#soft moments i need to draw or else i evaporate into mist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aphrodite-would-be-proud · 3 years

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@ava-sr said: EE i do apologize that this is late, but maybe a small request because of my moblit-brainrot. which dates he would like to take you on? maybe like one of those guided painting classes? aGh all i know is that man is the absolute sweetest and i love him with all my heart

Types of dates with Moblit pt.1

{ Moblit x reader | tw:none | fluff | modern }

{ "Vanitas Still Life" 1662 by Edwaert Collier c. 1640 - after 1707 London or Leiden }

Ideal dates : these are dates he plans up ahead, makes sure they go smoothly and you're both are having fun. He really looks forward to these dates, they're like an event for him. He saves them up for important occasions like your anniversary, valentine's day, birthday.

I. Cuddling for hours at a time

you have to understand that in Moblit's overworked and stressful life, moments of respite are rare and far. He's so deprived of touch and love that it's a miracle how he has managed to function without even a beep. The thought of having someone to warm his bed, cradle his worries and put them to rest by simply combing through his hair, never crossed his mind despite having a hundred thoughts running through it per minute.

Some days he manages to forget your existence even, not out of some selfish desire or to belittle you, but out of disbelief, after all it's too good to be true.

You're too good to be true to him.

Your tender words pull him back each time he blindly steps closer to the edge, a never-ending spiral of self-destructive work tendencies awaiting him at the bottomless abyss. Your warm embrace shutting out the swarm of nagging voices meant to guilt him out of rest, to act as if the key to curing his sleep deprivation was to not acknowledge its existence, that fatigue symptoms could be erased by his own homemade placebo remedies.

As if your mere touch could turn anything to gold, and in his case, it did.

It was what made the difference between an anxiety inducing catastrophic day, and a mere rough stepping stone he could easily manoeuvre around leaving his pace steady and undisturbed.

Reminding that it's okay to fail, to give something your best only for it to crumble to dust. It's a process of trial and error, it takes time and patience.

You don't get to choose how well things end up working out, it's not up to you nor is it your place.

And that's why for him, his ideal place in the world is in your arms, to simply let the rise and fall of your chest lull him into comfortable numbness. His features softening as the oxytocin levels rise, courtesy of your warm embrace, soft skin providing just the right pressure against his own.

Laying on your shared bed together, the soft breeze coming from the open windows moves the thin curtains. Moblit is Holding you close as one of his arms sneak around you, fingertips tracing shapes up and down your back. Face buried in your shoulder as yours rests on top of his head, stray hairs almost tickling your nose when you brush against them.

The passing of time does little to his cotton filled mind, occasionally attempting to pull you even more closer as if it's possible. Legs tangled with yours under the heavy blanket despite him hogging most of it.

Every now and then, when a certain amount of time passes, he'd look at you with half-closed eyes, a lidded look of satisfaction before murmuring in his sleepy voice.

"Do you want to get up?" And despite his sincere words and warm tone, his body makes no move to detach itself from your side.

Does he know the soothing effect of the circles he keeps drawing up your back? Or how much him talking with his lips still pressed against your neck makes you melt just a bit.

Whatever it is, Moblit seems confident in his ability to keep you snuggled against him, tucked underneath the warm blanket and fluffy pillows almost muffling your answer.

II. Visiting a music bar

Preferably something with soft yellowish lights, small enough spaces not meant for dancing but to create an intimate atmosphere akin to a music venue.

A jazz club, maybe a brewery.

Dimmed sunlight seeping through the thin curtained window, shadow traces of people smoking outside while making small talk, cushioned bar stools placed around the long bar with a mirrored wall behind it as several aged bottles and fancy glasses with signatures decorate the wooden shelves.

The quiet chatter of people blurring behind the mellow music the band is playing on the nearby stage, smooth movement with relaxed postures as if they've done this a hundred times before, and they probably have.

You're sitting in one of the booths near the window, a private spot where you're far enough for people not to notice yet close enough to still hear the music flowing.

The beat is slow, hypnotising even that the minutes blur together.

Moblit giving you a smile as he comes back with your drinks, sitting opposite of you before handing you the cold glass, ice cubes clinking against each other as you raise the frosted rim to your lips, sugary sweet filling your senses, the cooling sensation of the drink slides down your throat.

There's a hint of citrus in it.

You've learned to trust Moblit's choice in drinks after being together for so long, he just knows what's going to taste good and which kind of drink you seem to need without having to say a word.

He seems comfortable here, even referring to the bartender by his name like they've been friends for a while, and maybe they have judging by the out-of-script welcoming he gave Moblit.

One conversation starts another and both of you find it so easy to talk to each other without boundaries or second thoughts, the smiles and occasional chuckles almost never leaving your features while nursing on your drinks.

He tells you stories from his work and about his co-workers. You find yourself entranced by his seemingly abusered line of work and the amount of chuckle worthy instances a single work day can offer.

That one time Hange knocked the liquid incense oils that someone Levi brought to freshen the place, well to their luck the oils fell directly on an open flame from the nearby scented candle which resulted in the fire spreading through the liquid alcohol between the broken glass.

And despite the feeling of dread, from seeing his files catch on fire this story brings him, the sound of your chocked laughter as you almost spilled your drink over your clothes, made it all worth it for him.

III. Antique shop

There was something to be said about Moblit's yearning for especially old looking things, trinkets, crumpled maps, tea stained letters and silvered mirrors.

You can't miss the gleam in his eyes as he opens the antique store door open for you the chime of the door bells following after. The smell of burning incense lingering in the air alongside the slow ticking of an old wooden clock.

The look on his face is of pure fascination, his eyes following the trail of the objects lined on the tables, from the old oil paintings with hand carved frames to the crystals reflecting sunlight next to the colourful stones. Observing as he carefully walks behind you through the narrow spaces between the tables and shelves.

Pulling your attention whenever he finds a particular curious thing to show you as if it's an offering, it can range from music boxes with a really familiar melody that you can't quite remember or a beautifully shaped rose quartz stone that feels cool against your palm.

Whatever he brings, it often manages to intrigue you in some way. Moblit could always notice things other people would skip over otherwise, scanning the tables was like a small treasure hunt.

He'd always pick one or two leather journals, almost filled to the brim with ink scribbled pages and tea stained spots, personal diaries dating back to the 90's and if he's lucky they might edge towards the 80'. He likes to read them, live in someone else's shoes even for a split second, puzzle pieces falling in place as he figures out what kind of person the author was.

Of course sharing his discoveries with you while having lunch later, not out of pride nor to show off, but out of genuine respect to other people's lives and their dedication for leaving behind a piece of their soul.

IX. Roadtrip

It's something he plans months ahead in advance, he genuinely wants to make the best out of the few weeks off both of you got to spend together. Making sure to plan a set of destinations, preparing snacks and food, packing your essentials and renting a big enough van.

A small getaway even, to completely leave everything behind and set out on a carefully planned adventure with the one he loves most, you.

Enjoying the fresh weather, the high sun and fast wind as both of you roll down the windows, fields of green and yellow meet you alongside the road the further away you move from the city.

Although be careful; the Moblit behind the wheel is a much much more different than the one you know, he's using all what remains of his self-restraint not to speed down the highway and swirl, the thought crosses his mind every hour or so and he's visibly agitated when you're forced to drive behind a particularly slow driver.

You might even have to remind him of the speed limit occasionally just so you don't end up with a pile of speeding tickets at the end of the trip.

It's like all his usually cautious and calculating demner evaporates into mist the second he touches the steering wheel, Temptations of just flooring it while high on adrenaline still linger in the back of his mind.

Beside that, the trip is a relatively calm one as you get to bask in all the new and different places you'll get to visit. Try new food and walk through different city streets, just the experience of something out of the usual is enough to satisfy Mobilt. Not to mention the fact he gets to experience it with you and just wander around without a purpose or care as long as you're together.

He'll definitely keep in mind what sort of things you seem to like, what intrigues you and the kind of reactions you show. He even started an album filled with mostly your pictures and the things you've seen.

It's most relaxing and filled with low stakes, nothing too fancy but nothing too boring either. Walking the thin line perfectly.

X. Visiting a museum

But not just any museum you see, one centred around natural history. Displaying everything from ancient fossils to full on skeleton displays of a 122 foot titanosaur, depictions of distant relatives of homosapiens and modern evolution trees of the current animals.

Moblit guiding you through the shiny tile floor and between the exhibits while holding your hand, eyes gleaming with passion as he goes on and on about each thing you glance at. Making all the trivial facts seem more fascinating than they have any right to be.

The squeaking sound of footsteps echoing on the too clean floors as four children pass you by, racing each other towards the iron suits of armour on display. They almost fall over the red ropes from leaning too close in, their caregiver seemingly busy talking with a security guard over the 'smoking not allowed' sign.

You spare them a final glance before following Moblit through the corridor leading to the world history & old inventions section. Soon enough he steals your attention again as he begins talking about the first airplane prototype that you can't help but be enamoured by.

Despite there being a sign framed on the wall that sums up the jest of Moblit's lecture, he manages to make it not only less boring but add his own twist and uncommon known facts to it that it feels less of a history trip and of an interesting conversation.

He has so much knowledge that he's so eager not to only share but hear your own opinion and take on it, valuing your view no matter what amount of knowledge you have over the subject.

XI. Painting together

It's an idea that you offhandedly suggested after your museum visit, after all spending an hour in the Impressionism era gallery did leave an impression on you. And so the suggestion of checking out an art store for some acrylics and a couple brushes left your lips on the way home without a second thought.

Well little did you know that the small suggestion managed to latch into Moblit's brain for weeks after, making him spend his free time searching and gaining information on painting and how to start, he even managed to find some really good classes having a limited time course sale

That's how both of you end up in a guided painting class, seated next to each other with aprons on and a pallet to mix paint tubes in. You'll find out how much of a fast learner Moblit is, so much that most of the class he spends guiding your hand through the steps and offering his help whenever possible, although he still remembers not to be overbearing and still gives you space.

Both of you are in your own bubble from the class, being with him makes you feel easy and more reassured. He's like your very own comfort corner that you seek in every party, except that he can walk around with you and always looks out for you.

And whatever you end up putting on that canvas, Moblit will cherish more than any renaissance painting, will even insist on hanging it somewhere in the apartment.

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ichor-and-symbiosis · 4 years

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kurogiri drabble; sfw

Kurogiri regards you with an inscrutible expression. You could never quite tell what he was thinking, and right now feels no different than all the other moments of holding your breath and hoping he would indulge you in your silly requests. He merely nods, and yet it sets your nerves ablaze with excitement.

You shift on the bed to fold your legs beneath you in anticipation, smoothing down the fabric of your clothing across your knees to keep yourself busy while Kurogiri removes the metal brace around his neck. It startles you, and you cannot keep the look of awe from your face as your eyes rove over the parts of him you have never seen before. The black mist spreads outward without the directional guidance of the brace and follows its destined path upward. You can hardly see anything through the dense miasma. A part of you wonders if you will touch anything at all. Maybe your hand will simply travel through empty space and reappear in another place.

He could take me anywhere right now. I could go anywhere, far away from here -

You dig your nails into your thigh so firmly that you can feel the pain through your clothing. Focus on the present instead of daydreaming. Focus on catching a glimpse of his throat.

Kurogiri's eyes narrow at your open display of curiosity. Not in ire - the corners of his eyes are too soft, you think. Perhaps in humor. He silently removes his tie and undoes the buttons of his vest. Your hands curl into fists atop your thighs as you blush, heart pounding at what is undoubtedly an intimate moment between you.

He smoothly slides the vest off - your heart skips a beat at the refined roll of his shoulders - folds the clothing and places it near the tie, and his hands return to the collar of his shirt before he pauses.

Hesitation is rare for him. Your breath hitches, as it always does when he deliberates, and when he begins to pop open the topmost buttons of his white shirt, you nearly forget to breathe entirely.

He stops at the fourth button and patiently waits for your next move, folding his hands on his thighs in a mirrored gesture.

Kurogiri always carries himself with such inhuman grace. Every movement is calculated and performed with efficiency, followed by a period of such statuesque stillness that you wonder if he remains alive while idle.

The robotic nature of his actions contrasts sharply with his casual appearance. It is odd to see him in such an undone state, one leg curled on the bed to keep him facing you while the other steadies him at the edge. That sliver of exposed darkness at his chest draws your attention. You wonder if you might find a heartbeat there.

You reach across the liminal space between you and slowly bring your fingers to the black mist. It dances and weaves around your fingertips like a candle flame disturbed by movement. The barest hint of coldness clings to your skin, as though you had touched dewy blades of grass on a crisp morning. But when you roll the pads of your thumb and forefinger against each other, you do not feel wetness.

Emboldened by first contact, you return to the mist and watch your hand disappear through the void. Your mind's eye pictures the endless expanse of a black hole. The thought quickly dissipates when your fingertips lightly come into contact with an obstruction.

No. Not an obstruction.

His chest.

You release a quiet gasp and immediately feel ridiculous. It was perfectly reasonable for this man to have a physical form. Startling to know he had always been as alive as any other human being, but not so far out of the realm of possibility to begin with. You just never knew what to make of him. At first, he had been too distant to feel like a real person. Then, once the barrier of standoffishness had been breached, you still could not perceive him properly.

Not like now, with your hand pressed flat against his chest as his steady pulse greets you.

You travel over the dips of his collarbones and curl your fingers around a thick neck. You cannot see it properly through the mist, but you can feel the telltale bump of an Adam's apple, and you run your thumb over it before you bring your other hand to his neck and move upward to follow the curve of his jawline.

It is at this moment that you decide to close your eyes and focus. You see nothing but darkness like this, and somehow, it helps orient your senses. He is everywhere and nowhere.

Kurogiri is as still as a statue while you touch him, and nearly as cold as one. You know he is staring at you, perhaps even doing some analyzing of his own now that you are so close to him. You wonder what he thinks of you. What he thinks of your warm hands tracing the sharp line of his jaw and cupping his cheeks.

Who knew a man like this could have such full cheeks? It brings a little smile to your face, and a curious expression to his, although you cannot see it.

One of your thumbs reaches the corner of his mouth. Do you dare?

Of course you do.

You rest your thumb on the outer edge for a moment, right where the groove begins, just to prepare him for your daring move. Kurogiri offers no resistance, and so you begin a slow and gentle swipe along the plumpness of his bottom lip. There are no scars, no abrasions, no sharp teeth or strange sensations, just a perfectly normal mouth that tempts you so fiercely that you have to move away lest he feel the trembling.

Your journey continues past the arch of his cupid's bow and glides over the slope of a graceful pointed nose. Smooth skin suddenly gives way to something that feels oddly different, and you tilt your head curiously to the side as you move two fingers over whatever that was, taking note of how it extends over the sides of his nose, a long yet narrow ... thing. It reminds you of a band-aid.

You detour to the underside of his eyes and make your intent known. Something feathery tickles your fingertips. An experimental move upward reveals that Kurogiri had indeed closed his eyes. You lightly trace the ends of his long eyelashes and over his eyelids, mystified by the movement of his eyes behind them. It startles you to realize he might have irises instead of the uniform yellow you always knew. What color could they really be?

His eyes taper off upward at the outer corners. You follow their path and avoid the tempting sensation of hair touching the back of your fingers. You are saving the best for last. Instead, you trace over thin eyebrows and come across a strange sensation above his right brow.

It is a vertically bisecting ridge. Or rather, several of them, aligned side by side. Scars, perhaps? You furrow your brows and ignore the ache in your arms from holding them up for so long, intent on solving this mystery. Upon further exploration, you believe they might be stitches. You do not know what to think about this revelation. Only to briefly worry over whether your careless touches hurt him somehow. You gently place the palm of your hand over the stitched expanse of his forehead, frowning at this gruesome discovery. Your fingertips delve into the softest hair you had ever touched in your life, teasing you, beguiling you to continue despite your hesitation.

You open your eyes. Kurogiri stares down at you, as though he had never stopped doing so and did not intend to stop now. Your eyes are wide and questioning; his are drooping and tranquil.

"Am I hurting you?" you ask, praying that the breach in silence does not ruin the mood.

" ... " He moves imperceptibly, the slightest downturn of his head. Your fingers are guided deeper through the thick hair. "No." Your other hand cups the side of his face, and you feel mesmerized, transfixed by his strange stupor, ignited by his large hands coming to rest boldly on your hips. "Keep going," he murmurs, practically slurs out the words.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest as you card your fingers through his hair. It really is impossibly soft and full, like petting a samoyed. The thought brings a little smile to your face, and you do not look away from his intense stare.

"You are very handsome," you conclude, stroking his bang away with the back of your hand as you smooth your hands downward until they come to rest over his clavicles.

Kurogiri digs his fingers into your sides. "Is that so?" he rumbles, and you follow the slight pull he has on you, follow his guidance right into his lap without a second thought as he wraps an arm around your waist.

"It is so - " Your breath hitches as his fingertips touch your cheek. "You - um - " Thoughts evaporate like mist in your head. You keep thinking about those soft lips. "How did you get those stitches on your head?"

"I don't know." You furrow your brows, and he smooths his thumb over your cheekbone. "There are many things ... I do not know." He speaks with disregard, as though he chewed over these words for ages and thought nothing of them anymore. His eyes search your face. "You appear to have something else on your mind."

"I do, but I shouldn't say it."

He cups your cheek properly this time, and your eyes flutter for a moment as you are pulled into the magnetizing gravity of his hand, nuzzling him like some desperate pet.

"I am supposed to be the mysterious one," he said, and before you could reply, before your smile finishes forming, he renders you immobile when his thumb presses to your bottom lip. "I understand, though. Right now isn't about words, is it?" You blink up at him, the very picture of naive innocence. So trusting and single-minded. Kurogiri lightly tilts your head up, forefinger and thumb guiding your chin. "Only touch can tell a story - " He leans down, until his breath tickles your lips, until you can feel the need to fall into him. " - or reveal the truth."

Somehow, you come together. Somehow his lips brush against yours and you lose the ability to breathe.

They really are so soft, a little cold against your heated skin, yet smooth and firm and pressed far too lightly to your lips. You are too nervous to move, afraid he might pull away if you meet his slow, tantalizing caresses with a firmer kiss. But when he pauses, and the fear of stopping causes you to surge forward and lock your lips together, you realize that this is what he wanted all along. He wanted to give you the option.

And here you are, sighing against his mouth as he holds you close and kisses you sweetly. How could a man so dangerous treat you so delicately? It borders on preposterous, but you would think about that later. Right now, you only want to focus on his firm, solid hold on you, the way he obediently opens his mouth for you when you swipe your tongue over his bottom lip, and you certainly want to focus on his wet lips locked with yours as you tease him with kitten licks.

Slowly, carefully, you are guided onto your back. Kurogiri ends the kiss far too suddenly, leaves you reeling for more as he kisses down the column of your neck.

"Is it my turn to explore you?" he murmurs against your skin.

Your fingers dig into that impossibly thick mane of hair, and you beckon him to continue, ready to let him discover the story etched into your skin.

#kurogiri #kurogiri x reader #kurogiri/reader #bnha #mha #idk yall it's just warm-up #im really really out of it with writing these days #it's nothing fancy but i just wanted to get it over with #this is from the afo wife falling for kurogiri au thingie #im just not being obvious about it #but it's in my head

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hedgewitchcrone · 4 years

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Connor & the Banshee

He knew he was in trouble.

Everything had appeared easier from the higher ground.

The elevated position that he had previously occupied only a couple of hours before, which at that time had been bathed in the warmth of the early afternoons sun, had given him what he thought was a good view of the land over which he had needed to travel. But now that he had set off and dropped down onto the valley floor below and the afternoon light slowly starting to fade, he found himself in difficulty.

The wooded area that he had been making for, where he hoped to camp for the night was still someway off to his left, perhaps only half a mile or so at the most, but for some reason he had wrongly assumed that the ground would be firm as he had not observed any standing water along his planned route before setting off.

As the winter sun slowly dropped below the distant mountains to his rear which caused the earlier warmth which had been unusual for a winter��s day in those parts to start to cool, He found himself submerged up to his knees in heavily peated cold dark water with a thin mist starting to form before him. And as the night drew in this thin veil slowly rose steadily into still evening air as the seconds ticked by.

The mist was just over his head making it difficult to see where he needed to go and he knew if he could just find firmer ground and get out of the water, then he was sure that his head would be above the level of the mist and he would be able to see in what direction he needed to go.

The peat sucked at his boots and his feet were soaked and cold form the last hour spent wading across the bog. The loneliness and isolation of the landscape heightened his anxiety for he knew that there would be no help should he need it if he became trapped, and the realisation of how dangerous a predicament he was now in slowly dawned upon him.

He looked down into the cold dark water that covered his knees and noticed how still it was when he didn’t move about giving it the appearance of a smooth black mirror. Letting his imagination drift as he stood in the silence picturing those poor souls who had probably tried to cross the bog in the past and more than likely failed. Their decayed bodies rising slowly from cold black water with their claw like hands outstretched before them. In his minds eye he could see their long bony fingers scratching and clawing at his cloths trying to pull him under the smooth black surface and their faces, drawn in a grimacing death mask, their hollow expressionless eyes that seemed to bore into his soul as they slowly rose out of the water to take him.

He shook his head to dislodge the thought. “Pull yourself together” he muttered to himself “concentrate”.

He leant upon his staff and looked forlornly into the dark water. The staff which aided his support was clutched in his cold left hand and it had sunk so far into the soft peat that instead of being level with his head as it usually was, it was now low enough for him to be able to lean upon its top which was level with his waist.

His shoulders were now hunched in the cold as he leaned upon the staff and they ached from being weighed down by his backpack. His shirt stuck to his back from sweat caused by the immense exertion of the last hour and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he stood still trying to catch his breath. Slowly the sweat cooled as he took a moments rest, and he shivered from the chill it made upon his back.

He straightened suddenly as the gravity of his situation brought him to his senses with a jolt. Twisting his right foot and leaning upon his staff for support he loosened the glue like hold of the peat around his boot and slowly managed to pull it free from the sodden ground and took an uncertain step forward. Then the same with the left boot then again with the right. It was hard going and the sucking sound of his boots leaving the peat seemed to be amplified by the water.

All around him where were thick clumps of tall dry reeds and at times Connor fought to push his way through them. Unfortunately, they were never thick enough to be laid over which would form a bed or mass to stand upon and allow him to climb up out of the water. At least that would have allowed him to hopefully drain off a bit and gain enough hight to see over the mist.

The odd bird disturbed by his approach flushed up past his face suddenly making off into the night, screeching in alarm as it flew away. It always startled him when it happened, normally when he least expected it as he parted the reeds, and he never fully saw what type of bird they were as they twisted and turned this way and that as they flew off into through the mist into the darkness making their escape.

At least it’s not raining he thought to himself, even though he was already soaked so it didn’t matter.

Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. It had trickled down his forehead sometimes into his eyes causing them to sting from his hair which stuck to his head. Once or twice he flailed, wobbling on his feet with his free right arm raised, hand outstretched, fingers clasping into the thin air whilst trying not to fall water when he lost his balance. It was almost totally dark. The final cawing of the passing crows that had been flying to their roost for the evening was dying away as the black mantle of the winters night rapidly approached and their cawing in the distance had been the last indication he had as to in what direction the woodland lay.

He knew that standing in this bog for the night awaiting the light of distant morning and the mist to evaporate was not an option. The lack of movement, the cold and his damp clothes would lead to hypothermia within an hour, and he would almost certainly be lost.

“I have got to get on” he thought “You’ve got to push forward and get out of here” the voice in his head was telling him, but all the while with the difficult going underfoot, the wet and the cold he was exhausted.

His breath rasping heavily in his chest for the exertion and once or twice he swayed feeling faint. He paused tightly clutching his staff and rested his free hand on the hilt of his sword that was strapped to his side, gripping and un-gripping its pommel and his staff in unison, forcing his hands to get some blood back into his cold stiff fingers. Slowly he wiped his wet chin and beard drawing it upon his damp righthand shoulder.

“A minute just take a minute” he thought “find my bearings, think where to go”.

Squinting his eyes tight shut, curling up his nose, and frowning heavily which furrowing his brow helping to dispel the cold and get the numbness from his forehead. His breath slowly formed clouds when he exhaled adding to the mist around him in the cold night air as he looked around slowly for any sign as to where he should go.

Whilst scanning the area he suddenly stopped and stared, squinting into the swirling mist and the gloom of the night before him. Was that a light in the distance or a glow worm? It was faint and appeared to be in the distance, but he was sure it was a light. He continued to caught his breath as he studied it and considered as to what it might be as he hadn’t seen a cottage or building when looking down earlier from the mountain, but then again, he hadn’t seen this bog either he thought.

It was moving! he was sure it was moving; all be it very slowly, and it appeared to be coming closer through the gloom. He knew anyone else’s mind would probably be screaming at them to shoutout for help, but sense and experience held him back as he knew nothing good could possibly come from a light in this remote and isolated place.

Stories abounded of travellers being drawn deeper into a bog by the light that was given off by bog gas which had somehow ignited. These travellers were then either lost and starved or froze to death or drowned from being drawn towards it. Connor would not make that mistake, it would come to him if need were, but he would not be going over to it.

There was also the stories about the Sidhe, Sprits and Fairy folk however you wished to call them, Glimmering the unsuspecting traveller to their doom, drawing them with their dancing lights, illusions, and trickery from the safety of a firm safe path never to be seen again. But that was normally in the woods and forests or on the mountains and plains as opposed to a god forsaken peat bog in the middle of nowhere like this and Connor had never as yet seen a fairy, but he believe in them and knew deep down they existed.

No it was definitely a light and it was definitely getting closer; he was sure that it appeared to be slowly swinging for side to side as if suspended upon something. In fact he could now hear a rustling sound a little way off as if the reeds where slowly being parted and pushed aside. “So they must be on higher and dryer ground” he thought otherwise he was sure he would not be able to see the light through the mist where at his ground level it was thicker.

He could clearly hear a swishing sound as whomever it was moved through the reeds in the distance, and the light was slowly getting brighter on its approach. He tightened his grip on the sword hilt and staff for a second time and once again opened and closed his hands as quickly as he could to get the blood flowing back in his hands.

This was going to mean trouble he knew it. Robbers or thieves he assumed, as no one else in their right mind would be out in bog in the middle of nowhere on a winter’s night, and this was not what you would call an established path to anywhere that you would want to go.

There would be no flight from whomever approached, it was going to have to be a fight, and whoever was holding that light would be about to be in for a shock.

The swishing suddenly stopped, and he just noticed the reeds slightly move before him only a short distance away and the mist thinned slightly and swirled away in the movement. Someone sniffed loudly into the air, Once then Twice then nothing.

Connor slowly and silently lowered himself into the cold dark water. Its icy grip crawled up over his body as he slowly submerged himself covering his shoulders, only stopping as the water touched his chin as he crouched in the bog. Staring through slitted eyes he slowly unsheathed the sword at his side and being below the water it withdrew from the scabbard silently under the surface, whereas it would normally have made a long slow swishing sound as it was drawn in the air.

Carefully he moved it through the water making sure not to catch it on the vegetation below the surface and slowly ever so slowly point first it rose from the black mirrored surface of the water leaving barely a ripple upon its surface or drip to be heard as it came up silently into the mist that swirled about him into the cold night air where it seemed to glow shimmer in the darkness even though there was no moon.

All was now quiet, and after a moment, the light before him a short distance away slowly rose up above the level of the mist. Connor could now see looking upwards what looked like a small dark metal lantern housing a fat white candle that spat wax quietly against the glass slowly turning it opaque but still allowing the light to escape. It was held upon a hook that was fixed to a short pole and it was slowly being passed from right to left across the dark water out of the reeds as if trying to see into the gloom where Connor crouched.

Another long sniffing sounded out in the night air, someone could smell him, he was sure of it, but that wouldn’t have been hard give that he hadn’t bathed for a week. But now that very little of his body was above the surface of the water, he hopped it would help mask his scent.

The mist appeared to thin before him as if someone were blowing it away and he could see the reeds shudder slightly as they slowly start to open further and further apart. Whoever it was they were obviously on dry higher ground not far in front of him and they were lowering the lantern slowly down into the veil of mist down towards the surface of the dark water which reflected and amplified its light.

Another sniff, then another. Connor shuddered, from the chill of the water, or was it the anticipation of pending action and the fight which was potentially about the happen. It sure as hell wasn’t from fear for Connor feared on man, or woman, dwarf, elf or even giant in the field of combat and battle.

A small dark cloaked figure its head covered by a hood slowly pushed through the small gap that had formed in the reeds and sniffed the air once more and a small pale hand slowly parted the reeds further. It was a slender hand, a woman’s hand, a young hand or so it appeared. Suddenly a curled lock of long blonde or grey hair, it was hard to tell in the available light fell from under the hood and tumbled down the front of the cloak bouncing under its own weight like a spring as it stopped and rested against the dark material. And as whomever it was lifted their head into the cold night air to peer forward the light from the lantern reflected off the dark mirror like water and lit up the face that had been hidden under the hood of the cloak.

It was a woman face. a beautiful young woman and she fixed her gaze upon what she could see of Connor who was up to his chin in the cold dark bog water with her beautiful stunning stare.

Her skin on her face appeared as smooth as marble and was pale as milk in the light and her eyes appeared to be of the lightest blue like that of a summer sky, and her pale red lips parted slowly as they formed into a beautiful smile. Her dark woollen cloak covered a pale green velvet dress and its long hanging sleeves dipped into the water of the bog and floated upon the surface from her thin pale wrists and she was beautiful.

She tilted her head slightly to the side and smiled the warmest naughtiest smile that Conner felt he had ever seen and fixed him with her gaze. Then she slowly ever so slowly opened her mouth and her lower jaw just appeared to drop lower and lower as she opened and opened her mouth. The elongating jaw now almost touched the dark water distorting the shape of her once beautiful face causing her cheeks to draw in to lower the jaw went.

Her once bright blue eyes now appeared to darken and draw back deeper into her head, and her once smooth cheeks now stretched and creased appeared to thin grotesquely deforming her once beautiful face. Her mouth had opened so much that Connor was sure he could now have fitted his whole head and shoulders into it but for the teeth, oh the teeth they were as long as his fingers, pointed each and every one, as sharp as razors and looked as white and as cold as ice, but they were he thought the cleanest teeth he had ever seen.

This once beautiful young woman, now with that deformed head and that huge gaping mouth, seemed to Connor that she appeared to be slowly drifting across the surface of the water towards him as if she were flying and then it screamed. And oh the scream that emanated from that needle sharp tooth fill orifice, it rose, and it rose, higher and higher piercing into the still night air shattering the silence and echoing off the distant mountains as it bounced around the valley and over the bog.

It took Connor a moment to realise that he now had his eyes tight shut and his hands where clutching the side of his head trying to cover his ears. Everything appeared to shake and he to pull his neck and chin down into his shoulders to escape the wailing scream that was rippling the water around him and forcing spray into his face. It made the whole bog surface and the reeds around him shudder and shake from the sound, and Connor could feel the pressure of it pushing and pushing upon his chest its force pushed his cheeks and lips back on his head to show the teeth and gums in his mouth as if being blown by a hurricane force wind as the scream flowed over him, around him and through him.

Suddenly the scream stopped, and it seemed to roll away across the valley into the distance before disappearing over the mountains, “Oh hello” , “do forgive me” a soft gentle voice now said, “how embarrassing but you took me by surprise”.

Connor opened his eyes and pulled his neck and chin back out of his shoulders. He squinted heavily in pain suddenly realising that he still had his hands over his ears. His head hurt then he noticed that he still held his staff and sword in his hands, and they had clattered the side of his head when he had attempted to protect his hearing.

The beautiful young girl was once more before him, the gapping mouth was now gone, and she appeared to be bright red with embarrassment. “ I’m really sorry” she said, “I don’t know what came over me, old habits and that” she giggled, and her shoulder rose and fell as she did so.

#Short Story #Banshee #A new Irish Tale #witchblr #witch #witchcraft

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gerbiloftriumph · 5 years

Photo

Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

1/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)(7: to heal, and to end)

~*~*~

Later, when he was retelling the story and he got to the bit where something on the rooftops scrabbled and slid, people would always ask, “Why didn’t you just leave when you heard that noise?”

He’d always reply, “Why would I? It was just the sound of rain on roof tiles. A squirrel trying to get somewhere safe and dry. Nothing to do with me.”

~*~*~

And anyway, looking up into the skies just got rainwater in his face, blinding him. Graham hunched his shoulders and pressed on into the town, steering for the baker’s shop almost without thinking. His jaw was still set with frustration, but it had settled into frustration with himself rather than with his royal guards. They were doing their best. He was (mostly) sure of that. But he wasn’t King Edward, and they didn’t seem to know what to do with King Graham. It didn’t matter what Olfie said: Graham was wearing the wrong hat. He was on the wrong adventure. But without ideas for how to fix it, it was hard to keep his anger sharp.

Instead, he was starting to feel pathetic. He probably looked it, too—all bedraggled and soggy. Olfie had protected him from the worst of the weather as they walked together, but this was a proper late summer Daventry monsoon. The lower lavender fields might even flood if this kept up.

And what am I supposed do if that happens? Probably there’s a list of rules somewhere for Ruined Lavender Intake. I should have it memorized already.

He stood under Wente’s awning, wringing rain out of his cloak hem. No one answered his first knock. Nor his second. Or third. Disappointment dripped, like the water on the ends of his soppy curls. He’d expected—hoped—Wente would let him in and wrap him in a big, soul-squeezing, floury hug that might taste just a like bit like sugar and berries. Like safety. Graham shifted, listening impatiently for some sound from within but only hearing the steady, rattling downpour of rain on rooftops and down drains. It was a lonely sort of sound, hollow.

Whatever anger he’d been carrying was now drowned. He stumbled away, bleary and miserable. Maybe he could go to someone else? But the other homes looked just as dark and unwelcoming. Might as well go back to the castle. Deal with the nonsense he’d left behind.

Glass crunched beneath his boot. He glanced back toward the window of Wente’s shop. Now that he was bothering to pay attention, from this angle, he could see shattered glass and twisted wood. It looked like candies and pies had been thrown all over, oozing sweet fillings into the floorboards.

Before he could even begin to process that, he heard a shrill flute from…above? He whirled, squinting past the rain.

The shapes were unmistakable. Goblins crowded the rooftops, dropping down around him. Startled, he didn’t even have the time to cry out before they pounced. He stumbled back, tripped over something (a goblin crouched behind him, a nasty trick that worked just as well this time as it had not that long ago), and slammed into the cobblestones. The world went black.

~*~*~

Rain dripped on his cheek and helped rouse him gradually from insensibility. Muzzily, he realized he was lying on his side in the mud just outside the Daventry town gates, just on the edge of the forest. In the overcast gloom, the trees were blurs. The back of his head hurt, and he tried to reach up to it, to feel out what was wrong, but his arms refused to cooperate. For a terrible, confused instant he thought he was paralyzed, and then he noticed an unexpected pressure on his wrists—his hands were tied together behind his back.

His heart started racing, and he could see odd shapes under the trees, in the bushes, on the path, near him, and he sensed he was surrounded, and he felt stony hands on his shoulders push him into a sitting position, and he yelped into full wakefulness. Around him, the shapes, goblins, stepped back, watching.

“Wha—what is this? What’s going on?” Graham croaked, his voice thick. Shivery panic skated down his spine, and he shook his head, trying to focus. He only managed to make the ache worse. He struggled, but the ropes against his wrists held firm. “What do you want? You can’t do this to me! I—I’m the king!” (Or was that the wrong thing to say? Maybe he shouldn’t admit to it? The crown surely gave it away, though.)

They stared at him impassively, crouched a few feet away on all sides. At least, he thought they were staring impassively. Masks of stone hid every face. Mist curled around them, blurring their edges.

“I demand you release me! Untie this! Now!”

The pack of goblins crept closer, silent in the downpour. He swallowed his dread and stiffened as best he could, trying to look regal while covered in mud and soaking wet. “I assume you’re doing as I asked.”

From behind, one of them dropped a loop of rope around his chest, pinning his upper arms to his sides and drawing the loop tight.

“Hey! No! S-stop! I’m the king!” He fought, kicking out and trying uselessly to pull away. He couldn’t throw them off, couldn’t get the leverage he needed by himself, half-concussed and dripping and afraid. Then, with triumphant realization: “I’m not alone!” He drew in a deep breath, fighting against the restriction across his chest, and bellowed, “Olfie! Help me!” He forced a grin. “Have you ever tried to fight a bridge troll?”

In the distance, a low rumble started, and as one, every goblin froze. The rope around his chest slackened and slipped past his elbows as the cluster of goblins backed away uneasily. Graham sat gloating, waiting for the huge hand to sweep down and pluck him from this nightmare. Except, the hand didn’t come. Nothing else seemed to happen. The goblins looked toward the town, toward the forest behind them, and at each other, and he could see their tension evaporating. With a sick twist in his stomach, Graham realized the first sound was nothing more than a coincidence. Could have been anything. Some low thunder perfectly timed, or water dislodging a boulder in the forest, or some animal in the underbrush. Not Olfie.

I hadn’t asked him to stay. The rain, he can’t hear me over the rain. He could have gone anywhere. He can’t hear me without a horn. Oh, stars.

“I…I’m sure he’ll be along directly,” he stammered. “Just a delay. You know. The—the rain. He’s coming. I’m protected. Definitely.” He paused, glancing at his surroundings—just outside the town gates, near the workshop—and cried, “Help! Amay—ow!” His plea cut out as the goblin behind him snapped the rope back up and cinched it tight. “Stop! That hurts! Let go!”

The royal guards! he thought as hands clutched at his clothes and dragged him forward—but no, he’d been so angry, they wouldn’t come after him for hours. He’d ordered them to stay in the castle, and they’d been too happy to comply, to stay in the warm and the dry rather than trek out into a monsoon with a cranky king, and now he was in so much trouble.

“You’ll be in trouble!” he warned, pouring as much fury into it as he could. “This is assault against the entire kingdom! They’re coming to find me as we speak!”

No one listened. Instead, they flung him up into the air and caught him by arms and legs, holding him above the mud.

“No, wait, stop! Put me down!”

They did, sort of: they threw him forward, and he landed on something soft, bouncing. He rolled onto his side and was entirely baffled to discover that they’d tossed him onto a damp mattress, mostly sheltered from the rain by the dark tree canopy.

Hands pulled and tugged and managed to get him sitting, and then they all stood around him for a long, silent, and speculative moment. He had the sense he was being judged, and he had the sense he was found lacking. Their shoulders hunched with what looked like disappointment, and several made dismayed hand motions above their heads.

“What are…”

Graham heard an excited cry from the town, and he twisted in time to see yet another one join the pack, clutching Edward’s crown. Graham hadn’t even noticed the crown’s absence. The goblin launched forward like it was about to win a game, and it slammed the crown down, hard, in its proper place. He yelped, but around him, applause broke out.

“That’s enough!” he snapped, crown sitting almost jauntily across his forehead and pressing his wet hair flat against his face, making him look entirely unimpressive. “Help! Olfie! Amayaaaaahh!” It turned into a proper scream as a spearhead jammed up beneath his chin, sharp edge threatening to cut. “Okay, okay,” he whispered, hardly daring to breathe. “I get the point.”

In so much trouble.

Two goblins sat down on either side, the one with the spear looking rather menacing. Then again, they all looked menacing, looming over him like this. He shrank beneath gazes and weapons, not at all sure what they were going to do next.

The answer came soon enough. They clustered around, hoisted the mattress on their shoulders, and darted off into the trees. His two guards clutched his arms to stop him slipping off while they moved.

#kings quest #King's Quest #King Graham #super massive thanks to #goddessoftechnology #for being all sorts of encouraging #will update wednesdays til done~#goblin appreciation blog #ch2 #fic'ing

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wondercatjjong · 5 years

Text

Fantasy of a Vampire

“Ah Jonghyun-ah, I feel a little sad that we deceived that girl like that. She trusted me and we just used her”.

“You’re too soft. You always have been. That’s the problem with your kind. You have too many emotions”.

Jinki furrowed his brows in annoyance. His kind? What did the vampire know? Jinki was a descendant of one of the most powerful creatures ever known. His ancestor would draw his power directly from the sun and was really terrifying to look at. Over time, his kind had evolved into having human-like features and emotions, not to mention they had become much weaker. Instead of drawing all their power from the energy of the sun, they were able to draw only a quarter of it. Unless they had fed, their light would reduce, and they would die if they had no light left. Jonghyun had absolutely no idea how lucky he was, being undead for several centuries. They had known each other for a long time and started to work together, doubling their strengths and covering up their weaknesses. Jonghyun, with his ability to get inside people’s heads and hypnotize them, and Jinki, with his baby face that made every human trust him, made a great pair. When a human entered their forest, it was a fight between all the creatures to grab and devour him. The last human who’d entered their forest, a girl, was different. For starters, she was so noisy that almost every type of living being in the forest had tried to devour her. For the first time in years, he’d had to fight off everyone else to get his victim. However, his memories of the girl still plagued him.

Jonghyun couldn’t understand why Jinki was so bothered about the incident that had happened earlier. Sometimes, he felt as if he didn’t know him at all. Jinki was the one being whose mind Jonghyun had never been able to enter. The first time they’d met, Jonghyun had had a rude awakening when he’d tried to hypnotize Jinki. He’d been stunned when he’d received a punch to the face. For a guy who looked slender and timid, Jinki possessed a brute force that was completely opposite to his build. For a moment, Jonghyun had felt something other than pain and admiration. He had felt a little flicker of lust. Jinki’s soft features and honey blonde hair, mixed with the bright aura of his, made him utterly stunning. Jinki had never known this, but he made Jonghyun’s cold heart melt each time they saw each other. Each time Jinki’s light diminished, it would send Jonghyun into a state of panic. He really couldn’t imagine not being around him.

Jinki had never understood why Jonghyun had always taken such good care of him. It has taken them a while to stop looking at each other as an enemy. Once they had got used to each other, they had become inseparable. It was unnatural for a demon of light like him, to be friends with a vampire, but he really enjoyed his company. He knew his life would have been very different if he hadn’t met Jonghyun. He would have missed out on knowing someone who always gave him the first share of their kill, lest his aura faded. Someone who’d once risked everything to save him from the shadow creature that had attacked him. Someone who had come to be his best friend.

The delicate water sprite watched the fire fairy walk past him, angrily. It really seemed as if he felt no other emotion. Taemin watched with bated breath as another bush was destroyed by the ball of flame that was flung at it. Water sprites loved nature, and Taemin was no exception. It made him angry to see his favorite flowers and trees being destroyed. He was going to put a stop to this.

Minho was in a horrible mood. He wanted to destroy anything and everything that was in his way. A few weeks ago, he’d had a choice prey just blatantly stolen from him, and he still hadn’t gotten over it. He cracked his knuckles and let out another beam into a rose bush, but it strangely didn’t catch fire. Confused, he tried again and heard the sound of his flame sizzling. This had never happened to him before. Was he losing his powers? That couldn’t be it. He looked around to find a boy sitting at the edge of the nearby stream, immersing his feet in the water. Dressed in a pale blue shirt and black pants, with his sharp features, he resembled an elf. Minho continued staring at him, feeling more than a little mesmerized by his sapphire blue eyes. Blinking himself back into reality, with his brows furrowed in concentration, he tried yet again to burn the bush. From the corner of his eye, he saw the boy wave his hand, and he felt a gentle mist touch his face. What kind of elf could control water?

Taemin grinned as he saw the annoyed expression on the fairy’s face each time he doused the flames. The fairy looked almost regal in his red and black robe, and dark hair. He would look really handsome if he smiled. Carefully watching his expressions, Taemin sent a shower of water droplets on him, to douse him.

“Stop it, elf. You don’t know whom you are dealing with”.

“I’m a water sprite, not an elf, and you can call me Taemin”.

“I’m Minho”.

“Well, Minho, you need to learn to trust people. I’ve been watching you for a while now, and I really think you need to relax”.

Minho couldn’t do anything but just glare at Taemin. The nerve of that boy, telling him what to do. Taemin was going to get it, once Minho got dry again. His powers weren’t working at all, as he couldn’t even form a little spark, thanks to Taemin’s antics. His breath got caught in his throat when Taemin came even closer to him and nonchalantly trailed his fingers along his face, almost as if he was tracing his features. For a creature that seemed so delicate, Taemin really was quite compelling.

Although he had Minho under his control for a while, Taemin couldn’t help but feel a little scared. If Minho wanted to, he could increase his flames so much that they would evaporate all of his water. So, he couldn’t push him too much. Although he knew they were in fact, opposites, he really wanted to see if he could change Minho a little bit. He pushed a bit of Minho’s long hair behind his ear, while he lightly ran his tongue along his lower lip.

Why was the sprite looking at him like he wished to eat him? It had been a really long time since Minho had even interacted with anyone. He preferred to stay by himself, but right now, he couldn’t help but wonder if having some company was indeed as bad as he thought it would be.

“Get away from me, sprite. I don’t want to hurt you”.

“I told you before, my name is Taemin. You can’t hurt me. Not when you can’t use your powers”.

“You don’t know me. I’m so angry right now, that I could snap you like a twig”.

“Are you angry because of that girl? I am, too. I had also tried to devour her. If we work together, we can have our revenge on the one who defeated us”.

Minho knew Taemin was right. A combination of fire and water would prove to be difficult for the light being to control. At this time, this alliance was the best. He nodded slowly when Taemin sent forth another shower of water droplets at him. Before he could figure out what was happening, he felt Taemin gently press his lips against his cheek.

Tenderly moving an errant lock of hair from Jinki’s forehead, Jonghyun smiled as he looked down at Jinki dozing on his lap. Off late, he’d got comfortable enough to touch him even unconsciously. It was a good thing that they’d had each other. Jinki was more powerful during the day, whereas his strength was at night. They’d both fed recently, but Jonghyun always wanted to make sure that there was something more for Jinki to have before the sun set for the day. Slowly easing Jinki’s head from his lap, Jonghyun set out to capture another prey. He heard the rustling of the bushes nearby and prepared to strike the expected herd of deer that would graze there. However, once he’d sprung to the other side of the bush, instead of a deer, there was only a dark mass. He watched in silence as the shadow creature made himself visible in his true form. Unlike Jonghyun and Jinki, shadow creatures were able to use their powers all throughout the day. Jonghyun hissed in pain as the creature bared his fangs and attacked him, stabbing him in the wrist with his knife-like nails. Jonghyun could feel his strength leaving him, as he continued to fight. All of a sudden, his mind went black and he fell to his knees. The shadow creature prepared to strip the vampire of his shadow when he was hit by a bolt of light. Jinki glanced at Jonghyun’s unconscious form in horror before assuming his fighting stance. Since it was still day, he was able to imbibe more strength from the sun. He continued striking the shadow creature in anger without even pausing for breath and only stopped when the creature disappeared. Lifting Jonghyun, he walked back to their spot in the forest. Filled with fear, he let out a sigh of relief when Jonghyun opened his eyes.

“I thought I’d lost you, Jonghyun-ah. Don’t ever leave me like that”

“Does that mean you were worried about me?”

Jonghyun saw Jinki blush at the question and smiled.

“Of course I was. I care for you, Jonghyun. I can’t even imagine how I’d survive without you by my side”

“I love you too, Jinki-ah”

Jinki felt his heart beat faster as Jonghyun cupped his face in his hands, and kissed him. As he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, he felt Jonghyun moan as he slipped his tongue inside his mouth

******************************************

Meanwhile, Kibum was furious at being defeated by the light demon. Assuming his shadow form yet again, he wandered about the forest searching for the creature that would be able to defeat the demon once and for all. He followed the trail of burnt leaves until he reached the lair of the fire fairy, who looked as impressive as he’d imagined. With long dark hair with red streaks, there was no doubt that his main power was to control fire. He would be the perfect ally to take down the demon and vampire.

Minho was surprised to see what looked like a dark cloud approach him. He gaped as the cloud turned into a blonde creature with a dark aura swirling around him.

“Get out of my lair, creature or prepare to suffer the consequences”

“I’ve come to ask for your alliance, fairy, and not to fight”

Kibum saw the fire fairy falter a little, and took his chance.

“We have a common enemy, fairy. We can defeat the light demon together”

Minho seemed rather suspicious as this was the second creature to approach him for an alliance. The shadow creature was handsome, albeit not pretty like the water sprite, but Minho still felt a tiny spark of interest.

“Alright. Let me know when you plan to strike. I know a water sprite, Taemin who also has a score to settle with him”

“Thank you, fairy. I’m sure we will work well together. I’m Kibum”

“Minho”

Kibum shook Minho's’ outstretched hand and laughed, just imagining the downfall of the demon who had bested him. The demon and vampire surely had another think coming. It would be three against two, and there were no doubts as to who would win this battle.

Kibum spent his time thinking of how they could overpower the light demon. Three versus two would just make it too easy. If they didn't want the demon to have much strength, they would have to attack at sunset, before the vampire brought him something to feed on. He'd watched them both for quite a long time so that he'd become familiar with their habits and routine. He knew the vampire could be easily overpowered, and that it was the light demon who needed to be watched. From his last encounter with them, he knew that if they were separated, they could easily be defeated. The best time to attack would be when the vampire had gone hunting while the demon slept. Fire, water and his shadow. He was glad he'd secured this alliance. The combination of their powers was required in order to make his plan work.

Meanwhile, Minho hid a smile as he watched Taemin dancing daintily and gracefully along the bank. He created little step like waves and continued to dance his way higher and higher above. He was amazed by how flexible Taemin was, but then again water sprites were the most graceful of all the creatures in the forest. He couldn't stop thinking about that fleeting little kiss Taemin has given him. Truth be told, Taemin was all he could think about. Fire and Water. They were opposites. The only thing that seemed to worry him was the fact that he could destroy Taemin in a heartbeat. Perhaps it would make more sense for him to choose the shadow creature, but he was unable to get Taemin out of his thoughts.

Taemin enjoyed the attention he was getting from Minho. He knew he had greatly startled the fire fairy, but it had definitely been worth it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Minho smile, which made him feel good. Minho's good looks became even more apparent when he smiled. Smiling to himself, Taemin threw up a shower of the smallest water droplets directly at the sun that was shining on Minho's face so the tiny sparkles appeared to be mini rainbows.

Enthralled by the sparkly water droplets, Minho watched, fascinated as Taemin continued to dazzle him. He had never experienced anything like this before. He laughed, happily and was rewarded with such a smile so filled with sunny warmth that made him doubt why he had always chosen to be so reclusive. He saw a dark cloud approaching them from a distance and knew that it was Kibum, the shadow creature who'd come to inform them that it was time to strike. He beckoned to Taemin to step out of the water and waited for Kibum to assume his true form.

"Minho, the demon is on his own now. This will be the perfect time to strike"

Taemin simply shrugged his shoulders and followed Kibum and Minho to where the demon lay, resting. He turned to the shadow creature to hear what his plan was. In order to gain control over the light demon, they first had to make sure that he couldn't see a thing. Minho lit a spark and set it to the water droplets that Taemin threw to the sky. With a sizzle, the water evaporated and turned into a light mist, to which Kibum sent a bit of his shadow, just to test the waters.

***************************************************

Jinki awoke with a start, to find that everything was dark. Had he slept through the sunset? This had never happened before. He looked around to find that Jonghyun was nowhere to be found, which was odd. He'd usually be back before it got dark. When he looked up at the sky, he could see darkness only in the area above him, which kept increasing. He took a step back to figure out what was happening when he heard the sound of a twig breaking.

"Jonghyun-ah, is that you?"

"You wish. You thought you'd seen the last of us, hadn't you?"

Just then, the darkness reduced and he could make out the shape of three silhouettes. As they stepped forward, he saw the shadow creature whom he'd defeated a few days ago. He was back, with reinforcements this time. Focusing his energy, he let out a beam of light towards the creature who was immediately protected by a shield of water. Dodging as a ball of fire flew at him, he hoped Jonghyun was alright. True, he could defeat each of them separately, but without his whole power, he didn't have much of a chance. He jumped as a cold mist hit his face, followed by the dark cloud that blinded him, once more.

Jinki could feel himself growing weaker, especially since there was no more sun. If he had to stay alive, he needed to feed immediately. It was beginning to get increasingly difficult for him to keep dodging their teamed attacks. The worst part was the dark mist, which overpowered his feeble beams of light, not allowing him to see a thing. He managed to dodge a lot of the attacks by relying only on his hearing.

Taemin paid keen attention to the light demon and noticed how he cocked his head to one side and then jumped out of the way when Minho flung a fireball at him. So, the demon has a keen sense of hearing. All they had to do, was increase the noise around them, and that way, he wouldn't be able to escape them. Winking at Minho, he pointed to a tree which had little dark bats hanging from the branches, and grinned at their telepathy when Minho immediately set fire to it.

Surrounded by a dark mass of bats, with their screeching and squeaking all around him, Jinki couldn't focus on his enemies to figure out the direction of their attacks. He fell flat on his back, after taking quite a big hit from the fire fairy. Was this it? Was this how it was all going to end? He closed his eyes and thought of how Jonghyun would manage. Once he was gone, it was just a matter of time before the shadow creature defeated Jonghyun. He'd just discovered his true feelings for Jonghyun and he was about to lose him.

Meanwhile, Jonghyun had completed his hunt, when he spotted that a certain area of the forest had suddenly grown dark. This could only be the work of the shadow creature he had encountered earlier. Filled with foreboding, Jonghyun ran as fast as he could, towards where he'd left a sleeping Jinki. The clearing smelled of smoke. Praying that he wasn't too late, he rushed to the side of Jinki, who lay on the ground, with his eyes fluttering. He saw the three silhouettes, of the other creatures in the forest, who had chosen to attack Jinki when he was alone. He cradled Jinki's body in his arms, with tears streaming down his face, as he raised his face to look at those who had done this to him. As he had expected, it was the work of the shadow creature, but he'd managed to involve a fire fairy and water sprite as well. He wouldn't let them come any closer. He would protect Jinki with his life.

Taemin felt a sudden pang as he watched the vampire rock the demon's body in his arms, his whole body shivering as he sobbed. Had they gone too far? He didn't want to kill the demon but just wanted to hurt him. The demon had a tiny bit of power left, but would definitely not last through the night. He saw the demon raise his hand and touch the vampire's face.

"I don't feel good, my love"

Taemin continued to just stare at the demon whose light started fading again. It was a sure sign of his weakness, which meant that he would die once it faded completely.

"You can't leave me. Take my blood" said the vampire, tears streaming down his face.

Stepping aside to wipe away his own tears, Taemin heard an eerie sound in the distance, as his vision was shrouded in red. Stunned, he glanced at Minho and Kibum whose faces matched his fear.

Minho couldn't believe his eyes, as he looked up at the blood moon. It happened very rarely, but each time it did, it caused the werewolves in the forest to go berserk, almost as if there was someone else controlling them. He remembered the time it had happened last. That was when he had lost his family. Only the light demon was strong enough to battle them, but he was close to death, because of him.

He stepped towards the vampire, who had cut his arm by now and was frantically trying to get out enough blood to save the demon.

"Step aside, vampire"

"You'll have to go through me first"

"I want to help you. Look around you. Tonight is the night of the blood moon. I need the light demon back, more than you do. He's the only one strong enough to help us face those werewolves"

Jonghyun stared at the fire fairy in disbelief. He couldn't believe that he wasn't trying to hurt Jinki anymore. He tried to flex his muscles to allow his blood to flow out faster into Jinki's mouth, but it wasn't enough. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked into the deep blue eyes of the water sprite.

"You must be tired, vampire. Let me help"

Taemin slashed his wrist and let his sky blue blood join the vampire's into the demon's mouth. This was the only way they could bring the demon's strength back. Both he and the vampire had lost a good amount of blood, but the demon's light still wasn't bright enough. He looked at Minho and Kibum, wondering what they should do next.

"This won't do. He is still too weak"

At this rate, it was going to take them ages to get the light demon back, not to mention the fact that Taemin and the vampire had lost too much of their blood already. They really didn't have much time. He could hear the howls coming closer and closer.

"We need to move fast. It is only a matter of time till they find us. My lair would be the safest for now. Taemin and the vampire need time to recuperate and get their strength back"

Between them, Kibum and Minho managed to lift Jinki and guide the weary Taemin and Jonghyun to safety. Kibum felt his conscience prick him for the first time in years, as he watched the way the vampire was struggling to save his friend. He truly only wanted to teach the demon a lesson. He hadn't thought of the consequences even once, before just charging. As part of his penance, he offered to go out and search for prey while Minho watched over the three beings in his care. Shifting to his shadow form, he glided about, until he saw a large wild boar that he knew would give them all a significant amount of strength. Attacking it ferociously, he absorbed the carcass into his shadow as he couldn't afford to carry the meat back, especially when there were zombie werewolves on the loose. On his way back to the other side of the forest, he spotted a lone werewolf and took his chance to figure out their weakness. Creeping stealthily, he grabbed a bit of the werewolf's shadow and started to reel it in. The werewolf jumped up immediately and looked around, its eyes glowing red. Kibum moved away quickly, as he saw the wolf sniff the area where he was, just a moment ago. With their heightened sense of smell, there was no doubt that these creatures were indeed, formidable.

"Minho, I'm worried. What if we don't get the demon back to his full strength in time? I can give him some more of my blood"

"Don't. You're already too weak, Taemin. Once Kibum gets back with food, we'll all feel a lot better"

Jonghyun was amazed at how the sprite and fairy supported each other. They seemed to be opposites, just like him and Jinki and they already had a spark between them. He blinked back his tears as Jinki cleared his throat faintly.

"Jonghyun-ah, you look tired. Rest a while"

"Not unless you're back, Jinki-ah. your light is still faint. I'm afraid to leave you, even for a minute"

Hearing the love in the vampire's voice, Taemin felt happy that the demon was loved by someone even more than he loved him.

"Jonghyun, don't worry. We won't let anything happen to him"

Just then, Kibum returned with his prey and they all fed together. Although the quantity wasn't enough, all except Jinki were able to regain their strength. Throughout their meal, Minho's brows were furrowed as he kept thinking of how they were going to face the beasts. Now that Kibum had seen them firsthand, he knew they needed to be extremely vigilant.

"Kibum, I've got it. The demon draws his light from the sun. If we generate that amount of heat, we can bring his strength back"

"I don't understand how this can happen. In case you haven't noticed, it is night now and we can't wait till the sun rises"

"I control fire. If I can increase my power to its maximum, I think I would be able to generate as much heat as the sun, which the demon could easily absorb"

"Let's try it. I think you're right. This has a chance to work"

His blue eyes glittering with unshed tears, Taemin led Minho away from the others for a few moments.

"I'm glad that you're able to do the right thing. I'm really going to miss you, Minho. Know that I'll always care for you"

"Taemin, I don't understand what you're talking about"

"With that amount of heat, I will evaporate. I won't be able to withstand it at all"

"Trust me. I won't let you slip away from me. I'll protect you always"

After dropping a featherlight kiss to Taemin's open mouth, Minho walked towards the other beings. Taking Jinki's hand, he led him to the mouth of his lair.

"Kibum, shield Taemin and the vampire. Neither of them will be able to handle the heat. I'll take the demon to a secluded area in the forest and use my powers. Don't leave the lair until you hear the sound of our return"

"Go. I'll protect them"

As Minho walked away with the demon, Kibum spread his aura around the lair. He manipulated his shadow to form a wall that covered the mouth of the cave and waited patiently. His aura was powerful enough to absorb the smoke that would be generated by Minho and strong enough to keep the heat away from the cave.

Jinki was stunned as he was led to a secluded portion of the forest. Never in his wildest dreams had he even imagined that the fire fairy would help him. After all, they were natural enemies that hated each other.

"Wait here, demon. I'll move a little further away and then turn up the heat. See if you're able to absorb it"

Why was he helping him? Whatever the reason was, Jinki was just thankful that he wouldn't be leaving Jonghyun alone.

Minho grunted as he tried to increase his flames more and more in order to reach the same level of heat as the sun. Try as he might, he was unable to remove the thoughts of the water sprite from the back of his mind. He could smell the singed leaves of all the trees that surrounded him but knew this wasn't the highest he could go. This wasn't even close enough. Struggling, he put every last bit of energy he had and increased his flames tenfold and scorched the entire area.

Jinki watched the fire fairy try his hardest to reach his highest potential, and was shocked as he saw his hair turn into flames. With the way he was going, it was just a matter of minutes before the fairy would ignite the entire forest. The ground the fairy stood on was covered in hellish flames, and Jinki stepped closer so that he could absorb the energy. Bracing himself, he shouted to Minho to fire a beam at him.

What was wrong with the demon? Minho shuddered to think of what would happen if the heat of the beam he sent was too low. If it was high enough, then the demon would easily be able to absorb it, but he would be attacked if it wasn't great enough.

"Demon, wait. I don't think this is hot enough. You could get hurt"

"I trust you. Do it. The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can get back to the others"

Minho took a deep breath before creating a beam with all the power and energy he could muster. Watching it hurtle towards the demon, he felt a small tremor of fear touch his heart. He heard the sound of a small explosion, and fell to his knees, just hoping that he had missed.

*********************************************************************

Meanwhile, Kibum had started to absorb all of the smoke that was created by Minho's heat into his aura. After a while, it started getting too hot even for him to handle. Hoping this heat had been enough for the demon, he stretched his aura even further, to protect Taemin and the vampire.

Taemin, on the other hand, had crept to the darkest corner so as to not be affected by the heat. He could feel himself getting more and more heated by the minute. This was indeed what he had been afraid of. It was just a matter of time before he evaporated.

Jonghyun watched the little sprite cower in a corner, and felt genuinely worried. Rushing to his side, he took his hand to find that it was warm. The normally sapphire blue eyes had turned into sky blue and he watched Taemin struggling to breathe. The sprite needed to be taken to the stream, and fast, if he was to be saved.

Kibum saw a flash of light and knew there would be a heatwave that would hit them shortly.

"Brace yourselves. I don't know if I would be able to stop this one"

Closing his eyes, he struggled to keep the protection in place with every last ounce of his strength. Feeling a huge wave of heat hitting his aura, he finally withdrew it all and turned around to see that the vampire had protected Taemin with his own body.

"Jonghyun, you...you protected me. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Taemin. Let's get you to the stream. You need water"

*******************************************************

Once the smoke had cleared, Minho went closer to see the damage that he'd caused when his vision was marred by a dazzling flash of light. With his heart in his throat, he walked towards the light to find the demon, restored to his full health and glory.

"Thank you, Minho"

"You're welcome, demon"

"You can call me Jinki"

"Let's go back to my lair, Jinki. The attack may start anytime"

**********************************************************

Fully hydrated, Taemin and the others were back at the lair when they saw Minho and Jinki return, arm in arm. With uncharacteristic emotion in his eyes, Minho swung an elated Taemin around while Jonghyun and Jinki embraced each other.

"It's almost time. We need to prepare ourselves to fight for our lives. These werewolves are dangerous"

"All of their senses have heightened since the last time this happened, and we are just five against twenty or thirty of them"

"If we bring them near the stream, I'd be able to use that water as well"

"That's a good idea, Taemin. We've all got our strengths, and we'll be able to take them on and defeat them for sure"

There was no doubt about it. It was finally time. The five beings got into a V formation as they heard the howls approaching them. A pack usually had 20 wolves, but when they were affected, all of the zombie werewolves would form a pack together. At that moment, Jinki and Minho were the strongest in the group and were going to lead the attack. Stretching his aura all around the area, Kibum was able to form a sort of screen so the wolves wouldn't be able to see them. Bracing themselves mentally, they waited for the wolves to attack. Less than five minutes later, they could see around 50 wolves snarling and rushing towards them. As Kibum had expected, although their vision was not clear, these wolves clearly relied on their superior and heightened sense of smell to pinpoint the location of all the beings. Minho and Jinki continued to hurl fire and light at the wolves and managed to slow them down for a while when they suddenly changed direction and seemed to focus only on Taemin. The gentle water sprite was the easiest to scent. Although he kept pushing them away with waves, they just kept advancing on him.

"Kibum, can you stretch your aura over Taemin? They seem to be sensing only him"

"They seem to be a lot stronger than we thought, Jonghyun. We won't be able to destroy them at all"

"If we can just hold them off till the blood moon is over, that would be more than enough"

"They're too strong. When we cut off their vision, they're using their hearing and sense of smell"

"Not for long"

Jonghyun sent a mind strike to the wolf closest to Taemin and watched as it stopped in its tracks. Maybe, just maybe he could be able to hypnotize it. He slowly crept into the wolf's brain to hypnotize it into stopping the attack but failed as the wolf wasn't in control of its actions. He continued to send mind strikes until he was finally able to hit the part that controlled the olfactory senses, which made the wolf fall, spread-eagled to the ground, and unable to move. Although these effects weren't lasting, this would hold them off for a long time. From the corner of his eye, he could see Jinki and Minho fighting side by side, with both resorting to physical attacks as well as their powers. It warmed his heart to see those who were natural enemies, fighting together and protecting each other. He continued to use mind strikes for a few more wolves until he felt a headache like he'd never experienced before.

Minho saw around five wolves lying motionless by Taemin's feet, and spotted Jonghyun on his knees, with his head in his hands. Shooting more beams of fire, he rushed to his side.

"Jonghyun, are you alright?"

"Mind strikes work on these wolves, but they're too strong in their current state. If they're a lot weaker, I will easily be able to turn off their olfactory senses and stun them from inside"

Jinki's knuckles were raw and bloody, as he continued to wreak havoc on the werewolf army. With his strength, he was the only one who was able to get as close as possible to the wolves and strike them directly, without getting too injured. Feeling a light spray of water on his face, he turned around to find Jonghyun on his knees.

"Jonghyun-ah"

"Don't worry about me. Just keep attacking. I've figured out how to stun them"

By now, more than half of the wolves were weakened significantly from the injuries they had sustained, but the rest of them were still strong. Once again, using their combined powers, Minho, Taemin, and Jinki continued to strike. Panting, they looked around them to see that all the wolves were now on the ground, struggling to stand up. Immediately, Jonghyun stood up and used up the last of his strength in sending a group strike to all the minds, thereby rendering them unconscious.

Immensely worried, Jinki caught Jonghyun as he swayed and almost fell.

"You've done well, Jonghyun-ah. Now, rest. I will watch over you always"

Smiling weakly, Jonghyun tucked a strand of Jinki's hair behind his ear.

"I know, Jinki-ah. I love you. Always have, always will"

The five of them huddled together on the grass with Jonghyun snuggling close to Jinki, watching the blood moon fade to its normal color. Things would now slowly get back to normal, and those injured werewolves would soon be able to control themselves. For the next 50 odd years or so, the forest and its beings would be safe.

Slipping an arm around Minho's waist, Taemin pulled him closer and rested his head onto his shoulder.

"We make a great team, don't we?"

"Yes, we do. All five of us. Together"

#mythical creatures #dark fantasy #fanfic #fantasyau #SHINee #2min #jongyu #kibum #vampire #fairy #demon #onjong #boylove #romance

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welcometophu · 5 years

Text

Extra: on the edge of the dream

Look, a wee short story prelude to the upcoming third novel of the Twinned trilogy, Into the Dream!! This short story will introduce you to Nikolai and Seth, who I have been spending a lot of time with lately, and who you might recognize from their mentions in Missed Fortunes. Wait, you don’t remember them? Don’t worry, I think you’ll figure out how they fit in quickly enough. I hope. If you don’t, I didn’t do my job, now, did I?

Anyway.

on the edge of the dream G, Nikolai/Seth, ~1800 words

It’s still dark when Nikolai wakes from the dream. He lies there, eyes closed as the whispers of the world outside the cabin surround him, the mourning doves just starting to coo before dawn. He rolls over, goes carefully still when Seth stirs. “Sorry,” Nikolai whispers, one hand on Seth’s shoulder.

It isn’t easy to extract himself from their bedroll, peeling back the sheet and blanket until he can get first one foot out, then the other. Seth huffs in his sleep, but Nikolai tucks the covers back in close around him and he quiets. Once he’s free, Nikolai is able to walk with cautious footsteps across the cabin floor, trying to avoid squeaky boards.

This cabin is built better than most they’ve stayed in. It’s from before the Split, part of an old campground, and someone has maintained it since then. Some of the safe houses are tiny cabins that have sprung up in the wilderness areas, creating havens for those on the run. The best are like this one, remnants of old campgrounds or homes, places that have a sturdy structure and have become soaked in magic from years of being used to hide. The wards were faded when Seth and Nikolai arrived, but at least they are still in place. The wards won’t keep them completely hidden from mundane view, but it’s unlikely someone will just stumble upon the place. They have to know about it. Be a sympathizer.

It’s been a few days since Seth and Nikolai arrived, and they haven’t seen anyone. It feels safer than most places they’ve stopped in their travels. Still, Nikolai is careful when he opens the door, slow and steady until he’s sure that they are still alone.

The air is filled with the scent of crisp snow, the ground heavy with the remnants of the storm, the snow deep enough to go over his ankles and trickle inside his boots once he puts them on and steps outside. The scent lingers, as if the storm waits to be called back. It almost makes Nikolai wish he could, that he had enough of his family’s Weather Witchery to be able to pull the storm to them rather than just feel it in the air. Then he could use it as an excuse to stay here another day, to rest for one more sleep where they know it’s safe.

If it’s safe. No matter how good it seems, Nikolai can never be absolutely sure of that.

Nikolai walks a few feet from the cabin, hands spread, head lifted as he feels the tiny needles of mist in the air, like little shards of ice breaking over him. Maybe there’s no need for a storm; it’s still too cold to move. He may not be able to control the weather like the rest of his family could, but he can read it. They’re stuck here a few more days before they can get back on their way.

“Where are you going?”

Nikolai drops his hand at the sound of Seth’s voice. He turns back, tries to calm the rapid beat of his heart. “You were sleeping.”

“Were you leaving me?” Seth crosses his arms, draws himself up to his full height. Glasses slip down his nose, the arm on one side cracked and glued so many times that they can’t tighten it anymore, the center bridge held together with tape. Seth pushes the glasses back up, stands there with his finger at his temple, keeping them in place. He blinks.

Nikolai deflates. “No. You know I wouldn’t. I just wanted to check the weather and see if the wards are still in place, that’s all.”

Seth gestures, and Nikolai crosses back to him. It’s comfortable to fall into Seth’s embrace, to wrap his arms around him and press his cheek to the top of Seth’s head. Seth may be shorter, rounder, but he’s still strong, gripping Nikolai about the waist. It’s safe like this.

“We checked the wards when we arrived, and even if they start to fail, there’s nothing we can do about it,” Seth murmurs. “We’ve been safe here for a few days. We’ll head out as soon as we can and head for Havenhill. I know we’ve still got a ways to go and traveling in March isn’t good, but we’re getting further every day than we did a month or two ago.”

Nikolai licks his lips, feels calm wash over him in a rush. It helps, even if it doesn’t entirely take the stress away. “Thanks,” he whispers, and Seth kisses him lightly in response.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seth pulls back, catches Nikolai’s hand in his and draws him into the warmth of the cabin.

The door closes behind them, and Nikolai takes a moment to wipe his boots on the towel that lies by the door. He never properly tied them, so he can toe them off easily and leave them there to drip dry.

He thinks about the dream he had just before he woke, the strangeness of it all. “Not really,” he admits. “But I probably should.” That’s how he takes things out of his head, after all. He talks to Seth, lets Seth carry his half of the load. It’s how things work and how they have always worked.

Without Seth, Nikolai would be half a person, and more than likely insane, not to mention a danger to everyone around him. He doesn’t want to imagine it.

Seth pulls away, heads into the small kitchenette and starts rifling through the cabinet. “Dried milk or evaporated milk?” He pulls out a box and a can, holds them up.

“I’d rather just drink water, but we can use those to make something else.” Nikolai remembers a time when breakfast meant sugary cereals, sweet and processed, drowning in thick, rich milk. He nudges in next to Seth, and together they forage through the small cabinets to dig out a box of macaroni and cheese, the evaporated milk, and a can of tuna fish. Nikolai hunts a little further and finds a can of peas, and it’s enough to make a quick stove top casserole.

“Things I never thought I’d say when I was eight: I miss broccoli,” Nikolai quips.

Seth laughs, but it fades quickly. He sets the pan of water on the stove to boil, twisting on the propane tank and lighting the burner with a match from one of the drawers. Once it’s heating, he crosses his arms and leans back against the small counter. “Okay, Nik. I’ll bite. Why does broccoli make you feel sad? And confused? Because I know what you’re saying, and it’s weird to think how much I miss fresh vegetables since everything went upside down and sideways, but it’s not something I think about enough to get actually sad.”

Nikolai opens his mouth, closes it again. “I’ve been dreaming,” he admits, and winces at the flash of disappointment in Seth’s gaze.

“You’re supposed to tell me,” Seth whispers. He motions, and Nikolai goes to him, lets Seth draw him down until their foreheads touch. Seth’s skin is cool, and calm wraps around Nikolai like a soft blanket.

It’d be nice if they could stay like this all day, but that’s not how things work.

“You’re not losing me.” Nikolai has to reassure him, has to say it every time. “I’m not going into the Dreamscape with this. And I’m not opening a rift to bring it here.”

“How would you know?” Seth counters. “I can’t anchor you if I don’t know you’re slipping, Nik. I can help you, but not if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not like a Dream.” Nikolai knows that Seth can hear the difference in how he says the word. “But it’s not just a dream, either. It’s different. And it keeps being the same dream, over and over again.”

“Dream or nightmare?” Seth asks. He moves, and they end up back on the bed, stretching out so that Seth can wrap around Nikolai. There’s a soft hiss in the background as the thin flame on the propane stove tries to boil water, but that’ll take a while. They have time.

Seth strokes along Nikolai’s shoulder, soft and slow. “Tell me about it.” It’s not a question, or an order, but Nikolai can’t just let it go, either.

“Think about what it would be like if the Split had never happened,” Nikolai says quietly. He picks at the blanket, finding a loose thread and pulling it before he stops himself. They can’t get another blanket easily; he can’t destroy this one.

Seth’s hand covers his, fingers curling together. Nikolai closes his eyes.

“It’s like what I remember from when we were small,” he says quietly. “Only bigger. Brighter. A world with television, and I’m a student at a school. I live in a room with two other girls—”

“Two other girls?”

“Girls,” Nikolai confirms. “My name is Nik, but I’m a girl in the dream. And I don’t remember all the details all the time, just that when I wake up I feel like things have been peaceful for once. Normal. I eat food, I go to classes, I hang out with friends, and it feels like the life we should have had. But it’s nothing like living here. Nothing like anything has been for the last ten years.”

“Does it feel like a nightmare?” Seth pushes up and over, ending up straddling Nikolai. He waits until Nikolai’s eyes flicker open, then leans down to brush nose against nose before kissing him. “Do I need to worry?”

“It’s unsettling, because it feels so right,” Nikolai admits. “It doesn’t feel like a Dream, but it feels real. Like I’m just dreaming things I ought to be dreaming, even though it’s nothing like reality at all.”

“Mm.” Seth sits back, lips pressed together while he considers Nikolai’s words.

And Nikolai looks up at him, the weight of Seth pressing him down into the bed, and he can’t remember why the dream bothered him. Not when he’s here and now, and maybe they’re running away, or running toward something. Maybe someday they’ll be safe, or maybe they’ll never get there. But right now, right here, they’ve got each other, just like they’ve always had.

Nikolai slides his hands through Seth’s hair, tangling in the soft, tight curls and tugging him down to kiss him again, harder and with more intent. Seth’s mouth shifts from a thin line to a smile under Nikolai’s touch, and he withdraws only long enough to take his glasses off and toss them aside.

“You’re distracting me,” Seth murmurs.

“Is it working?” Nikolai asks.

“Maybe.”

In the background, the little pot of water starts to rattle, almost but not quite at a boil. It’s only water, and no food will go to waste if they don’t get up right away. Nikolai doesn’t get many chances at peace when he’s awake and he wants to take advantage of this one.

Tomorrow will be another day, and time enough to get on the road and search for haven.

[Read more about Nikolai and Seth when Into the Split begins in April, 2019!]

#welcome to phu #welcometophu #phu extra #extra #nikolai petersen

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viperouspasha-blog · 6 years

Text

Play With Fire

Pairings: Nadia/MC, Nadia/fan apprentice

Content Warnings: Uhhh...NSFW probably, nothing super graphic. About 99% less angst than last time, but an equal number of shirtless magicians. Consensual bossing around. Pomegranates. Everyone’s favorite long bois.

Author’s Note: Pasha is my fan apprentice, NB, they/them. I listened to Play With Fire (Sam Tinnesz, Yacht Money) about a thousand times writing this. I’m not sure if there should be more content warnings.

Of all the wonders the palace has to offer, Pasha likes the gardens most. The whisper of the wind and the rain through the leaves, the soft call of frog song when the sun starts to fade on the horizon, the joyous, brightly-coloured birds that sing for the new dawn when it returns. Even now, in the heat of an early summer with the sun beating down upon their brow, this place holds its own form of magic, the barest hint of a breeze the only thing keeping the warmth from becoming oppressive.

Sunlight dapples the ground and their skin alike in rich, golden patterns, dancing with every whisper of the wind in the leaves overhead. It smells like summer already, the air burgeoning with verdant flora, the fragrance of who even could count how many exotic blooms mingling with the honey and lavender of Nadia's perfume. The silk of her skirts is soft against their skin as they lean back, lounging indolently in the grass at her feet, lean shoulders resting comfortably against her legs.

She had not deigned to sit in the grass with them, instead perches elegantly on a bench of hand-carved marble, but if the occasional passing of her fingertips through their dark, ash-and-night curls is any indication, she does not seem displeased with the arrangement in the slightest. It's perfect, they think, an easy, comfortable moment in the midst of the storm that Vesuvia seems so prepared to throw at them these days.

Her throaty hum forms a distant, Prakan melody that they have no doubt is as beautiful sung in her voice as it is murmured in the hazy amber light, the vibration of it thrumming where they touch, and interrupted only by any occasional whisper of parchment as she waves an ornately decorated fan toward herself, cooling them both if only by the slightest measure.

Not far from their feet, Melchior and Mercedes are watching their every movement carefully, less concerned the magician themself and more with the round, crimson fruit they are carving into with the end of a small, stone knife. The scarlet of the pomegranate looks garish against the silver-stricken turquoise of the blade, but short of prying the fruit apart with the fingers, they have no better option.

The melody stops, the only sound the hushed thrum of insects and the soft call of birds before Nadia speaks, no...scolds with little sincerity in that warm, silken voice, "You spoil them."

Their dark eyebrow arches subtly, storm-grey eyes amused as a slow, easy smile curves over their features. Melchior whines softly and Mercedes pricks her ears forward at the statement, their mismatched eyes, coal-black and bloodied red, following every movement as the magician slices the top of the pomegranate free and tosses it into the grass.

The hounds bicker and snap over it, its sudden disappearance leaving little indication of which actually made away with the prize. Both inch closer, and Melchior mouths the toe of the magician's boot a little too firmly, only to scramble back as they meet the hound's gaze with narrowed eyes.

Grimacing at the small dent in the scuffed, black leather, Pasha tilts their head back upon Nadia's knees, looking at her upside down to counter with a murmur of laughter in their smoky cadence, "And you don't?"

"Or have I imagined Portia's nightly fretting over them? Chamomile cakes before bed?" Pasha drawls in an almost teasing cadence, ash-coloured eyes glittering with amusement as a slow smile crosses Nadia's countenance. She closes the fan with a soft 'snap' and rustle of parchment, setting it aside to instead thread her fingers through the magician's riotous, storm-dark curls, causing their eyes to flutter closed in an instant.

A soft sound of contentment escapes them as her nails scrape lightly along their scalp, and she laughs, like bells in the distance. Silken voice laced with mirth, she asks, "Do I not spoil you as well? Or need you chamomile cakes before bed, now? Pomegranates fed to you in the garden?"

Those ash-grey eyes open once more, their pupils shrinking against the light, and they look up toward her with a wry smile. Repositioning to escape the sun in their eyes, but not the Countess' touch, they sit a bit straighter and rest the base of their head to her knee, gooseflesh rising along their skin when her nails draw lightly over the nape of their neck.

"I'm not a wild dog," Pasha counters with amusement, cracking open the crimson fruit in their hands with careful precision so as not to spatter the nearby silks in scarlet. The hounds perk up, a low, guttural whine sounding from Melchior. Throwing one half of the pomegranate to the grass between his paws, they toss the other to Mercedes, licking a bit of scarlet from their thumb as the hounds snap up the red, ripe fruit, bloodying the white fur around their jaws and then rooting through the grass to find every last morsel.

Nadia's fingers slip from their hair, and she instead shifts forward behind them, draping her arms languidly around their shoulders in a contrast of her copper and their cool umber. Her hair spills around them like so much carmine and aubergine silk, its fragrance like lavender and honey, as she murmurs against the shell of their ear, lips brushing the skin with every syllable of that heady, scarlet voice, "And you are not exactly a tame one, either, are you?"

A thrill jolts through them at the soft promise in her words as she tucks an errant curl behind their ear, whispering, "Not yet."

Lucio did not deserve this woman.

Those words drive a prickling heat over their shoulders, creeping up the back of their neck where her fingertips rest even still, idly toying with the storm-dark curls at their nape to turn their ears subtly crimson in a way that has nothing to do with the glow of the afternoon sun. Her airy laughter behind them tells them enough, tells them that she's noticed and is pleased with her move in the game they play.

They lean into it, their curl-crowned head turning to nip lightly at the fingertips that hovered near their hair, and a smirk curls over their features at her shocked inhalation. Her offended hand lifts away from them, poised at her collarbone imperiously, while her scarlet eyes appraise the magician's in a manner that is not quite scornful but perhaps not far from it.

"Careful Countess," they chide in a soft cadence, voice like smoke. "Wild things bite."

Perfectly manicured nails come to grasp them gently but firmly by the chin, and whatever else they may have to say evaporates on their tongue like mist in the morning sun. They wonder, if only for a moment, if they have overplayed their hand as Valerius did on the balcony not long past. There were twenty-two pieces on the board, but not one was a cobra. No. She did not look at Valerius like she looks at them now, the gleam in her sanguine eyes reminding them of a lion they saw once in Nopal, calculating atop the dunes whether they or Asra would make a finer meal.

As calmly as one might order a hound to heel, she directs, "Stand, Pasha."

Their gaze remains locked to hers, storm cloud-grey searching scarlet depths as they decide their fate. All the while, Nadia is a patient hunter, waiting with certainty for something lean and dangerous to bear its throat, entrust its power into her hands. When the magician nods, a bare and almost imperceptible gesture, she releases them. Watches as the stone blade slips from their fingers onto the earth, and they push up from the sun-gilded grass at her command.

Her hand winds into the soft, black fabric of their shirt to pull them closer, forward, until they can move no farther and their legs bump into the stone bench. The apex of their tattoo is visible above their collar with the way their shirt is twisted in her hand, the splayed, intricate lines of the sun are dark against a complexion like red earth.

She pulls them subtly forward, only just beyond their balance but yet safe in her grasp, imperious and regal, even looking up at them as she is now. When she speaks, there is a ribbon of gold in the heady scarlet of her voice, "Sit."

Obey.

There is less wait now, only a moment of still silence before the magician complies with her will, their lean form climbing up onto the bench with her. One of their knees rests to either side of her, straddling her hips, and she holds their gaze yet, arches a brow, waits for them to sink onto her lap. They do, and when a slow, almost smug smile curls the corner of her lips, it is almost impossible not to think about how close they are to her, how much their breath has quickened, how she smells of sweet things sheltered in the shadows beneath the trees, wild lavender and honey.

Sweet clover. They used to pick the blooms and drink the nectar.

It is madness, and they know it. Know that she has control now, that they have relinquished it to her, and that it makes their pulse race in a way they cannot explain. This close and drunk on the sight of her, the way she looks at them. The way her fingertips loosen their grasp in the front of their shirt and drift to the hem when she relinquishes her hold, slip beneath the edge to draw gold-limned nails lightly over the skin. They shiver. It feels good.

"Pasha," the Countess directs in a scarlet, silken voice, drawing their gaze up from her touch and back to her kohl-limned eyes, irises dark as wine. "What would you do if I told you that I wanted you to stay. Could you be still, not move a muscle without my command? Not do anything unless I've told you to?"

Her touch drifts higher, thumbs stroking along the curve of their ribs, and they know that she has them exactly where she wants them. That she is the hunter and they, they are the quarry. That all she is waiting for is for them to say yes.

They acquiesce, their smoky voice laced with embers as they breathe the word, "Yes."

That is all she needed, and the words that fall from her lips are, "Then stay."

Her fingertips curl in the dark fabric of their shirt, and in an agonizingly slow movement, she draws it up and over their head, appraising them in the amber warmth of the setting sun. Their silhouette is gilded in that waning light, the lean and lithe contours of their build cast with cognac-gold and shadow.

Where her fingertips brush over their tattooed skin, they feel fire, swear that she traces every last line of the radiant sun inked over their chest from the collarbone nearly to the navel, her touch as warm on their skin as the dying rays of light on the horizon. When she leans in, lips brushing over the corona of it, heat blossoms and their heart pounds. They wonder if she can hear it.

She moves up, only a scarce distance between their skin and her lips, a kiss bestowed to their collarbone, breath hot along the curve of their neck. She moves up until her fingers twine once more in their riotous, storm-dark curls, and pulls their head slowly but firmly to the side, exposing their throat. Heat blossoms over their skin as her lips brush there, sweetly, deceptively soft over their frantic pulse.

It burns like wildfire, and they suck in a sharp breath when a hint of teeth follow, a sharp reminder that Nadia will not ever be only wild lavender and honey, gold and silk. She is fire, but not like they are. She is the heady incense, but never the burnt offering. The High Priestess drinking in its sweet smoke, offering succor only to those she deems worthy. Her breath ghosts over their skin, and when they look at her, their ash grey eyes are black in the dwindling light.

She looks back at them through a veil of dark lashes, scarlet eyes glittering, her voice a ribbon of regal red stricken through with molten gold as she directs, "Beg me."

Gods help them.

They do.

#the arcana #the arcana game #nadia/apprentice #nadia/mc #fan apprentice #nadia #scornful nadia is the best nadia #arcana fic

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 6 years

Text

Commission for @nichtiko

Request: Original Story, cute fairytale & protagonist

Title: Goodnight, Sleep Tight

The pain of loss is one so deeply ingrained upon the human heart, that often it seems never to heal from one bout of grief before the next sets in. Children learn sadness from an early age from little things, perhaps they wanted to be held a little longer, or their dummy has fallen from the pram, or a demonic clown is crawling over their ceiling at night and no adult seems to understand why turning off the light elicits such a reaction.

And yet, all is focused on the human experience… what of the things that are lost?

How must they feel? Most could not say, for they were never alive to begin with, and even had they been, who would listen to lost change or an abandoned shoe by the roadside?

Would donation bins scream with items that had felt themselves treasured, only to be cast aside, not realising that they were going to be owned by another in future?

From Rambo’s perspective, being lost felt a lot like falling down a deep well, far from those who loved you.

The little sheep never quite recalled where he had come from, only that the first memory stored within his heart of hearts, was of suddenly being held by his new owner… all of six years old, eyes bright and full of love for the fluffy little toy that would come to earn the name Rambo Eweniverse. Days of play, nights of cuddling close and guarding their human’s slumber from the scary things in the dark…

The creatures lurking under the bed, in the closet, in the shadowy corners of the room… none dared approach the bed where the vulnerable child lay, for Rambo was always watching, always ready to attack, to protect. That is what a toy is for, after all; Love, Companionship, Sympathy and Protection.

Years flew by, as sadly they must, and Rambo saw his human grow in all the ways a child verging on adolescence can; felt joy with every good grade, and commissorating every little heartbreak suffered. Perhaps it had made him blind to what the passage of time truly meant… or maybe it was a willful ignorance, for who really enjoys endings?

Their time together was coming to an end, as Rambo’s human transitioned to high school; certainly the toy didn’t sleep on the bed anymore, but on a bookshelf nearby, which at least afforded a good view of the room. He could still keep his human safe throughout the long night…

How strange that everything Rambo had done could be torn down in a mere moment, and from the most unlikely of sources. Teenagers, or those just now coming into the mindset of such, can be exceptionally loud, brash and over-critical when it comes to others; assuming such will hide their own flaws underneath pointed jibes. A sleepover, humans called it, though Rambo couldn’t recall them attending one for quite some time… there were probably five other humans of a similar age, all curiously pawing about the bedroom and making comments about similar items they also owned.

One particularly unfortunate-looking human, and naturally the loudest amongst the group to offset this, earned Rambo’s ire by snatching him from the shelf roughly and dangling the well-loved toy by a leg. The room swung wildly as Rambo did, from side to side, though all the little stuffed animal could see was red… like the rage he felt at this creature for daring to touch him, much less manhandle in such a careless way!

“Ew,” snorts the child, “You still sleep with a stuffed toy, Ryan? Aw, does widdle bay-by Wyan need a nappy-wappy and a bawttle…” he drawls in an exaggeratedly condescending tone. Shaking Rambo all the while. The other boys, clearly under the ugly one’s sway, laugh accordingly.

In surprise, his human whirls from discussing some computer-related thing with another friend, anger and embarrassment warring on his youthful face. Rambo silently pleads through black button eyes for his human to defend him, make this disgusting wretch release him!

Betrayal seeps into every stitch of his being as Ryan hastily adopts an annoyed expression. “What? No, that’s just some stupid toy my mum won’t let me throw out, some dead relative gave it to me, so I have to keep it for a bit longer.” he shrugs, nonchalantly, and turns away. “Just put it back or whatever… I don’t care.”

If stuffed animals could cry, Rambo would have done so, as he was harshly discarded upon the floor and unceremoniously kicked under the bed. His human… didn’t care for him anymore?

Loss, grief, betrayal… it felt like falling. Sometimes it was not what was lost, but who that item lost along the way, and what else evaporated right along with it. The love, care and trust built up over years no longer amounted to anything; the sacred bond of child and toy was sundered, perhaps irreparably. Maybe, come nightfall, his human’s heart would change…

Rambo held out hope…

~)0(~

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnnot so hiiiiiiigh and mighttttttttyyyyyy now, are youuuuuuu, sheeeeeeeeeeep?” hisses the creatures lurking beneath the bed, all gangly shadows and ill-defined edges, curiously pooling around the forlorn toy. Rambo does not respond, his heart feels as if it has been shattered and nothing will ever bring him joy again; for his human had not secretly reached under the bed to retrieve him. Not even after all the other boys had lain to rest, all snoring heartily one after another.

From where he lay, Rambo could see the form of the ugly one plainly, splayed out on the floor in a sleeping bag; mouth gaping with every floor-shaking snore that burst forth, and drawing the stuffed sheep’s ire with every passing moment. Still, he could not seem to move, to speak, to react in any way… was the loss of his human’s love the reason?

Perhaps it was simply their bond that provided the little fluffy animal his animation, his lifeforce and feelings, as it were. Now the he had been cast aside…

A shadowy hand strokes along his flank, though Rambo cannot sense whether the intent is sympathetic or condescending; they gently right him, setting him on all four stiff little legs and brush away the dust. “Liiittle lamb, donnnnnn’t be saaaaaaaaad… it haaaaappenssssss to the beeeeeesssst of usssssss eventuallyyyyyyyyyy…” sighs the monster, one of their many, many eyes blinking slowly, sadly, within Rambo’s limited field of vision. His surprise must have shown somehow, for the creature laughed. “Wheeeeeeeeeere do you thhhhhhhhhhink the monsterssssss come frommm? We arrrrreeeeee the protectorssssssss leeeeeeeft behiiiiiind under beds or dresserssssssssss, thrown awaaaaaaaaaaay and ignoreeeeeeed… thisssssss isssss your futurrrrrrrre.”

Above, the bed creaks worryingly, the body upon it tossing and turning furiously as the creatures slithering along the ceiling held sway; dripping nightmarish visions onto the sleeping eyelids of the humans below, tittering maddeningly as they tormented the children. Rambo wonders what the nightmare-bringers once were, who had loved and discarded them so carelessly that they now sought to impose terror on every child they could find. Indeed, the question could repeat for whichever shadowy creature lurked in the house, in any house… under the bed, in the closet, upon the ceiling, behind the door.

All were once… as he was. A toy, a guardian; who had loved, protected and cared for the human who had reciprocated the same degree of affection… until they hadn’t. How could you discard a toy so carelessly?

Rambo’s thoughts were cut short as his human let out a sob, muffled as it was through the mattress, and it seemed to send a jolt of electricity through the little stuffed sheep. Struggling against invisible bonds, he fights to move his legs, his mouth, his eyes… anything it took, Ryan needed him right now… whether the silly human child knew it or not.

With effort, he took a step. Then another. Thin little mouth finally moving, though producing only a handful of soft sounds, moving through muted bleats and panicked cries to almost-words. “...-an… -yan… Ryan!” Rambo cries, moving out from under the bed, curiously uncontested by the shadowy creatures all lurking about the place in abundance.

“Get away from him!” he bleats a challenge at the ceiling-creatures, who recede up the wall like mist retreating from the sun’s glare. Surrounding him, human pre-teens seemed to settle slightly, their dreams becoming placid and possibly a little odd (going by the one boy happily gnawing on his pillow)...

Leaping atop the bed, Rambo bleats again, loud and defiant enough to force the monsters back into the closet. Feeling a glow begin within his stuffing that radiates out; so perhaps his child has grown, and no longer needs or loves him as he once did. And?

The day was always to come, now he thought about it; children of any species cannot cease changing for the want of a longer childhood; nor could their toys try to hold them back from maturity.

But that fact, how changes took hold of mind and body and likes, dislikes, wants, needs and priorities…well, it did not mean Rambo loved Ryan any less! It was okay to mourn the loss of another’s love, but still feel something for them… as parents did, when their darling babies became rebellious lanky creatures who defied all logic and order for no good reason.

“This human, and this bedroom, is and always will be protected as long as I remain here.” he advises, standing atop the chest of his human. Defiantly, he glares at the slowly-shutting closet door, and the monster within as it blinks sadly at a little redhead nearby… Rambo feels his anger relenting. “Wait… do you… know these children?”

“He WaS My BoY, LoNg AgO…” the closet-monster speaks with inhuman gasps, tone sad and wistful in its eerie mannerisms. A tendril, nothing more than a wisp of darkness really, curls out to stroke down the young man’s face; retreating swiftly as the human shudders in discomfort at the touch. “I MiSs HiM So…”

“Tell me of him, then…” Rambo says, gently, an idea forming. Something he hoped would come to fruition…

“I AdOrEd BrAnDoN, WiTh ThE WhOlE Of My HeArT… I WaS A ChRiStMaS GiFt FrOm SaNtA ClAuS… He WaS JuSt A BaBy ThEn, We WeRe NeVeR FaR ApArT… He WaNtEd To Be An AsTrOnAuT AnD We WoUlD PlAy RoCkEt ShIp OfTeN…” it gasped, slowly shrinking in on itself, coalescing. “LaSt YeaR He SpenT More TimE WitH His Friends… And One Of Them Said It Was Silly to… have a stuffed toy, like me, around. That we were for babies…”

Smiling, the little purple octopus sighed again, remembering their child and the bond they’d shared. Utterly unaware of the miraculous change wrought by simply recalling that painful joy, sundered once, but still buried deep within their stuffing…

“And what did your child name you?” Rambo asks, waiting for the other to realise.

“Bubbles…” the plush octopus replied, looking down and suddenly experiencing quite the shock. Bubbles shifted all size little stuffed tentacles at once, awestruck at being back in the long-lost form. “How…?”

“The same way I stopped myself from turning into a shadowy nightmare monster… by remembering the love of my human, and what all the good times, even some of the bad. Just, remembering how it felt to be with them.” Rambo explained, hopping off the bed to peer under the bed once more. “And you? Tell me about your children…” he encourages the creatures writhing beneath, all watching on curiously.

A tale with many voices begins and diverges into a dozen little stories, each talking about a child and a bond so strong that they were devastated to be cast aside. Three of the shadowy creatures within the mass spoke about the boys laying nearby, their eyes growing softer, gentler with every word… strangely their tales fell silent when it became apparent that their humans had all felt a similar influence that had sundered the sacred bond between child and toy.

Dozens of toys laid under the bed now, three came forth to join Rambo and Bubbles now. A well-loved Teddy bear of pale yellow and an eye missing who was called ‘Mr Smiles’; Felicity the grey flying fox was next, her nose and paws tinged pink and soft fur worn by years of cuddles from her boy; and last, but not least, a large green frog with shiny silver eyes, known only as ‘Hip-Hop’. Each saw their child, and remembered what it once meant… to be theirs.

The other toys discussed the children they had loved all those years, quietly amongst themselves as the others clambered atop the bed to speak with the last creatures. Shadowy monsters scurried up the walls, dripping vile sensations and thoughts, nightmares upon every breath they exhaled…

“And your children?” Rambo asked, softly, trying to bring them peace as well. They swelled and shrunk, sliding closer to the unafraid stuffed sheep, clinging to the wall with a strange sense of loss emanating from them. The cluster shivered, seemingly saddened beyond imagining for the other soft toys gathered about.

“gONE… nO lOVE fOR uS aNYWAY…” the nightmare crawler laments, in many voices that all seem quite far away. “tHEY dISCARDED uS tOO sWIFTLY, oR tREATED uS cRUELLY… dESTROYED oUR bODIES, lOST pIECES oF uS fOR fUN, rUINED uS… tHEY dID nOT lOVE uS aT aLL… aND sO wE bECAME tHIS…”

“No one would blame you, the fault is theirs for not cherishing you as they should have.” Rambo says, to a chorus of agreement from the others. “But is there nothing we can do to help you?”

“nO, i aM aFRAID nOT… wE aRE tHE bRINGER oF nIGHTMARES, tO tHOSE wHO hAVE nO pROTECTOR, tHE oNES wHO dO nOT vALUE tHEIR tOYS oR wHAT tHEY dO.” replied the creatures, finally casting the true nature of their existence into stark relief. The irony of their self-fulfilling prophecy, potential protectors melting into tormentors because their children discarded and abused them for little reason.

“We’re sorry… that we cannot help, but will you leave these children be? We are protecting them from now, until our stitches snap irreparably, and would like them to sleep in peace…” requested the stuffed sheep quite politely.

“wE cOULD… bUT…” there was a pause, eyes swivelling to the form closest to the bed. An angry growl, a bristling of the mass as it fought the impulse to dart down. “oNE oF uS kNOWS tHAT cHILD… wE wOULD tO hAVE hIM!”

Rambo glances down, confirming it was indeed the child he thought, and smiled back serenely. “Oh, be our guest… we don’t need his influence on our humans.”

The nightmare creatures pounced, swallowing the boy in their mass and sinking through the floor, seeming to dissipate without a trace. Rambo tried not to smile victoriously, for surely the brat’s parents might miss him at some point… but at least Ryan would no longer need to deal with him.

Quietly, the amassed toys were placed in odd yet comfortable locations around the room and settled in to look natural; as if they had always been there. Then, the quartet silently moved to their respective children and slipped in beside them. Rambo curled upon the pillow next to Ryan; Brandon smiles in his sleep as Bubbles the octopus wraps around his arm; Felicity the Flying Fox flopped down on Francois’s chest, content in the warmth; and the last of them, Mr Smiles, cuddled up to Simon.

All abed, all at peace… none thinking of the confusion the next morning would bring.

~)0(~

Many, many years later… Rambo Eweniverse never once regretted his choice.

Perhaps his human was older now, and only ever seemed to pick him up for a brief nostalgic moment of affection here and there… but that was alright by the stuffed sheep. Where a child moves on to maturity, another takes their place in one form or another…

Sometimes they are given to family, to friends and their children; other toys find their way to playgroups, schools and charity shops. Though a few, the important ones, remain with their humans for as long as possible… watching them grow, mature, live their lives.

One day, their child’s child may take them in hand and give the toy the same love; or maybe not. It matters little. Rambo is happy to have stayed, a protector even after all these years, enjoying the days observing the happy life his now-matured human shares with the people who love him… and watching the moon through the long, cool nights. Occasionally chatting cordially to the shadows creeping about the walls, who aren’t such bad company after all once you get to know them…

It is a good life.

-------------

The End

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