, but still, they get the feeling they must care for this World better than before.

Yes, this New Life will soon end to make way for the New World. A World they can inhabit with the Lord their God. This New Life is simply a stepping stone.

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indie-bard-maiden · 1 month ago

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~The Haunted Manor~

(the witches/ghost story, apart of my short story collection 'The Ballad of Hollowfaye' also available to read on wattpad)

Three witches (two Vespers and a Depraysier) and a mortal unite over a Ouija board in the Vespers' haunted house and try to commune with the spirits of their brutally murdered and dearly departed family.

Genre: YA Fantasy

Word Count: (to be determined)

(Pt 6)

Wind is an omen in nearly every culture. Considering it's the windiest day of the year, I hope it's a good one. It's off to a bad start considering I was caught between being upset that Fives had invited a stranger to tag along on our Halloween plans—and being stupid quiet because she'd stripped into the costume she hadn't worn to school. They wouldn't allow her to wear it. Not without the tights or the jacket or the long-sleeved shirt under it.

My eyes were glued to her legs. They followed her as she paced around her bedroom.

"What if she canceled? What if she's too scared?" She turned to me abruptly, her almond eyes frantic.

And for a second, we stared at each other. Because my mouth wouldn't open. And if I could find my words, they would've been along the lines of, 'Why couldn't you see that I wanted to be alone with you? Was it you who couldn't take the hint or is it me?'

She sucked in a deep breath, blinking rapidly all the while as if I'd actually asked the stupid question. Her hands straightened the bottom of her skirt, pulling it down slightly.

"Sorry..." And then her eyes widened.

Mine would've too if I weren't used to her already. Sometimes I think she can read my mind--the way she just knows things sometimes--but I know this is all my fault. I have an expressive face, and right now it's saying, 'I can't stop looking at your legs, and I feel really guilty about it.'

"Look, maybe we should talk about last night?" She pulled the fabric down further, as if she's had just about enough of my gaze, as if she's seen my thoughts and is disgusted by them. And I knew exactly where this is going:

'Abbotticus, I love you too. As a friend. Can you like please stop staring at me now?'

I bolted to my feet and finally, my mouth worked and my eyes found hers, and whatever words my lips couldn't form before, I tried to send her telepathically. And she flinched... My heart pounded in my chest. I was ruining this. I couldn't believe I was ruining this.

"I'm sorry, Sadbh," I would sayand I wouldn't use her nickname, something I always do, because I would want her to know that I'm sorry and I'm serious, and ruining this is the last thing I wanted to do, "I can make these stupid feelings go away. I promise."

But instead, I said nothing.

Because a deep, hollow knock came from the front door. Someone was using the actual real knocker, the Pentagram that traps evil within the segments and vertices. I never used it. Nobody ever used it. This stranger was a fearless fool.

The echo rumbled through the entire house, shaking the walls, vibrating the floors, clattering the windows. Fives' eyes widened, full of glee and I froze. She looked genuinely happy for a second, like the girl she was before everything.

"She's here!" She clapped her hands together and sped through the door, "Come on, Abbott! The spirit board is down here!"

My heart thrilled in my chest. A spirit board? She wasn't seriously expecting me to exist in the same room with something like that? It wasn't even like I believed in it, but I didn't want to go out of my way to prove myself wrong. Not in this house--which even Fernezra has said was haunted--not on Halloween night either. If anything out of the ordinary happened, it would be because we were asking for it...

I followed her anyway.

She didn't even bother to check the peephole before she opened the door! She was even more fearless than the fool!

"You came!" She shrieked. I flinched at the high pitch as she pulled Malin inside. And it was the craziest thing--I flinched even harder at her appearance. Her bone-white skin, sunken cheeks, almost-luminescent gray eyes... Who the hell was this girl?

Her eyes found me and jolted a shock down my spine. She didn't smile--didn't react at all-- when she greeted me, "Abotticus Jinx."

She knew my name... My full name...

"May-lin." A smirk found my lips. I wasn't even the smirking type. It brought me great joy though, pretending to have power over her the way she did over me.

"It's Malin." Fives cut in. My eyes snapped to hers and she was frowning at me.

I wanted to ask why she was protecting her. This girl didn't need protecting, her appearance did that well enough for her. I wanted to ask why she'd invited someone she'd barely known a day into her house. Something held me back. Something was always holding me back in that house.

"The dining room is through there--" she pointed through the archway, "--now where is-- FERN!" Malin passed through the door just as Fernezra's laugh answered from the kitchen.

"Coming, coming, I have treats."

I was about to follow them inside, but Fives grabbed my wrist. An electric warmth cascaded in waves all the way down my arm, all over my body, and then I turned and met her eyes, and the waves turned to ice in my stomach.

"I know you're upset--" she murmured. It was like she was scared she'd break me.

"I'm not upset."

"You're hurt." My mouth snapped shut. "And I'm sorry. I promise there will be time for us tonight, but right now, this is important to me... I need you to give her a chance." Her voice cracked and she turned back toward the archway, wiping her eyes, "If that's not enough for you then you can leave."

She was cold and tense. The old vulnerable Fives left, and I wanted the right to miss her, but I understood too well why she had to go. I nodded even though she couldn't see me, and I tried to free the tension all over my body. It was no use.

My instincts were telling me there was something wrong here and they hadn't shut up about it since Malin arrived. Wouldn't that make her the problem? Isn't she who they're trying to warn me about?

I went against them and followed Fives. Malin had already made herself at home, sitting at the head of the table, picking up the ancient wooden planchet, and peeking through the glass hole. The corner of her mouth pulled up.

"You were right. There are many haunts here tonight." Her pupil dilated inside her magnified eye. It was such a metallic silver it was almost purple, and she smiled, "They seem to be intrigued with your mortal."

A cold chill slapped me hard on the neck and it didn't leave. Her smile widened, and I was sure it was the cause of the floor swaying beneath me. My brain was melting, just something else I was sure of. The floor groaned as their chairs slid against it. Fernezra's voice cut through the fog.

"Jinx, you look pale. Try some of these," Her footsteps rattled my melted brain, her sharp nails cut into my palm as she pressed something soggy into it.

"What—"

"It's a cupcake. Perfectly moist too."

It dripped through my fingers, splattering into a thousand puddles on the rotted floor. I slurped what was left off of my fingers, and the shaking in my thighs ceased. I stood tall and strong when I sat down at Malin's left, beside Fives.

Neither noticed me, both watched as she traced a finger along the vines carved along the edges of the board. Fernezra was the only other person not trapped within her spell.

"It's been in our family for generations." Fives explained nervously. Her green eyes watched Malin for a reaction.

She only nodded, and her fingers followed the vines down to the words 'Hello' and 'Farewell'. Then they stopped. Suddenly. Coldly. She was still as a corpse.

"Our grandmother used it every day. She said she needed to commune with her mother before she made any decision."

Fern but in with a, "Yes! I remember that. She used to ask her everything! 'Ma, what should I make for dinner? Ma, does this perfume make me smell like a harlot?'"

Fives nodded, her smile fell somberly, "I always thought she smelled nice. Like a nice old lady."

"Mhm," Malin spoke cooly like mist, "Agatha?" Fern and Fives stared at her. Malin stared back. Then she blinked and her eyes focused on something behind Fern.

"Oh. My apologies." She blinked again and her eyes immediately found Fives. "She says you knew her as meemaw." Fern and I gasped, but Fives just clapped her hands in excitement. "She says the perfume did make her smell like a harlot and you'd do well to dispose of yours too."

Fives gasped and I rolled my eyes, "She does NOT smell like a harlot."

The second her eyes found me, I froze.

"Your family has their concerns about continuing this conversation in front of a mortal. They've asked me to inquire if Salem 1692 means anything to you?"

Fives grasped my arm, and it was like the spell broke. My lungs were working again. Those silver eyes had no effect on me. I was free! Her murder attempt failed! She must've been devastated.

"Abbott Jinx isn't like those mortals. He's my bodyguard. He protects us from any harm this way comes."

Malin raised an eyebrow at me. I smiled back. "This boy is your familiar?"

We turned to each other. It took all of two seconds for us to start howling with laughter. It couldn't be real. This girl couldn't be serious. Only the heat of the flickering candles and the smell of the raw pumpkin spice cupcakes reminded me this was reality.

"You laugh in the face of your responsibilities, Mortal? You think protecting the life of a witch is an easy task? Especially the lives of witches that have been cursed and doomed for ages?"

We stopped laughing.

Her eyes were unforgiving, "If this is all a joke to you, perhaps my agreeing to help was a mistake."

Fives jumped up from her seat, knocking it backward. "NO! No, please! This means the entire world to me, please. We're sorry, very very incredibly sorry." I almost thought she was going to fall to her knees and beg for this stranger's forgiveness.

Malin stared her down.

Fives stared back, unwavering.

"Please."

There was a pause. A lull. That is until the sound of Fern slurping her cupcakes shattered the silence. She was barely paying us any mind. Her eyes closed in ecstasy, her fingers dripping batter.

Malin cleared her throat, "It would help if you'd tell me a little bit more about how they died, and when."

"Really?" Fern snorted, "You can't find that out by asking them with your little ghost board?"

Fives ignored her, "It was last winter... They were driving home after a Yule Ritual in the wildwood. Cops said they must've been drunk when they hit a patch of black ice, lost control, wrecked, and animals pulled them from the wreckage and attempted to hide their bodies."

"Animals?"

Fives nodded sarcastically, annoyed at the entire idea, at the incompetency of the force on her parents' case, "Animals."

Fern was more serious when she spoke now, "Okay, look, I get it doesn't sound that plausible when you say it out loud. But this is even more crazy, Sadbh. You're trying to find the person who allegedly murdered your parents through a goddamn spirit board. That sounds less crazy than, I don't know, a bear killing your parents when they wrecked their car in a literal forest?"

Fives waved her off, "Just admit you've never heard of hibernation, Fern. NO BEARS were out at that time."

Fern rolled her eyes, "Okay how about you admit you've never heard of global warming? Bears ARE out at that time nowadays because of overfishing and they haven't enough food TO hibernate, not to mention it doesn't get cold enough. They probably don't even realize it's WINTER anymore."

I regretted being stuck in the middle of this. I was glad when Fives' hand went back to my arm though. Her hands tightened around me. Almost cutting into my skin.

"If you don't want to be here, you can leave. Go gawk over Quinby Digby at the library before it closes or something." She growled.

Malin went to say something, but Fern snapped, "First of all, I gawk over Zaskia, NOT Quinby. Second of all, I'm staying, so when she pulls some rubbish out of her ass, I can say 'See this why we don't listen to scam artists who believe they can communicate with corpses through a plank of wood.'"

I tried to jump in, to maybe bring some peace to the mix, but they cut me off as soon as I got my mouth to work. Malin and I met each other's eyes and it seemed like we were sharing the same thought: This is going to be a long night.

Sadbh crossed her arms sarcastically, "How nice, well I want you to stay so you can find out who killed YOUR family too."

"Sadbh, come on. This is so obviously not real. Right, Abbott? You agree with me?" She looked between her cousin and me. Fives look at me too. And then Malin. Three pairs of eyes were on me and they were all hungry.

I'm no fearless fool, so I hesitated..., "Look, I don't claim to know how your parents died, and I'll admit it does sound suspicious. Maybe if the police did their jobs we'd have more answers..." I licked my lips; none of them looked satisfied, "But using a spirit board? I mean, they're bad luck. And they hold evil or something? And I understand you want to know what happened so you can get some kind of closure... And we will get that for you! Whether it was a bear or a murderer or whatever, we'll get to the bottom of this, I promise."

I was rambling and it was obvious. What could I have said that would've made it matter for anyone? Malin rescued me with answers, "Actually..." her eyes focused, as if she were coming out of a foggy haze, "Have you ever heard of divine retribution?"

"No?" Fives and I echoed together, and her hand squeezed me tighter.

Fern groaned, "Please don't tell me you're saying my Aunt and Uncle were killed because God had a bone to pick with them."

"No. Of course not. Your Aunt and Uncle were killed because A god had a bone to pick with your original ancestor and cursed his entire bloodline hundreds of years ago."

I laughed, "You're joking..."

Malin sighed, "I'm afraid not. Gods can hold quite the grudge."

"So, you're saying A GOD killed my parents." Fives' hesitated.

Malin was getting tired of the questions, tired of us not understanding, tired of us not taking witchy voodoo seriously, "No, I'm saying A GOD is why your parents met their untimely end, just like your aunt, and your family before them and you two will after them. It'll go on and on and on."

Fern threw her cupcake paper at the spirit board, "SEE! It's bullshit, Sadbh! She's just taking advantage of the knowledge that our family has all died young to come to some bullshit conclusion. Cursed by the gods, are you genuinely serious? Which god then, huh?"

I cleared my throat, "And which ancestor? Can't you talk to him? Ask him what he did? Maybe we can fix it? Reverse his mistake or something?" My heart was pounding in my chest. They couldn't all die young. Not because of one guy nobody remembered. Not when it's been so long.

Sadbh growled, her fingers cutting into me, "None of that matters! I still don't know who or what killed my parents! That's why we're here right now!"

I had to yank myself free. I couldn't bear her knife-like claws anymore, "No offense, Fives, I think preserving your life and getting rid of a curse that could kill you matters at least a little."

"Malin. Please. I need to know. I can't move on if I don't know."

Malin cleared her throat, "You ever notice how things change with the breeze? How new paths form, how you make choices you wouldn't have made otherwise, how a new you is born and the old you is remade?"

The omen. My eyes flash. I don't even realize I'm speaking, "What the fu--"

Fives interrupts, "What does this have to do with anything?"

Fern rolled her eyes, "Yeah, and why do you have to say it so pretentiously? You're literally talking about the wind."

It was all becoming less real by the second. Even the cold slap on my neck had disappeared. Malin's effect on me was nothing more than annoyance.

And it was almost like she'd felt my shock. Her eyes locked with mine, and they held an air of righteousness, "The Goddess of Destiny has everything to do with everything, and I wouldn't disregard the wind so easily. How do you think Mistraldaire was cursed in the first place? Arrogance and hubris--thinking you're better than the gods."

Fern cackled, "Mistraldaire? MISTRALDAIRE? That's not even a real name."

"Your name is literally Fernezra," I whispered.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, shut up. Whose side are you even on?"

"Well--"

"But thinking the decision to curse an entire bloodline is a little dramatic means we're disrespecting the gods?" Fives murmured, "My parents are dead because this Goddess of Destiny was offended by something a man who lived hundreds of years ago said. Maybe I don't want to respect a goddess who thinks murder is a fair punishment for an entire family."

Malin nodded, "Fair enough, but murder wasn't the punishment."

Fives shook her head, "I don't understand. If it wasn't, then why do we keep dying?"

"It's not so much death so much as the way it's orchestrated. And the first curse wasn't death, it was BECAUSE of death."

"Can you stop speaking in riddles for five seconds and just answer her questions?" Fern groaned.

Malin spoke reminiscently, "I recognize the name. Mistraldaire... A Veteran of the War of the Schools."

"Schools... Like a high school...?" I raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head as if it were obvious, "The Schools of Witchcraft. Every clan belongs to one of the three: Mind, Body, or Soul. Mistraldaire's were masters of the body."

"How do you even know this?"

Fives shushed her cousin, and Malin continued, "He's all over our history books of that period. He wasn't so much a veteran as much as he was a disgrace in the eyes of witches and gods everywhere."

Sadbh gasped, "Why? What did he do?"

Fern shushed her back.

Malin looked between them both and waited for silence. Once they gave in, she cleared her throat, "It's a long story but to summarize, in the early days of the war, thousands were lost every day. Undertakers couldn't keep up with the bodies, the land couldn't keep up with the graves, and ghosts from the dead buried carelessly would return and haunt both sides. Then the School of the Body joined and healers from all over Iyael were summoned to await their divine duty--to help the wounded and the fallen warriors."

Her silver eyes began to glow violet as she spoke passionately, "Mistraldaire was one of those called upon. He was one of the best healers. He could heal those on the brink of death, could bring back those just barely over the cusp. When other healers would attempt it, those brought back were different. They weren't the same that were lost. But Mistraldaire was skilled at his craft, a master. He could bring back the soul as well as the body."

"That's good then, right? So why was he punished? He was a hero." I wondered aloud.

Her eyes met mine again, but their power was no more over me, "It wasn't enough for him to be praised, to see the product of his divinity. He wanted to prove his valor. He wanted to show the schools he wasn't just the most powerful healer, he could be a warrior too. He could take life just as he could give it back. So one day, he decided to do just that. He abandoned his post. Took the sword of a warrior he didn't heal and joined the other warriors on the battleground..."

Fern leaned forward on her elbows and blushed, "Okay... Not that I believe any of this... But... What happened then...?"

Malin leaned back, "It was the bloodiest day the war had seen. More died not by the stolen sword but by the rejection of his duty. By taking his fate into his own hands, by deciding he knew his destiny best, by rejecting the blessing and the glory the goddess had given him, the witches that died on the battlefield weren't healed. Those that were killed weren't brought back. More ghosts haunted than warriors fought. He'd decided death was more important than life. For this decision, he was exiled by his fellow witch, and cursed by the gods who'd blessed him."

"So why not just punish him," Fives yelled exasperated, "Why punish us too? We had nothing to do with that!"

Malin looked as though she couldn't understand the question, "Thousands were lost because of him. Mothers lost sons, sons lost fathers, entire clans gone forever. Maybe they didn't think one man's blood would suffice. Maybe they wanted the entire Vespers' bloodline to fall."

Fern narrowed her eyes, "So you can ask the ghosts what our original ancestor was named, but you can't ask them why they deemed all this necessary."

Malin sighed, "Only your family is here at the moment. I can't ask them what every clan from every school thought when they cursed yours."

"I just think it's fuc--

Sadbh jumped, "Did you just say our family is here?"

Malin nodded.

"My parents???" Her voice reached that high pitch again, but I didn't flinch. I understood her need, her desperation.

Malin tilted her head, "Your father."

Fives' eyes were frantic, her hand reaching for mine again. I interlocked our fingers, though it didn't help much. "My dad is here right now? Can he hear me? Where's my mom? Why aren't they together?"

"He can hear you. and he says your mother was mortal. She wasn't cursed the way he was. She doesn't suffer the same fate as he." She spoke softly as if she was trying to soothe her.

Sadbh shook her head, "Suffer? He's suffering? Where is he? What happened? Why can't I hear him? Tell him I want to speak to him!"

I squeezed her hand gently, "Hey, hey, relax. Take a deep breath."

Malin spoke cooly, "I've already told you. Your clan are masters of the body. Your powers stem from there. Us Depraysiers are masters of the soul, and so I can commune with the dead."

Fives' voice was cracking. She was gone. I was losing her all over again. Just like last year. Just like when this was still new. She was beside herself with pain and sorrow and yearning for answers, "Then I should be able to feel him. He knows I can feel. I can feel things, emotions from other people. Why can't I feel his?"

I froze. She didn't notice. I didn't expect her to.

Malin sighed, "Because he isn't a body. He is a soul, an essence trapped here."

"Hey, can you shut the hell up for a second?" For a second, I thought Fern was talking to me. Me and my racing thoughts and my racing heart, but she was scowling Malin down, "Can't you see she's having a panic attack? You're not helping."

"And what do you mean you can feel people's emotions?" I muttered.

Fern eyed me then, "You too. Just shut up. Sadbh, relax, okay? Get your feelings under control and she'll answer more questions, okay? You're going to make yourself sick."

Five's voice was small, barely above a whisper, her eyes distant, "She said he's suffering, Nez. He's suffering and my mom isn't there with him. He's all alone."

Malin shook her head. She clasped her fingers together with a hum, "He isn't alone. Iris is there. He says she's been helping him since he arrived. She's been trying to help him contact Yuna... Yuna is your mother, yes?"

"Is he in pain? Just tell me that." Her voice cracked.

Malin cleared her throat, as if she was attempting to clear Fives' as well, "He says he's alright. He feels no pain. He suffers only because of his punishment."

Her voice only shook more. "Punishment? What punishment."

Malin goes quiet and pale. It's the first time she's looked remorseful. Probably the first time in her entire life. "He doesn't wish for me to say."

Sadbh shakes from beside me. She's restless now. I grab her hand, trying to still her and her racing heart. She doesn't notice any of us are there. She barely notices Malin anymore. Her eyes dance around the room, searching for her father's spirit. "Tell me! Please. Please I need to know."

Malin shakes her head, "He says it'll bring you no comfort."

She launches to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair if I hadn't grabbed it with my knight-like reflexes, "Well then remind him that he's dead. That my mom is dead. Remind him that I feel no comfort anyway because they were both taken from me and nobody will tell me the truth about what really happened."

Fern begs on her behalf, "Uncle Dillon... She's right. If you're really there and this isn't just some scam. I've seen it. I've seen her suffering. Answers could only help. There's no way she could be more lost than she already is."

I narrowed my eyes at her. Not because it wasn't true. Of course it was true. Sadbh wasn't the same and she would never be. How do you go back to the way you used to be before something like this happened? You couldn't; she couldn't. There was an innocence lost, a naivety, an ignorant bliss. No, I wasn't staring angrily at Fern because she was wrong. I was staring at her with an edge because she was right.

Malin pauses. Hesitates. "He hears her screams the night she died. Over and over again. Screaming for him to help, begging for the pain to leave. He tries to run to her, to reach her, and to help her, but she's too far away. As soon as he reaches the Maple Tree in your backyard, she goes quiet. He falls to his knees because he knows it's not because the pain is gone but because she is. He knows Yuna was killed because of him, because of HIS curse."

Sadbh falls back down in her chair, "Oh..."

Fern sighs theatrically, "So I was wrong, then... Maybe you didn't need to know that. Nice going, Uncle Dillon. You should've said your punishment was that morbid."

Malin picks at her fingernails, somehow uninterested, somehow uncaring, "He didn't say it. Mistraldaire did. He says your parents died a death of valor."

I try to bite my tongue, but I can't anymore. I just can't. "Like he'd know anything about valor, he sounds like a coward."

The walls rattle and collectible dishes fly off shelves. The planchette zooms from one side of the board to the other, and Malin just smiles at it.

"You can throw dishes at me all you want, it's true! You're the reason they died ~a death of valor~ in the first place. You're the reason her father is being punished like that. You're the reason her mother was in pain when she died. You're the reason the gods hate the Vespers." My voice doesn't crack, nor waver.

Fives grabs my arm, but I shake her off, "Abbotticus--"

I frown down at her, "No, it's true! If you die tomorrow or next month, when you DIE, it'll be all because of him. Because he couldn't handle healing people even though that was his entire power. he wanted to kill people instead. The gods were right to punish him, but to punish you? To punish your parents? To let your father suffer in death like that and your mother who had nothing to do with it? That's fucked up, and more than that, it's not fair. Because he went against the Goddess of Destiny now it's your destiny to pay for a crime you didn't commit?"

Malin smirks scoldingly, I didn't even know that was possible, "Easy, mortal. Don't tempt her. On Halloween of all nights."

"He has a point. but the fact is... None of this is real... It can't be... And even if it is, we're getting out of here. You and me... we won't have their fate, I promise..."

Fern doesn't even sound sure, doesn't even sound like she believes herself or her words. Maybe because she's said it so many times before. Maybe it was a lie she was trying to convince herself was true, only it's not working anymore, maybe it never worked.

"Malin, please. Ask them what happened that night. Ask them who did it. I don't care if I die, if the curse reaches me too. I need to get justice for them, I need to know what happened."

Fern reaches for her across the table but they're too far, "Are you sure?"

I grab her hand for her, "Yeah, Fives. This doesn't seem like it's helping."

Sadbh nods, resolutely. It's what she invited Malin here for after all. "I need to know. It won't help but nothing will. I won't rest until I know."

Malin clears her throat, stares off into the distance, and communicates with those lost, "Well..... He says........ There was a woman... A woman in the road and your mother didn't see her through all the snow..."

A cold wintry air overcomes the room. Frost blossoms on the dishware, snowflakes dance slowly from the ceiling, the walls blur around us, the lights dim until there's only a glow resembling a pale moonlight. My lungs burn at having to adjust to the dramatic dip in temperature. Just as my fingers start trembling with frostbite, Sadbh grabs my fingers and interlocks them. If I wasn't so sure this was all a dream that surely couldn't be real, I would've realized that she must've felt my chill. That's why she wrapped my fingers in her warmth. It had to be.

I'm too busy staring in awe at the shifting reality to notice Malin's mouth falling open, slowly, slowly. Fern screams. I flinch and look at her, only to see her horrified at something happening beside me. That's when I see it; her. Malin frozen in pain, mouth wide open stretching wider and wider, jaw creaking and cracking, eyes bulging. A squeak of pain exits her throat, but she struggles to let it out. Like there's a pressure on her lungs we can't see.

And then, all at once, in the time it takes me to blink, there is no more Malin. Not the Malin as I'd come to know her. '

NEXT PART AVAILABLE╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ HERE

BACK TO MASTERLIST? CLICK ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ HERE

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you liked or hated it. Spill the tea. Share your thoughts directly with the source (me.)

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drewthelocalnerd · 1 month ago

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Aliens would be weirded out by fiction or fantasy

So I KNOW this one has been done, but it bears repeating cuz the idea of it is HILARIOUS.

We wanna write/draw a fictional world, we just sit there starring at screens or a blank sheet of paper for HOURS vividly hallucinating intricate and complex universes that have never happened before and usually couldn’t happen in reality, with laws of physics that follow no known law in our existence. Imagine a species that’d didn’t really get it, say they’re more practical and less inclined to whimsy, a real no nonsense type of aliens.

Alien: human what are you doing?

Human: I’m thinking

Alien: about what?

Human: how a dragon could hoard so much gold it fills a mountain

Alien: …is that a normal occurrence on your world?

Human: what? No, I’m writing short stories for November. It’s a fictional creature, they don’t exist on earth. Think those big reptilian things on Trigor 7 and you’d be close tho, except they have wings and breath fire

Alien: that is inherently worse, I would not like to think about that at all ever again. Why would you want to inflict such a terrible idea of another sentient entity?

Human: I mean…mostly for fun

Alien: …deathworlders *shakes head and sighs*

#humans are space oddities #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #humans are deathworlders #humans are strange #humans are insane #humans are space fae

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urbanqhoul · 6 months ago

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OUR MUSICIANS OC GUYS AND GALS AND NONBINARY PALS~ He's technically canon so ya might see em in the background at some point but that wont be for a good while u3u

Sooooo as a lot of you know I write a bunch of music for @urbanqhoul for Whimsy’s REM World! I decided to make an oc for his silly little world and because I’m a basic bitch I made a musical fella named Coda.

I like to imagine they are offscreen making all of the music for Whimsy and Angel’s shenanigans uwu

Ignore the question marks, they aren’t important :)

#rebaggle #whimsy’s rem world #HI DOODLE I LOVE YOU TOO<3 #Really love seeing all the dream tripper oc's #i wanna make a lil thing for reference for info on em but atm that might give away too much of future story stuff #so for now I'll just say they can be anything usually leaning towards object heads u3u #most have limited shape shifting like whimsy n angel and lil tiny sprite versions of themselves which can take a bunch of diff forms #thats all for now one day i'll do a short explaining em thoroughly but we gotta wait a bit for that u3o #dream tripper oc

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hoshifighting · 9 months ago

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Anklet Adorned

Preview: "You like that, don't you?" he says, his voice dripping with arrogance as he resumes his relentless pace. "You like it when I fuck you so hard that even your anklet can't stay quiet." he refers to the charms from the anklet he made for you, making little noises continuously synchronized with his thrusts.

Warnings: Smut, hard slutty smutty hard awesome sex, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, squirting, degradation, praising, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, fingering, messy sex, sloppy, chocking, crying, aftercare, doggy style and etc.

Word Count: 3.7k

This smut was created through a request, thank you anon, I LOVED writing this one! (click here to be sent to the request)

Joshua, with his deft fingers and boundless imagination, had a passion for crafting bracelets. Be it beads or strings, he could weave magic with his hands, creating intricate designs that sparkled with personality.

Every day, Joshua would surprise you with a new bracelet, each one a unique masterpiece that told a story. He'd fill you with joy as he slipped it onto your wrist, his eyes gleaming with pride and love. From vibrant colors to delicate patterns, each bracelet was a reflection of his affection for you.

What made Joshua's gesture even more endearing was his knack for matching the bracelets to your outfits. No matter how last-minute your wardrobe choices were, he always managed to craft a bracelet that perfectly complemented your look. His dedication and attention to detail never ceased to amaze you.

One Friday evening, as you curled up on the couch watching a movie, Joshua sat beside you, his fingers busy at work with his latest bracelet creation. You watched him intently, admiring his skill and dedication as he meticulously threaded beads together, lost in his own little world of creativity.

But then, just when you least expected it, Joshua leaned over and gently slipped something around your ankle. Startled, you looked down to see a delicate anklet adorned with an array of pretty charms dangling from it. Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected surprise.

"Surprise," Joshua whispered, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he admired his handiwork.

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a rush of warmth flood your heart. The anklet was exquisite, a perfect blend of elegance and whimsy, just like Joshua himself. Each charm seemed to hold a story of its own, and you couldn't wait to hear the tale behind this new creation.

Joshua adored the moments when your legs rested gently on his lap, your smooth skin inviting his touch. With tender affection, he would run his fingers along the length of your legs, reveling in the sensation of your warmth beneath his fingertips. But what captivated him most was the anklet adorning your ankle, its delicate charms dancing playfully against your skin.

As your legs lay draped across his lap, Joshua found himself mesmerized by the contrast of the anklet against your skin tone. The intricate charms seemed to come alive with each movement, casting dappled shadows across your legs as they swayed gently to the rhythm of your breathing.

"So, what do you want to do tonight, babe?" You ask.

"Hmm, I can think of a few ideas." Joshua trails his fingers along the curve of your thigh. "Well, we could keep watching this movie..." his hand ventures higher, teasingly brushing against the hem of your shorts, making you shiver at the touch, biting your lip.

"Or we could find something... more entertaining." you suggest, brushing your thighs together sensually, immediately capturing his attention.

A slow grin spreads across Joshua's lips as he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours. "I like the sound of that," he murmurs huskily, grabbing your thighs harder.

You find yourself lost in the moment, your breath catching in your throat as Joshua's lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue dances against yours, igniting a fiery passion that courses through your veins.

Before you realize it, Joshua is already on top of you, his weight pressing you into the soft cushions of the couch. With a gentle yet firm touch, he guides your legs to wrap around his waist, drawing you closer to him in a fervent embrace.

His hand finds its way to your throat, applying a slight pressure that sends shivers down your spine. It's a delicate balance of pleasure and restraint, a silent communication of lust between the two of you.

As you melt into his touch, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating sensation of his lips on yours and his hand on your throat, you feel a surge of desire coursing through your body.

Desperately, your hands roam over the hems of Joshua's clothing, driven by a need to feel every inch of his skin against yours. With eager fingers, you fumble with buttons and zippers, determined to strip away any barrier between you and Joshua.

Joshua chuckles at your needy antics, his eyes alight with amusement and desire as he watches you. Sensing your urgency, he reaches behind him, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift motion.

The sight of his toned torso, bathed in the soft glow of the room, steals your breath away. Muscles ripple beneath smooth skin, evidence of his strength and vitality. You drink in the sight hungrily, your heart racing with anticipation as you marvel at the beauty before you.

With a low grow, Joshua leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hands roam over your body, as he undresses you with skillful hands. Garment after garment falls away, discarded to the floor in a heap of forgotten fabric.

Lowering his head to meet your dripping pussy, until his gaze meets yours, Joshua captures the expression of excitement in your eyes. He latches his mouth onto your cunt, and you melt on the cushions.

As Joshua's warm mouth works its magic on your cunt, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, you can't help but surrender to the sensations washing over you. With each flick of his tongue and gentle suckle on your clit, he brings you to the brink of ecstasy, coaxing soft moans of pleasure from your lips.

Driven by an insatiable hunger, you instinctively wrap your legs around his head, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the rapture of his touch. The charms of your anklet sway rhythmically against his back and he moans, as he feels the weight of your legs around him, Joshua's excitement grows, fueling his desire to please you even more. With a renewed sense of urgency, he redoubles his efforts.

His tongue slipped inside of your cunt, while he sucked you sloppy, you can feel the slick heat of your arousal dripping down your thighs.

As you feel the impending rush of your orgasm building to its peak, Joshua suddenly pulls his mouth away, leaving you panting and desperate for release. Your legs tremble around nothing, aching for the touch that was just tantalizingly close.

You whine in frustration, your body still thrumming with the echoes of pleasure, craving the exquisite release that eludes you. With a glistening chin and a cocky smirk, Joshua looks down at you, reveling in the sight of your desperate desire.

In moments like this, his softness gives way to a confident dominance, his cockiness taking charge as he watches you squirm and beg for more. He loves to see you in this state, your cries and pleads only fueling his desire to push you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.

With a teasing glint in his eyes, Joshua leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers words of encouragement and promises of pleasure yet to come.

"You're so close, aren't you, babe?"

"S-so close!" You protest, your voice tinged with need.

"That's the point," Joshua counters, his tone dripping with confidence. "I want to make you beg for it."

You groan, the ache between your legs growing more intense with each passing second. "Please," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joshua's smirk widens, his gaze darkening with desire as he watches you squirm beneath him. "That's it, baby," he murmurs, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin. "Beg for me."

You bite your lip, your body trembling with anticipation. "Please," you whisper again, your voice thick with desire. "I need you."

With a satisfied grin, Joshua leans in close, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing kiss. "I know you do," he whispers huskily. "And I'm going to make you feel so good."

"Don't stop now Josh, please…"

Joshua's smirk widens, his confidence palpable as he revels in your neediness. "Oh, I won't stop, sweetheart," he murmurs, his tone dripping with promise. "Tell me how badly you want to come."

You swallow hard, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and arousal at his command. "I want it so bad," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please, Joshua, I need to come."

"That's better," he says, his hand trailing teasingly along your thigh. "But not yet. I want to see you beg a little more."

You whine in frustration, but there's no denying the thrill that courses through you at his words. Despite the ache of desire that burns within you, you find yourself craving his dominance, eager to submit to his every whim.

With a wicked gleam in his eyes, Joshua leans in close, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizing kiss. "You're so beautiful when you beg, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "I could watch you squirm all night."

Joshua tilts his head, his gaze fixed on the globs of arousal dripping from you. There's a hunger in his eyes, with a slow, deliberate movement, he reaches out, his fingers trailing through the slick wetness between your folds. You shiver at his touch, a low moan escaping your lips as he explores your arousal with a confident, knowing touch.

"You're so wet for me…" Despite the embarrassment that floods your cheeks, there's no denying the raw, primal thrill that courses through you at the sight of Joshua's arousal.

With a confident smirk, he leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. "You like it when I make you this wet, don't you?" he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "You can't get enough of me, can you?"

As you lie there, too aroused to think, Joshua takes control with a firm yet gentle hand. With a deft movement, he turns you around, pressing your chest against the couch while raising your ass up for him to see. You whimper at the sudden change in position, your body trembling with anticipation and need.

"Look at you," he murmurs softly, his voice laced with desire and dominance. "All spread out for me like a good little slut."

His words cut through the haze of desire, sending a shiver down your spine as you feel a rush of heat flood your cheeks. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal overwhelming your senses.

But even as you cry, you can't help but feel a sense of surrender wash over you, knowing that in this moment, Joshua's dominance is all-consuming. His soft degradation only serves to heighten your arousal, the delicate balance of pleasure and pain driving you to the edge of ecstasy.

As your tears wet the fabric of the couch beneath you, Joshua's expression softens, a hint of tenderness in his eyes as he coos at you. "That's it, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice gentle against your ear. "Let it all out for me. You know I love it when you're so responsive."

As Joshua's tip teases your entrance, you can feel your core ache with longing, craving his touch with an intensity that consumes you. Every teasing brush against your slick folds sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, heightening your arousal to dizzying heights.

His words send a shiver down your spine, your core fluttering in anticipation as you feel him slowly entering you. The sensation of him stretching you open, inch by delicious inch, is almost too much to bear, but you revel in the exquisite pleasure that courses through your veins.

With each slow, deliberate thrust, Joshua pushes deeper into you, his cock filling you completely as you cling to the couch beneath you, lost in a haze of ecstasy. Your walls clench around him, eager to be filled with every inch of his length as you surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure.

As Joshua fills you completely, you're so tight around him that he can hardly move, every inch of his length enveloped by the delicious warmth of your core. Joshua almost loses himself in the sensation, his breath hitching at the sheer intensity of your grip. Your eyes roll back in ecstasy, a sight that only serves to fuel his desire further.

"You're so tight, baby," he murmurs, his voice laced with awe and desire as he continues to move within you. "I can barely move... but I love it. I love how you grip me, how you take me so eagerly."

With a hard thrust, Joshua elicits a little sound from you, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he drives into you with unbridled force. But it's not just your reaction that catches his attention—it's the tinkling sound of the anklet adorning your ankle, its charms dancing. With each powerful thrust, the anklet chimes, a sweet melody that fills the room with the rhythm of your pleasure.

"Hmm, what's this?" Joshua muses, his cocky smirk widening as he hears the anklet chime with each of his powerful thrusts. "You like that, don't you?" he says, his voice dripping with arrogance as he resumes his relentless pace. "You like it when I fuck you so hard that even your anklet can't stay quiet."

You can only moan in response, your body writhing beneath him as he continues to slam into you, hitting your g'spot with precision each time. The combination of his cocky demeanor and the relentless stimulation has you teetering on the edge of ecstasy, your moans of pleasure growing louder with each passing moment.

As the knot tightens in your stomach, signaling the imminent arrival of your climax, Joshua senses the impending release building within you. With each thrust, he can feel the tension mounting, your body quivering with the promise of ecstasy.

He glances down, his eyes widening as he notices the telltale sign of your impending orgasm—a white ring forming at the base of his cock where it meets your slick heat. It's a visual confirmation of your impending release, a signal that drives him to push you even further towards the edge.

"I can feel you getting close, baby," Joshua murmurs, his voice husky with desire as he continues to pound into you. "I want you to come for me. I want to feel you clenching around me as you lose yourself in pleasure."

And then, with a guttural cry of release, it happens—the knot in your stomach unravels, sending shockwaves of pleasure cascading through your body. Your walls clench around Joshua's cock, milking him for all he's worth as you ride out the waves of your climax.

With a primal hunger still burning in his eyes, Joshua shifts positions, laying you gently on your back. You gasp as the change in position heightens your anticipation, your body tingling with excitement as you await his next move.

Licking three of his fingers, Joshua smirks down at you before slowly sinking them inside of you. The sensation is electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you arch your back in response to the overwhelming sensitivity.

You moan softly as his fingers delve deeper, filling you completely and stretching you to your limits. The wet sounds of your arousal fill the air, mingling with the rhythmic swaying of the anklet adorning your ankle.

Your breath catches in your throat as Joshua curls all three of his fingers inside you, hitting just the right spot that sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. With a high-pitched moan escaping your lips, you arch your back, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that threatens to consume you.

Joshua smirks triumphantly, his eyes alight with satisfaction as he watches you writhe beneath him, lost in a whirlwind of pleasure. He knows exactly how to push all your buttons, how to drive you wild with need, and he revels in the power he holds over you in this moment.

With one final, powerful thrust of his fingers, Joshua abuses your g'spot relentlessly, driving you over the edge into an explosive climax. You scream in ecstasy as the overwhelming pleasure crashes over you, your body convulsing with the force of your release.

In an uncontrollable surge of pleasure, you squirt, your essence spraying out onto Joshua and the couch beneath you. The sensation is electrifying, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through every fiber of your being as you surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming bliss.

Joshua's eyes widen in surprise and delight as he feels you drenching him with your arousal. He revels in the feeling of your release, knowing that he's the one who pushed you to such dizzying heights of pleasure.

As Joshua feels the arousal surging through him at the sight of you squirting, a wicked idea forms in his mind. He can't help but wonder if you could do it again, this time around his cock. With a primal hunger burning in his eyes, he wastes no time in sliding his length inside you once more.

But as you feel him filling you effortlessly once again, you can't help but cry out, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation. "I-I can't take it," you whimper, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggle to accommodate his size.

But Joshua is quick to reassure you, his voice soft but commanding. "Yes, you can, baby," he murmurs, his hands gentle yet firm as he guides you through the discomfort. "You can take it. Trust me."

Joshua's voice is a husky whisper as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You feel so good, baby," he murmurs, his words sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. "I can feel you stretching open for me again, taking me so eagerly."

Despite the mess of white cream coating your pussy, Joshua's cock throbs inside you, pulsing with desire as he continues to drive himself deeper into your clenching warmth. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensation.

With each movement, the tightness of your grip around him only serves to heighten Joshua's arousal, driving him to push you even further towards the edge of ecstasy. He revels in the feeling of your slick walls clenching around him, milking him for all he's worth as you both surrender yourselves completely to the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

As the intensity of your pleasure peaks, your nails dig deliciously into Joshua's back, leaving marks of desire in their wake. His cock buried deep inside your cunt, you feel every inch of him pulsating with need, driving you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy.

With each thrust, the anklet around your ankle sounds ever louder, a symphony of pleasure that fills the room as you ride the waves of your climax. Joshua can only moan in response, his own desire reaching a fever pitch as he feels you tightening around him, your walls gripping him with a desperate hunger.

Feeling the spray of your arousal drenching him and the couch beneath you, Joshua's cock throbs with anticipation, the sensation only serving to heighten his arousal. He can't help but groan in pleasure as he feels you cumming around him again.

Your throat is already sore from the screams of ecstasy that have torn from your lips, your hair clinging to your face in sweaty tendrils as you ride out the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

With a guttural groan, Joshua releases himself inside of you, his hot seed filling you completely and adding to the mess already coating your pussy. The sensation of him pulsating within you sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body, driving you to the brink of oblivion once more, your vision turning completely black.

As your vision slowly returns, you find yourself enveloped in soft covers, the lingering haze of pleasure still clouding your mind. Confusion washes over you as you take in your surroundings, realizing that you're now clean and showered, the evidence of your passionate encounter with Joshua washed away.

Just as you begin to wonder how it all happened, Joshua appears suddenly in the doorway of the bedroom, a cloth draped casually over his shoulder. His eyes light up with a warm smile as he takes in the sight of you, peaceful and serene in the aftermath of sex.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," he says with a gentle smile, crossing the room to sit beside you on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

You blink up at him, still trying to process everything that happened. "I... I don't know," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "What happened? How did I get here?"

Joshua's smile widens as he reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "I took care of you," he explains softly. "After... everything that happened, I wanted to make sure you were okay. So I cleaned you up, gave you a shower, and tucked you into bed."

You smile gratefully at Joshua, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at his tender care. "Thank you for taking care of me," you say softly, your voice filled with appreciation.

Joshua returns your smile, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Of course, baby," he replies, his voice gentle. "I'll always be here for you."

Then, he adds with a chuckle, "Oh, and I took care of the couch too. It's all clean now."

Your smile falters for a moment as you gasp, a wave of mortification washing over you as you realize what he's referring to. For a moment, you had forgotten about the mess you made on the couch in the heat of passion.

"Oh no," you exclaim, feeling embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot..."

You feel a rush of relief flood through you as Joshua cuts you off with a reassuring smile, his warm hand squeezing yours gently. "It's all okay," he reassures you, his voice filled with understanding and love.

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling grateful for his understanding and support. "Thank you," you murmur, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you relax into his comforting embrace.

But then, Joshua's words catch you off guard, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he adds, "And you know what?" he adds, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You looked so hot while you squirted."

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