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buglife · 3 years

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Shh I got inspired by those doodles I did of Monomon and sick bby Quirrel so I wrote a ficlet.

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It had been a few months since Monomon found a tiny pip rolling around the trash in the City of Tears. She thought at first that it was some sort of ball that some child had lost. Then it sneezed, which scared the hell out of her. She had looked closer and she was surprised to see a nearly transparent pip crawling around the garbage. The poor thing was dented up and was attempting to eat a discarded cloak. When he saw her, he hissed and curled up into a ball, thinking that if he couldn’t see her, than she couldn’t see him. She had picked him up, this little shivering ball of tenacity, and took him with her.

One thing lead to another and she had found herself as an adoptive mother to a baby isopod. The doctor she took him too told her that he shouldn’t even be out of the pouch, let alone being all by himself. Either he was abandoned or something unfortunate happened to his mother, and having the guard investigate gave her no answers. She decided that it was probably going to be a mystery forever, and decided to focus her energy on raising her newly acquired son.

She had named him Quirrel, after an old philosopher who often wrote about the beauty of the world. She somehow knew he’d be able to see the world for the beautiful thing as it is and not be focused on the doom and gloom of it all. She was a scientist, so of course she could find beauty in even the smallest micro-organism and all the way to the desolate wastes. Something told her he’d see it too.

Her high hopes proved to be true, as he turned out to be a rather clever little pip. He was still far too young for speech, or even to be roaming about by himself, so she decided to conduct a little experiment. Sign language wasn’t uncommon in Hallownest, but most non-hindered bugs tended to learn it after they have mastered speech and not before. What if she taught Quirrel, a little pip, some sign language now?

Her experiment bore fruit, and he learned some signs quickly. It was only a few words now that were simple to sign. He was still a baby and lacked the fine motor control for the more complex signs, but he could at least tell her when he was hungry or if he wanted something. She imagined that this experiment could do a lot of good in the end.

What concerned her however, was the lack of actual noise he made.

Quirrel was an incredibly quiet baby at he beginning. He simply refused to make much noise at all, and when he did, he flinched as though expecting to be punished for it. It had taken weeks of positive reinforcement before he started making the noises a little pip was expected to be making. It was very endearing to see him babbling and having her students babble back at him. His tiny eyes would light up and he’d wiggle in excitement before continuing the ‘conversation’. Even with all the encouragements from both her and her students, he still preferred to be quiet, napping through most of the day whilst in her pip pocket. That was normal for an isopod this young, but it was still concerning that he felt that he had to stay quiet.

That changed early one morning when he started to audibly fuss. Usually he’d just try to escape when bored, writhing about and trying to climb out of the pocket. But today, at the most ungodly early hour, he was making noises, squeaking and hissing in what seemed to be discomfort. Monomon had at first though he was hungry, but he outright refused his usual leaf paste. She tried tiktik bits, sliced fruit, and even a cookie, but he refused it all and grew increasingly more frustrated with each rejected food item.

She had tried asking him to tell her what was wrong through sign language, but he was either unwilling or unable to bother with it.

Finally he had enough, and began to wail, loudly. She had never heard him make a noise that loud before and it startled her enough to spill the juice she was trying to tempt him with all over herself. He only stopped loud enough to take a breath before belting out another heaving cry, little eyes overflowing with tears as he made his discomfort known.

“Shhhh….shhhh...it’s okay, my little one.” She attempted to try and comfort him, but he just wailed louder.

Concerned, she picked him up and tucked him under her chin, trying to soothe the sobbing pillbug, when she noticed what could be causing all this pain. His forehead was burning hot, and he was faintly shivering as he bawled into her veil. It wasn’t hard to figure out that her pip was ill and she plucked him out from her embrace to take a better look at him.

There were bags under his eyes and his face was tinged blue with heat. He had his mandibles open wide enough when crying that she can see some swelling in the back of his throat. She gently palpitated his belly and could feel the organs within twist and with every movement he cried harder. So, he was nauseous, which made sense on why he would refuse a cookie. Fever, chills, sore throat, most likely he picked something up from one of the students. She mentally kicked herself, she should have made her students wash up before picking him up as they liked to do. She should have not allowed them to give him little smooches and hugs. She should have not brought him with her at all when among the masses of students and archivists that swarmed about her. But she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him all alone, not after what he’d been through.

The fact of the matter is that no amount of hindsight was going to change the fact that Quirrel caught something and was currently not having a very good time about it. His wails were starting to sound raspy and wet, no doubt that his sinuses were starting to be affected too. The sheer amount of screaming wasn’t helping matters and her thoughts raced on what she should do.

“Modern Manca Medicine, Chapter Seven, pages nine through ten,” She recited out loud as she recalled one of the many books she absorbed after taking Quirrel in, “Common treatment options for sickly manca and juvenile pillbugs include swaddling and standard fever reduction tactics for most invertebrates. Hrm... Grubs and You: A New Mother’s Guide, Chapter Nine, page twelve. When a child refuses to eat, honey is a suitable way to provide needed nutrition and slip in medication without upsetting the stomach. Hrm... that would work, wouldn’t it?”

Quirrel continued his crying, rapidly losing his voice, and she brushed a kiss on the top of his head to comfort him. His antenna twitched and his sobbing died down just a teensy bit, but it was enough for her to notice. He must have smelled her and realized she was going to help him, his eyes were too full of tears to be much use to him at the moment. She grabbed a spare blanket and wrapped him up tightly to deal with the shivers. He instantly stopped wriggling so hard and she managed to slip him back into the pip pocket without much incident.

Next, a cool cloth was needed. She needed to bring down his fever so he could rest. That wasn’t too hard to find. She ended up tying the wet cloth on his head like you would a kerchief, pinning down his antenna so they can cool down as well. She was quite happy to find that after she did that, he had stopped his wailing. He was still making noises of discomfort, squeaking and hiccupping, but he wasn’t outright screaming anymore. Her auditory organs was most happy with that turn of events for sure.

“Herbal Remedies for the Modern Bug, Chapter two, pages one through twenty.” She floated quickly to her herb cabinet, selecting dried bundles here and there. Lemon balm for fever, mint and ginger for his stomach, marshmallow root for his throat, maybe licorice root too? Lavender and Chamomile to help him sleep so he can focus on getting better, yes, that should do it. She mentally ran through the list, using a free set of tentacles to rock Quirrel gently. For now he seemed content to stay in his pocket, squeaking here and there as he braved through his illness. Poor little pip...she resolved to give him extra cookies once he felt well enough to eat them.

She put a kettle to boil and threw her selected herbs inside to seep and condense. She would have used her alchemical equipment to do this faster, but she didn’t feel like taking him downstairs where there would be students and workers showing up. When Quirrel started fussing again, she replaced his now warm cloth with a freshly cooled one, and he quieted down again.

Finally, the kettle had boiled enough and she strained the liquid into a bowl. Next, she took out a jar of honey and began the delicate procedure of making medicine that won’t be instantly spat out by a fussy grub. She calculated that a 2:1 ratio should work the best as he would be less likely to spit up something that tasted relatively good. Eventually, she mixed up a small cup full of her makeshift medicine and retrieved a clean eyedropper. Calculating body weight, she drew up half a measure, and with that finished she went to attempt to give it to Quirrel.

He, of course, put up a fuss, and began screaming again. She understood why, he wasn’t feeling well and his belly was hurting. The last thing he would want right now was something to go down into said hurting belly and she was not surprised when he tried to bite her a few times. Unfortunately for him, Isopods are not known for being able to do much more than nibble. Using that to her advantage, she let him latch on to the end of one of her tentacles, letting him get nice and occupied, and then shoved the end of the eyedropper into the corner of his mouth. The medicine was squirted down his throat before he could do anything to stop it and for that he bit her harder. He even hissed a little and it would be adorable if he wasn’t feeling so poorly.

He let go to scream again, but then stopped and stuck out his tongue. He was obviously tasting the honey now, and he loved honey. Monomon sighed in relief, at least next time she gave him a dose she wouldn’t get bit for her troubles. He opened his mouth a couple times and blinked, looking up at her face. He lifted up his hands and wiggled them.

“Abah?” He sniffled, trying to clear his throat and sinus.

“Hrm, what do you want, my little scholar?” She was pleased to not longer see him screaming. “Use your hand words.”

He made two fists and bumped them together. <”more,”> he signed.

“Of course, you can have more honey. I think you deserve it, after putting up with all that.”

He seemed happy with the idea, and she was able to give him another teaspoon of honey before he signed ‘done’ at her. His little belly could only take so much now and she took the time to wipe his face clean. He fussed at the cleaning, but yawned once she finished. Clearly the medicine was starting to work, his breathing was better and feeling his gut showed that it was settling down. She gave him a nuzzle and a kiss and tucked him back into his pip pocket. He was asleep nearly instantly and she gently strapped the pocket to herself once more.

Once he was secure she floated downstairs and was once again, swept up into the chaos of the Archives. Someone had accidentally released the charged lumaflies and they were setting books on fire.

Thankfully, Quirrel slept through the whole thing.

#hollow knight #fanfiction #my writing #monomon the teacher #quirrel #sickfic #baby quirrel #tiny scholar au #terra lumina #monomom #my niece learned some sign language when she was a toddler and it really helped with communication #she could sign if she wasn't feeling good or if she was tired #so here's how quirrel started off fluent in sign lanquage #hurt/comfort #i think you can call this hurt comfort?

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shadowofthelamp · 3 years

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Partners

Swap Zim and Dib decide to work together. Technically a direct sequel to this thing that was posted a year and a half ago. Like, comments, and reblogs all super appreciated!

Wordcount: 1800

Warnings: Mentions of Dib experimenting on people, I guess?

Zim woke up strapped to a lab table that smelled so strongly of blood that he almost threw up. (Which was quite an accomplishment, considering it wasn’t like Zim was a stranger to animal test subjects, or even getting himself injured.) It took him a few seconds to remember why he was strapped to a bloody lab table, but hearing the familiar voice frantically muttering next to him helped.

“Come on, I need to kill him, but it’s Zim, I like Zim, I don’t want to kill him, but he’s a threat to the mission, I can’t upset my Tallest or the Professor, but maybe I could just wipe his memory...”

That voice was Dib. Dib, the stalker who had turned out to be a real live alien. Dib, the kid (was he a kid?) who must have strapped him to a table.

_____

It had started out pretty easy- he’d already known where Dib lived from the one time Dib had dragged him there when they’d both gotten caught in an explosion and he’d wanted to help patch Zim up. All Zim had to do was use a taser to short out the electric fence and some hacking to get in the front door once he found the security frequency they were using.

It was child’s play, although it wasn’t like it would be easy for anybody else. Zim was special. He was always special, always better than everyone else. Dib had seen that. As annoying as he got at times, Zim was glad that at least he was annoying because he liked Zim.

However, things had started to go south as soon as he got inside the front door. There was a chubby little pig perched right next to it, and it sniffed at him before its eyes lit up bright red.

“STATE YOUR BUSINESS.”

“You talk?” It looked like a regular pig to him, usually talking animals were a lot clunkier and more robotic-looking.

“IRRELEVANT. STATE YOUR BUSINESS, HUMAN.”

“Seeing Dib.”

“NONE MAY PASS.” The pig jolted up on two legs, and Zim noticed a small zipper on its belly only moments before the pig grasped at it, yanking it down and ripping off its- costume? It didn’t look like any fabric Zim had ever seen- to reveal a silvery robot with burning red eyes. A dozen weapons, mostly guns and knives, popped out from its head, and Zim couldn’t bite back a yelp as he fumbled in his backpack for his own laser gun.

“I know how to use this thing, you know!”

“ANY THREAT TO THE MISSION AND TO MASTER GAZ MUST BE ELIMINATED.”

Zim squeezed the trigger, but the robot- okay, it moved way too fast for a robot that size, Zim’s tended to blow up if they tried any fancy acrobatics, but this one flipped out of the way, his laser blasting a hole in the wallpaper instead.

He took half a second to breathe before squeezing the trigger again and swinging it around, burning a line through the wall and couch before hitting the robot and getting a metallic shriek out of it as it lunged for him, pinning him down by the shoulders and making him drop his laser.

“ELIMINATED. ELIMINATED. ELMINATED.”

“Release Zim!” Zim kicked up and heard a metallic crack before he rolled to the side, thankful for those self-defense classes he’d taken as the robot plunged about fifteen knives into the spot where his head had been half a second ago. The red eyes narrowed at him before activating rockets in its feet, and Zim ducked as it swung with a giant mallet from its head. He dropped to the floor, fumbling for the laser and swinging it around to take another shot at the thing.

The gun managed to blast one of the arms off, but that sure as hell made it mad considering he didn’t have time to dodge the second swing of the mallet. He saw stars for half a second before there was nothing at all.

_____

“Dib,” Zim croaked, head feeling rather like it was full of rats that had thrown a dance party inside his skull and left a mess all over the cerebral cortex.

“But this is a perfect opportunity for some experiments, you wanted that, didn’t you Dib- huh?” Dib looked up from muttering to himself.

Or rather, the alien did. It was still wearing Dib’s trademark goggles that looked heavy enough to weigh his head down with lenses too dark to see anything underneath, but its skin was an even darker shade of green, and it had a pair of twitchy antennae. No nose, no ears, and it had donned a full-on labcoat that was soaked in a whole lot of red and black stains. He’d always kind of figured aliens were real somewhere out there, but seeing it... it was like reality had tilted a little to the left. There were more pressing matters than a crisis about aliens existing anyhow, and Zim was pretty good at repressing things he didn’t like.

It sounded like Dib, though, and the way it fussed with its hands was the same with two fingers and one thumb on each, same as Dib. ‘Machine accident’, his ass.

“You’re awake?”

“Y-yes, I’m awake. Could you let me go?” His voice came out sickly-sweet and polite, like he was talking to the counselor again to convince her that he was fine.

Dib-alien shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I really would like to, but you know too much. Protocol is pretty clear- dispose of or brainwash all witnesses when the planet is marked for conquest. But brainwashing knocks out a lot of the intelligence, and that would be such a waste, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it would,” Zim agreed. “So let me off with a warning?”

Dib folded his arms. “Nope. But the fact that you actually held your own against a SIR unit for a full minute as a smeet- and one that I modified to be extra aggressive- just tells me that you’re still useful as a specimen.”

“Hey, I’m not a- a- smeeb!”

“Smeet, child, baby, whatever term it is you humans use.” Dib waved a dismissive hand, stalking closer and looming over Zim. His eyes were a deep, electric blue like an unsucked sour candy, and Zim squirmed under the restraints. “That table is where most of my previous experiments died, and I don’t want you to just be number thirty-six, you know?”

“Thirty-six? Thirty-six what?”

“Oh, this and that. Humans are good for experiments, they’re very determined to survive so you don’t have to use as many.”

“Well, so is Zim.” Zim tried to twist away, but something metallic erupted from Dib’s backpack like a dozen sharp insectoid legs, propelling him up onto the lab table before he dropped directly on Zim’s chest, driving the wind out of him.

“I’m well aware. You’re already a survivor, aren’t you?” He ticked off on his fingers, alien butt shifting on top of Zim a bit to get comfortable. “Barely any parental supervision, yet you create machines and work on biological experiments that are beyond the capability of most humans three times your age. You almost get blown up often and yet walk away from it. You’re an anomaly.” Dib leaned closer, and Zim could taste the sugar on his breath. “I like anomalies.”

Zim attempted to buck Dib off to no avail as he continued. “Find the exception and you’ll have found the thing of most interest, the thing that makes or breaks a species. The outlier the proves the rule, and you’re a human that behaves like an irken, showing just how far ahead of the rest of your species you are. According to my research, they’re going to burn when Gaz decides what to do with this place if they don’t destroy each other before she gets around to it, but I just might keep you as a pet.”

“Zim is no pet!” Even with little oxygen left in his lungs, Zim shouted, snarling up at Dib with his lip curled. “Earth may be terrible, but it’s mine, so back off!”

“Oh? So you agree that Earth is terrible?” Dib tilted his head to the side, one of those long antennae twitching, and Zim narrowed his eyes.

“You’re not very good at research, are you? Of course it is! But it’s mine, and I don’t want any buggy alien getting his sticky hands all over it!”

“It’s not exactly up to me,” Dib replied, hearing the wheeze in Zim’s voice and sliding off his chest to the table itself, and Zim sucked in a deep breath, feeling the air reinflate his squashed lungs. “Gaz is the one who’s actually invading, I’m just here to study the planet in case there’s anything useful. You’re a pre-contact planet, or at least that’s what’s logged, so this place is a treasure trove of undiscovered species. I’m trying to convince Gaz to at least set up a preserve so I can study some of them once she’s done with the invasion.”

“Are you even listening to me? I told you to bug off! Leave me and Earth alone!”

“I’m listening, but I told you, it’s not my call. Even if it was... you said it yourself, Earth is terrible. It would be far more useful to the Empire as a sugar-harvesting operation, or a zoo, or something else. Humans don’t really deserve to be in charge, they’re just going to blow themselves up eventually.” Dib shrugged.

“If I was in charge, you wouldn’t say that,” Zim muttered, and Dib’s antenna twitched again.

“What did you say?”

“I said, if I was in charge, you wouldn’t say that. I bet if everybody listened to me, you’d take that back. I’m a human and I know I could fix everything.”

Dib stared at him for a solid ten seconds, and Zim wasn’t sure he hadn’t spontaneously kicked the bucket. Did aliens do that? “You’re a genius. You’re a genius!”

“Of course I am, but why?”

Dib smacked his hands on Zim’s cheeks, squishing his mouth in like a goldfish. “Of course, how didn’t I see it before? Your potential is stifled by the fact that you only have access to tools that you create, but if we worked together, you could help us because you have intimate knowledge of humanity, and I could help you by giving you limited access to my technology! We could be lab partners- I wouldn’t have to kill you, and you can help reshape your species for a better future!”

Zim blinked. “Does this mean you aren’t going to do horrible experiments on me?”

“I can’t promise that, but I’m not going to kill you right now.”

“Good enough for me!” Zim tried to shake Dib’s hand, before realizing that he was still restrained to the table. Dib leaned over, hitting a button just next to Zim’s head, and the restraints popped off. Zim rubbed his wrists for a moment as he sat up, mind still whirling.

This was a chance to fix everything, to make things the way that they should be.

“So, you won’t kill all humans, and you’ll give me access to cool tech.”

“I’ll consider your input on that, and I’ll give you access to cool tech.” Dib nodded, taking Zim’s hand, and a slow grin spread across Zim’s face.

“Then lead the way, Dib-thing.”

#aip swap au #invader zim #screw it main tag for once #iz blogging #iz #aip #shadow writes stuff

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cialbi · 3 years

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Boy with Hope: Lavender - Chapter Three

Summary: Severely depressed and addicted to alcohol, you had given up entirely on life. Your passion was gone, your friends had left you and you found yourself completely alone. As you closed your eyes for the last time, the smell of lavender wafted through your nose and a boy with purple wings appeared above you.

Genre: Angst, Romance, Fantasy

Pairings: Angel Hoseok x Reader

Warnings: Language, Depression, Alcoholism, Future Smut

⤎Previous

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The bell over the door of Martin’s Liquor Store jingled softly when you stepped inside, your leg trailing a few inches behind the other as you limped on your injured knee.

All that running like a speed-demon had really taken it out of you, so you gave yourself a second to catch your breath. Your knee was almost numb with pain, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, you were feeling the repercussions in full. The withdrawal symptoms were making you woozy, and you found it hard to keep your focus as you skimmed the shop from left to right.

It smelled steryl, like someone had washed the floors with peroxide, and the blinding white of the fluorescent lights reminded you of the long hallways of a hospital. The space was filled with rows upon rows of alcohol that lined tall vinyl shelves, and the white concrete walls were covered up in advertisement posters for different kinds of brand name booze. Aside from the handful of red-aproned shopkeepers milling about the store, it was completely empty inside. They’d probably just opened.

Guess it was only you who shopped for alcohol at 8:00am in the morning.

The red-haired guy behind the counter looked up from his phone and shot you an odd look, eyes wandering up and down your filthy-clothed, barefoot body, and suddenly you felt very much in your role as the crazy alcoholic. You could only imagine how wild you appeared as you sweated in your soiled white-t and over-worn sweatpants. Smoothing your hair unhelpfully, you sent him a meek smile which he didn’t return. With a downward tug to your lips, you dismissed him quickly, pushing past his inquisitive stare and focused your attention on the task at hand.

You were here for one thing.

And that was not a fashion contest.

There wasn’t much time before those two cross-wearing loons caught up to you, so you knew you had to move fast. You swallowed, remembering the intent, predatory look in the other guys eyes. If he were the one to catch you, you had a feeling he wouldn’t be as nice as Hoseok, because Hoseok was at least a kind psychopath. The thought of what a scary psychopath might do to you made you concentrate.

Wine, wine, wine, where is it? Rocking on the balls of your feet, you scanned the aisles for your poison of choice: red wine.

There was something about red wine in particular that attracted you; perhaps it was the calming, musky smell, or the way it made you feel warm and giddy. Maybe it was the velvety texture on your tongue, or the brisk and tangy aftertaste it left in your mouth. Maybe it was the way your cheeks boiled in a delightful flush, burnishing the edges of life and enveloping you in a false sense of contentment.

Or maybe it was because, red wine was the drink that popped your alcohol cherry.

It was at a thanksgiving party where you had had your first taste. You had just turned eighteen, so your mom had allowed you to drink with the rest of the grownups that year, pouring you that half-glass of red wine that would be the start to your never-ending sob story. Every alcoholic had a vice and yours was the fruity red liquid that felt like hugs in your stomach.

Inhaling strongly, you could practically smell the scent of fermented grape.

Your throat itched with thirst.

A soft touch to your shoulder had you jump in your skin. You whirled around expecting to see Hoseok and his black-haired friend, but instead were met with the concerned, freckle-spattered face of one of the shop attendees. “Can I help you find something, ma’am?” He was the nice, helpful-sort of guy, maybe a little nerdy, but he had a comfortable look to his appearance that made him seem approachable.

“S-sorry…” You managed to stutter, averting your gaze to the clean tiled floor. “I’m looking for the red wine.”

The man pinched his lips together, examining you intently as if he were debating whether or not to accomplice you in your destructive mission. After a moment, he sighed and pointed to the back of the store at a laminated sign that read “WINE” hanging from the ceiling.

You thanked him quietly and limp-scurried down the aisles.

Their wine section was vast. Nearly two giant cases were lined with the more expensive bottles, and big wicker baskets were spread across the floor, filled to the top with the cheaper bottles. You usually went for the cheaper stuff; the bottles were bigger and they gave you a stronger buzz, so you knelt down besides the closest basket and picked up the first bottle you saw; Apothic Red Blend, only $9.47.

Sounds toxic.

Perfect.

As you began to stand and make your way to the register, you noticed something off about the bottle you chose. A tiny splotch towards the bottom swayed subtly from within, a few shades too dark compared to the crimson color of the wine. Knitting your brows, you scrunched back down and investigated, holding it close to your face as you squinted into the depth of red. There was something inside.

Squinting even harder, the bottle was practically touching your eyeball as you tried to figure out what it could be. What is that? A bit of cork maybe? It looked a little big to be a bit of cork. A grape, maybe?

You whirled the bottle, trying to get a better look at the little piece of something that was floating around inside. A coin-sized object swirled in circular motions amidst the rapids you created; it was shiny and brown like a giant coffee bean, perfectly ovular with two little... tails? No...wait... were those...?

Hairs?

Your heart began to pound against your chest. What the actual flip!? What kind of store sells booze with hairy grapes?

You looked even closer. No those aren’t hairs...

They’re fucking antenna!

With a screech, you threw the bottle from your hands and sent it crashing against the floor; glass smashed to smithereens and red liquid splattering across white tile.

It was a bug.

No, it was a fucking cockroach.

Your absolute worst fear.

Staring repulsively at it’s belly-up carcass, you wondered how in the hell a cockroach could have gotten inside a concealed wine bottle. It would have had to have gotten there before they corked the top, which begged the question of whether it could have fit through the tiny opening at all. And further matter, did cockroaches even like alcohol? They were disgusting creatures who ate absolutely anything, but this was a new one.

You gagged, creating some distance. Thank god it’s at least dead.

Shuddering, you reached for another bottle, ignoring the roused murmurs of the shopkeepers as they were no doubt wondering what had just happened. The situation maybe have looked bad, but in your defense, there shouldn’t be revolting creatures floating around in their products in the first place. You’d complain to them in a moment.

Reasserting your purpose for being here, grabbed another bottle from the basket. Your fingertips only just touched the second bottle before you shrieked, and threw that one as well. This time, not just one, but a whole stream of cockroaches flooded out from the shattered glass--some of their thin, icky legs still twitching with life. Falling back on your ass, you scooched away from the massive horde of insects. What the fuck was going on? Why are all these bottles filled with bugs?

Opening your mouth to call for help, a little tickle on your index finger caught your attention and you swallowed your words. Stomach dropping, you slowly rotated your neck to look down at your hand and whimpered. You did everything in your power to gulp down the screams that were crawling up your throat as you watched a monstrous-sized roach worm its way between your fingertips, its slimy-smooth antennas poking its way over your flesh.

Oh fuck no!!!

Like a bat out of hell, you flailed your arm to shake it off, using your other hand to rub frantic lines at your skin until it turned a raw pink. When it was finally off your person, you sighed a breath of relief, placing your palm over your chest, and exhaled slowly in attempts to appease your heightened pulse.

It’s gone now Y/N. Everything’s ok, everything’s ok.

It’s gone.

After a second, more tickling sensations began to creep up your legs, forcing you to look down at your feet.

You nearly puked chunks everywhere.

They were brown. Your legs were brown.

An icky, coackroachy-brown.

“EEEEEEEK OH MY GOD!” You squalled, kicking your feet up and smashing several more bottles from the shelves and wicker baskets.

They were so completely covered in cockroaches that you couldn’t even see the grey of the bottom half of your sweatpants anymore. Their intsy legs squirmed, crawling further and further up until they were nearly to your thigh. Desperately, you tried to brush them off, but they just kept appearing, continuing their charge up your legs and well past your hips. You tried and tried, shrieking like a banshee on crack, but there was too many of them to count!

Where the frackity-frick did all these mother-loving demons come from??

A meager chirp came from behind your ear, causing you to cease your distressed movements and turn your head to look at your shoulder. A lone roach had perched comfortably next to your neck, its stringy arms were crossed as it rubbed them together, signaling to its troops down below. Your scream pierced through the entire store as you began thrashing uncontrollably, dispelling bug after bug from your body, but it was no use.

“GET THEM OFF ME!” You cried, as tears of dread began to roll down your cheeks.

“Ma’am, are you ok?” A red-aproned chest with the liquor store's name appeared from above you. You couldn’t see his face, but assuming it was one of the shopkeepers you reached out and grabbed his sleeved arm perilously.

You clenched your eyes shut, squeezing more tears from your lids. “Get them off me!” You blubbered. “Don’t you see them!? There are cockroaches everywhere! Please help me!”

“Cockroaches? What cockroaches?”

Your eyes snapped open. About to tell him off--how the flipping-fuck could he not see the colossal amounts of cockroaches that were expeditiously consuming you??--you lift your chin to meet his face and howled so loud the windows shook.

He was caped in the creepy, diseased-filled fuckers.

Brown blobs were trickling out from beneath his clothes, his hair, his ears, and one even poked out from the socket of his eyelid before crawling down his face and back into his mouth. It was some grade-A horror movie shit and you were not handling it like a pro.

“No! Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” You screeched, shoving him so hard that he lost balance and flew back into the shelves of expensive wine bottles, toppling it over completely. Glass soared through the air like pellets of hail as bottled after bottle smashed against the hard marble tile.

“Miss, please! You have to calm down!” Two more shopkeepers came running up from different aisles and caged you like a rabid animal.

“There are no cockroaches!” The second one said. “Please, calm down!”

What are these idiots talking about! They’re right there, they’re right--

You peeked an eye open, but, as they had said, there were no cockroaches. The floor was flooded with wines of different colors, brown and green shards of broken glass covered most of the aisle and the toppled shelf lay like an overturned grave on its back. But not a roach in sight. Gasping aloud, you sprang into a sitting position and patted yourself down frantically, finding that your body was completely insect-free, just incredibly drenched in fruity booze.

“They were right here!” You exclaimed in disbelief. With panicked eyes you looked up to meet two very concerned, and very bewildered, faces. “You have to believe me!”

They exchanged questioning glances, then returned their focus on you. Looks of pity crossed their faces as they watched you like you were the saddest part of a tragic movie.

A third shopkeeper was hunched over next to the guy you had pushed into the shelves, looping an arm around his neck to help him stand upright. The poor man groaned. It was the freckle-faced shopkeeper that had previously directed you to the wine section. Glass was poking out from his mop of curly hair and blood streamed down his arms and face, so much so that you couldn’t tell what was blood and what was freckle. He did look horrifying, like one of those performers from a haunted house, but definitely not covered in cockroaches.

Guilt flooded you as you took in his injured form, knowing you were the one responsible for his condition. Your eyes flicked between all of four of them, stumbling over words as you tried to process what just happened.

“I-I’m sorry... I... There were... I didn’t mean...I swear....” You skipped between sentences, the severity of the situation draping over you like a wet blanket.

From the front of the store you could hear the bell of the shop door opening. Quick footsteps were followed by the sounds of low voices conversing between one another--probably the red-haired guy and the police, you assumed--but you couldn’t make out the words that they were saying.

The footsteps grew louder as you sat there staring, mouth hanging open stupidly, not knowing what else to say, and then suddenly you felt yourself being lifted up off the ground by a pair of warm, jewelry-clad arms.

“No! Please! I didn’t mean to! Let me go!” You squirmed, but a gentle hand kept you in place.

“Calm down Y/N. You’re safe. I got you now.” The gentle voice of Hoseok ghosted your ears, and for the first time you were so happy to hear him speak.

“The cockroaches... I swear they were...What’s going on?” You sniveled, squeezing your eyes shut as you burrowed your face into his neck. He smelled sweet, like lavender.

“Not now.” His tone was soft, soothing. “Just rest.”

You felt a scorching heat encompass your body. It was like a fiery embrace that wrapped you up in a sense of security and caused your mind to lull. Muscles relaxing, you sank into the inviting warmth of Hoseok, letting all pent up exhaustion finally overtake you.

Then, the world went black.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Next⤏

A/N

Sorry this one is a little short as well! I’m going to try and make the chapters longer from here on out!

Thank you to everyone who has commented, reblogged and liked my story so far! It means so much to me and keeps me inspired to keep writing this fiction! I really appreciate it!

And by the way, I go back and edit each chapter on a regular basis, so make sure to check in to those as well!

Cial

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qhostqizmo · 3 years

Text

A Well Earned Break

Amon couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to a pub as dynamic and energetic as this place. Every bench and seat in the building was occupied from one end to another. A few women even boldly took it upon themselves to sit at the edge of bar’s counter. Row after row of table tucked from corner to corner, wall to wall, were covered in dishes and empty tankards; leaving attendants and maidens to hustle swiftly in and fetch them for cleaning. It was messy, it was loud, and it smelled like sweat, liquor, and strong perfume.

Beneath his boots, peanut shells crunched. A few surface-spots stuck to his heels, causing them to peel up from the floor with a sticky squeak. A young woman caught his wandering eye as he stood uncomfortably off the side. She slanted him a smile; her ruby-red lips puckering into a kiss she blew his way with a wink. He quickly adverted his eyes upon spotted the jade beaded bracelet on her wrist. Many individuals throughout the tavern appeared to be wearing the same piece of jewelry, and the symbolize didn’t go without his notice. Different places did different things: sometimes earrings, or neckties, or bracelets, or tattoos; but he recognized a pattern such as that in a venue such as this. It he wanted a ‘good time’, at least he knew where to look.

Face and Penimra already found laps to occupy instead of stools. Even wearing masks, both appeared to be in the same state of bliss: hooded eyes, heads tilted to lean forward with intent, curious hands exploring the surface of the gentleman’s chests they sat on. Their company’s wrists each had the same glistening beaded bracelet as the lady who had previously been giving him a lingering gaze.

He grimaced and looked to his side where Sulhadur stood. The red Dragonborn wasn’t that hard to pick apart. Young; almost innocent, Sul kept his own eyes fixated on the floor and quickly turned away from any approaching curious individuals. If he’d been human, he’d probably have a face as crimson as his the scales on his body were.

Pitying the poor lad, Amon placed a hand upon his shoulder. The sprouting Paladin turned his snout quizzically towards him.

“We don’t have to stay here, Sul. You and I can go, if you’re not comfortable.”

They swallowed nervously. “Maybe-” he choked, turning to shake his head at a Tiefling who begun sauntering over. She had a lovely figure; no bracelet, and a sullen expression to be so quickly shot down.

Amon snorted back laughter. Tall, youthful, and clearly in good physical health; Sul had caught a lot of eyes rather quickly. They were fresh faces to this region, and a great many intrigued local gazes were trying to size them up for a snack. Sul however seemed more content to be a solitary fish rather than school in the haze of breeding swarms. The ex-nobleman wasn’t sure if he was simply naive, shy, indifferent to the art of sensuality; or all of the above.

“Let’s move around the room,” he offered, “Face and Lord Korvis appear to have this area covered.”

“Good idea.”

Exhaling with relief, Sul trailed at his side as they roamed through the tightly people-packed spaces of the room. A couple of men they passed were being torn apart from a drunken brawl, and there were was an intense beginning of an orgy between a handful of individuals at another table they passed. Some girls giggled; shamefully young for the crowd of old men they were giving their attention to, but the fellow’s looked well-off in their wealth, and women were wearing the jade wristlet as many others. They hit the proverbial jackpot.

Squeezing around a chatty group, Sulhadur’s shoulder collided with Amon’s. He looked up to say something, seeing the eagerness in the Dragonborn’s expression as he looked off. Training his eyes in the same direction, he looked upon a group of individuals who managed to lay claim to a rickety table. The various races were all snarling and chuckling, a board game in front of them Amon recognized as seeing a few times: jump chess.

“I haven’t gotten to play in ages,” the Dragonborn whisper-shouted, his gaze glittering.

Amon winced internally, dreading the idea of pacing around alone. That was his selfishness talking though…

He indicated with a wave towards the group. “Go, introduce yourself. See if they’ll let you in their next game.”

“Why don’t you join me?”

“Jump chess isn’t a particular favorite of mine; besides, I’d probably end up somehow swindled out of coin. You should enjoy yourself now though, like everyone else. Go, I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should go look for Pri’cha and the ladies?” Sul offered, something mischievous in his tone. He tilted his maw down; eyes wide and teeth bared in what should have been a grin, but appeared more like a menacing and sadistic smirk. He turned tail; quite literally whacking the tip against the ex-nobleman’s shin, and parted his way through the crowd to the table.

Taking a moment to rub his leg, Amon glimpsed around the room. An older halfling man; probably around his age, wearing jade licked his lips as their gazes jumped to each other. Finding the others sounded like a safer option than standing awkwardly around, alone.

He shuffled his way into the throng; going in the opposite direction of the flirtatious individual. A foot stepped on the edge of his cloak, snagging him backwards as he grumbled and cursed. A half-slurred apology with whisky-scented breath acknowledged him as a shoulder jammed into his ribs. This place was miserably busy; how on Earth did anyone enjoy this sort of atmosphere? And was that the smell of urine coming from the corner of the room? Revolting.

Sure enough, a young lady came whisking by him, trying to balance a full bucket of water and not slash too much of it as another followed with a bristly old mop. The duo cursed and spat at some of their pedestrians, swatting a few towards the door for their behavior. They were about to have their hands full.

Amon sucked in his chest, pulled up his cloak, and slid along the wall to avoid a few drunken fellows to scout along the other side of the pub. His eyes boggled for a moment, spotting Ravamora of all people arm-wrestling a line of folks. A small stash of coin had stacked up in her favor; bets it looked like, and people were howling and hooting as the young elf finally managed to slam down a beefy half-orc’s arm. They growled, shoved back their chair, and immediately the next contestant was taking their place.

Always after a bit of cash, that one. He wondered if she was still somehow cheating to earn it like she had tried on him all those years ago. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Nister Anon!”

Now that was a recognizable voice. Amon strained to listen for its speaker, peering around others knees.

Pri’cha poked a man, squeaking a polite request for them to move. They did, to the ex-nobleman’s surprise. Sometimes he forgot how startling it could be to see a large, sentient bug-like individual in Etheron. When someone such as Pri aimed for your attention, if it wasn’t their wholesome politeness that got you, it was the sheer wondrous oddity of their presence.

“Hello Pri’cha,” he greeted warmly, “having any fun?”

The golden Thri-Kreen’s antenna wriggled. “I an learning a lot about this location’s culture,” they admitted a bit nervously, mandibles twitching. “I do not see Sul, Face, and Pen nith you anynore, nister Anon.”

The ex-nobleman smiled sheepishly, swallowing. “They all found their niche things to do, Pri. What are you doing by yourself? Where is Essie, and Adela?”

“I have been trying to find a barkeep to get drinks! Niss Essie and niss Adela are over there, if you’re looking for them?”

“Do you wish for me to go with you?”

“No thank you, I have enough arms to carry the drinks. I’ve been making friends along the way too, krr.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “I’m sure you have Pri.”

“Would you like ne to get you anything?”

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

“Of course. If you’d excuse me-”

“The bar’s that way actually, Pri’cha!” He piped up, pointing far to the left.

The little cleric bounced happily at his aid. “Thank you, nister Anon!”

Chuckling merrily, Amon followed the general direction Pri’cha had pointed to. The bodies of strangers began to thin out and disperse; giving room to more and more space. He began to wonder why, until a few people began to sway around him. Instead of shouting, he could make out a noise he hadn’t paid more attention to or picked up a lot until now: music.

It had a wild swing to it; almost a festival sort of jig. The instruments collided and crashed; they coordinated and collected into a collage. It was certainly an entertaining tune that even he found his foot tapping to as he pushed through the group. Some were stomping their feet and clapping their hands, forming a wall around the band.

Amon poked his head around an elf to see what everyone was staring at.

His jaw dropped wide open.

It wasn’t a sophisticated choreography performed before the orchestra; not like the kind he was often used to, but he’d seen versions of it before. It was wild; a routine not learned, but following the improvisation of the beat. The symphony of the song swelled, and arms raised; feet spinning, hands interweaving and crossing in some foreign move he didn’t know, but immediately was transfixed by, like magic.

He was immersed in how Essätha moved; her rhythm striking with different unexpected cords to create a painting. He blinked as Adela hopped to the forefront; intruding on his vision. He blinked a few times, capable of finding his breath and smiling to himself. The pink Tiefling twirled and spun; gemstones and precious metals flashing in the light of the room radiantly. The noise they gave off almost seemed to add to the music, although was mostly drown out by the cheering and sound of the instruments themselves.

The duo was graceful as they spun towards each other; greeting palm to palm. They ladies grinned; feet gliding around in a circle and drumming against the floor like the beat of the drums. Amon felt a creeping heat in his cheeks as his eyes soaked in Essie’s movements; the sensual twist of her hips as she curled her body away from Adela’s and then back in to bump her hip against hers, laughing.

Her laugh stole the air from his lungs in a pitiful wheeze.

The Yuan-Ti woman swayed and hopped, pivoting and dancing away from some of the more eager individuals of the crowd trying to leap in on the two sorceress’ frolic. She laughed, grabbing Adela’s arm and spinning around and around again as someone reached for the pink Tiefling, dragging her safely away from a boisterous young man eagerly trying to leap in.

Essie was elegant and poised as she moved from heel to toe, drawing the eyes naturally along the flow of her body where the light and shadows broke as she turned the opposite direction. Her movements were not simply dancing, it was an adventure’s storytelling in motion. A chasse turned into a journey to new lands, and her playful heel-turns fleeting from playful outreached hands were both a tease and a sense of character. It said: I am my own first.

Prancing around each other; sweat on their brows, the two women panted for air as they stopped, facing each other, to swing their hips and drop lower; raising back up to the whooping approval of the crowd. Amon joined a few of the bystandards in clapping. Gods knew dropping that low on bent-knees was probably agony; he’d probably end up on his ass trying anything similar.

Adela swung to the left, and Essätha the right. As they turned, Essie’s shining eyes met his.

Amon felt his heart stutter as his breath stilled. He swore for two heartbeats, he stopped hearing the music altogether as her gaze rounded, and her mouth hung open.

Waving an arm, Essie tip-toed around Adela to bounce his way. “M’lord!”

The color quickly spread over his features. Should he feel guilty and shameful caught staring? There was certainly enough people watching. His throat tightened, and his hands felt clammy and sweaty as he fidgeted stiffly.

“Sorry if my uh, watching ruined your dance.”

“Nonsense, we were trying to encourage Pri to join earlier too but they weren’t interested; something about not knowing the dance?” She laughed weakly, trying to catch her breath. “I tried explaining it’s not really something you learn, you just feel it, but I’m not sure they got it.”

Amon smiled stupidly, his heartbeat galloping. He could feel something just watching her. There was emotion in her movements; passion; joy, happiness, beauty. She made dancing seem raw and intense and damn sensual. He hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away.

It was simple. It was spontaneous. It didn’t make sense; it didn’t necessarily have an order, or a reason, or a professional’s years of study. But when she moved, she was breathtaking.

“You should join us,” Essie encouraged, grabbing at his sweaty palm. She raised her eyebrows suggestively, grinning at him. “You could show off some of your noble moves for me.”

The tightness in his throat increased. The ex-nobleman cough-wheezed, feeling heat and tension gripping his body in a rigid line. Was she teasing him, or flirting with him? Or both?

“I um- I’m okay,” he fumbled, nerves on edge and sweat beading up beneath his clothes. Pelor it was hot in this building. Stuffy. Humid. His skin was growing terribly flush, and he was beginning to feel an uncomfortable amount of sweat between his legs. If his thighs chafed, he was not going to be happy.

She pouted out her lower lip, tugging gently on his arm. “Please?”

How was he supposed to say no to that? His heart ached, even knowing she was messing with him.

“I-” he took a step forward helplessly, “what do I do?”

“You know, just- grind your hips a bit.”

“What?”

A different, more complicated heat and stiffness began to form between his legs. Even worse, the way he moved, the more it rubbed against his inner leg; stuck unpleasantly in place. Hidden, but annoying; and the friction was not helping.

Adela eyed him as Essie encouraged him into the middle of the crowd. She looked him up and down like he was a hair in her drink.

Amon deflated more. So much for confidence.

Giggling warmly, Essätha grabbed for Adela’s hand. The Tiefling instantly brightened a bit, and whirled around with her dance partner with a laugh of her own.

If he could blush and deeper, he’d probably look a lot like Sul; or maybe even darker. He shimmied in a fixed position, uneasy and fearful of his erection becoming noticeable. A couple of individuals in the surrounding semi-circle whispered and outright laughed at him. This was borderline mortifying.

Still…

With the fingers of one of her hands still clasped with Adela’s, Essie reached out for his hand, offering him a dazzling smile.

Yet again he was awestruck; automatically reaching for her hand without thinking. He wanted her touch. He wanted her hand, and the promise of salvation that came with it. Take me with you.

Her dance moves were simple and delightful; lacking a little of the complexity and alluring quality as before. She pulled all three of them into a sort of child-like merry-go-round before bumping her hip to each of theirs; making him grunt and swallow the frog in his throat. She twirled Adela around like she was a princess, and tossed his arm back and forth like they were talking an afternoon walk.

As he waved his arms awkwardly and jumped from leg to leg; certainly the worst excuse for a sober dancer this tavern had ever seen, Essie released his hand, and once again Adela and her began to form their integral duet. He watched more than moved, and then moved even less as they used him as a center-point to spin around. Not the best view from any angle, but gods he wished this was a private session for two instead of room filled with dozens of drunk, loud, rambunctious strangers and the rest of his companions.

Essätha shifted closer; her waist rocking from side to side dramatically, her body dancing to the beat. Amon felt her hip hit his; and she didn’t move as the heated grating of her clothes rubbed against his. He could smell the lavender on her skin; the sweat, the shampoo in her hair. She was close, and warm, and bright and golden and flush…

He began to pray; his lips twitching as his nostrils flared, trying to control his breathing. She made everything intimate and sexy and he was so gods-damn thirsty-

“Niss!! Niss Adela, niss Essätha! I have brought back drinks!”

Perfect timing.

Some of the mass groaned as the cleric presented themself proudly, holding up a tray filled with four mugs.

“I got you a nater too, nister Anon. I thought you night nant a refreshnent.”

Not exactly the sort of thirst he had, but bless that Thri-Kreen and their good life.

“Thank you, Pri,” he grunted, inching forward. Each shuffling movement caused his hard-on to brush against his inner thigh. He pulled his cloak around his frame, hoping to hide the inevitable tenting that was going to start forming.

“Your nating naneuvers were nost superb,” they encouraged, holding up the tray.

“Thank you, Pri,” Adela echoed in a sing-song voice, raising her volume over the ongoing song.

Amon bent a bit to grab for his drink. Essätha, not paying attention as she began to string out a ‘thank you-’ bonked her noggin against his as they huddled close to the cleric.

“Ouch-!”

“Fuck- I’m sorry-”

“You’re fine, it was my fault,” Essie mumbled, tenderly rubbing at her head. She smiled into his gaze warmly.

His brain fritzed out.

He watched as her gaze shot past his face to his trousers. At the slanted viewpoint they were at, she was nearly face-level with them, and his cloak had fallen aside…

The color in her face instantly deepened as she looked away, snatching for her drink.

If she hadn’t been so quick to advert her gaze, he could have convinced himself she saw nothing. As it was, he shakily picked up his water; slopping some onto the floor, and rearranged his clothing, hoping it was mostly an inconspicuous gesture. Fuck he d give anything to fling himself into the void for just a few minutes right now to scream.

“We should go find the boys,” Essätha bluntly announced, clutching her drink close after chugging most of it in a few gulps. “Make sure everyone’s okay.”

Adela eyed her quizzically. “If you’re sure?”

She nodded. “We should see about getting a meal- right Pri?”

“Oh-? Yes, dinner would be nice.”

A curt nod. “Good.”

Offering a gesture, she invited Pri’cha and Adela to take the lead; pushing through a disappointed looking crowd of onlookers. Amon downed his entire glass of water, sweating bullets.

Turning to look up at him, their gazes locked. The heat in his lungs was almost unbearable.

She offered out her hand to him wordlessly. A shy, nervous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “You comin’?”

He couldn’t resist taking her hand, mutely nodding. Her golden butterscotch eyes were more addictive than the treat they represented.

Her fingers curled; finding the spaces between his. She guided him forward; parting the crowd like a deity’s chosen vessel to speak through. More importantly, assisting him; leading him. To where, he didn’t know, but he was willing to go anywhere, as long as she would be there, too.

#qhost story #OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #Softly written #ft: Noisy Bastards

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wing-culture · 4 years

Text

Beowaulf’s Guide To The Avian Race

Avems

Description: Feathered wings, crest feathers, and tail feathers of varying colors depending on the bird they take after; tufts of feathers on ears; talons on their hands and feet; two eyelids

Abilities: Heightened sight; generally strong fighters and fliers; powerful talons

Classification: Male- Rooster/cockerel; Females- Pullet/hen (but only if she has had children); Non-binary folk- Ave; Children- Chick

Goddess: Abiel

Facts:

Avems are the most common species of avians, making up around almost half of the population. Their genes are very dominant, and any children between an Avem and a different avian tend to have feathered wings.

The certain bird an avian has the wings of is not based on their parents (example: a mallard duck and a cuckoo bird could have a scarlet macaw child). It’s very rare that a child actually takes the wings of their parents.

The rarest kind of wings an Avem can have are as followed: caladrius, roc, phoenix, lightning bird, thunderbird, Quetzalcoatlus, pterodactyl, pteranodon, and any extinct bird species. Quetzalcoatlus, pterodactyl, and pteranodon are actually quite controversial in the avian community, as some Avems don’t see them as one of them and rather Hydras, while others do consider them Avems, despite lacking any feathers.

There used to be a class system among Avem communities, where the prettiest wingers would be treated better than those with more muted colors. Brown was specifically a hated color, despite a good chunk of Avems having brown somewhere in their wings. This class system has since been torn down over the years, but some feathers still consider those with prettier, brighter colors better than others.

Avems are less likely to tap into their instincts, unlike the other species of avians. They retain their humanity much better.

The bird each Avems takes after is highly worshipped between those with those kinds of wings.

No Avem eats any kind of poultry, even those with the wings of a bird of prey. The consumption of eggs usually varies from Avem to Avem.

Nesting season is a certain time of the year where Avems, specifically expecting or generally maternal hens, become ten times more anxious and aware of their surroundings. Nobody really knows why it happens, but it causes them to become supremely protective over their flock and sometimes even aggressive. Mother hens tend to be more affected by this season.

Mother hens do not sit on their chicks, although jokes are made about this anyway. Instead, they fold/hood their wings in front of themselves so their chicks will be covered at their sides. This is for protection, warmth, and comfort.

Avems are big on learning how to fly as soon as possible, as they worship the sky more than the other species of avians. Most chicks learn to fly before the age of ten.

Avems are intensely community based, everyone takes care of each other in a very genuine way, which is why flocks are a thing in the first place.

Even if you can’t fly with them, the appearance of wings is important. Grounded Avems will put extra care into making them clean/pretty to compensate for lack of flight. The Avem community is very caring towards grounded feathers and all usually pitch in to help out whenever they can.

However, the Flightless are seen as disgraces and are usually thrown out of flocks. The lack of an ability to fly and no wings is too much for them.

Baby Avems are born with fluffy down on their wings, and then grow in their flight and adult feathers as they get older.

They are praised for their vocal talents.

Birds of prey have the strongest talons, the most powerful being a harpy eagle Avem. They can grip something so tightly that they can crush certain bones.

Gifting feathers is a common form of courting.

They will also do mating dances to attract a partner. They always make sure to have their wings clean, pristine, and very shiny for the event. Two courting Avems (or one Avem and a different species) will also do a special sky dance to declare their relationship.

A large chunk of Avem culture in general puts a LOT of importance on the ability to fly. The common feather belief is that they were the original and purest avians, and that all the other species flew too low and were changed in some way (Hydras became too infatuated with the wealth and jewels in the earth, making them greedy and cunning; Cimexs flew too low and grew too attached to nature; Vespers flew too long under the moon and became addled by them; Flightless’ simply flew too little and lost their gift of wings completely), while Avems retained their true colors and flying prowess.

Hydras

Description: Scaled wings with vary colors and patterns; webbed frills behind their ears and protruding out of their skull; horns; claws on their hands and feet; scales stretching up their back and on their palms; pointed ears; two eyelids

Abilities: Heightened sense of smell; extended barbs from wingtips; firebreath or frostbreath

Classification: Male- Drake; Female- Dragoness; Non-binary folk- Draco; Children- Wyrm

Goddess: Haniel

Facts:

The color of their wings do not depend on parents, like all other avians.

Horns vary from Hydra to Hydra.

Hydras are the most successful species in preserving their customs and culture. It’s very well documented and taught to wyrms.

Hydras have a love for tapestries, weavings, and other forms of art. They are especially fond of entertainers and theater.

They are also the most dedicated to fashion out of all the species.

The Hydra attitude is very much “protect your own”, which covers immediate neighbors. This leads to Hydras usually being hyper-aware of everyone around them, for better or for worse.

Gift giving is a pretty big part of the Hydra community. Genuinely not accepting a gift is completely unheard of, no matter how unwanted the gift is or any personal feelings between the gift-giver and the recipient.

Pawning your trash off on another avian under the guise of a gift is extremely trashy and rude, and a good way to sink your reputation.

Mother dragons tend to be the most protective out of all species, with mother hens coming in close second. Like hens, they will hood their wyrms with their wings and will flare their frills when intimidated. They are also very prone to attacking if they feel that their young are being threatened and don’t let up until the enemy is dead or far away.

When a Hydra would die, the body would be wrapped up in fine silk and coated in gemstones, favorite personal belongings, and dead prey. They do not bury their dead, but instead go to a very special ceremony site and give the body up on a flat stone as an offering to the gods, signifying that “hey, they’re dead, they’re for you now” and send up their spirits to the afterlife. The prey is to attract the spirits and gods and bring attention. Lavish memorial parties would then be thrown at sunset and can last hours into the early morning.

As the stereotype suggests, scales are very fond of treasure, but they tend to be very picky. Gold and copper are seen as cheap. Silver and quartz are highly valued. Colorful jewels like amethyst, sapphire, emerald, and ruby are commonly used in jewelry.

That’s another thing-- they LOVE jewelry. Horn bands are popular because they don’t get in the way when flying. Wing bands are also sometimes worn, but they can be heavy and make flying difficult. Most Hydras would rather use gemstone laces on their wings.

Getting tattoos and gemstones embedded in wings is quite common, although painful at first. Some scales even dye/bleach their wings, but the result can cause the scales to burn and fall off over time.

The barbs in their wingtips are made of a compound mixed from shedded scales and bone. These barbs are full of blood and marrow and break easily. They take a few days to grow back if broken off.

Hydras will gift a scale as a courting method. They will also actually put the scale of their mate underneath their tongue to let it dissolve in their mouth.

No matter where a child comes from, or even the species, all Hydras watch out for younger avians and make sure they stay safe and protected. Even the Flightless and hybrids.

Cimexes

Description: Insect wings of varying shape, sizes, and color depending on bug type; four arms; antennae; chitin along the back and on palms, but fuzz if the Cimex is a moth; short, curved claws; retractable mandibles in mouths; two eyelids

Abilities: Moth and butterfly Cimexs can spin silk from their wrists; bee, hornet, wasp, and yellowjacket Cimexs can extend stingers from their wrists to inject a nerve toxin into enemies; other Cimexs can deliver painful, itching bites like an ant

Classification: Male- Beckett; Female- Monarch; Non-binary folk- Insecta; Child- Nymphs

Goddess: Cybiel

Facts:

Their blood varies from blue, green, or yellow, but never red. This also means tongues, scabs/wounds, blushes, and insides are either blue, green, or yellow.

Cimexes are the most diverse race when it comes to appearance because of all the varying wing shapes.

The mandibles in their mouth are retractable. They grow from their bottom jaw, behind their teeth, and fold into little glands at the bottom of their mouths when not in use. These mandibles are usually quite spiky and smooth and can dig all the way down to bone.

Mandible bites itch like an ant bite because they secrete an acidic venom into the skin when in contact with it.

Mandibles are also barbed, so they do just as much damage going out as they do going in.

Moth and butterfly Cimexes are born without wings, but have two colorful bumps on their backs. When they become of age, they spin cocoons and stay inside them for seven days. During this process, their organs liquidate themselves and rearrange into a new, stronger system. Because of this, it is dangerous to disturb a cocoon during metamorphosis because it could harm the Cimex inside.

Several butterflies and moths make a living by spinning silk and making things out of it to sell.

Cimex wings are the easiest to damage, but heal within hours.

They are the only avians that can hover (minus moths and butterflies).

Silk glands are located right below the hand on the wrist. They’re thin slices that sort of look like paper cuts.

Butterflies and moths need to spin silk at least once a day to keep their glands from getting clogged up. This could lead to clumping in the silk passage, swelling of the wrists, tenderness, and a lot of pain and discomfort when moving the hands.

Their antennae predict the weather and sense vibrations in the air.

They are able to twist their wings during flight. By doing so, they can preserve and even control the quantity of lift they generate.

Dragonfly Cimexes have selective attention and are able to lock onto something and eliminate everything else around that one thing.

Most wings are waterproof.

Moth and butterfly Cimexs make these bracelets called Infinity Bands with their silk. These bracelets symbolize eternal love between two mates and they’re usually made with beads and small gemstones. They’re like wedding rings of sorts, but there’s also platonic Infinity Bands.

Vespertilios

Description: Bat wings of varying size and color; large bat ears; fangs; opposable fingers on wings called dewclaws; retractable talons in their feet and hands; prehensile tongues; two eyelids

Abilities: Night vision; echolocation; blood and raw meat consumption without getting sick

Classification: Male- Sire; Female- Vixen; Non-binary folk- Fox; Child- Pup

Goddess: Valtiel

Facts:

Upon drinking a creature's blood, a Vesper’s special stomach acid will kill the bacteria, making it safe to digest. The kidney will then turn the blood into a plasma, which is excreted out of the cloaca. Plasma appears as a thick black liquid.

Bloody Marys have actual blood in them. They’re made specifically for Vespers to drink. This, however, does not stop other avians from thinking they can drink it. They usually get sick as a result, as they cannot urinate out the blood plasma like Vespers can.

Pups are born with tiny fangs that grow longer as they get older.

Most pups can’t be breastfed because they would bite their mother’s breast and drink her blood.

Vesper wings are made up entirely of skin with a thin layer of fuzz on certain Vespers. Their bones, membranes, and blood vessels are visible. Because of this, they are the only avian race capable of getting sunburned on their wings.

Bat flies are a problem for Vespers. The bugs like to cling to their wings in swarms and drink their blood. It’s kinda gross to see and it’s very painful for the poor Vesper infested with them.

Vespers enjoy hanging upside down.

Vespers feel most secure when they’re swaddled by things. It’s an instinct that they never grow out of, so it’s not just a pup trait.

They also like to suck on things. Fingers or their own dewclaws are a common thing they will suck on.

There are entire shops dedicated to selling the best bugs for Vespers to eat. They are, of course, Vesper-owned businesses because no other race would want to have such a profession.

Deaf Vespers can still use echolocation and are actually better at it than hearing Vespers because they can focus more intently on the vibrations.

Despite bats being the number one carrier of rabies, Vespers are completely immune to the disease. This, however, does not stop people from saying otherwise and still claiming they will infect others.

Like butterfly and moth Cimexs, dust and pollen tends to stick to the wings of Vespers.

Vespers have more flexibility and control over their wings compared to other avians, letting them turn more smoothly.

Vespers enjoy eating fruits, nectars, and bugs. Bugs are their favorite food. Many Cimexs don’t like them because of this.

Several Vespers wear sunglasses or simply keep their eyes closed when outside because of how sensitive they are to bright lights.

They will “wing” their ears around their face to keep themselves cool.

Vespers will catch the most colorful butterfly in the area and give the wings to their mate as a courting technique, then the two will eat the body together, since butterflies symbolize love in their culture. They may also drink each other’s blood as a marking of sorts.

Vespers have long, thick talons on their feet for hanging upside down. These talons are usually around six to seven inches in size, one and a half inches in width, and are hooked, sort of like a raptor’s claws. The curves of these claws will catch on surfaces, like bars, so they can hang. The muscles in their legs and feet bunch up to help lock themselves in place so their claws won’t instantly rip out from their body weight.

The talons are usually sheathed in the feet and can be retracted outwards when needed. When out, a leather avian becomes digitigrade and walks on their toes. It’s sort of like walking on giant toenails.

When it’s cold, Vesper ears and wings are more susceptible to frostbite because the skin tends to be thinner than the skin on a regular avian’s.

Vespers are the most discriminated pureblooded avian race. Several avians don’t like them because of their ability to drink blood and so they see them as demons.

The Flightless

Description: Tightly curled wingbuds extending from their shoulder blades, which can unfurl outwards

Abilities: N/A

Classification: N/A

Goddess: N/A

Facts:

Wingbuds are tightly curled membranes that extend from the shoulder blades, which vary in size from Flightless to Flightless, but they’re usually the size of a regular book. However, they can unfurl and form a vague wing-like shape.

Sometimes hints of color can be seen under the skin if the complexion is light enough.

They molt every two months, which consists of the top layer of skin on their back peeling off.

Flightless aren’t just wingless avians, but also avians who have one wing, a lame wing, or wings that don’t work at all. “Purebred” Flightless are the ones with the wingbuds, while “half-bloods” are the others. Purebreds do not like half-bloods because “at least they have wings.”

Most Flightless hate when people touch or try to touch their wingbuds, which is quite common, especially in children. The flesh on the wingbuds are extremely sensitive and the sensation of it being touched is like running your nails over the skin of a body part that fell asleep.

Forcefully unfurling a Flightless’ wingbuds is painful and extremely uncomfortable.

Skin infections are common with the Flightless because of how tender the skin on their back is. It isn’t unnatural to see one with long slices and cuts marring their back from the flesh breaking open.

“No-Wings”, “Bareback”, “LameWings”, and “Wingless” are slurs to the Flightless. They don’t even like being called “the Flightless”, they would prefer to actually be called “Smooth Skins” because of their smooth backs. Of course, nobody ever respects these wishes.

They have the highest depression and suicide rate out of all avian species.

Hybrids

Description: Appearances vary depending on parents

Abilities: Abilities vary depending on parents

Classification: N/A

Goddess: Depends on crossbreed

Facts:

Hybrids are as rare Flightless and are about as discriminated against as they are, too, if not more.

Hybrids happen when the genes of two different species mutate into each other instead of one dominating the other, so the resulting child will be a mix of both parents.

Most of them don’t even survive past childhood. They either die because their body is unstable or are killed because they’re viewed as a freak of nature by all species. They’re also very sickly and susceptible to illnesses.

If crossed with a Cimex, a hybrid’s blood will be a different color. Yellow bug blood + normal avian blood = orange blood; Blue bug blood + normal avian blood = purple blood; Green bug blood + normal avian blood = A brown-grey blood.

Normal hybrid blood is usually a darker red than normal blood, almost black when it first comes out.

Avems used to kill hybrids to keep the genes from spreading. This has since been outlawed--or is at least done behind closed doors so nobody will ever know.

A lot of Vesper hybrids usually die from drinking blood because they are unable to urinate out the plasma (because they didn’t get that ability), so the bacteria kills them.

Several butterfly/moth Cimexes die during metamorphosis because their already-grown-in pair of wings don’t stop moving and rip the cocoon open. The result is very messy, as their body will essentially be liquidated.

If they do live, the strain of giant butterfly/moth wings have a chance of ripping their back open.

Some hybrids are born with more than one pair of wings, causing difficulties and back problems as their life progresses.

Hybrids used to be enslaved and used for show. Several nobles would keep hybrids as “pets” of sorts and would show them off at parties.

Hybrids are incredibly infertile and cannot reproduce, as the resulting child would be a tribrid.

Medical issues run rampant in hybrids, such as muscle deterioration, breathing issues, and brittle bones. As stated before, they are also very sickly and get ill very easily. As a result, almost all of them are frail and scrawny.

Some hybrids can’t even fly because of how weak their bodies are. They just aren’t strong enough to get off the ground, so their wings will sometimes just drag behind them.

Hybrids have a hard time molting because of conflicting pelt types. Assistance is most likely needed, but most avians usually don’t want to go near hybrids.

Hybrids aren’t wanted by pureblooded avians OR the Flightless. The purebloods see them as screw ups and monsters and freaks, while the Flightless see them as glorified show pets and consider them lucky to even have wings. As a result, many hybrids spend their lives alone and are discriminated against.

#wing culture #wings #world building #writing #fantasy world #dragons #birds #bugs #bats #avems #hydras #cimexes #vespers #the flightless #hybrids #information

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krizaland · 4 years

Note

some of zim with a beekeeper s/o? if not it's cool.

Oooh! How interesting!

I’ll bee honest with you, I’ve always had quite the fear of bees (and just bugs and arachnids in general) but ever since I rediscovered my love for Invader Zim, I’ve actually started to notice how insect-like Irkens are.

Like my dad always said that Zim looked like a bug and tbh the more I watched the show, the more I noticed how insect-like Irkens are.

Like they’re obsessed with sugary snacks and whatnot and seem to all worship the Tallest like a hive/brood Queen.

And in most insect the species that have queens (Like: Bees, Ants, wasps ect.) The Queen is almost always bigger than the rest of the hive/brood.

So the fact that Irkens have a height based society is pretty insect-like.

There’s even a real life species of bee called Texas Sweat Bees that are bright green like Irkens.

Anyway, I could go on forever about Irkens being space insects but this long intro is probably bugging you by now.

So onto the fic!

You and Zim have been dating for over a month now! While Zim was a wonderful boyfriend, there was just one problem:

Zim was terrified of bees.

Even just the mere sound of wings buzzing was enough to send him screaming for the hills.

Of course most people are afraid of bees and just bugs in general.

They’re strange, noisy, and even bite and sting!

However, being raised by beekeepers, you never seemed to mind.

You always loved bugs of all shapes and sizes!

You found their big eyes and antennas just so cute!

Your family’s profession aside, Honey bees were always your favorite animal!

They were so fuzzy and friendly! Not to mention their honey and wax is extremely useful!

Honey can be kept fresh for ages and the uses for beeswax were endless

While you couldn’t blame Zim for his fear of bees, you couldn’t help but feel that Zim believed a bunch of nasty misconceptions about your favorite insect.

And thus, you decided to give Zim a tour of your family’s bee colony!

Zim was understandably apprehensive at first but was quickly convinced by your sad puppy dog eyes.

After getting both yourself and Zim suited up in beekeeping suits, you carefully led him to the colony.

BZZ!

Zim jumped a bit as a bee buzzed past his head.

“It’s ok, they won’t sting you as long as you stay calm.” You explained as you gave Zim’s hand a gentle rub.

“R-Right! I knew that!” Zim lies as he adjusted his hat.

“Now here’s our main colony!” You announced as you gestured to a large white box like container.

“You keep the bees in boxes?” Zim asked as he tilted his head.

“No, No! These are our special beehives! Here I’ll show you.” You laughed as you pulled out a small metal can.

“What’s in the can? Is it repellent?” Zim asked as he gestured to the can.

“What? Oh no. This is just smoke from burning pine needles. We spray this when we open the hive to let the bees know we’re coming to take a look.” You explained as you gave the can a few sprays.

And with that, you carefully removed the lid of the hive and quickly sprayed the inside with a light layer of smoke.

Zim jumped back and braced himself for a swarm of bees to pour out of the hive.

However, the swarm never came.

“Zim, you can look now.”

The sound of your playful laugh, brought Zim back to reality.

“Right! I was just um...admiring the trees.” Zim spluttered as hell carefully reproached the hive.

“Are you ready to meet the hive?” You asked with a playful wink.

Zim nodded slowly but still kept his guard up.

“Alrighty, here they are.” You sang softly as you pulled out a large frame covered with hundreds upon hundreds of bees!

Zim let out a startled squeak but slowly calmed down when he realized the bees weren’t attacking him.

The bees seemed perfectly content crawling around the frame.

“This is only a small part of our hive but it’s the most important one.” You explained as you carefully held up the frame.

“Why is it the most import part?” Zim asked as he kept his distance from the frame.

“Because this frame has the Queen bee herself! You’re gonna need to come a bit closer to see her though.” You explained dramatically.

Zim swallowed hard as he took a small step forward.

“Closer....”

Zim took another small step.

“Closer.....”

Zim took another small step.

“C’mon Zim I won’t let them sting you!” You giggled playfully.

And with that, Zim finally came close enough to the frame.

“Yay! Now do you see that really big bee right there?” You asked as you pointed to a very long and chubby bee.

“Yes.”

“That’s the Queen Bee. She lays over thousands of eggs a day!” You explained as the Queen wandered with the rest of the bees.

“Really? Fascinating...” Zim trailed off but his eyes remained glued to the Queen Bee.

The more he watched the Queen, the more she started to remind him of the Almighty Tallest.

She was very large and was clearly royalty!

Zim begun to wonder if the bees had the same height-based society as Irkens did.

“So the tallest bees are the ones in charge, right?” Zim asked as he continued to watch the Queen.

“Well not exactly. The Queen Bee is really the only one that gets that big. All the other bees are the same height.” You explained as you gestured to the other bees.

“I see...So do bees conquer other...hives?” Zim hummed as he stroked his chin.

“What? No. Well, I mean there are some species of insects who do stuff like that but Honeybees aren’t one of them.” You laughed as you carefully put the frame back into the hive.

“Oh, so what do they do?” Zim asked as he turned his attention back to you.

“What do they do? They do lots of things! They pollinate flowers, make wax and most importantly: they make Honey! Lots and lots of honey!” You explained dramatically.

“Hon-ee? What is this Hon-ee?” Zim’s voice quivered a bit as he spoke.

“You’ve never had honey before?! Honey is a delicious treat made by the bees! Cone on! You have to taste it!” You insisted as you grabbed Zim by the hand and led him to your family’s honey reserves.

You were about to lead Zim inside when-

BZZ!

A bee decided to land on the side of Zim’s head!

Zim was about to scream but you quickly put a finger to your lips.

“Stay calm and still. She doesn’t want to sting you. She’s just saying hi. Just stay calm and she won’t sting.” You whispered.

Sweat poured down Zim’s face as the bee brushed up against his wig.

“This is one strange human.”

A gasp escaped Zim’s throat.

“You didn’t tell me bees could talk!” He whispered as he struggled to remain still.

“Bees don’t talk. I mean they communicate with their antennas but they don’t speak English.” You giggled as you rubbed the back of your head.

“You’re a weird human but I like you!” The bee giggled as she wiggles her antennas.

“So you’re telling me you didn’t just hear that?” Zim whispered.

“Hear what?”

“The bee! You’re telling me you didn’t just hear the bee compliment me?!” Zim hissed as he gestured to the bee crawling on his hat.

“I’m getting thirsty! I’ll see you later!” The bee sang as she flew away.

“I think you’ve been standing in the sun for too long. Come on let’s get you inside.” You giggled as you led Zim inside the honey reserves.

You spent the rest of the day talking all about honey but all Zim could think about was the bee that landed on his head.

Clearly that was no Earth bee! It had to had to have been some kind of alien spy!

After trying (and falling in love with) honey, Zim decided it was time to go home.

When the night fell, Zim scurried back to your family’s bee colony.

“Ok, now to track down that spy-bee- ACK!”

Zim let out a yelp as the same bee from earlier landed on his head.

“You smell like that weird human from earlier.” The bee giggled.

“I am not human, you pathetic spy-bee!” Zim snapped.

“Huh? Are you upset or something? I can’t understand you.” The bee whimpered with a gentle wiggle of her antennas.

Zim was about to respond when he noticed the bee’s antennas wiggling.

“It appears this spy communicates with her antennas...” Zim hummed as he stroked his chin.

And with that, Zim decided to wiggle his own antennas at her.

“I am not human! I am a MIGHTY Irken warrior! Leave my sweet Y/N alone spy!”

“Spy? I’m not a spy! I just work for my queen. Just like you probably work for yours!” The bee explained as she continued to crawl.

“Eh? Zim has no queen!” Zim replied curtly.

“It’s ok, I know you just want to protect your hive. It seems like your queen, Y/N likes to keep things secure.” The bee giggled.

“What? Y/N is not Zim’s queen. Well..um…Y-You need to leave them alone!” Zim demanded.

“Ok, ok. Will do! No need to shout. I can’t really guarantee we won’t cross paths but I’ll do my best to steer clear!”

And with that, the bee flew back to her hive to report back to her queen.

“That’s right! You better run!” Zim cackled as he put his hands on his hips.

“Zim? Is that really you?”

Zim’s laugh screeched to a halt.

No! That couldn’t have been your voice he just heard!

Zim swallowed hard as he slowly turned around.

Sure enough, his worst fear was confirmed:

He had accidentally exposed himself.

“Y-Y/N! I-It’s not what you think! I just…have pink eye in both eyes!” Zim lied as he gestured to his ruby eyes.

You simply stared at Zim in awe.

“Zim, you don’t have to lie to me. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this!” You insisted.

Zim blinked in shock for a moment.

“Promise?”

“I promise” You confirmed as you put a hand on your chest.

“Alright then, I guess you were bound to find out sooner or later….I suppose I owe you an explanation. But you better keep your promise or I will destroy you, got it?” Zim asked as he shot you a glare.

“I got it!”

“Very well…Y/N, I guess it’s plain to see that Zim is not a normal human worm baby. No, I AM A SUPERIOR LIFE-FORM FROM THE PLANET IRK!” Zim sang dramatically as he threw his arms into the air.

“Wow! That’s…so cool!” You squealed as you clapped your hands.

“I can understand if you are scared-Eh?! Did you just say I was..cool?” Zim spluttered as he rubbed his eyes.

“Yes! You’re so pretty! You look like a sweat bee or a Jewel Wasp!” You gushed as you ran up to him.

“Eh? I’ll take that as a compliment…I guess..” Zim muttered as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Oh my god! Now I know why you heard the bee talk to you earlier! Your antennas probably picked up on her antennas!” You explained as you gestured to his antennas.

“Oh, well…That explains a lot,” Zim hummed for a moment, “So do you think I could communicate with other insects?”

“I don’t know? Wanna go find out?” You squeaked.

“Sure!”

And with that, you and Zim spent the rest of the evening seeing what kind of bugs he could talk to!

From that point forth, Zim decided to help you out at the bee colony when no one else was around.

Thanks to his new found talent, you were able to harvest honey without smoking out the bees as well as see how they were doing.

Zim was a little nervous with you knowing he was an alien but after seeing how wide your smile was, he knew you could be trusted.

#invader zim #invader zim x reader #bees #Anonymous

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electrozeistyking · 4 years

Text

ZIMVOID KING ARC - Headcanons and Facts for the AU

So! I spent a few days working on headcanons and facts about my Invader Zim AU, the Zimvoid King ARC (or ZKA for short). All written along side of installment three, "Dark Claws of a King", and now here on the net to burn your eyeballs, here's the master post on the ZKA facts and ideas I've recently spawned for the AU. Enjoy!

if you manage to read this all, you’re a certified creature

~ ZIB RELATED ~ Facts that mainly surround the cockroach (and i'm pretty sure the majority of this post mentions this guy).

-Zib has fobidden himself to go on any adventures involving Zim. He's decided that it's not his place to try to stop a version of the Irken that is not his own. Plus, he's a merger. (This is all just nonsense he tells himself. The real reason is that he doesn't want to get involved with that shit all over again. PTSD and stuff, yanno?)

-Zib has a real problem with keeping his hands from doing things. He's actually gotten a Rubrix Cube to keep his hands occupied, and he keeps the cube in one of his pockets at all times in case he needs it. It's probably due to a deep, insatiable urge he has to build, build, build; creating his mech, modifying Voot Cruisers and such... once he'd had nothing else to make, he'd been left with an itch in his hands.

-Zib can also be seen tinkering with some forgotten technology Professor Membrane has laying around. The professor has actually only caught Zib doing this once; the roach had almost finished with an invention Membrane was only preparing to start working on.

-Zib's senses are all heightened and improved. His eyesight has never been more perfect, his hearing (despite his obvious lack of ears) has never been clearer, and though he regrets having it, he does happen to have a perfect sense of smell. So he knows if something stinks, it fucking reeks. Ugh. Awful, dude.

-Sometimes Dib will be like "Oh, lookit us, we're a couple of Dibs, ain't that cool" and then Zib does something very Zim-like and he goes "Fuck, I totally forgot he does that".

~ PAK!ZIM RELATED ~ Facts that mainly surround PAK!Zim.

-Zib and PAK!Zim occasionally do something I like to call "syncing", where the two act and think as one entity, one mind instead of two. When synced, these two can be caught using terms like "us" and "we". Neither of them knows how this works, but I like to think it's like fusing in Steven Universe, minus the dancing and stuff; any distruptions to their sync (like if one of them really doesn't like something), they become two minds opposed to one again.

I like to think this is syncing in a nutshell:

ZIB: We'd love to! DIB: We? ZIB: aw shit P!ZIM: nice going genius

Zib finds syncing to be very relaxing. PAK!Zim likes how powerful syncing feels, even if he won't provide a comment on it.

-These two may have overcome their differences (well, were forced to), but Zib and PAK!Zim are still a Zim and Dib duo. From time to time, their little playful fighting turns into a real spat, and in the Zimvoid, it always hurt Zib whenever PAK!Zim tried to pull the silent treatment on the bug boy.

-PAK!Zim still occasionally threatens Zib that he may dig one of his PAK legs into the roach child's shoulders again. He feels too weirdly guilty about doing it the first time (as mentioned in the first installment of ZKA, "King of a Barren World"), so he'll never actually do it... but Zib doesn't know that.

-PAK!Zim calls Zib "stinkbug", since I thought that was more fitting, as people do call him a roach (this is especially true for me). He's a little cockroach.

-PAK!Zim can only talk in Zib's head. Zib once wondered if PAK!Zim's voice is real, or if it's false. He quickly remembered that inner voices you typically have in your head cannot change volume. PAK!Zim can yell, and it gives Zib headaches and nosebleeds every time he does. PAK!Zim often tries not to yell when the duo are around other people; both are worried if people would think the PAK is ruining his head, and they don't want to know what could happen.

-PAK!Zim has terrible eyesight. And by that, I mean he can't see. The only time he can see anything is when he and Zib are synced. Neither of them really mind it, but they always try to avoid syncing when Zib's showering. Despite how comfortable they are with each other when synced, that is the only discomfort both of them have. They just... I dunno, I'm kinda getting uncomfortable about it myself.

-Zib finds himself to be weirdly possessive over PAK!Zim. Maybe it's because that he sees the sentient robotic backpack to be an anchor for him when shit's getting tough. Having had four years to get over their differences, Zib has actually befriended the PAK and doesn't know what he would have done without someone to talk to all that time.

-To branch off that last one, I have the firm belief that because of Zib's weird attachment to the PAK fused to the back of his head, Zib would probably cease to function if PAK!Zim is ever removed. Ever since PAK!Zim officially woke up, Zib has developed this seemingly comfortable, permanent sense of knowing that someone is there for him, will always be there and they're not going to leave him alone because guess what? PAK!Zim has no choice but to go wherever Zib goes. He occasionally forgets that, though.

The idea of having the PAK (his PAK) removed terrifies him; you'd be tearing that feeling of never truly being lonely away from him. Removing the PAK would remove his buddy, his pal, his Zim. He'd be lost, confused, alone, and he'd have no idea what to do. It's just him by himself all over again, no one else. Plus, who knows what else could happen to Zib? What if it turned out he relied on the PAK to survive, and removing it could potientially kill him? Neither PAK!Zim or Zib are willing to see what could happen.

TL;DR: Take away the PAK, and Zib gets crippling depression and he might die.

-Though he can't see, PAK!Zim can hear pretty damn well (even if he barely listens half the time).

-No one else knows that PAK!Zim is alive. Dib wants the PAK removed because he thinks that if they remove it, Zib's thoughts will stop being so... "corrupted". In his own mind's eye, Dib thinks that if they remove the PAK, it'll be helping Zib, but what he doesn't realize it would absolutely DESTROY Zib's mentality.

~ FAMILY RELATED ~ Facts that involve the Membrane family as a whole.

-The fact that his other son has claws perplexes Professor Membrane to no end. He pretty much tried to see if he could study Zib's weird claws once he found out about them. So far, what he's found out from his studies is that Zib's claws are really fucking sharp and they really hurt (mentioned in installment three of ZKA, "Dark Claws of a King").

-More facts on the stinkbug because yes, Zib has another huge problem: it turns out rants from his "brother" Dib helps Zib conk right the fuck out. It unfortunately works every time.

-Zib, Dib and Gaz just... they kinda see themselves as siblings, even though Zib and Dib are just alternate versions of one another. After a while, they kinda got over it and now it's just:

"This is my brother! I have a brother! We're brothers! We're practically twins! See this? This guy right here? Him? That's <my> brother. I love my brother, and I'll kick your fucking ass into the goddamn dirt if you insult him in front of me." (this is all just from zib btw.)

~ GOOFY ~ Facts that are INTENDED to be goofy.

-For whatever reason, I enjoy the idea of Zib having a weird addiction to eating sticks of butter. Yes, his new family decides to have an intervention about Zib's addiction, but it totally fuckin' flops, so they end up having to try to hide the butter and cut him off from it instead. (they gave up trying when it all disappeared from its hiding spot later that very same day.)

~ IDK FACTS ~ Facts that I've no clue where they should go.

-On Keef in ZKA: the little red head has actually mellowed out now that he's a teen. He still adores his friends, but he's calmer, not as clingy, and is an excellent listener, so he'll let Zib ramble, but will occasionally interrupt to ask questions. He's like Zib's mini therapist.

-I like the idea of Keef being bisexual.

~ AUTHOR TRIVIA ~ Trivia from the author that you totally won't need but may find interesting anyway! why was i speaking in third person—

-"King of a Barren World" was posted on the fifteenth of May, but Archive kinda fucked up and it says I published it on the sixteenth.

-You'll see me call Professor Membrane "the professor", but only because I totally forgot he's a scientist. Not sure how, because his schtick is REAL SCIENCE, but—

-This AU was made by accident. And by that, I thought up a scenario, wrote about it, thought up another scenario and wrote about that one too, and then found out people actually liked this nonsense I was writing, so it's an AU now and forever -or at least until I die-.

-The Zimvoid King ARC is not a real arc. I just thought the name sounded cool.

-Before anyone asks "what does ARC stand for", it doesn't stand for anything. I just capslocked the word arc because I just thought that looked cool.

-I accidentally made a Discord server for ZKA.

-Speakin' of accidents, I may have accidentally started shipping Keef and Zib. Oops?

-I really like calling Zib a stinkbug. As user MelodyoftheVoid once put it: Half man, half bug, all stink.

-I have strictly forbidden myself from making Zib's hair-scythes antennae. I love headcanons on them being antennae, sure... but I decided that I'd have no idea how to write them in ZKA, so I was like "Nah, dog".

-Of all my IZ AUs, ZKA is the one I haven't dropped yet. Maybe because it's only four days old at this point, but still. omigosh zka is a baby au :0

#Zimvoid King ARC #zimvoid #writing #headcanons #headcanons and facts #iz headcanon #zib headcanon #zibmembrane #dibmembrane #oh lord some bro get zib off his exotic butters addiction #ZKA AU #ZKA #IZ #invader zim #invaderzim

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zenithlux · 4 years

Note

If you are still taking requests would you mind doing 86 and 123 with vergil/nero/fem reader ?

Yep still am! I have a few more in my inbox (so if you’ve sent something and haven’t seen a response yet, don’t worry! I have quite a few anon requests, so I’m tackling them somewhat in the order they were received.)

86 will be Vergil/Reader, and 123 will be Nero/Reader with a twist! Hope you enjoy!

#86: AM I SCARING YOU?

Vergil was vaguely aware that she had never seen his devil form. It hadn’t been entirely on purpose. Though, he wasn’t too keen on unleashing that half of him for no particular reason. They fought together, sure, but there was never an instance where he had needed it. His human form and Yamato did just fine, and she could handle her own. And she was smart: smart enough to know when she couldn’t handle something and to leave it to him instead. And this team dynamic had worked, for the most part.

But then something had gone wrong. A pack of demons had ambushed her on her way to Devil May Cry; one of the few times in weeks that he hadn’t been there. And his brave little artist had managed to take a few out on her own, but the third - a fury, of all things - caught her right in the stomach.

Vergil could smell the blood from a mile away.

His demon didn’t hesitate.

Within seconds, he was by her side, despite not knowing before where she had been or what had even happened. He vaguely heard a gasp somewhere behind him when he quite literally tore the fury apart and turned on the other two that dare harm her. He felt the presence of other demons dissipate in an instant as they scattered. And he might have chased them down if the scent of blood didn’t remind him why he was there in the first place.

My…

It was then that he realized what he’d done, and how gruesome the scene was. This was more than calculated cuts by Yamato or perfect strikes with his summoned swords. This was… it was violent. Dark. Monsterous. It…

“Vergil,”

He blinked once as she took a slow, pained step toward him. Her hand was on her bleeding stomach, but her eyes were on his. Any trace of fear she may have had was gone, replaced by the same love he had seen time and time again. “It’s okay,” She said. “I’ve suffered worse.”

Vergil knew he should transform back, but he didn’t. Maybe it was her confidence or the way she seemed more concerned with his safety than her own. Even so, he didn’t miss the way her body shook the closer he got or the way her breathing hitched when she finally stood in front of him. “Wow,” She said.

“Am I scaring you?”

His voice came out as a deep, guttural growl that startled her. Then, she laughed, before wincing as she pressed harder against her wound. Vergil reached for her, but noticed his own claws and thought better of it. Instead, he cautiously moved his tail toward her, brushing it against her side. She eyed it with a sense of wonder, before looking back at him. “I suppose this was bound to happen eventually,” She said. “And I will admit… I wish I had more time to admire you.”

Vergil knew his demon form wouldn’t give away his shock. His tail, however, wrapped fully around her back. He resisted the urge to pull her closer, his mind muddled with the scent of her and her blood all mixed together. “You need help,” He said.

“May I?”

“May you what?”

She reached her hand toward his face. “Just for a moment,” She said. “Then we can go.”

Slowly, Vergil nodded. And when her fingers brushed his scales, he physically shuddered. Her touch was freezing compared to his demon-half, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it made him purr before he could stop it. His tail flicked away for a moment in annoyance, before brushing again along her spine. She laughed but winced as she stumbled back. This time, his tail wrapped fully around her, pulling her close and dropping her into his arms. “Hold on,” He said, not that it mattered as even if she wasn’t hurt, he would never let her go.

#123: Oh, did I scare you big boy?

Nero didn’t know what possessed him to date a demon.

He also knew how ironic that sentence was, yet he had yet to figure out another way to say it.

After breaking up with Kyrie - a mutual agreement, as the two realized they were really just friends - he’d been lonely for more than a few months. Dante and Vergil were surprisingly good company, even offering Nero a place in Devil May Cry until he figured things out. And Nero liked to think his relationship with his father was improving with this new situation, as the two had finally figured out how to talk to each other. They all still saw Kyrie from time to time, as Nero was always happy to help with the orphanage or take care of the foster kids whenever she needed it. But now, he and Nico could hunt demons to their heart’s content.

And then he’d met her.

At first, Nero assumed the woman was just a special kind of human. She used a sword similar to his, except hers could change shape on a dime. And no matter what form it took - including a hammer-like thing that Dante envied, and an overly long katana that Vergil had called ‘superfluous’ - she used it with expert precision. And even after Vergil warned Nero of the woman’s demonic nature, both he and Nico were smitten. Nico started calling her ‘devil-girl’, except that title was said with endearment, while ‘devil-boy’ was used to tease him. ‘Swordmistress’ had been said once or twice, but Nero still wasn’t sure if that was a legitimate nickname or something Nico used to taunt Vergil.

Regardless, after a few weeks of chance encounters, Nero was more than relieved when their new devil companion accepted his offer of working with them. Partially because Nico would have killed him had he not asked, but mostly because he wanted to get to know her more himself.

Imagine his surprise when he saw her demonic form for the first time.

It shouldn’t have caught him off guard as much as it did. Even after seeing his family’s own demonic forms - which were much stronger and arguably ‘scarier’ than most others-, hers was still a shock. The ease which she transformed in front of him was just as impressive as Dante and Vergil’s. Her long legs were accentuated by taloned feet that were bent like high-heels. A long piece of leather clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. Her wings were nothing like his family’s, looking more like long, sharp, insect legs than actual wings. Her head twisted into something like a beetle with curved horns and large, glowing antennae that highlighted her black and orange exoskeleton. And when the fight was over, she swiveled her head around in a completely unnatural way as her bug eyes glittered in what he imagined was mischief.

“Did I scare you, big boy?”

Nero didn’t know what overcame him. But he burst into laughter before throwing her a grin of his own. “Not at all,” He said, revving red queen as he slipped into his own demonic form. “All I see is someone new to spar with.”

She chuckled, though it was more of a series of clicks than anything human. “I knew the blood of Sparda was strong, but I never imagined you had such a form.”

“Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

This time, he was certain she was laughing. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Shoot.” He said as he propped Red Queen on his shoulder. She tilted her head, and Nero corrected himself. “Tell me.”

“Loser pays for a…” She paused, head tilting the other way.

“Dinner?”

“Is that what a meeting between two people who may or may not like each other is called?”

Nero snorted. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“Then yes,” She said. “Loser pays for the dinner.”

“Deal.”

#zenni-writes #dmc #fan fiction #drabble #request #neroxreader #demon!reader #vergilxreader #vergilxoc #neroxoc #Thanks for the request!#Hope you enjoy <3

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itallstartedwithplayingvet · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 Day 24 - You’re Not Making Any Sense

Fandom: Original

Characters: Droplet the frog (OC), Dune the scorpion (OC), Bristle the tarantula (OC)

Content Warnings: Bugs, paraylsis, fear, lady whump (no human women involved though)

Word Count: 1,134

This is a continuation of my day 22 response, which you can read here

Droplet hopped down to reach Dune, landing upon the sand below in a single leap. She nudged the scorpion gently, urging her to get up. The tiny frog leapt back in fright when Dune let out another scream of pain. Droplet saw the scorpion reach for her, but before she could make contact, her arm froze and dropped to the ground.

“Please...please get help!” Dune cried. Droplet cocked her head to one side, unsure of what the scorpion was yelling at her about. Yet, the message was not entirely lost on her. She soon came to the realization that her master and his friend needed help, based on their cries and their inability to get up when she nudged them. But she didn’t know what to do for them, until she realized that another bug might know. Still, she didn’t want to leave them. What if another animal came by and made a meal of them?

Droplet returned to her master’s side, nudging him and chirping quietly. He looked at her, but could do nothing else besides let out a quiet, wheezing sound. Droplet looked around at the desert surrounding her, chirping frantically. With a final nuzzle against Bristle’s face, the tiny frog reluctantly turned her back on him, and hopped off towards the horizon.

. . .

She had no idea where to find help, and so she simply went onward in the same direction for hours. The sand was course against her soft skin, and the dryness of the air wore her out. Eventually the sun began to set, and with this, the air cooled rapidly. Yet, just as she became too exhausted to continue, the outline of a distant town came into view. Droplet could have sang with joy. But there was no time for that. Instead, she kept moving forward, and fighting against her fatigue, made it into the town.

Once there, she looked around frantically, searching for any nearby bugs who she could lead back to her master. She spotted a beetle lingering outside near the wall of a building. Droplet hopped towards them, squeaking frantically in an attempt to get their attention. The beetle turned to look at her. “What the---?” They muttered. “Nah, come on, now.” They picked up a rock and tossed it near her, though it didn’t seem as though they’d been trying to hit her, at least. “Shoo!”

Droplet jumped back, but didn’t relent. She kept chirping and squeaking, raising her voice as high as it could go. Surely someone would hear and decide it was worth their time to look into!

Alas, though more bugs left the building, and were clearly curious about the screaming feral frog, she couldn’t convince any one of them to follow her. She despaired, continuing to call out to the bugs, to little avail.

That is, however, until one of the curious onlookers -- a grasshopper, by the look of them -- called out to someone still inside the building. “Hey, Big Red! There’s a crazy frog yelling up a storm out here, and it don’t look like any of the wild ones we got around here!”

“What, d’ya think I’m some kinda frog whisperer, Twig?” A voice from within the building called back. However, in another moment, a large centipede left the building and joined the crowd outside. He looked directly at her for a moment. “...By Sepa, I think you’re right.” He replied, antennae twitching inquisitively. “Fact, I think that might be a rainforest frog. Which begs the question -- what in the name of Sepa is a rainforest dweller doing all the way out here?”

The centipede crawled towards Droplet, his many legs allowing him to close the distance between them practically in an instant. “...Yep, pretty sure this is the kind of frog those rainforest-dwellin’ tarantulas domesticated.” He remarked. “So what are you doin’ all the way out here?” His antennae brushed against her skin gently. Droplet shuddered a bit.

Suddenly, the centipede stiffened. “...That smells like...tarantula...and scorpion, too! And...distress...” He straightened up, but kept his beady black eyes fixed on Droplet. “That’s why you were causin’ such a racket, right? Your master’s out there somewhere, probably needin’ help, and they sent you out to find it?”

Though Droplet couldn’t really understand him, she chirped urgently just as she had before, turning towards the direction she’d come from and trying to indicate to him that she wanted him to follow her. Thankfully, he seemed to get the message.

“Well, I’ll be...” The centipede muttered. “Alright, then, little fella. Hop away!” He took off towards the direction she’d been facing. He was actually quite a bit faster than Droplet, leaving the frog to frantically try and catch up. He seemed to notice this, and slowed down a bit, until Droplet caught up with him...and then, he moved underneath her as she leapt into the air, causing her to land upon his back!

“It’ll be quicker this way.” The centipede explained, his many legs moving in a single fluid motion to carry him effortlessly across the desert sand. “I’ll follow the scent.”

. . .

With the centipede’s help, the trip back took half the time as before. At last, the pair stumbled upon the two paralyzed arthropods. Droplet was quick to leap off of the centipede’s body, chirping loudly as she hopped over to her master. The centipede followed her, gazing at Bristle for a moment, before he turned his head to spot Dune...and the dead tarantula hawk.

“Damn...” He muttered, turning back to the unfortunate tarantula. “Y’know, it ain’t often that folks get stung by a Hawk...and live. Looks like your scorpion...I’m assuming you’re friends...took her out. Can’t say I’ve seen that before.” He leaned closer to Bristle’s body, and prodded at him with his foremost pair of limbs. “...Don’t see an egg on ya. You’re lucky. Looks like the Hawk got distracted before she could put one on ya. I’ll have to check your friend too, though. Can’t risk bringin’ a baby Hawk back to town.” Still, he scooped Bristle’s stiff body up with his many limbs, and placed him onto his vast expanse of a back. He used a few pairs of limbs to hold the body in place while he crawled down to inspect Dune.

After a moment or so of inquisitively inspecting her body, the centipede concluded that she was clean as well. He lifted her onto his back just as he had with Bristle. Droplet hopped onto his back at last once he’d finished. “There.” The centipede said. “Now don’t y’all worry. I know just what to do with ya.” And with that, he turned and began to make his way back to the town -- a paralyzed tarantula and scorpion, and a very exhausted frog, upon his back.

#whumptober2020 #no.24 #you're not making any sense #original universe #ocs #bugs #nonhuman whump #paralysis #fear #lady whump

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thetravelerwrites · 5 years

Text

Fuzz (MLM Mothman) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Human/Male Mothman Additional Tags: Exophilia, Mothman, Male Reader, Male Monster, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Tabletop Gaming, Interspecies Romance, Social Anxiety, Gay Monster, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Anal Sex, Safe Sex, Condoms Words: 7185

A fun commission for @severedreamerbeard. A man meets a shy silkmoth mothman in a hobby store during a free comic day, and invites him to play D&D with his friends. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Free Comic Friday always drew a huge crowd in your favorite local comic shop, but it was packed to the rafters today. The first issue of a graphic novel reboot had dropped and they were offering five hundred free copies, first come first served. You’d been dying to get your hands on it since the reboot had been announced, and you couldn’t believe it was finally out.

Happily swinging the bag around, you didn’t leave immediately once you got your copy like most of the crowd had done. This was one of your favorite places to hang out. It wasn’t like a lot of comic shops that seemed to only attract one demographic; there was always a nice mix of different people. Tabletop gamers, comic enthusiasts, collectors of various nerdy things, cosplayers who needed supplies to make their costumes: all sorts came through here and you loved it.

You got a text from your friend, Shannon, who knew you’d be there and snickered. She’d lost her D20, again, and wanted you to pick up another one in blue, preferably with sparklies so that it matched her current favorite set. Rolling your eyes and smirking, you headed for the dice aisle.

To your surprise, there was a very large, tall mothman standing there, though he was hunched over a little, rolling a die over and over. It was a new type of die that lit up when you rolled it, and the moth’s eyes brightened every time he saw the lights inside activate.

He was almost all white and extremely fluffy; the fluffiest part of him was the ruff around his neck. His large wings were folded against his back, complete with long tails on each like a lunar moth. He had four arms, the top pair larger than the lower pair, which were sort of wrapped around himself, and his hands had two long, large fingers and a thumb each, all a velvety brown in color. He wore no clothing, only a baseball cap with his brown, feather-like antennae sticking out of the holes at the top. The cap said “Will Work for Cuddles” on it.

Mothmen were rare, and you’d seen one or two before, but you’d never been close enough to one to actually talk to them.

“That’s a great set,” You said. “They just got them in last week.”

The mothman jumped, startled, but he grinned a little. “Heh…” He stammered nervously. “Yeah. I… I hate to perpetuate a stereotype, but I am attracted to things that light up.”

He spoke softly, like he was nervous people would hear him. It was cute, but you almost worried about him. The poor thing must have been terrified to come in here with so many people, but the pull of nerd junk can be strong sometimes.

“Do you play?” You asked him, gesturing at the die.

“Play?” The replied, confused.

“Yeah, D&D,” You said, and after a moment of him continuing to look confused, you elaborated. “Dungeons and Dragons. The tabletop game. What you use these dice for.”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, fidgeting. “No, I… I’ve never played. I’ve always wanted to, but… none of my friends are into nerdy stuff like I am. That and I’m kind of new in town, so I haven’t met many people yet. I was lucky to find this hobby shop. I was just walking past and saw it and figured I’d stop in. Is it always this busy?”

“On free comic day, absolutely,” I said with a smile. “So... not to be creepy since it’s literally the first time we’ve met, but my friends and I play every Sunday evening. We’re actually about to start a brand new campaign. You’re more than welcome to join. If you like, you can come ‘round Saturday at lunch and we can build you a character sheet, so that your prepared for the campaign.”

“Really?” He said, his voice timid but excited. “I’d love that! Thanks so much!”

“It’s no trouble,” You said, pulling out your phone. “Here, put your info in my phone and I’ll text you my address.”

He took your phone with a big grin on his face and put in his number. You took your phone back and looked.

“Fuzz?” You asked. “That’s a little on the nose, ain’t it?”

He laughed, a really pleasant sound. “It’s a nickname. Uh…listen… I… I’m actually on my lunch break, so I need to get back to work, but… I’m really looking forward to playing with you and your friends. I’ve always wanted to try.”

“We’d love to have you,” You told him, smiling. He bade you farewell and left, looking back before he headed out of the door and smiling widely at you one last time.

You looked down at the light-up dice, pursed your lips, and snatched up a whole set of them plus a carry bag. You were halfway to the check out when you realized you forgot Shannon’s D20 and doubled back for it.

The next day at lunchtime, Fuzz arrived at your home with pizza in his hand. You were going to throw together some grilled cheeses, but this was way better.

“Thanks, man,” You said, taking it and setting it on the counter in your apartment.

“No prob,” Fuzz replied. His neck ruff seemed to have been brushed shiny and the hat he wore today said “Nap Champion.” “I didn’t know what kind of toppings you’d like, so I just went for a good ol’ cheese.”

“I love cheese,” You told him. “I’ve got you a fresh character sheet printed out and the manual ready. You can look through it while I’m plating this up. What would you like to drink? I’ve got soda, beer, water, and apple juice.”

“Is it… weird if I ask for juice?” He said shyly, hunching his shoulders. “It’s better for my stomach than the other things.”

“Apple juice it is,” You said, pouring a glass. You took the plates and cups to the table, watching Fuzz go over the character sheet with a dumbfounded look on his face.

“I am very confused,” He murmured, almost to himself.

You laughed. “Well, that’s why you’re here. I’ll teach you.” I sat next to him and took a big bite of pizza. “Okay, so, first, you’re going to choose your race. It makes everything after that a little bit easier. I know this sheet tells you to choose a name first, but choosing a name is easier if you know what race you are, because certain races have naming conventions. Like, Tabaxis have tribal naming conventions, so you can’t choose a name like… Frank, for example.”

“Got it,” Fuzz said.

“Take a look at mine,” You said, pulling out your own character sheet full of annotations and stats. “My character is a calashite human cleric, which is like a priest, devoted to the god of knowledge, and my alignment is Lawful-Good. Now, most races will have default alignments, but you can decide what you want yours to be.”

“Okay,” Fuzz replied, trying to keep it all straight. “Hmm… are there any insect races I can play as?”

“Unfortunately, no,” You told him. “But, the cool thing about fantasy is that you can be whatever you want.”

“But I want to be a bug,” He said dryly.

You snorted. “Just look through and see if there’s something you like.”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, pointing at a drider. “That’s a bug!”

“That’s an arachnid,” I pointed out.

“Same difference,” He said.

“Don’t spiders eat moths?” You joked.

“I will take my pizza and go home, mister,” Fuzz said, poking fun right back. You were glad he was getting comfortable enough with you to joke around.

“Driders aren’t playable either,” You replied, laughing. “What about a shifter? That way you can take on aesthetic characteristics an insect, if you like. And the single-skins have white hair, like your fur.”

“Okay, okay,” Fuzz said. “What about a name?”

“Shifters usually have monosyllabic names, so anything you can think of with a single syllable.”

“Like Fuzz, you mean?”

“Are you really going to call your character by your real name?” You asked, smiling.

He smiled back, his lips the same velvety brown as his antennae and hands. “I told you, it’s a nickname. Trust me, it’s better than my real one. Only my parents and siblings know that.”

“Not even your girlfriend?” You asked him.

“Ah… no girlfriend,” He said, shrugging shyly and ducking his head, his antennae waving a little erratically. “I.. uh… don’t lean that way, if you know what I mean.”

You waved your hand. “I’m bi, so no judgment,” You told him, and he relaxed.

You both settled on alignment, level, and class, and then it was time to roll for his stats.

“Oh,” He said with a frown. “I… shit, I don’t have dice.”

“No worries,” You told him, taking out the bag you bought and rolling out the light-up set he’d been admiring.

“You bought those for me?” He asked, his shyness returning, reaching for the bag with a cautious grin.

“Yep,” You told him. “It’s no big deal. I knew you’d need a set and you seemed to like these, so I just--”

You were cut off when he grabbed you with his large upper arms and hugged you. God, his fur was soft. You’d never actually touched it before now, but with your face pressed against it, it was softer than angora and smelled like fresh herbs.

He released you suddenly, as if catching himself doing something he hadn’t meant to do. “Sorry, sorry… that was just… really nice of you.”

“Hey, it’s totally cool. I’m a hugger, too,” You told him, patting his upper shoulder. “Alright, let me show you how the dice work and then we’ll roll for your stats.”

You’d had a great time with him fleshing out his character, and once he got over his initial shyness, he was one of the funniest people you’d ever met. He had you in stitches until dinnertime, when he told you he had to go home and unpack. Apparently, when he said he’d just moved there, he meant just. You got another hug as he left, and it was just as soft and warm as the first one.

You felt a little disappointed after he was gone and couldn’t wait to see him the next evening.

For the next twenty four hours, you felt fidgety and restless, excited to see Fuzz again and start the new campaign. Rick had been working for weeks on the plot and obstacles, and he was always the best DM.

Fuzz met you at your house wearing a ball cap that read “Don’t Mess with Me*” and in fine print under the asterisk, continued with, “I’ll Cry A Lot and It Will Be Uncomfortable for Both of Us.” He gave you one of his warm, cuddly hugs and rode with you to Rick’s place. Rick, Shannon, Dag, and Jenna were standing out on the porch with sodas and beer, talking and laughing, and they saluted you with their various beverages as you drove onto the driveway.

“Hey, buddy!” Rick said as you got out of the car. “This your new friend?”

“Fuzz,” The shy mothman said, tentatively reaching out a hand.

“Ha! That’ll be easy to remember,” Rick said, shaking his hand. “I’m Rick. This is Dag.” Rick pointed at a large orc with a sort of a gold tan over his light green skin who gave Fuzz a half-salute. “Jenna.” She was a human with dark skin and tight curls who waved at Fuzz with a bright smile. “And Shannon.” Shannon was part fae, you knew, but you were never sure what her exact nature was. But, then again, all fae were like that. She had pearlescent skin and rosy hair cut short and buzzed on one side. Her bright green pupils were slitted and just a bit too large for her face. Fuzz ducked his head and and gave a little nod each time someone was introduced, trying to make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting for Russel. Can I get you something to drink?” Rick asked Fuzz.

“Do you, um… do you have water? Fizzy stuff makes me a bit sick,” Fuzz said.

“You got it, bud,” Rick said, reaching for a bottle out of the cooler.

Russel was Rick’s twin and lived next door, but he was always late. You didn’t understand why, but Rick shrugged and said he’d always been like that. It’s why Russel wasn’t allowed to DM.

Russel wandered over about five minutes later, and an a minute or two after that, the sushi that Rick ordered showed up. After paying, the seven of you went into the house to get started.

“Okay, so, everyone has their completed character sheets ready to go?” Rick asked, and you all held up your papers while stuffing your faces with california rolls. “Good. Dice? Minis?”

“We didn’t have time to make Fuzz’s mini,” You said.

“No big deal, I’ve got a ton of spares. I always keep a few blanks on hand because of this dingus over here.” He gestured at his brother. “He always forgets to make a miniature.” Rick handed Fuzz a box with blank miniatures in it, carefully separated by foam. Fuzz picked a slender humanoid and set it in front of him.

“Now,” Rick said. “If we are all ready to proceed?” He looked around the table and everyone nodded. Fuzz was shifting in his chair with both nervousness and excitement. “Very well. Our adventure starts in the midst of chaos! Inside a small inn of the road inside the land of Turmish, on the edge of the Sword Coast, a bar fight is raging. The bar is affectionately known by travelers as The Drunken Worm, and for good reason. Currently, though, windows are being smashed up, tables are being thrown, people are flying through the air, there is an absolute roar of voices drowning out any other sound. And in the midst is someone trying to calm the turmoil, only to have a chair smashed over her head. Shannon, that would be you, please describe your character.”

“Okay,” Shannon said, bouncing a little in her seat. “I am a very large, dark blue dragonborn named Anshez. I have a shortish snout with sharp teeth jutting out of my lips. I have two sets of horns on my head, which now have bits of wood dangling from them, and three lines of ridges down my back to the tip of my tail. My eyes are blue as well, and I’m wearing contrasting light blue robes with slits up to my knees for easier movement, and I have a large bastard sword strapped to my back.”

“Excellent,” Rick said, writing that down. “Now, for the unfortunate person who was wielding that chair.” Rick pointed at you. “What is your character?”

“I’m calashite human cleric,” You said. “My name is Khemed Pashar. I’m quite up there in age, as far as humans go; before I decided to travel, I spent forty years in a monastery in study and prayer. I have greying hair and a pale complexion, and I’m wearing white robes with a green panel down the front lined with silver embroidery. The panel has the insignia of the god of the pursuit of knowledge, Oghma, my patron. My only companion is a guide I hired a few days ago.”

“Why is a cleric hurling chairs?” Dag asked.

“I’m just going with the story, man,” You said.

“Anyway,” Rick said. “Anshez, who was once trying to calm the situation, is now slowly drawing her blade from the sheath on her back. Suddenly, someone appears and grabs her arm.”

“That would be me,” Jenna said. “I am a mustard yellow tiefling ranger named Varan, with horns and hooves that are shiny black. My eyes are also black and reflective. I’m wearing a knee-length dress of tightly woven chainmail and a leather vest over it. I have bracers on both my lower and upper arms. I grab my friend’s arm to stop her from hurting the frail looking human and try to calm her.”

“Roll a persuasion check,” Rick said.

“16, and I have a +2 advantage,” Jenna said.

“You are successful in talking down your partner, though she is still angry.”

“If I apologized, would she forgive me?” You asked.

“Roll for it,” Rick said. You rolled. Nat 1. The table burst into uproarious laughter.

“She would not,” Rick said with a chuckle. “In fact, she can barely hear your apology over the din, so she thinks you’re mocking her and she’s now holding a grudge against you.”

“Shit,” You said, grinning.

“Can I jump in?” Fuzz ventured cautiously.

“Definitely,” Rick said. “Your character?”

“I’m a wildhunt shifter druid,” Fuzz said. “I’m just under seven feet tall, and my current mask takes on the characteristics of a brown bear. I’m wearing a hat with a veil that covers most of my face and a pair of loose pants that doesn’t obstruct my movement. I’m in the employ of the cleric; he hired me to be his guide.”

“Good, good.” Rick makes notes. “Your name?”

“Fuzz,” He said.

“Your character name,” Rick said.

“That’s is my character name,” Fuzz said with a shy grin.

Rick snorted. “Okie-dokie. What are the two of you doing in all this?” He asks Dag and Russel.

“We’re bards,” Dag said. “I’m a halfling playing a fiddle.”

“A halfling? Really?” Tiny Shannon said, snickering.

“You’re a dragonborn, shut up,” Dag said, and Shannon giggled, playfully slapping his arm. “My name is Taurin Goodwort. My companion and I are on the small, dingy stage in the corner, trying to play over the noise. We’ve been paid, so by gods, we’re going to do our jobs. I’m wearing a coat that’s slightly too big but my clothes underneath are finely tailored and well fitted. I’m a dapper dude.”

“I’m also playing, but I’m a lute player,” Russel said. “I’m a grey tabby tabaxi not much taller than my halfling friend. My name is Game of Chance, but I go by Chance. My clothes are flashy and covered in shiny trinkets and bells that jingle to the beat when I stomp my paws.”

“Aww,” Jenna said, scratching behind Russel’s ear. He whacked her hand away, and she grinned.

Once the introductions were finished, the campaign was underway. Despite the chaos of the bar fight, the six of you hear the woeful tale of a patron of the bar, a missing son, an actual dragon, an actual dungeon, and all the traps that is implied. Fuzz opened up slowly as the campaign waged on, and his druid had the party in howling with laughter by the end of the night. When the seven of you wrapped up for the night, Fuzz had an open invitation to come back, with or without you.

Fuzz came to every Sunday session from then on, and though it took him some time to get over his anxiety around people, he swiftly became friends with everyone at the table. Despite how much he and the other were getting along, though, he always sat next to you. Perhaps even though he was getting over his shyness, he was still more comfortable next to you.

You weren’t complaining; you liked being close to him. In fact, the two of you had become really good friends, having lunch twice a week and texting constantly. You had your phone in your hand at all times, waiting for his response. You’d woken up with a dead phone on your chest on a number of occasions.

One weekday, after painting his miniature, he took you for dinner, although he didn’t know any good spots since he was still new in town and told you to pick. You decided on Japanese, though the restaurant was a bit full, and it made him nervous. You offered to go somewhere else, but he said it was fine and that he’d brave it, but only for you, making you blush a little. You grabbed his hand and led him through the throngs of people, and his grip tightened on yours.

It took a month for you to realize that… maybe you weren’t just feeling friendship for Fuzz. You liked him a lot. You thought about him all the time and looked forward to his hugs and touching his fur and listening to his laugh and the chittering noise he made when he was happy or excited.

Then, one late evening after the two of you had said goodnight, you had other thoughts. You wondered what his… intimate parts looked like. What they felt like. What they tasted like. And the idea excited you. Thinking about it, you felt yourself getting hard, and you stroked yourself to the thought of touching him, finding out where his private places were and playing with them, and teasing them. Kissing him and cuddling him and getting him to make those cute noises you loved to hear. You moaned at the thought, jerking faster as your imagination ran away with you. You came all over your hand and stomach, gasping and sweating, but it wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted him. Nothing else was good enough.

During the sixth session after Fuzz had joined the campaign, when he wore a cap that just said, “LAMPS!” in big, bold letters, your party had located the lost bar patron’s son, but he was a mind slave to an aboleth, one of many, enslaved to dig out an enclave for the creature to built it’s own small hold, so it could rule by itself. Aboleth’s are extraordinarily selfish creatures, and while they often group together, this one’s desires had driven him to make its own place to lord over. The trick was going to be defeating the aboleth without hurting any of the enslaved, as they were all sons and daughters of the local villages.

It was hard to concentrate on the game with Fuzz next to you. He always sat next to you during every game, but he seemed especially close this evening. You’d glance at him surreptitiously to find him looking at you. When you caught him, he’d smile and look away. He seemed to find reasons to touch you, whether it was to pass you something or to reach past you for something. His fur smelled as good as it always did.

You were filled with such doubts, though. Could you just be reading to much into it? You hadn’t really dated a lot, and you’d never dated a non-human. What if he was just overly friendly to compensate for his shyness? What if you told him how you felt and he didn’t feel the same? You enjoyed spending time with him, and he was so shy that you were scared of pushing him away with your feelings. You tried to push it out of your mind. You had an aboleth to defeat.

“For my turn, I’m going to make a mad dash an possibly take the hit so that I can cast Dispel Illusion to get rid of the aboleth’s secondary illusion,” Jenna said.

“Uh…” Rick checked his notes. “The aboleth is at level 13, and you are level 7, so you only have slightly more than half a chance of this working, so roll for it.”

“Um…” The clattering of Jenna’s die as it rolled across her board. “13, and I have +5 intelligence.”

“Okay, so your spell was successful, but it won’t stop him from creating another in a few minutes and that’s the end of your turn. You’re surrounded by enslaved and they are being driven to rip you apart.” He rolled his die. “They pretty much tear you to shreds. You take… 63 points of damage.”

“Gah!” Jenna said, flopping back into her chair and huffing. “Balls. I’m down.”

“I’m going to use the diversion to summon fiendish monstrous scorpions to draw the enslaved away,” Fuzz said.

“Nice,” You told him in an undertone. He grinned sideways at you.

“Chance and I take this opportunity to check the pond for other enslaved that we hadn’t seen.” Both Dag and Russel rolled. 18 and 12.

“You don’t see anything, only the aboleth growling menacingly at you, preparing to summon another illusion,” Rick said.

Shannon and Jenna then began pulling unconscious enslaved away from the pond.

“Alright, so my big finishing move,” You said, tugging at your sleeves confidently. “Now that I know the pond is free of collateral damage, I cast Lightning Bolt.”

“Roll for your attack.”

“Buh… Ooh! 27!”

“Lightning Bolt is affective!” Rick said. “But the aboleth is not completely destroyed.”

“So we all bum-rush him?” Fuzz asked.

“Hell yeah!” Shannon exclaimed. “Except for Jenna, cause she dead as fuck.”

Jenna stuck her tongue out. “Hey, I broke through enemy lines, gave you guys an advantage, and died like a goddamn hero, so you can suck on all my balls.”

“You ain’t got balls!” Shannon said.

“You don’t know my life!” Jenna shot back.

“I’m your wife, dumbass!” Shannon retorted.

“Would you guys shut your cakeholes and kill this thing, please? I would like to go to bed before 2 A.M. this time,” Rick said.

With the aboleth destroyed and the slaves freed, you collected a hefty bounty from the grateful townspeople and wrapped up the session with big hug all around.

As the night was winding down, with people finishing off snacks and getting their coats and belongings together, Shannon cornered you in the kitchen.

“So, what’s going on with you and Fuzz?” She asked in an almost-whisper.

You looked back over your shoulder anxiously, worried that Fuzz overheard, but he was talking to Dag and Rick.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“Oh, please, you are so obvious and oblivious at the same time. Everyone in the group know the two of you are practically in love with each other except for you and him.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” You told her dismissively. “Even if I did like him, I have no way of knowing if he feels the same way. And I’m not saying I do have feelings for him.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?” She said exasperatedly. “I’ve watched the two of you make goo-goo eyes and ‘accidentally’ on-purpose touch each other all night. He’s head over heels for you. And you are for him, I can tell. We can all tell. Hell, we have a pool going for when you guys are just going to give in and fuck.”

“Shannon!” You hissed. She had said that last sentence a little too loud for your liking.

“Look, you guys have lunch by yourselves all the time, so it’s clear you’re comfortable being alone. Just ask him to go out with you!”

You sighed, looking back over at Fuzz, wearing that sweet smile on his face and laughing at something Dag said.

“I’ll think about it,” You told her.

“I bet I win the pot,” She said, grinning cheekily, and you shooed her off with an impatient grimace.

On the way home, you scratched the back of your neck and asked, “So, I know you’re new to the area, so I’m sure you don’t know much about the local events, right?”

“Nothing at all,” He replied. “Why?”

Your heart was hammering in your chest. You wondered if he could hear it. “Well, next week’s session is postponed because of our town’s fireworks festival. Do you like fireworks?”

He chirruped excitedly, which was probably the most adorable sound you’d ever heard in your life. “I love fireworks!”

“Awesome! That’s awesome…” You gulped a little. “That’s really good, because I was… wondering… if maybe… you’d like to go with me?”

“Yeah!” He said. “Is the group going?”

“Oh, yeah,” You said, clearing your throat. “They’ll be there, but I, uh… I was thinking maybe it could, you know, just… be the two of us?”

“Sure, that’ll be fun, but why aren’t we going with the group?”

“Because…” You said, struggling to get the words out. “This is special. I want to spend time with you. Just with you, you know what I mean?”

You pulled into your driveway and parked before turning to look at Fuzz. He was gaping at you.

“You mean, like a date?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You said. “If that’s okay?”

“That’s totally okay,” He said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’d love to go with you.”

You laughed in relief. “Awesome. I can’t wait.”

You both got out of the car and he gave you a hug before leaving, lingering a little longer this time. You ran your fingers through the fur of his back, up and down, and he sighed before pulling away.

“See you?” He asked.

“See you,” You replied.

The next weekend, you picked him up at his apartment. He had a basket in one hand and a quilt over his shoulder. His hat said “I Like Shiny Objects” on it. Apt for the situation, you thought.

He raised a free hand in greeting. “Hey!”

“Hey,” You said in return as he got in. “Ready?”

“Very much so,” He replied, and you smiled at him. “I’m glad you asked me out. I wanted to ask you, but I was too anxious.”

You felt a blush creep up your neck. You were glad it was already dark.

“When do the fireworks start?” He asked.

“Seven-thirty,” You replied. “I want to get there early to find a good spot.”

Fifteen minutes later, you arrived at the fairgrounds to realize that you weren’t the only person to have this idea. The place was already packed. You frowned.

“Well, so much for that idea,” You said.

“What’s behind that fence over there?” Fuzz asked, pointing past the field.

“Oh, nothing but forest,” You told him. “There’s supposed to be wildcats out there, so it’s to keep kids out.”

“We aren’t kids,” Fuzz said.

“Yeah, but I don’t know where the the gate is, and that’s too high for me to climb,” You told him.

“Oh, no,” Fuzz replied a little sarcastically, fluttering his wings a bit. “What a dilemma. Whatever shall we do?”

You smirked, feeling your heart flutter as well. “You want to fly over?”

“Got a better idea?”

You put your hands on your hips and ducked your head, unsure. You felt one of his hands on your cheek and you looked up at him.

“Trust me,” He said softly.

His large thumb was achingly close to your lips, but you resisted and urge to kiss it. “I do.”

He grabbed you around the middle with your arms around his neck and flew you up and over the fence from a secluded corner of the field. He managed to find a hill with a very small clearing, perfect for a quilt, sitting right next to a big oak tree.

“This is amazing,” You told him, looking down the hill with a clear view off the field and the sky. “You can see everything from this vantage.”

“You like this?” He asked, setting down everything he brought.

“Yeah,” You answered. “It’s incredible.”

“Good,” He said in a soft voice, coming up behind you and wrapping both arms around you. “We can be alone here for as long as we like.”

His voice was low, almost seductive, and you’d never heard him use it before. It sent tingles down your spine and in… other places.

The two of you lay out the quilt and the spread he’d prepared. It was the quintessential date picnic: fruit, cheese, wine, crackers, all kinds of fancy things that you’d never actually had before, like fig jam and stuff. It was all really cool, but it felt strangely “by the book.”

“Fuzz, can I ask you something?”

He looked at you with a surprised expression. “Sure, anything.”

“You’ve never been on a date before, have you?” You asked him.

His face fell a little. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” You assured him. “And this is amazing, and I’m having a great time. I just don’t want you to think that you have to do all of this,” You waved your hand at the picnic. “To win me over. You’ve already done that. I wouldn’t have asked you out if I didn’t like being with you.”

He smiled. “I do have a tendency to second-guess myself. It’s just… being gay is difficult for humans, but it can be more so for non-humans. I don’t know why, but there’s this expectation that if your not human and sentient, you have to like girls. Human beings would be shocked how many non-humans aren’t straight.”

“I wouldn’t,” You said. “Shannon’s a lesbian, and I’ve known her forever. I know full well that non-humans don’t live by the same standards that humans do, and humans can be blind to that, even among their own people. I guess that explains why you’re so shy.”

He laughed. “Nah, I’ve always been like that. I’ve never really--”

At that moment, the first shell when off, catching Fuzz’s attention. He got up from the quilt and walked to where the hill just began to slope downward and watched the fireworks with a look of pure joy. Wanting to be close to him, you stepped in front of him and pressed your back against his front. He circled his arms around you again. And for a moment, the two of you just watched the lights.

You turned your head and looked up at his face, seeing the bursts of colored embers reflected in his large, black eyes, and you were mesmerized. He noticed you watching him and looked down at you, smiling his soft, sweet smile.

And he kissed you.

His lips were as velvety as they looked, and you spun in his arms to reach yours around him, pressing your body as close as you could. The pop and crackle and flashes of light against your closed eyes made this seem like a dream, but you were bathing in the sensation of having his body wrapped around you. God, you had wanted this.

When you broke apart, you were both breathing heavily.

“So…” You began stroking the fur on the back of his neck. “I had a question…”

“About?” Fuzz asked.

“Well… you don’t wear clothes… but I’ve never seen your… well… your dick…”

Fuzz’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He seemed momentarily at a lost for words.

“O--oh,” He breathed finally. “It’s… that’s because… it’s tucked away. Inside me. I comes out when I…”

“When you’re aroused?” You guessed. He nodded, not meeting your eye. “Is there some way I can… make that happen?”

He looked back up at you with wide, huge, terrified eyes, “Yes,” He whispered. He took your hand and led you back to the quilt. Cautiously, he reached out a hand and tugged at your shirt, but stopped short before actually removing it. You helped him get the shirt off you and he continued to undress you until you were naked in front of him. He ran the fingers of his upper right hand down your torso, starting at your collarbone and stopping at the tuft of hair that sat just about your ridged length.

“This is definitely helping,” He said breathlessly.

“What can I do?” You asked eagerly. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while now.”

“You have?” He asked hopefully. You nodded and he laughed in relief. “Me too.”

He sat back against the oak tree and opened his legs in front of you, reaching down with his lower pair of hands to part the fur at the apex of his legs. There, you saw a slit, mostly brown like his hands and lips, but fading to pink as it went inward.

“Just touch,” He said. “It’ll open.”

You knelt down in front of him and pressed a finger to the slit, slowly rubbing it up and down. A low trill issued from Fuzz as he let his head fall back against the tree and his breathing hitched. The hands of his upper arms took your face in his hands and pulled you forward for a deep kiss as you massaged the opening, feeling it begin to pucker and pulsate at your touch. It widened slowly, and you daringly inserted your pinky inside, feeling the tip of a slick organ begin to push itself out.

Fuzz gasped at this new sensation and moaned a little. Slowly, it came out and you were able to see it at last. It was pink like the inside of the opening and darkened to the familiar velvet brown at the tip. You put your hand around it and pumped it a few times before bending down and pulling the tip into your mouth. It was sweet, like honeysuckle. His hips convulsed and he started to whisper, “please, please.”

You felt around for your wallet and pulled out a condom and two single-use packets of lube. You tore open the condom with your teeth and started to work it down his shaft.

“I’ve never…” He said, gulping. “I’ve never done this…”

“Do you want to stop?” You asked him, your hand stilling on his hardened girth.

“No!” He said. “No, no, I want this. I just… I’m sure I won’t be any good at it.”

“That’s okay, Fuzz,” You said, kissing him as another shell popped in the distance, lighting up the sky and trees around you. “I’ll teach you. Trust me.”

“I do,” He whispered.

You took a packet of lube and tore it open, squeezing some of it onto his fingers.

“First is to open me up a bit, so to speak,” You told him, turning and kneeling over. “Massage it into the skin for a few minutes, and them push a finger in.”

You felt him follow your instructions and groan into the ground as he pressed and rolled and circled the sensitive skin, finally pushing one of his thick, long fingers inside you. You gasped at feeling and encouraged him to move it in and out, eventually adding the second finger.

Once you felt like you were ready, you told him to sit back against the tree, and he complied. You took the second packet of lube and squirted it into your hand, lubing him up before pulling yourself to face level and kissing him as you positioned yourself over him. Slowly, you slid down onto him, feeling him slide against the bundle of nerves deep inside you. Both of you gasped at the same time and clung to each other as the fireworks continued to light up your naked bodies in the darkness.

You started to ride him, listening to his trilling and chirping, and all four of his hands found interesting things to do. The pair on the bottom held your hips as you rocked back and forth, up and down, in his lap. His upper right hand caressed your face while the left reached between you and began to stroke you slowly, sweetly, in a way you had been dying to be touched.

You sped up, and his trilling got higher in pitch. You reached up and gently pulled his hat off, careful of his antennae.

“We should both be naked,” You gasped, laughing. He laughed too before moaning your name, kissing you and tightening his grip on your cock slightly. You held him close to you, whispering into his ear that you were going to cum. He said he was close, too.

You came before him, spraying yourself all over his stomach. He grasped your hips harder and thrust faster for a few moments, then he released a high pitched chirrup that repeated over and over, and you could feel him releasing into the condom inside you.

You could barely hear the sounds of the fireworks over the rushing in your ears. He held you tightly with both of his arms, gulping down air. Finally, you got up and pulled off the used condom. You had a small bag and a couple of single-use wipes in your wallet for such… situations. You cleaned him up and wiped yourself off, too. Then, the two of you lay there, nude, on the quilt and watched the grand finale.

Best first date ever.

The next day, you woke up in his apartment pressed into the fluff of his chest. You stretched and groaned sleepily, looking at the collection of ball caps displayed proudly on every inch of his bedroom walls. He roused himself as well.

“Good morning,” He said with a happy smile.

“Good morning yourself,” You replied, giving him a quick kiss.

“Do you work today?” You asked.

“No,” He said, stretching like a cat. “I took today off. I was hoping we’d end up like this, so I… planned for it.”

“Aww,” You said, scratching his unusually bare head. “Wanna spend the day together?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” He said, grinning. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast sounds good,” You told him. “Is it alright if I run back to my place to grab some fresh clothes?”

Breakfast will be ready when you get back,” He said, bouncing out of bed.

You laughed at him, but really, you felt just as happy. You dressed quickly and headed out, popping up on tiptoe and kissing the back of his neck as you passed him in the kitchen.

Just as you got into your car, you got a text from Shannon: >Did you guys do it?

You rolled your eyes. >None of your business.

As you started your car, you got a reply. >Ha! I won the bet!

At your place, you grabbed a change of clothes and a couple more condoms and packets of lube, and started back for Fuzz’s apartment. While driving, something in the window of a store caught your eye and you decided to stop in. It was a little early for gifts, but… what the hell? This was the perfect thing and you knew he’d love it. How could you not buy it?

Back at his place, he was putting plates on the table.

“Hey, you okay? I was getting worried you weren’t coming back,” He said.

“Nothing of the sort,” You replied, handing him a bag. “I just saw this and thought of you.”

“You got me a present?” He said, both confused and delighted. “Why?”

“Cause I like you. I don’t need another reason,” You told him.

He laughed loudly and opened the bag. From inside, he pulled out a baseball cap that read, “My Boyfriend Thinks I’m Funny.” He smiled softly at it before putting it on his head.

“How does it look?” He asked.

You smiled widely. “It suits you.”

He grabbed your butt, pressed you to his side, and kissed you, wrapping you in his arms like the cuddlebug he was. Then fed you the best breakfast you’d had in a decade.

You guessed you owed Shannon a new set of dice. A nice set.

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