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prythianpages · 4 months

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Dandelions | Azriel x Witch Reader

summary: Azriel asks you for an elixir to soothe his aches and you accidentally give him the aphrodisiac you had made for Nesta, bringing to surface one of his hidden desires.

warning: this is purely smut with a breeding kink. some fluff at the end

a/n: this is based off this request. I feel like this can be read as a stand alone imagine but if you're interested in reading more of Az x witch reader, you can find the masterlist here.

The door creaks open, signaling Azriel’s return from a day that seemed to drag on endlessly. His wings sag under the weight of fatigue and as he steps into your study, the scent of herbs and potions are instantly wrapping him in a soothing embrace.

And there you are, a sanctuary amidst the enchanting chaos. His mate.

You're engrossed in your apothecary work. Your spell book floats in midair in front of you, your keen dark eyes scanning through the ancient text as your fingers deftly work their magic to bring the essence of the herbs to life. The sight reminds him of the day he met you, when the mating bond had snapped.

A soft smile tugs at his lips as he stands in the doorway for a moment. The fatigue that clung to him like his shadows begins to lift as he watches you, admiration and love evident in the way he drinks in the details–from the concentration in your furrowed brow to the way your pretty lips move in incantation.

The weariness he feels is soon replaced by a warmth that radiates from the depths of his heart and quiet footsteps carry him closer. He’s surprised his shadows haven’t given him away. They love you as much as he does and it is often them who greet you first.

His arms wrap around you from behind and he pulls you into his embrace. He nuzzles his nose lovingly into your neck. “Hello, love.”

“You’re home!”

He can hear the smile in your voice and you can feel the exhaustion in his body, his tense muscles finally relaxing and body slightly slouching into yours. “Long day?”

“Yes,” he responds and you’re turning in his embrace to face him properly with a gaze of deep rooted concern. He kisses your worry away. “But coming home to you makes it all worthwhile.”

He takes delight in the way you grace him with a smile, your eyes softening into their natural color as you brush his hair back. “Should I draw you a bath?”

He pulls you tighter against him until you are chest to chest. Your heart, the emerald talisman kept safely in his chest pocket, hums between you. A bath sounds nice but he just wants to bask in your comfort.

“Will you join me?”

“If you wait for me,” you reply and pull away to catch the slightest frown on his face. “It won’t be long! I have one more elixir to finish!”

Azriel’s eyes drift to the line of elixirs you have sitting on the counter behind you. They seem to glisten enticingly under his curious gaze. “Do you have anything to soothe aches?” He asks as he reluctantly lets you go to carry on with your work. “Training was rough this morning.”

“Of course. The one with the green liquid should work,” you say as you mindlessly point to the array of potions you spent all afternoon making, failing to catch the way the aphrodisiac you made for Nesta morphs from its deep red to a verdant green. “Drink all of it, if you need to. I can always make more. Just let me seal this last one with a spell and then I can draw your–”

Your voice falters as you turn to face Azriel, your gaze momentarily flickering to the potions before settling back on him. He fails to catch the way your eyes widen in a sudden panic and swallows the sweet liquid in a big gulp. It’s only once all the liquid is gone from the vial that he picks up on your slight distress.

"What?"

“Umm,” you stammer, your hand rubbing nervously at your neck as you sheepishly look up at him.

“It wasn’t poison, right?” He jokes but your silence wipes the smile off his face. “y/n.”

“Of course not!”

You drop your gaze, murmuring something else quietly under your breath. Both his shadows and ears strain to discern your words but they fail in their attempt. “y/n,” he calls your name again, growing worried by the second.

You slowly raise your eyes, and as they meet his, a rush of warmth colors your cheeks, betraying the fluster that has settled on your face. You should’ve separated the love potion from the others, especially when you knew how sneaky it can be. It’s known to masquerade itself as any elixir beside it as it yearns to be used and your poor mate took the bait.

“Youaccidentallydrankanaphrodisiac.”

Though your words are mushed, your voice is louder this time and he’s able to make them out. He throws his head back and laughs. A deep and amused sound.

“You’re not mad?” You say and though he’s laughing, your body tenses at the thought of him saying yes. Your hands clasp behind your back in a timid manner, inadvertently puffing out your chest and drawing his attention there.

“I’m not mad, love.”

His eyes land on the silver jewelry delicately hugging your neck and then to the charm with his initial. When you suck in a short breath of relief, he watches the rise and fall of the curves of your breasts as the sweet sound caresses over his skin in a heated whisper that pricks at his skin.

“Azriel.”

“I’m fine,” he says, brushing off your concern but his gaze lingers on the movement of your chest for a moment longer before meeting yours again. He follows up with a boyish grin, despite the sudden racing of his heart and the familiar feeling of blood rushing downwards.

“How about that bath?”

There’s a buzzing underneath his skin. All the soreness and ache of his muscles melts away and it’s not from the inviting embrace of the steaming bath. A burgeoning impulse stirs within him. It’s as though the elixir he consumed earlier is coursing through his veins, gathering strength and coalescing in the depths of his stomach before dropping to his hardening cock.

Every gentle lapping of the water against his hot skin, every touch of yours as you help clean him feels so good. It certainly doesn’t help that you’re putting on a show, intentional or not, as you bend down and shift around him, gracing his eyes with tempting views of your ass or breasts.

He submerges his head into the water and while his body is now clean, there’s nothing clean about his thoughts when he rises back up. You’re at the center of every single one of his whirling thoughts, filling his head with lewd images. Of you on your knees as you take him into your mouth, of you under him as he thrusts into you hard and fast, of you on your back as you let him have a taste. Fuck. He wants it all.

As you drag the stool and shift to sit behind him, he reclines in the tub. His hands are gripping the edge of the porcelain roughly, his knuckles whitening under the strain and he can feel the flicker of amusement it draws from you through the bond.

His head goes quiet when he feels your chest brush against his wings, muscles tensing as your cool breath fans over the back of his neck. A teasing brush of your fingers along a sensitive spot on his wing as you clean at them with a damp towel has him biting his lip, suppressing a whimper. It’s almost embarrassing the way you’ve barely even touched him at all and he’s already at the verge of coming undone. He feels like a touch starved horny teen all over again.

“What’s the matter, my love?” You whisper sweetly, lips hovering dangerously close to his ear. Your velvet voice is smooth and it sends a thrill down his spine and straight to his throbbing cock. When you brush your fingers along that spot again, the porcelain cracks under his grip.

The air is thick and heavy with his scent and the damp towel falls from your grasp. When you press your hands onto his shoulders, he can feel the shift in your demeanor. “Need some help?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

He can hear the smirk in your voice but the way you’re touching him renders him momentarily speechless and he can’t bring himself to muster a sly remark. Not when he’s completely at your mercy. He’d have to take what he can get for now.

His breath hitches when your hands graze the hardness of his chest, easing their way down to where the warm water of the bath laps at his abdomen in a slow and taunting manner. Your cool touch immediately soothes his heated skin. As you reach further down, his eyes flutter shut and head tilts back into your chest. His throat bobs when you stop right above where he needs you the most.

“Please, touch me,” he breathes, no longer caring how desperate he sounds and it’s like music to your ears.

Azriel is not one to beg…but for you? He’d do anything for you. If you’d ask him for the moon on the string, he’d deliver it to you and in this moment, he’d do so in a heartbeat. Anything to feel you. He’s aching to feel your touch. So bad it’s nearly painful.

Sensing his desperation, his shadows are trailing down your arms to his muscled chest, guiding you to Azriel’s cock so you can grant their master the relief he’s begging so sweetly for. Your teeth nip gently at his neck in approval before wrapping your hand around him and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Like this?”

“Gods, yes.”

You continue to kiss along his neck, stroking his length just the way he likes it, drawing the sweetest whimpers and moans from him. The water laps against his chest at your movements and his nipples harden at the sensation. He’s never felt so sensitive.

When your lips pepper kisses along one of his wings, he loses his resolve. His stomach tightens and he lets out a deep groan followed by a string of curses as he comes undone. His eyes flutter shut in pure bliss.

You kiss his temple. “Good boy.”

He doesn’t know if it's your words or the aftermath of his orgasm but that exhilarating buzz returns to his skin and he can feel the sinful liquid coursing through his veins again. More, more, more.

His eyes snap open and he stands abruptly, prompting you to do the same.

Water traces sinuous paths down his body, leaving glistening trails in their wake as he steps out from the bath. His wings unfurl behind him and his frenzied shadows disperse. Azriel’s gaze darkens until there’s only traces of hazel left behind, mirroring the gradual darkening of his shadows that envelop the room, casting an ethereal aura upon him.

He looks like a god.

Your knees tremble and you find yourself leaning against the counter behind you for support. His keen eyes pick up on the subtle movement, lips curling into a smirk. “You liked having me at your mercy? Hearing me beg for you, didn’t you?

You don’t answer but you don’t need to.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs as he steps forward and you clench your thighs in anticipation. “I can smell you.”

Long gone is the soft and whimpering male from moments ago. It’s as if a flip was switched from the intensity of his release. In his place, stands something darker and primal. He approaches you like you’re his prey and cages you in, his wet body pressing into yours. You keep your eyes on his, letting out a shaky breath when you feel something hard against your stomach. His smirk widens.

“You’re all wet,” you protest weakly as you look up at him.

His hand caresses your face, a thumb sweeping in a long stroke along the side of your throat as he leans down and inhales sharply. “So are you.”

He nips at your neck the same way you did to him, his hand undoing the front laces of your dress. “It’s my turn to have my way with you, to have you at my mercy.”

Your dress pools at your feet followed by your underwear and he steps back, eyes tracing every contour of your bare body in deep appreciation. Mine, mine, mine. Dark tendrils curl around you, caressing every place his eyes do and if your scent had not given you away, the shadows would’ve. As they travel lower, they meet your dripping core, humming with eagerness. A cool stroke against your clit as a small moan escaping from your lips and when his eyes lifts back up to meet yours, there’s pure lust simmering in his heated gaze.

A slight pressure against your shoulders has you giving in and dropping to your knees in submission. It’s a silent agreement that you’re his to use and only his and he nearly growls at the sight. Desire consumes him like a raging storm, unleashing a torrent of unbridled passion. He’s filled with the primal urge to claim you and devour you in its wake. He brushes a hand against your face when you look up at him, thumb brushing against your lips.

“Open.”

You do and your tongue eagerly swirls around the digit before sucking it into your mouth. He lets out a hum of approval, slipping his thumb out from your mouth with a pop. His hand buries itself into your hair, tilting your face the way he wants it while his other hand pumps his throbbing cock.

He doesn’t have to ask. Your hand is already wrapping nicely around the base of him with the guidance of his shadows. You lean in to flick your tongue across his leaking head.

“Fuck,” he hisses as you take him into your mouth. His head tilts back, lost in the pleasure, barely giving you any time to accommodate his impressive length before pushing his hips forward. “So good for me.”

He begins to thrust, the hand buried into your hair guiding you to move in rhythm with him. He allows his shadows to continue to touch you and they brush along your folds, teasing your entrance. They rub against your clit and it doesn’t take them long to bring a wave of pleasure crashing over you. You’re moaning, sending delicious vibrations straight through him. His pace quickens, thrusting deeper with every snap of his hips.

“That’s it. Take it all.” he groans, digging his nails into your scalp. He holds you flush against his pelvis while you gag on him. Tears prick your eyes at the stretch but you’re desperate to bring him to his release and swallow around him. “Oh fuck.”

He feels the coil in his stomach about to snap and he wants to give in to it, to cum down your throat and make you swallow every drop. But there’s a voice inside his head, a deep and primal urge of need, that has him pulling away abruptly.

“Come here,” he says with a low growl as he beckons you to your feet and as soon as you're standing to your full height, his lips are slotting over yours in a heated kiss.

He presses his body further into yours and you can feel every inch of him vibrating, his entire body pulsing with need. His skin feels so hot against yours and as his shadows envelop you both, you’re stuck in a dance of fire and ice. The dark tendrils disperse and you realize you’re in your bedroom now. You almost want to laugh. The walk from your bathroom to your bedroom is a short one but your mate is keen on not wasting anymore time.

His scarred hands are rough on your hips as he spins you around and presses your front against the bed. “I need to fuck you.”

You arch your back for him. “Please.”

Deep heat spreads over his skin at your whiny and desperate tone. He slaps your ass, reminding you that he’s in complete control now. “Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” you’re begging and he loves every second of it, his cock twitching in anticipation. “I need your cock so bad.”

One hand kneads the soft flesh of your ass while the other pumps his cock. He drags his thick length along your folds, coating it in your arousal. “I’m going to fill you up so good. You want that, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes.”

He pushes into you, reveling in the way your walls are wrapping around him. You’re so warm, so tight and he’s already completely lost in the pleasure. He doesn’t give you time he normally does to adjust to his thick length. He thrusts so deep into you, your hands are clenching around your silk sheets. He fucks into you ravenously like a man starved, hands gripping onto your hips so hard you’re sure you’ll bruise.

“Going to cum so deep inside you until you’re full with my seed.”

Your face falls forward from the strength of his thrusts, knees giving out. He sees you struggling to get back on your knees so he pulls you flush against his chest with a hand wrapped around your neck, squeezing slightly. You cry out at the new angle that has you seeing stars. His breath is hot and heavy and he brings his mouth to your ear.

“Perhaps, I’ll fuck a baby into you so everyone knows you’re mine and only mine.”

“Gods, yes,” you cry out, clenching around him, his words bringing you so close to your release.

A deep growl resonates from his chest. He can feel everything you’re feeling through the bond. You want this as much as he does. The mere image of your body changing, swelling with his child has him quickening his pace. His brain fogs and he gives himself completely to that primal desire that was brought to surface by the aphrodisiac.

Bringing his free hand to your stomach, his fingers tease at the flesh right over where he can feel the bulge of his cock as he pounds deep into you, right where your womb would grow with his seed. All he can hear are the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and your pretty moans.

One brush of his thumb across your clit has your thighs shaking and screaming out his name as you reach your peak. He can feel his own release trembling underneath his skin. A couple more thrusts and wave after wave of immense pleasure courses through him. His cock twitches and then he’s spilling thick ropes of cum into you, groaning as your walls spasm and contract around him. He cums so hard, he can feel his release running down your thighs.

He pulls out just long enough to turn you so you’re on your back. A sinful smirk graces his lips at your blissed out expression but he’s nowhere near done with you. He’s still so painfully hard. More, more, more.

Positioning himself between your legs, he sinks into the delicious warmth of your hot dripping core, both moaning when he bottoms out.

“Please.” Tears stream down your face and you’re not sure what exactly you’re begging for. You’re so sensitive, hands clenching so tightly onto the sheets as he drags his cock over and over that deep spot inside you. “Azriel, I don’t think I can–”

“You’re going to take everything I give you,” he interrupts sharply with a growl, leaving you a whimpering and crying mess beneath him.

“Az—oh fuck.”

“You’re so perfect for me.”

His arms wrap beneath your shoulders to mold your body to his and he presses hot, feverish kisses down your neck and chest. His lips then slot over yours, stealing your breath away. When you moan into his mouth, he swallows it and eases his tongue into you, urgently exploring every crevice of your mouth.

He’s well aware that the elixir he accidentally took has amplified his every sense. Yet, amidst his heightened state, his love and adoration for you, so deep and genuine, remains the most enchanting potion he has ever known. The candles flicker with the green glow of your magic and he continues his brutal pace, immersing himself in the pleasure of it all with a strong determination for you both to reach another painfully delicious release.

Azriel blinks his eyes open and his heart melts at the sight of you, his beautiful mate, curled up in his arms. The tenderness of the morning light casts a warm glow over you, highlighting the delicate curves of your face. He gently reaches out to trace a strand of your hair, relishing the softness beneath his touch. A stark contrast to the way he handled you last night. He knows you're awake when he feels you tug on the golden strings of the bond, flooding him with a profound sense of pure happiness that seeps into every corner of his being.

“I love you so much.”

“Good morning to you too,” you say, your voice still thick with sleep, but a hint of a smile on your face.

You stretch out your sore muscles and Azriel’s eyes flash with concern when the sheets drift lower. He catches a glimpse of the bruises littering your body and you can feel a flicker of guilt down the bond. “Are you–fuck. Was I too rough? I’m so–”

You shift in the bed and silence him with a soft kiss. When you pull away, you smile at him, sending a wave of reassurance down the bond because while yes he was rough, you loved it.

“You were perfect.”

He sits up in bed and when he finds no trace of hurt or regret of how rough he was with you last night in your features, he finally relaxes and returns your smile.

Your smile falters. “If anything, I’m sorry. It was my mistake that you drank that aphrodisiac. I made it for Nesta and I knew I should’ve stored that sneaky elixir somewhere safer but it wasn't too bad, right?”

Now it’s Azriel’s turn to brush away your concern and he shakes his head at you with a deep chuckle. "It wasn't bad at all. I enjoyed every part of your mistake."

“The best mistake I’ve ever made,” you grin and he laughs with you, his shadows dancing happily around his shoulders.

“What was in that elixir anyway?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean? It’s an aphrodisiac, it stimulates sexual desire.”

“I know what an aphrodisiac is,” he replies and he feels the heat rise to his cheeks. Oh gods, he was going to have to say this outloud. “I’m talking about the way I was filled with the primal urge to–to breed you.”

“Oh,” you say and laugh again at the look bewildered look Azriel was giving you. “That was all you.”

You sit up and you don’t miss the way Azriel’s gaze flickers down to your bare body. Reaching out, you coax his gaze back to yours.

“My magic does not work that way, remember? It can’t create and destroy desires. It can only bring to surface what’s already lurking deep within."

Your eyes are alight with amusement as realization dawns on your mate. He’s flustered but only for a fleeting moment. The corner of his lips curve up and when your hand begins to move from his cheek, he places his own over it to keep it there.

“You wanted it as much as I did.”

“I did.”

There’s a warmth radiating from his heart that is so strong, you can feel it too. His hazel eyes hold onto yours with an intensity that goes beyond words, and when he speaks again, there’s a delicate vulnerability to his voice because in the year since you’ve been mated, this is a topic you’ve yet to discuss.

“You want to have children…with me?”

“Yes.” The response spills from your lips without a moment’s hesitation and his entire being seems to shudder in response. “Do you?”

"Of course I do," he breathes out, sealing his words with a tender kiss to the palm of your hand that has your heart fluttering. “I want everything with you.”

“I want everything with you too.”

Happiness dances in his eyes. Azriel is not a selfish man, always putting others’ wants and needs before his own. He had even accepted that meeting his mate was an unattainable dream. That is, until you came along, dismantling the walls he had spent centuries constructing around himself.

You, a manifestation of his long-buried dreams and wishes, emerged as a living, breathing reality. The selfish desire to have everything with you consumes him, even more so when your desires always seem to mirror his. You're his perfect match and he doesn't know what he did to deserve you. He can only thank the Cauldron, forever indebted to it for entwining your soul with his.

Overwhelmed by his profound emotions, tears brim in his eyes and you're kissing them away before they can escape, smiling when his lips capture yours afterwards. He pours everything into the kiss. It starts soft and sweet but quickly morphs into something more as he brings his hands to your neck.

He pulls away, rolling over to hover over you in your bed, bracing strong arms on either side of you. He kisses your nose and lowers his body until his lips are hovering over right where your heart is racing. Another kiss.

Heat pools down and your breath hitches when he pauses at your stomach to press a kiss there. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He murmurs and you can feel his grin against your skin as he settles himself between your legs. He hikes one of your legs over his shoulder, slowly running his tongue up your thigh. The gesture draws a soft sound from you that he will never tire of hearing.

“I’m worshiping the mother of my future children.”

a/n: the bath scene was purely inspired by this because hot damn 🥵 I do plan on writing some future imagines of Az and reader having kids but meanwhile, you can have a glimpse at their first born from this headcannon.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel smut #azriel x witch!reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #az!dandelions

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bearhugsandshrugs · 6 months

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Anything involving Raphael. Maybe something possessive and wicked

Oh you mean like when he finds out you want to conspire with Gortash? That little shit that escaped the House of Hope? Yeah, he's not happy about that.

Short drabble with ~800 words, E, Raphael x Reader (gn)

Next time he sees you, he snaps his fingers, taking you back to the House of Hope with a thought once more. Only this time, you're not at the dining table. You're in the boudoir.

"Working with an impostor to rid the world of souls, little mouse?", he asks sternly, but there's something else in his voice, disdain, jealousy, you can't really tell, but it stirs at your core all the same.

"Better than to be tortured by your hands", you scoff, remembering all the suffering you saw when you infiltrated his house.

"Everyone here had a choice", he slowly explains, "but maybe you would like to experience what it's like to be powerless instead, like your new friend intends? Have no will of your own? Be forced to... obey?"

You can't even reply, the words dying in your mouth, as a silent command forces your body onto your knees. The devil strolls around you, then grabs your face with his hand, pulling your head upward to look at him.

"Open", he demands, and you realize it's purely for show, he doesn't need to say a damn word, but he does it anyway. Your mouth opens against your will, and he slowly pushes two fingers in, then another, then the fourth one, with only his thumb hanging out. Your jaw hurts as he pumps his fingers in and out of your mouth, some of them pulling at your tongue, and saliva drools down your chin and your throat as he watches you suck on his hand with an almost bored expression.

He yanks his hand away, then strolls over to the bed.

"I've heard from Haarlep that you wanted to lie with me? 'Undiluted and raw'?" You hear him chuckle, but you can't see him anymore, you're forced to kneel, unable to move, so you cannot watch him. Your cheeks flush red – of course you said that, but hearing it from Raphael? Now that he's laughing at you, all of this feels suddenly very embarrassing.

"Come on then, mouse. Let's play a little."

Your body moves on its own once more, as you undress and walk over to the bed, and on your way there you see the devil observe you, gaze hungrily falling over your body as he takes in every last detail: the way your muscles carry your legs, the way your ass moves, the way a small drop of sweat is running down your chest...

Yes, you're hot, everything is very hot, and you're not sure if it's by magic or by desire, or both; as you notice a demanding urge between your legs. You want him to take you, undiluted and raw, you want nothing more. There's only your need for him to touch you, fuck you, come inside of you, and then fuck you again; and you moan in frustration as all of your thoughts turn into aroused visions of Raphael using you to his liking.

A smell of sulfur and burned ashes reaches your nose and you see that he shifted into his devil form. He's suddenly even taller, his wings expanding widely to the sides, and he shifted into a naked version of himself, his ridged cock standing erect and tall between his legs. A whimper flies out of your throat – yes, you want it, you need it, even though the last remaining piece of your conscience screams at you not to.

Raphael smirks as you lie on your back, pulling your legs up and spreading them wide, offering yourself to him through a silent command. His eyes linger between your legs, and he whispers something that makes you feel relaxed and ready.

"Come", he says, and pleasure washes over you without warning, pulling you under in such force you wail, and the devil watches you come apart from his will alone with an interested expression. You're barely riding out your high as he enters you, cock stretching your walls, his ridges adding to the sensations, and you've barely processed what is happening as he starts slamming into with such force you start to sob.

Everything is pleasure, you are hopeless, desperate, with no room left for any will, any thought, beyond the lust that is about to take over your entire life. Raphael makes you come again and again, letting you scream, stifling your sobs with his claws in your mouth, wrapping his tail around your throat, punishing your entire body, every last piece and inch of it, until you forget your own name.

After years of this (or was it hours? Minutes?) he retreats from you, cum dripping out of your holes, down your stomach, and chest; bruises and scratches decorating your skin, and you know you are forever changed.

Raphael chuckles when he sees you, and you can hear his mockery through the mellow sound.

"Give that little shit my best, will you?"

#hi sorry this took so long to answer!!!#bg3 raphael #i'm working through my asks and even if they take a while i'll fill them #bg3 raphael x reader

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csoisoi · 2 years

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i saw a post regarding the grownup misfits from chapter 198 and decided to do a post on purson, because, it got way more length than i first thought

purson's wings grew! theyre significantly larger compared to his current wing size, albeit smaller than the average demon's but somehow i feel like its the perfect size for him

he's wearing the same headress too, i wonder if that signify's his being head of the clan but his father doesn't seem to be wearing it? that unless they only wear it when theyre on Duty

comparing future purson and the above purson's clothing, the sleeves in the grownup version are more fitted with the shoulders more structures, and it looks like his grownup attire is more fitted to his body rather than flowy

personally, the grownup attire looks better by a small amount, the flowiness of the initial attire screams mysterious and elegant, sleeves fluttering as he reappears and disappears constantly, the epitome of being a Purson. i feel like when he walks it feels as if he's gliding instead of walking.

he and his brother seem to be matching! awee

which is traditional purson clan attire!

soi, his brother, and his father seem to be wearing the same thing around their necks as well, i couldnt find what it's called and the closest thing i could find was a chinese knot tassel, but even then it's quite distinct

also to diverge from outfits and to their appearances themselves

soi and his mother look very much alike, and he takes after his mother more than his father; the same eye shape and small wings (though his wings seemed to grow when he grew while hers did not), as well as the small horns on his head

his father's features are more detailed (and he's unfairly pretty oh my god why is he so pretty), he doesnt have any visible horns, but the hair pin he's using looks like a wing! and it being pure black kinda unifies his appearance to those of his wife and (pur)son

and you know who else kinda looks like momma purson?

and couple that with the fact that we haven't seen purton's face, and soi himself doesn't remember what his brother looks like (which is, that's rough buddy), wett being purton is kinda plausible, and we don't exactly know his bloodline magic, and wett looks to be around what purton''s age should be... everything's up in the air!

wett, from the six fingers

the simplistic eyes that we take as a purson trait, the small horns (though they're bigger than momma purson and soi's) his hair is a dark purple which is similar to the soi's lilac hair, we havent seen colored parent pursons yet and changing hair colors easy pretty easy in the mairuma world, a simple first year spell instead of going through the hassle of buying dye

this was initially a purson clan attire post, it becoming a wett is purton theory post? not that surprising i can jump from one thing to another, parkour

#csoi posts #mairimashita iruma kun #mairimashita! iruma kun #mairuma #welcome to demon school iruma kun #welcome to demon school #iruma kun #m!ik #mairuma talks #purson soi #purson purton #im still hung over the fact that his name's purson purton #purson's parents #wett #csoi talks too much #i feel like im missing several tags but it all seems to check out??#the side effect of rambling through tags

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nostalgiachan · 2 months

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Bushtit

Sixteenth Prompt: Sitting in silence

Summary: Vier has a nice, quiet moment watching Halsin whittle something (927 words)

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It was strangely enthralling, watching Halsin’s hands as he worked. They seemed so massive that they could crush Vier’s skull with nary a show of effort, and yet they held something as fragile as a charcoal stick without it crumbling to dust. The lines he drew across the surface of the wood block were smooth, confident, pure muscle memory at work. He’d be making some sort of bird today, it appeared.

Once the guidelines were in place, out came the knives. While Vier wasn’t terribly familiar with whittling tools, one needn’t be to know how incredibly sharp they’d need to be to cut smoothly through the wood. So to see Halsin cutting towards his own fingers with the first whittling knife was almost nerve wracking; yet, so practiced were his hands that even if the knife stuttered or hitched, when it glided through once more, it never so much as nicked his flesh.

He began at the corners of the block, shaving them down until they were almost rounded, and from there, he carved in notches where the bird’s body tapered to its tail feathers. Steadily and deliberately, he worked the knife back and forth, cutting the notches deeper and deeper. Wooden shavings flew every which direction. Vier watched with rapt attention as down and down, Halsin whittled the wood away, the shape of the feathers quickly taking form.

Not a word passed between them as he worked. There was only the steady schk! schk! schk! of metal scraping against wood, and the occasional hum of consideration behind Halsin’s lips. The body was next, the knife shaving down the corners further and further until a rounded body began to form.

It was so easy for Vier to forget Halsin was working with a piece of wood with how smooth it had come to look and how easily he carved away slice after slice from the body. Vier had never attempted something one might call “artistic” before, and for a moment, she wondered if she could learn how to whittle. Almost immediately, she was beset with the image of her hands attempting to work a knife through the wood as Halsin does, and the blade taking a nasty jump and shaving off one of her fingers instead.

Sure, she could probably fix that with quick work and some healing magic, but perhaps she’d hold off on picking up the art.

As soon as the gruesome image left Vier’s mind, she noticed that Halsin had begun to carve down the head, a nubby dome and a tiny, cute beak forming. Then, at last, it was time for the final detailing. Bit by bit, he brought the body in just a bit more to create more of a delineation between body and wing, with extra notches to give the appearance of individual feathers. He switched tools to what Vier would later learn was called a “gouge” and dug small divots to define the bird’s beady eyes. With short and steady strokes, he dug pits across the bird’s throat to give the illusion of a fluffy ruff, and with longer grooves and branching cuts, he individualized the tail and wing feathers.

As soon as the last feather had been carved, Halsin set aside his tools and rotated the wooden bird with both hands, carefully examining every last bit of the tiny thing. “Hmm…I’d say it’s done, wouldn’t you?” he said, his voice warm and soothing as ever. He held the carving before Vier’s eyes as if he was holding an actual live bird, gently cupped within his palms. If she didn’t know any better, she might believe he could actually make the little creature come to life.

“I’d certainly say so, yes,” Vier replied, a soft smile spreading across her face. “It’s absolutely adorable.”

“Then there you have it. One bushtit.”

An undignified snort shot through Vier’s nose, deeply embarrassing but impossible to contain. “I’m sorry, a what?”

“A bushtit,” Halsin replied in earnest, eyes quickly darting to the carving. “That’s the sort of bird this is. You’ve never heard of a bushtit?”

Again, another snort passed through Vier’s nostrils. She knew her reaction was deeply juvenile, but damn it all, she couldn’t help herself. “No, I can’t say I have,” she answered with a barely restrained giggle.

Halsin gave the sort of knowing smile that told Vier he understood why she was laughing, but he’d humor her all the same. “Bushtits are sweet little birds, very energetic. They have a very charming little chirp and tend to live in large groups, so you can have thirty or forty little white puffballs all hopping about together. Quite cute, I must say.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, it sounds precious,” Vier laughed, “but someone had to be joking with that name, right? ‘Hey there, sweetness, take me into the woods and show me your bushtits.’”

Without missing a beat, Halsin leaned in and, with the gentlest smile and the slightest rumble to his voice, said, “I’d be delighted to.”

If one looked closely, one could almost see smoke wafting from Vier’s pointed ears as for a moment, her brain came to a grinding halt. She ran headlong into that innuendo, and honestly, she didn’t entirely regret it. As Vier attempted to recombobulate herself, Halsin took the opportunity to place the delicate wooden bird in her hands before giving her a pat on the shoulder and stepping away to do gods-knew-what.

Vier was quite certain she was monogamous, but damn it, did Halsin have a way of bringing that into question.

#my writing #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #halsin #drow tav #cleric tav #vier alurlssrin #I totally didn't watch a whittling video just to be able to describe this process no sir

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wu-kongs · 2 years

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Ok this is gonna be weird but like can we get wukongs reaction to macaques blood?

Cuz I can see that being a trip for macaque.

Just him waltzing into wukongs hut and seeing the empty vial and a drunk king....... darn what would be the first thoughts through his head?

it tastes exactly like his favorite things. the stench of it has haunted him for years now, traced in everything around him. since that terrible, terrible day, another has not passed where a phantom whiff of that scent did not tickle his nose.

it was never about how it tasted—that was... macaque's thing. he never questioned it. but wukong had spent countless hours with his face simply buried in the soft swaths of macaque's beautiful fur, there to simply be. it wasn't just the scent of his blood, it was the scent of him.

that had been part of the number of reasons he spent so much time charming the eye. even with all its layers of magic, spells and enchantments weaved together in an effort to immortalize it, wukong can swear it still carried that same stench that took on a life of its own to ensure his mind was never at peace. maybe that was macaque's way of getting back at him in the end.

he'd done everything he could to keep it at bay, to ignore it, but now. now...

he doesn't mean to drink the entire thing, it just... happens. he swears he won't do it in the first place, but then it burns a hole in his robes as if to mock him for some sort of cowardice that in this situation doesn't apply. he can't turn down a challenge. who would he be if he could?

it doesn't taste like heaven. it doesn't taste divine. it tastes natural. landbound. of all things born on the earth. it tastes like the life and home wukong left behind.

the last driblets of it rivulet down his throat, thick and syrupy. he feels it diffuse warmly through his chest, and eventually, through the rest of his blood. by the time it's settled in, he's completely relaxed into the cushiest surface he owns.

which is how macaque discovers him: languidly strewn over a pile downy pillows and lush rugs, reclined so deep that he seems to be swallowed by it all. his legs are crossed one knee over the other while his arms rest high up over the pillows. the only thing moving is his tail, idly and limply flicking through the air.

macaque almost misses the most important detail: his clothes are nowhere to be found. alarm is what initially surges through him at the sight, but as he takes everything in, he gradually pieces together what he's looking at; the cloying scent in the air, pure contentedness languishing over wukong's figure, the serene close of his eyes... the familiar very empty vial uncorked nearby.

wukong is drunk.

heat swarms the pit of macaque's belly because wukong is drunk, and he's drunk off macaque's blood.

gods, does that make him feel some kind of way.

"moonlight," wukong croons from his comfy sprawl, "i know you're there~ did you bring my eye back to me...?"

macaque's eyelids droop, unimpressed. even at a time like this, all wukong can think about is the stupid eye. not for the first time, macaque wants to crush it into oblivion.

"no." he says flatly.

"no?" wukong lazily winks one eye open and pouts with such sweet saccharine that macaque can taste it. "boo... it is too my eye..."

macaque scoffs.

"don't believe me?" wukong raises one hand. "i found it. in your head! pulled it right out, like this—" his fingers stack together with five points, claws tapping against each other, and then they cave in as if to grab something, and then he yanks the whole hand back. "pop."

it's enough to make macaque flinch, but he doesn't.

"so it's mine... forever."

"it's my eye, wukong." he's arguing with a dumb drunk brick wall, he knows, but the urge to do it is too strong to resist.

"i know," wukong says, now looking at him with complete solemnity. "that's why. 'cuz..." he motions for macaque to come closer. "s'a secret. wanna know why...?"

"no." yes.

he warily eyes wukong's prone figure patiently waiting for him to come over as if that's genuinely what he wants. like this, macaque knows, wukong is practically harmless; drunk, he's always been. the thing holding him back is how frighteningly sober he himself is at the moment, and a sober him bending to wukong's whim is... dangerous, to say the least.

but fuck him over, he's never been able to say no to wukong and mean it. he's always been weak to him.

so against all better judgement staring him down and daring him to listen... he does. wukong watches his every step, eyes deceptively keen, but a pleased smile curls over his mouth when macaque is at finally at his side, looking down at him.

he lazily reaches a hand up, and macaque closes his eyes to breathe evenly through his nostrils. what is he doing. why is he letting this happen. wukong is so... fucking naked. good gods. give him strength.

macaque bends down until wukong can effortlessly curl his paw around his nape. his hand is hot, his touch burns, and macaque suspects the rest of his body feels the same way (not that he thinks about it. he pointedly avoids thinking about it, in fact).

wukong is gentle and sweet about guiding macaque's head the rest of the way down. macaque holds his breath, though it catches almost violently when he feels wukong's warm breath brush up against his ears. his entire body shudders at the sensation and how it shoots through him until his thighs tingle.

"it's cuz..."

macaque's eyes fall closed.

"you're mine forever."

...shit.

macaque is not strong. he never has been. it was never his role. whatever strength he did have, it wasn't for himself; it was for his king. always for his king.

so he showcases that strength now as he leaves before dawn fully breaks, before the sun can rise and see witness his shame. he carefully pries his body, very clothed, from wukong's nude form, and then arranges him carefully into the rugs and pillows. he even flicks a blanket over him because he knows wukong will already be so disarrayed, and the nudity shouldn't add to that.

macaque thinks he's a nice guy for it.

his heart palpitates painfully as he fully steps away, and at the door, he can hardly bear to look back, as his king—forever his king—snoozes away, likely to wake up unaware of the night before or anything he said.

it's for the better.

macaque still keeps the eye though. he won't destroy it, not yet.

no, that's not an excuse to see wukong again.

it is.

#ask #anonymous #shadowpeach #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #bite and holy blood #emotional support eye saga #mickey's ditties #anon what have you DONE to me #this got so out of hand so fast i have whiplash #i am a man POSSESSED. i feel SICK. i'm OUT OF MY MIND #can i finally be free of this?#yall wanted drunk sun off maq's blood well here the FUCK IT IS.#drops head into hands. something is deeply wrong with me

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ghostmaldo · 3 months

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Merlin X GN!Fae!Reader Modern AU

I wrote this purely out of my own suffering in my heart. Gooosh I miss the show so much ;-; Reader can be a good friend of love interest. Left it up to the reader. I think about Merlin wondering around the earth waiting for Arthur much more then I’d like to admit. Anyway. Enjoy!

Little sad, fluffy ending. Merlin misses Arthur.

Slight warning: Mentions of death, spoilers??? If you haven’t ever finished watching BBC Merlin ^^

Playlist listened to during the writing process: https://youtu.be/_DMo7B7oAVo?si=WVMp4ZYLMGiIDdaQ

youtube

~Maldo

Merlin sat quietly under the gray thundering clouds. Nothing but the company of an old park bench and the creaking of its old wood underneath his legs. Pellets of water graced the young man's shoulder as the sky weeped upon him. Well… prehapes… young wasn’t the right word… Not anymore at least. Truthfully he was… millennia upon millennia years old. He only appeared young… bright eyes and high cheekbones. The weight of carrying such heavy misery waved from the corners of his eyes with a little sorcery still brightly dancing in his veins. Magic had long died in this world, yet not in him. Clinging on to thin threads from a promise made to him long, long ago.

The once and future king will rise again.

Creeaak. The interruption made Merlin nearly jump out of his whole skin. His eyes immediately looked to the source of the sound. Where he found an old friend. A fae with many secrets… yet still a comforting presence. A small smile crept onto his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly. ”Come to keep my company in the rain, (Y/N)?” They promptly returned his smile. The rain seemed to lighten with them here beside him. They had that sort of effect on the world . “Someone has to, otherwise you might just let the rain consume you.”

“You might be right about that.” He shot back with a low chuckle. In all of his years of being alive. (Y/N) was still the only one in eons to bring amusement back into his tear stained heart. He took a deep breath, basking in the rain's chill icy touch. He closed his eyes briefly and simply let humanity’s silence rush over him in waves. What was he doing here…? Truly? Still waiting for Arthur? Merlin’s memories of him were still freshly cut in his mind. The pair running through the castle halls like fools and the iron still strong in his mouth from the battles they faced… The scars he kept when Arthur died in his arms…

”Merlin…?” He flinched when he sensed (Y/N) wrap their delicate fingers around his arm. Though he quickly relaxed, the warmth of their head on his shoulder chasing away some of those unruly demons. “Your doing it again.” They spoke softly, always so courteous to his feelings…

“Sorry… I can’t help it sometimes… I was suppose to protect him-“

“It wasn’t your fault Merlin.” (Y/N) cut him off before he blumitted to far into his guilt. Merlin let out a long sigh, he certainly didn’t agree with them… but he knew better than to argue.

”What was he like?” Merlin fixated his eyes on them again, brows raised above his head. The question had taken him aback for a second. Unsure if he’d heard it correctly. “Arthur?” He confirmed watching them nod. They hummed, peering up at him with those wide curious eyes he’d come to cherish in his years of immortality. Their cheek a little smooshed up against his shoulder. He couldn’t help the wide grin spamming across his face.

“Well, first off he was a complete ass-“ A fit of giggles erupted from (Y/N) mouth at the comment, followed up with his own series of laughter. The rain didn’t feel so cold along his shoulder anymore…

Merlin went into all the details of his adventures with the young king of Camelot. Their adventures, conversations, the friends they’d made and the memories they’d forged together. His mood lifted with each word, recounting each step he’d taken next with his best friend. The one he missed so dearly…

“He was an idiot sometimes… but he was a good man with a good heart. He always wanted to do what was right.” As soon as he’d spoken the words, he sensed (Y/N) curl tighter around his arm. Their loving touch melding with his own. He was so grateful they were here with him. His body moved on its own, clasping one of their hands with his and pulling them closer. Resting his head on top of theirs. The motion brought a harsh burning lump into his throat. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

“It’s okay to cry Merlin. To mourn something you’ve lost even after all this time.”

That’s all it took. Large tears welded in his eyes and cascaded over his pale cheeks. Becoming lost in the sea of droplets still raining down from the sky. He stayed this way for several minutes. Clinging and sobbing into (Y/N) arms. Their gentle fingers circling soothing circles onto his arms. Everything he’d kept bottled up inside of him for so long ruptured violently and without apology. He didn’t need one. Not with them.

Over some time, the tears did run dry. He snuffled a few times as he wiped away the excess unflattering snot leaking from his nose with shaking hands. It was as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from him. Feeling so light he might fly off into the heavens to find Arthur himself.

“Better?” (Y/N) voice sweetly questioned. He smiled toward them through his tear filled lashes. “Better, thank you. I needed that.”

#Merlin #BBC Merlin #Merlin x reader #arthur pendragon #uther pendragon #morgana #x reader #fanfic #maldo writes #imagines #Merlin Imagines #Merlin Imagine #Mordred #magic #Maldo #cry #sad #fluff #Youtube

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drmflm · 2 years

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destinesia

: when you get to where you were intending to go, but forget why you were going there in the first place

—summary: everyday you walked yourself in circles, trekking towards a permanent destination, yet always forgetting what it was that you were meant to find.

alternatively, every time you remembered him, you were cursed to forget him again.

—pairing: yoongi x gn!reader

—word count: 3.1k

—genre: pure angst

—au: magic, slight e2l

—rating: pg-13

—warnings: amnesia, grief, heartbreak, loneliness, reader gets frustrated with themselves at one point

—note: hi lovelies! i’m back <3 I hope u enjoyed!

— masterlist

When you love somebody, something in your chemistry shifts to accommodate them, to offer them a home in your life. It’s a way of eternal remembrance, a spot in your heart and mind that remembers everything, even if it’s no longer there physically.

And that’s why you felt so empty. Because you felt it again, little details trickling back into your brain as you held the stone, feeling its cool energy around you, igniting something in the back of your mind.

You felt the curl of fingers around your waist, you felt warm lips on your cheek, and you had the faintest suspicion it was more than a memory, it was a part of you.

His face was out of sight, but you knew him. You would always know him, even if your mind forgot.

“Where are you?” You muttered, opening your eyes only to come face to face with Namjoon.

“Good morning,” He said warmly, setting a cup of coffee in front of you. “What are you up to?”

His eyes locked on the stone, before he glanced back up at you, eyes searching for something in yours.

“Sometimes I feel like I remember things from a previous life, or a person I used to be,” you pondered, looking at the stone. “It helps me remember.”

Namjoon closed his eyes, stepping back as he moved to sit down. “You forgot again, didn’t you?”

“Forget what?” You asked, confused. Did you forget to do your laundry or something?

He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual smile, “nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Your eyes narrowed. He was hiding something from you, that much was clear.

“They remember again,” he said slowly, brushing his tears away. “They’re using the memory stone.”

You blinked, what the heck was a memory stone?

“I’m just—I’m really sorry Yoongi, I know it’s hard on you,” he sighed to an unknown person on the phone, his golden aura dimmed to a murky mustard colour. “I’m sorry that I can’t do more.”

You thought long and hard about the name Namjoon mentioned. What was it again? Yoonji? Jiyoon? Neither of those rang a bell.

Sometimes you were so forgetful, it was one of the reasons why your friends often got frustrated with you. You couldn’t help it though. It was just a part of you.

When Namjoon hung up, you creaked the door open a little more, wandering into the room. He had a distraught expression on his face, and all you could think about was making it better, to do anything to ease his distress.

“Namjoon?” You asked, gently tapping his shoulder, worried eyes taking in his guilty expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied tersely, before closing his eyes. He seemed distressed. “Nothing at all.”

The memory stone burned in your pocket, and you agreed with it. It felt like something was wrong, and it was all because of you.

While immersed in your thoughts, you decided to go out for a walk—one to clear your head, and two, because you needed to escape the stifling tension emanating from Namjoon. It stung that he wouldn’t tell you what was wrong, but you didn’t know what to do, so you opted to give him some space.

While wandering around the gardens, your thoughts were suddenly swarmed with the buzz of a piano beat, soft and gentle chords swirling around the air in a led light full and familiar tune.

It felt magical, as you watched a man play his heart out in the middle of the gardens, a soulful tune that screamed at you, reminding you of something.

Your feet led you to him, the man with the silver earrings and blond hair. You felt a hand around your waist, swaying to a soulful ballad, words imprinted in your memory:

*Will you stay by my side? Will you promise me? If I let go of your hand, you'll fly away and break; I'm scared of that. I’m scared, scared I'll lose you*

The more you sang, the more right it felt—his hands became tethers, his voice became clearer. You didn’t know that beautiful stranger, but you loved him. Oh to the gods did you ever love him.

You didn’t notice when the music stopped, tears gently rolling down your cheeks, mind foggy with the cool stone in your palm. You heard his haunting voice, felt the phantom hold of his hand in yours, a flash of silver and screams. Endless screams.

“You have a beautiful voice,” the musician said with a smile, jolting you back to the present. “Are you a singer?”

You shook your head, “No, that song just brought back memories.”

The man had a small smile on his face, “Indeed. It’s a ballad that is often played as the final dance in the magical world.” He cleared his throat, “It was written for the composer’s beloved, a final piece for them before they left him, forever.”

“That’s such a sad story,” you said, memory stone warming up minutely. You paused briefly, consumed by something, before continuing, “it’s devastating actually.”

The man nodded, “Yeah, but sometimes fate does things we will never understand.”

You weren’t even sure what drove you to the music, what possessed you to relate so heavily to the song. You don’t know where the images of candlelit touches came from. All you remembered was that you loved him. You loved him so much.

“I know,” you whispered, before looking up at him. “You wouldn’t know it, but I lost someone so close to me. He sang that song to me before he left,” you said sincerely, before turning away.

The man nodded in sympathy, “It seems like that for a lot of people. It’s the last dance before the curtain falls.”

You thanked the man, and he waved a gloved hand at you before you turned away. When you looked back, all that remained was shimmering golden specks and a vacant piano.

“When you love somebody,” you said aloud to the empty room, voice hoarse from yelling, “you will always love them, whether you remember or not.”

You were once again met with silence, the memory stone glowing blue in your hand, “But you’ll never forget the sensation of their hands on your waist. You’ll never forget the timbre of their voice, you’ll never forget the tune of a song, even if you don’t remember the words.”

Silence once again.

“You will never forget them,” You whispered, teary eyes looking up at the popcorn ceiling. “Because they are a part of you, and they will always be a part of your destiny.

“I love him. So do me a favour, Fate, and bring him back to me!” You screamed, neck craned back as you screamed towards the ceiling with every fibre of your being, heart presented to the skies as though its meagre weight was the most precious of treasures. “I DON’T DESERVE TO SUFFER LIKE THIS ANYMORE!”

When the silence ensued once more, you sank to your knees, head dropping as you silently cried at the cruelty of it all. You felt him missing. You went so far, you did so many things but you never remembered. You could never remember.

Holding onto something that killed you inside was such a foolish idea. Hearing a tune that you couldn’t name was something that shouldn’t have mattered so much to you. Yet, you felt the sensation of a memory in your veins, and you desperately wished you knew who it was that left such a mark on your soul.

Namjoon was hiding something from you too, but you weren’t concerned, not when you knew that whatever it was, was something undesirable.

Instead, you were fraught with self-loathing at the fact that you couldn’t even remember the name of your own lover.

Feeling empty and more and more lonely, you stood up off the bench you were seated on, and wandered around, before your eyes latched onto a building with a garish, pink sign. *Min’s Cat Cafe*.

Intrigued, you felt your feet instinctually take you towards it, as if you were always meant to wander in there. The cafe was quiet, and at your entrance, a few fuzzy critters came to greet you. As you found your way to the counter, a rush of happiness flooded through your veins at the cuddly companions you had acquired.

The barista was cute, and adorned a bright smile. Yet, when it was your turn, it seemed he turned slightly condescending, and his eyes darkened minutely as you gave him your name for the order.

Shaking it off, you sat down at one of the many tables in the cafe, waiting for someone to call your name. The soft Himalayan kitty, who was gently snuggled into your lap, purred at your gentle strokes on his head.

A few moments later, a worker bought out your drink, placing it down in front of you quickly. You thanked him offhandedly, attention still focused on the kitty.

You weren’t sure why you went there, why you even wanted to stay, but the kitty made you happy.

However, after a few more minutes, the kitty started getting restless, before jumping off and running away. She circled the legs of one of the workers, and you just smiled at her. Looking up at the worker, it was the same guy who brought you your drink. He looked at you intensely, and you tried so hard to remember if you had met him before.

He was somebody that reeked of familiarity, and something inside you burned at the deep brown of his eyes, the soft curve of his eyelids, and the smooth slope of his nose. His hands were soft and veiny and you felt them around your hand, around your waist. You heard those lips singing a familiar tune—a tune you couldn’t remember…

He turned around after a moment, and you didn’t know what came over you, but you stood up, about to go after him, but as soon as you did, you failed to remember what it was you were looking for.

Your hands reached out, to trail after something or someone that wasn’t there. All that remained were those two little kittens that greeted you at the door, and your steaming cup of coffee.

When you sat back down, it felt like everyone was staring at you, as if the whole world was holding its breath waiting to see what you would do next. But you couldn’t do anything, because you weren’t entirely sure what it was you were meant to be doing.

As you took a sip of your coffee, rich flavour burst unto your tongue, and the sweet hints of cinnamon brought forth a warmth that lit your entire body on fire.

*Remember me,* he said to you, that day he held you close. *Please remember me*.

Your brows furrowed as the stone in your pocket began to vibrate, making you shiver from the cold. You grabbed it, placing it on your palm, and inspected it. It was shuddering and growing rapidly cooler, before you noticed started to notice the thin, wispy cracks littering its surface.

It scared you to see the only thing that held the forgotten pieces of your life shatter, as though the person you used to be was slowly fading away…

You feared you would lose everything in that moment, that you would never remember. But as you took a warm sip of that coffee, felt fingers dancing along your waist, and heard the silent plead to remember—to always remember—you were sure.

And maybe it was silly to be so confident in something so superficial such as memory, but it was enough, that when the last of the coffee dripped down your throat, and the music humming in your brain reached its loudest— the stone shattered into a thousand, tiny fragments.

Everything began to pour into you, everything that you lost so forcefully found its way back into the crevices of your heart, and you keeled over by the sheer magnitude of it. You felt someone close to you, holding you up, holding you close, gentle hands around your waist, and you coughed—your throat grew hoarse at the words that threatened to run from your lips, at the songs that swarmed in your ears.

You saw his face clearly, those gentle swoops of his eyelids, the soft brown of his eyes, that smooth slope of his nose…

You jolted as you lifted your head, only to find those same eyes staring back at you. Your heart was racing, and you felt tears prick the corners of your eyes, feeling so many tumultuous emotions ravaging your heart.

Yoongi looked back at you with hope, so much hope that you weren’t sure who felt more terror—you or him. You were so afraid, afraid of how warm and comfortable his embrace was, of how easily you could forget the beautiful sensation of his love.

You were so scared of how much love you felt for him, now that your heart was finally resonating with your brain.

You remembered so much, so many horror stories that you were petrified of what would happen if you let yourself feel love again. Yet at the same time, you were sure that the sweet taste of his love would make it worth it. It would always be worth it.

So you let him hold you, looking into the trenches of his soul, wondering where you would fit in there. You weakly lifted an arm, feeling so heavy in your own body, feeling as though the acquisition of your memories burdened you with a thousand pounds—you trailed your fingers across his cheek, feeling that soft flesh that you loved to kiss.

You traced the shape of his eyelid, remembering the sensation, remembering the way his eyelashes fluttered.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice feeling thick and croaky. “I promised I would never forget. I’m sorry.”

He began breaking down, simply holding your closer and silently letting his tears flow. He gripped you tightly, but not painfully, as though any looser and you would slip between his fingers and forget him again.

“I’ve waited for you for a long, long time,” he said, and you felt the coolness of his energy wrap around you like a blanket, protecting you. It reminded you of when he stepped in front of you, to defend you from the monster who cursed you. You remembered.

“I know,” you said, holding him back even tighter.

You found out later, that Yoongi had taken you upstairs to his apartment above the cafe. The rest of the boys, except for Namjoon, were there to greet you.

At first they seemed tentative, after all, this wasn’t the first time this happened, but upon seeing your full recollection of your past, they seemed to be at ease.

Jungkook merely greeted you with a silent wave, nodding at you politely. You offered him a smile, which he returned before focusing his attention on his phone. You appreciated the fact that he acknowledged you this time, as he could sometimes appear cold and disinterested when really, he just wasn’t a fan of socializing.

You were sure your previous self probably thought he was angry with you without realizing just how kind he truly was.

Then you saw Jimin, who greeted you boisterously, explaining that he had seen you previously, and always knew you had the potential to return to them.

He even goaded Yoongi to sit down at the piano to play your song, the song that was always meant for you… Butterfly.

The night he unveiled it to you, was the night before the curse began. He confessed that it was a way to guide you home when you got lost, when you needed to find your way back to him. Yes, it might have been a parting song, but it was also something intended to bring you back to him when you needed him most. He was forever yours, and you hoped that he would always be, now and forever.

The first time you saw Namjoon again was a difficult experience. You held no animosity towards him nor did you feel he was responsible for your memory loss. If anything, he was the last person you would have ever blamed for such a thing.

When Yoongi saw him, that protective layer of magic wrapped around you once again, but it was okay, because this time, you stepped in front of him.

Hugging Namjoon gave you the closure you never knew you needed. Knowing that they all knew that you were okay again made it bearable. Having your feet guide you to him was like you had finally returned home.

“I never blamed you, and I will never blame you,” you said softly, holding him tightly. “Even with knowing everything, I will never ever blame you for what she did.”

“I just feel like I played a role,” he whimpered, raising his head to presumably look at Yoongi. “I shouldn’t have—“

“There’s a lot of things we shouldn’t have done,” Yoongi said, stepping forward. “And to be honest, you were right. It was better to let Y/n find their way when they were ready, because who would’ve guessed that the memory stone blocked their memories? Namjoon,” he said thickly, brushing away a tear. “It’s not your fault.”

“Nobody could have predicted what was going to happen,” you said, before pulling away and looking at his face. “It’s okay. We’re all together again, and that’s all that matters.”

You were sure this time. You wouldn’t forget him again. You felt that sweet touch of magic flutter to life inside you, and it gave you the confidence that, no matter what, it would protect you.

As the seven of them brightened up your life—resuming your relationship was as easy as it was at the beginning.

A bright tune melodiously fluttered from the keys of a piano, happily proclaiming that love had returned.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi #bts suga #suga x y/n #yoongi x you #bts yoongi #yoongi e2l #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #c;all #c;fics #g;bts #Not me tagging this fic completely wrong HELP FHDJSKAK

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spuddlespud · 1 year

Text

Crystallised

Yet another prompt fill for @flashfictionfridayofficial

Warnings for death and necromancy I guess

It's another snapshot of Dragonbreath and Skelefellas (Skully's a necromancer, Saph is their dragon rider girlfriend, and Andy the skelefella is their long suffering friend/creation who kind of looks like a spider made out of human bones)

The cane crackled ominously, its wood quickly warming up under Skully's touch. The sheer power of it was delicious. This is one spell they'd been waiting to try out for a long time.

Their little dungeon-lab had been carefully set up with antique armchairs and breakable nicknacks moved carefully out of the way. The circular shape of the room and the table complimented each other. The human skull sat on the middle of the table just completed the feel of symmetry. But Skully was much more interested in the contraption, the absolute monster of a device, than any aesthetic satisfaction at this moment in time. Saph had asked them the purpose of all the complicated nuts and bolts and copper wires, but her eyes had kind of glazed over when Skully had launched into a detailed description. In short it was...hopefully...a fully functioning tool that would help them to achieve full skeletal crystallisation. They'd painstakingly built it, Andy the Skelefella double checking that every single piece of the glorious monstrosity was fitted perfectly. One last time, Skully checked that the copper rod was touching the skull in just the right place. Whether it worked or not, this was truly going to be something. Andy was uncharacteristically and unsettlingly silent beside them, watching the blue crackles of electricity swirl up and down Skully's cane. They were so used to Andy's boney pseudo spider legs impatiently tapping loudly on the wooden floor as they worked that his stunned silence set a tension running through their own bones. They'd decided not to tell Andy about the last three necromancers who had attempted this and in a completely unrelated turn of events had found themselves and their workrooms burned to ash. Their deep breaths broke into the silence as they focused purely on the energy coursing along, pulling at the twisting ropes, gently at first and then more firmly. The magic was coming easier than they expected. Within moments it had formed the perfect ball to launch straight at the receptacle in the contraption. They both had the briefest of seconds to watch the energy move through the contraption before a blinding blue light broke through the room. It was accompanied by a loud bang and an explosive amount of smoke which couldn't have come from anywhere but the contraption. How disappointing. Skully waved the smoke away from their face, not ready to give up hope despite the rather chaotic scene. Andy hadn't moved and was just staring at the table, at the space where the smoke was starting to clear. At the skull. The bright, blue crystalline skull! Tentatively, Skully reached out a hand, fingers following the unmistakable sharp texture of crystals up and down the skull where bone had once rested. It worked. The spell had worked. They were going to be famous. They were going to be rich! Wait until she tells Saph. "Ouch," said the skull. "Did nobody tell you it was rude to touch people without permission." Andy jumped back in surprise as Skully yelled loudly"It's alive," brandishing the cane in the air. Andy tore his pseudo-eyes away from their newest roommate to give Skully a disdainful glare. "That isn't any funnier than the last 56 times you said that, you know." Skully sighed dramatically, thumping the cane on the floor. "Oh Andellica, you just don't understand genius. It's funnier because it's not just an ordinary run of the mill skull, this is a bonefied crystalline skull. This is a miracle."

#spud writes #dragonbreath and skelefellas #crystallised #why is it so hard to spell #i'm not happy with the grammer and flow of it but i guess that's the point of time limits

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icy-warden · 2 years

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ohhhhh GOOD YOU REBLOGGED THE ROMANCE ASKS! I was hoping you would, for I seek details of the beloved (as per usual)-- Vergil, that is. I humbly/greedily request: 7, 8, 12, 20, and 30. For now. ^_^; I send lobe!! 🧠

Dear plant, after a few centuries, I answer 🌱💙 But! I decided to do it in parts (and I hope you'll forgive me the way but it'll take another century of waiting for the answer for everything at once) as the answers to these asks come in very short stories. I'll tag you when next is done! First goes:

8. What are their most prominent memories of each other?

[timeline: sometime during the Blight and after the Archdemon fight; mentions of blood magic, injury and unpleasant consequences of being trapped on glyph of paralysis]

For Vergil -

He slowly wakes up to the gentle sound of heartbeat under his ear, fingers tangled in his long hair. Taking in the sleepy scent of a warm body under his own. He isn’t in a hurry to move, to leave the luxury of soft attention and shared bedroll. He’s spoiled now, there’s no coming back when he has tasted that kind of touch.

Unhurried, quiet, intimate.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes again.

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

He slowly comes to it, darkness stubbornly clinging to his vision as he blinks it off. The pressure on his face shifts, a hand holding his jaw more firmly now, the garbled sound of someone’s voice clearing into something he can recognize as words again.

He grunts to confirm his consciousness, now aware of the many aching places on his body.

Strands of golden hair tickle his skin as Zevran leans down, closing the space between them and he feels something wet on his forehead along the hot press of his lips.

His arm feels like lead when he latches his hand over Zevran’s nape, shifting his head to capture his mouth. But Vergil hisses, when his hair catches on a metal stud of Zevran’s leather skirt. He tugs at Zevran then, not moving his head off his thighs and drinks up a choked laugh, mixed with the taste of salt and copper.

It’s over.

And the song, gone.

He doesn't hear it anymore. Only the dull headache creeping from the back of his head.

But they’re alive.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes again.

For Zevran -

With how fast and hard his heart thuds in his chest it is a wonder it hasn’t burst out of his ribcage yet. Muscles locked painfully tight, his body ignoring his commands, pleas, demands to move, to stop this madness as he stands in the middle of the chaos.

Vulnerable.

Any stray blade or spell is literally life threatening now as he can’t do a thing to parry it.

Nothing.

He swallows the shout uselessly building up in his throat. Feels his eyes watering and sting when he can’t close them. He despises the sound of blood rushing through his veins as he feels his breath shortening.

It’s a torture.

Pure, evil torture.

Suddenly, all noise of the fight stops and he can only watch as the bloody mist solidifies and coils around the cult's mage arms and legs as they trash when the tendrils mercilessly squeeze their neck until their face turns purple.

The green haze in his vision loses its intensity and he collapses to the floor like his strings have been cut. Zevran blinks through the tears, greedily sucking in the air until his lungs stop feeling like they’re on fire.

There are boots next to his hand on the uneven stone floor and he looks up at Vergil. Standing over him, arm stretched out to help him up.

“Are you injured?”

Vergil’s fingers are bare and bloodied and Zevran hesitates for a moment too long and sees how they curl back into his palm.

It’s the first time he witnessed Vergil using blood magic so openly and with such force.

It’s fascinating. It’s terrifying.

It’s brutal, yet effective.

Something cold runs down his spine and he shivers.

“Ah. I forgot.” He’s watching as Vergil puts on a glove and offers his hand to take again. “Zevran, are you hurt?”

He grasps the offered hand and lets himself be hauled up, his legs a bit unsteady but holding on when he shifts to lean on Vergil’s side when he lets him.

He’s not sure he’s injured but he’s shaking and still feeling the throb of his heart in the back of his throat. In the flickering light of torches Vergil’s face is paler than usual, the sharp scent of blood sticking to him like a veil.

He opens his mouth to answer but starts coughing instead. He can hear the others milling about the cave, Alistair muttering something under his breath as he pokes at the belongings of a freshly deceased cult leader.

So he shakes his head in negative and latches on to the waterskin Vergil gives him. He feels Vergil’s eyes on him as he drinks, hand tightening on his waist as Vergil shifts to move away from him. Vergil stiffens then relaxes in the same moment, the unspoken question answered without words.

He doesn’t flinch when gloved fingers brush the strands of his hair behind his ear.

“That couldn’t be pleasant.”

Zevran snorts at murmured words, slowly rolling his shoulder. “That sort of restraint? I think I’d like to avoid it in the future.”

“Mhm. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He tilts his head closer to Vergil’s face, one corner of his lips going up.

“Please do.”

[Romance asks]

#these turned into mini stories #and hey I unlocked writing again #WardenTxt #Vergil Surana #Zevran #Vergil x Zevran

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unravellingsilencehq · 1 year

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“Oh, Merlin, tell me, does THE DEVIL get what he deserves?” He is in THE DEATH EATERS & CLOSED to finding out.

— he walks through the world as ;

name → larkin mulciber pronouns → he/him identification → cis male year of birth → september 1959 - september 1960 face claim → woo do hwan blood status → pure-blood sexual orientation → up to applicant occupation → socialite amongst high society in wizarding london future information → n/a

— he is best described as ;

The King of SHADOWS and GOLD, he is the OMINOUS DREAD held in unwelcome prying eyes looming in the never ending cold and the CHILLED SHIVER running down the back of necks on a pitch BLACK NIGHT. A TORMENTED SOUL, the bruised boy of woe is MANIPULATIVE yet harbors REGRETS. The PUPPETEER toying with unwilling victims strings; like a SPIDER drawing blood after it drives its prey to pure INSANITY.

— his story starts with ;

tw: abuse, tw: death, tw: blood

Born to Kyung Mulciber, a man as hateful as he was cunning, Kyung single handedly raised Larkin in disgrace. Bred a tormented soul, he was branded the Grim Reaper. Yeong, the light of Kyung’s life, took her last breath at Larkin’s first, casting bitterness into the family’s hearts. Without a single word of kindness, Larkin was resented by those supposed to grace him with care. Interactions were met with hostility and volatile anger; even from the likes of the house elves who once idealised their mistress. Growing in the fall of his mother’s glory, hidden in the secluded mountains of the Lake District enchanted barriers kept the Mulciber manor secluded from unwelcome guests. Isolated and with a severe lack of love, Larkin’s youth was spent whispering secrets to spiders dangling off chandeliers. With his father absent and cold, Larkin tried earnestly to grasp onto pieces of a parent. Hours spent by candle light in the family library, from archives detailed in gold and towering family portraits, he formed a fragmented image. A woman once powerful, resilient and beautiful, illuminated in piercing emeralds that matched her eyes; his late mother. Someone he thought could have loved him, if only Morgana had been kind.

With wealth and a line as Pure-Blooded as The Sacred-Twenty Eight, the family reveled in entitlement. Renowned for possessing an aptitude for the dark arts, purist rhetoric was laced in their lives from dusk till dawn. Breeding chaos, while Kyung praised ERIS MULCIBER [sister] and JAE MULCIBER [brother] in glory, Larkin was cursed into strife. Like his siblings, he was taught not what beauty magic held, but what power. Growling voices with a tone as sharp as poison scorned him, disapproving glares reflected in the shattered mirrored walls of the Mulciber ballroom turned training arena, distorted and manic as his father’s teachings turned cruel. Harnessing darkness, unregistered Gregorovitch wands concealed their illegal activities from the Ministry of Magic, enabling them to continue their legacy of turmoil all while slipping through the grasps of the law. The eldest Eris, channeled anger into the Cruciatus curse. Second born, Jae’s handsome features acted as the perfect deception for the master of death; with Avada Kavarda being his speciality. Leaving Larkin to master the complexity of the mind and the Imperius curse. Divine and divisive, the family were notorious for playing Merlin himself as they manipulated powers beyond their control. Together, the trio made a master of sin and torment.

Desperate for gratification, Larkin’s sensibility grew cruel in a plight to prove his worth. Cursing the house elves with a flick of his finger, he left them dangling on the ceiling with a twisted grin all for a glimmer of respect to flicker in his fathers eyes. The more souls he puppertered, the more praise he received. Forging himself into a sinner to gain what he could only dream of; acceptance from his father. While his siblings attended Durmstrang, Kyung claimed his talent would be better suited to that of Hogwarts. Speaking of a wizard whom he once schooled with, THE DARK LORD [leader] dreamed of a world where those inferior would finally know their place. Entrusted, Larkin vowed to find those as equally wicked. Cunning as the devil, the sorting hat barely graced his head before announcing his rightful place in Slytherin. Gaining respect for his damming schemes; Larkin was renowned as the king of chaos. JASPER AVERY [best friend], though entitled and held little promise in Larkin’s eyes of matching his wits, made a reputable ally. Second in their ranks was SEVERUS SNAPE [best friend], despite his Half-Blood status, his intellect was more akin to his own. The trio became notoriously known for their vile pranks on those they deemed unworthy to study magic.

Consumed with desire to appease his family, Larkin fell into a kingdom of darkness. Until he met them. MARY MACDONALD [former partner] was everything he wasn’t. Kind hearted with a warm disposition, if Larkin was the king of the underworld, Mary was the beautiful wix dancing above. A Muggle-Born and friend of annoyances JAMES POTTER [adversary], SIRIUS BLACK [adversary], REMUS LUPIN [adversary] and PETER PETTIGREW [adversary] , Jaspar dared him to bring the sweet creature to ruin. What had started as a ploy to break the wix’s heart, turned into a secret relationship hidden in the shadows of the clocktower. Despite himself, he fell in love with Mary. Intoxicated by their light and the only person to ever bring warmth to his cold heart, Larkin grew desperate in his attempts to keep their love a secret. Despite efforts, PERSEPHONE WILKES [friend/rival] caught a stolen glimpse between the pair. Outraged that he’d betrayed the sanctity of magic, she deemed him a blood-traitor for his adoration for a filthy mudblood. Threatening to expose them with her wand pointed to his throat, despite Mary’s obstinate belief that love conquered all; Larkin knew that even a rumor would open them to cruelty. With Persephone’s threats lingering over his head, logically he knew the only way to guarantee their safety was to make an example of them.

Plotting in an aid to set them free; Larkin encapsulated them in his arms and stole one last kiss before uttering ‘Imperio’. Instantly Mary’s love faded to a vacant expression; leaving them completely at his disposal. Encouraged by Jasper’s twisted grin, they killed Flinch’s cat, Mary’s hands covered in blood, and set off to their final destination; The Black Lake. Floating like Ophelia, Larkin was moments from sinking Mary into the water’s when LILY EVANS [adversary] found them. Concentration broken, Mary’s piercing screams of terror echoed around the grounds cutting Larkin’s heart like a knife. Expelled, he left Hogwarts donned a hero by purists. But for once, he didn’t feel pride in his actions. Finishing his final years of education at Durmstrang, Larkin dove into his studies with cruel intent. Named a lone wolf by peers, while the school harbored those residing in darkness; none held Larkin’s power. Wandless magic for unforgivable curses was rare and known by few, including the Muclibers who left many pleading for mercy with a mere curl of their hand. Stalking dark alleys in his black jacket embossed with scales, Larkin sunk his teeth into the pits of hell daring it to fight back. Gone were the flowers Mary had once laid, left only an empty chasm of a man; unhinged and dangerous with little left to lose.

While his others prided their superiority through status, Larkin’s talents made him a vital recruit into The Dark Lord’s army; becoming an esteemed member in the fight for the new world. Settling on the outer banks of London with a heart rotted black, darkness swarms like a whirlpool in his chest. Under the orders of BELLATRIX BLACK [mentor], Larkin is gathering information on those who could cause complications to The Dark Lord’s plans. Sniffing out Blood-Traitors, Larkin is playing the unsuspected in a plight to move up in the ranks. GILFRED ABBOTT [victim] was the perfect victim for his scheme. Suspecting little when questions from Larkin’s lips instead left the young Gryffindor’s; his sweet demeanor acts as the perfect mask to torment. Though as charmed as his antics are, he has his sights set on bigger fish; DOUGAL MCKINNON [rival], COINNEACH MCKINNON [rival], NATHAIR MCKINNON [rival] and MARLENE MCKINNON [rival], a family seeking to devalue pure-blood legacy by allowing a muggle-born into their ranks was the perfect target to finally bring him to glory. While the other McKinnon siblings shout for equality, Larkin has his eyes set on the brother that prefers the shadows than the light. Calculating his plans, he knows Nathair will be the undoing of the family, if only he pulls on the right set of strings.

— he is a LEVEL 7 WIZARD & readied for war ;

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ronaldanthony4 · 29 days

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Lily had a little lad, A quirky lad was he, And everywhere that Lily went, He followed faithfully. He tagged along to school one day, Though it caused quite a stir, For Arly's ways were odd, they'd say, Her love for him did blur.

The kids then frowned and shooed him out, But Arly stayed close by, He waited there without a doubt, Till Lily caught his eye. And then he dashed to her, his pace Quickened by his charm, As if to say, "In your embrace, I'm safe from all alarm."

"What makes Arly love Lily so?" The curious kids inquired. "Oh, Lily loves him, don't you know?" The teacher's tone inspired. "For every gentle soul you see, With love you'll surely find, And they'll stick close, just wait and see, If you are always kind."

As I sit down again in front of my trusty digital canvas, the familiar thrill of creation surges through me. There's something about bringing characters to life that never fails to invigorate my soul. Today, my muses are none other than my beloved original characters, Arlon and Liliana. They've been constant companions in my artistic journey, embodying the very essence of my ideal romantic love. With each stroke of my stylus, their personalities come alive on the screen, their emotions palpable and their connection undeniable. It's a privilege to share their story with the world, one that continues to inspire me every time I delve into their world.

In this latest artwork, I envision Arlon and Liliana frolicking in the serene countryside, surrounded by the vibrant hues of nature's tapestry. Their hands are intertwined, fingers laced together in a silent promise of companionship. The setting is a lush garden, teeming with life and possibility. It's a moment frozen in time, capturing the essence of youthful exuberance and boundless joy. As they frolic in the golden sunlight, their laughter echoes through the air, filling the scene with a sense of pure bliss. It's a reminder of the beauty and magic that can be found in even the simplest moments of life.

As I meticulously craft each detail, I draw inspiration from unexpected sources. The idea for their attire, for instance, springs from the quaint charm of resin and porcelain figurines I stumbled upon in a home decoration store. There's a whimsical elegance to their outfits, reminiscent of a bygone era. Arlon, with his rugged charm, sports a white shirt paired with a brown vest and khaki pants, while Liliana exudes ethereal grace in a white strapless smocked dress adorned with a delicate white flower in her chestnut locks. A straw hat perched atop her head adds a touch of rustic charm, completing her ensemble.

Their poses, too, are a nod to the past, drawing inspiration from an old drawing I chanced upon in dusty tomes. It's as if they're stepping out of the pages of a timeless fairytale, embodying the roles of Little Boy Blue and Little Bo Peep. Liliana clutches a shepherd's staff in her hand, a symbol of her nurturing spirit and gentle strength, while Arlon's gaze is fixed on her with an unmistakable tenderness. The soft sunlight filtering through the trees casts a warm glow on their figures, enhancing the dreamlike quality of the scene. As they stand together in perfect harmony, it's impossible not to be captivated by the beauty and simplicity of their connection.

With each brushstroke, I infuse the scene with layers of meaning and emotion. There's a sense of longing in the way Arlon gazes at Liliana as if she's the very essence of his world. And Liliana, with her radiant smile, seems to hold the promise of endless adventures yet to come. Together, they're a testament to the power of love and connection, transcending time and space. The soft hues of the sunset reflect off their faces, adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the moment. It's as if their love is a force of nature, unbreakable and eternal.

And so, I name this artwork "Lily Had a Little Lad," a playful nod to the classical nursery rhyme that inspired its creation. It's a title infused with whimsy and nostalgia, capturing the essence of innocence and joy that permeates the scene. But even as I put the finishing touches on this piece, I know that it's just the beginning of their story. The painting serves as a snapshot of a fleeting moment frozen in time, yet it holds the promise of a future filled with love and happiness. As I sign my name in the corner, I can't help but feel grateful to have been able to capture such a beautiful moment on canvas.

For in the depths of my imagination, I can already see another artwork taking shape—a companion piece to this one, perhaps, featuring Arlon and Liliana in a full-body shot. It's a vision tinged with anticipation, a glimpse into the future of their journey together. As I embark on this new artistic odyssey, I can't help but feel a sense of excitement coursing through me. The vibrant colours and intricate details of their intertwined hands serve as a reminder of the power of love and connection. With each brushstroke, I am one step closer to bringing their story to life on canvas, immortalising their love for generations to come.

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rjalker · 3 months

Text

okay the audio quality isn't actually as bad as I first thought.

The Cave of Horror as an amateur audiobook, originally published in 1930 by Sterner St. Paul Meek in the magazine Astounding Stories of Super-Science.

you can download just the audio from itch.io

youtube

The whole story is also under the cut in text since it's 8k words long if you prefer to read.

Dr. Bird looked up impatiently as the door of his private laboratory in the Bureau of Standards swung open, but the frown on his face changed to a smile as he saw the form of Operative Carnes of the United States Secret Service framed in the doorway.

"Hello, Carnes," he called cheerfully. "Take a seat and make yourself at home for a few minutes. I'll be with you as soon as I finish getting this weight."

Carnes sat on the edge of a bench and watched with admiration the long nervous hands and the slim tapering fingers of the famous scientist. Dr. Bird stood well over six feet and weighed two hundred and six pounds stripped: his massive shoulders and heavy shock of unruly black hair combined to give him the appearance of a prize-fighter—until one looked at his hands. Acid stains and scars could not hide the beauty of those mobile hands, the hands of an artist and a dreamer. An artist Dr. Bird was, albeit his artistry expressed itself in the most delicate and complicated experiments in the realms of pure and applied science that the world has ever seen, rather than in the commoner forms of art.

The doctor finished his task of weighing a porcelain crucible, set it carefully into a dessicator, and turned to his friend.

"What's on your mind, Carnes?" he asked. "You look worried. Is there another counterfeit on the market?"

The operative shook his head.

"Have you been reading those stories that the papers have been carrying about Mammoth Cave?" he asked.

Dr. Bird emitted a snort of disgust.

"I read the first one of them part way through on the strength of its being an Associated Press dispatch," he replied, "but that was enough. It didn't exactly impress me with its veracity, and, from a viewpoint of literature, the thing was impossible. I have no time to pore over the lucubrations of an inspired press agent."

"So you dismissed them as mere press agent work?"

"Certainly. What else could they be? Things like that don't happen fortuitously just as the tourist season is about to open. I suppose that those yarns will bring flocks of the curious to Kentucky though: the public always responds well to sea serpent yarns."

"Mammoth Cave has been closed to visitors for the season," said Carnes quietly.

"What?" cried the doctor in surprise. "Was there really something to those wild yarns?"

"There was, and what is more to the point, there still is. At least there is enough to it that I am leaving for Kentucky this evening, and I came here for the express purpose of asking you whether you wanted to come along. Bolton suggested that I ask you: he said that the whole thing sounded to him like magic and that magic was more in your line than in ours. He made out a request for your services and I have it in my pocket now. Are you interested?"

"How does the secret service cut in on it?" asked the doctor. "It seems to me that it is a state matter. Mammoth Cave isn't a National Park."

"Apparently you haven't followed the papers. It was a state matter until the Governor asked for federal troops. Whenever the regulars get into trouble, the federal government is rather apt to take a hand."

"I didn't know that regulars had been sent there. Tell me about the case."

"Will you come along?"

Dr. Bird shook his head slowly.

"I really don't see how I can spare the time, Carnes," he said. "I am in the midst of some work of the utmost importance and it hasn't reached the stage where I can turn it over to an assistant."

"Then I won't bother you with the details," replied Carnes as he rose.

"Sit down, confound you!" cried the doctor. "You know better than to try to pull that on me. Tell me your case, and then I'll tell you whether I'll go or not. I can't spare the time, but, on the other hand, if it sounds interesting enough...."

Carnes laughed.

"All right, Doctor," he said, "I'll take enough time to tell you about it even if you can't go. Do you know anything about it?"

"No. I read the first story half way through and then stopped. Start at the beginning and tell me the whole thing."

"Have you ever been to Mammoth Cave?"

"No."

"It, or rather they, for while it is called Mammoth Cave it is really a series of caves, are located in Edmonson County in Central Kentucky, on a spur railroad from Glasgow Junction on the Louisville and Nashville Railroad. They are natural limestone caverns with the customary stalactite and stalagmite formation, but are unusually large and very beautiful. The caves are quite extensive and they are on different levels, so that a guide is necessary if one wants to enter them and be at all sure of finding the way out. Visitors are taken over a regular route and are seldom allowed to visit portions of the cave off these routes. Large parts of the cave have never been thoroughly explored or mapped. So much for the scene.

"About a month ago a party from Philadelphia who were motoring through Kentucky, entered the cave with a regular guide. The party consisted of a man and his wife and their two children, a boy of fourteen and a girl of twelve. They went quite a distance back into the caves and then, as the mother was feeling tired, she and her husband sat down, intending to wait until the guide showed the children some sights which lay just ahead and then return to them. The guide and the children never returned."

"What happened?"

"No one knows. All that is known is the bare fact that they have not been seen since."

"A kidnapping case?"

"Apparently not, in the light of later happenings, although that was at first thought to be the explanation. The parents waited for some time. The mother says that she heard faint screams in the distance some ten minutes after the guide and the children left, but they were very far away and she isn't sure that she heard them at all. At any rate, they didn't impress her at the time.

"When half an hour had passed they began to feel anxious, and the father took a torch and started out to hunt for them. The usual thing happened; he got lost. When he failed to return, the mother, now thoroughly alarmed, made her way, by some uncanny sense of direction, to the entrance and gave the alarm. In half an hour a dozen search parties were on their way into the cave. The father was soon located, not far from the beaten trail, but despite three days of constant search, the children were not located. The only trace of them that was found was a bracelet which the mother identified. It was found in the cavern some distance from the beaten path and was broken, as though by violence. There were no other signs of a struggle.

"When the bracelet was found, the kidnapping theory gained vogue, for John Harrel, the missing guide, knew the cave well and natives of the vicinity scouted the idea that he might be lost. Inspired by the large reward offered by the father, fresh parties began to explore the unknown portions of the cave. And then came the second tragedy. Two of the searchers failed to return. This time there seemed to be little doubt of violence, for screams and a pistol shot were faintly heard by other searchers, together with a peculiar 'screaming howl,' as it was described by those who heard it. A search was at once made toward the spot where the bracelet had been picked up, and the gun of one of the missing men was found within fifty yards of the spot where the bracelet had been discovered. One cylinder of the revolver had been discharged."

"Were there any signs on the floor?"

"The searchers said that the floor appeared to be rather more moist and slimy than usual, but that was all. They also spoke of a very faint smell of musk, but this observation was not confirmed by others who arrived a few moments later."

"What happened next?"

"The Governor was appealed to and a company of the National Guard was sent from Louisville to Mammoth Cave. They took up camp at the mouth of the cave and prevented everyone from entering. Soldiers armed with service rifles penetrated the caverns, but found nothing. Visitors were excluded, and the guardsmen established regular patrols and sentry posts in the cave with the result that one night, when time came for a relief, the only trace that could be found of one of the guards was his rifle. It had not been fired. Double guards were then posted, and nothing happened for several days—and then another sentry disappeared. His companion came rushing out of the cave screaming. When he recovered, he admitted that both he and the missing man had gone to sleep and that he awoke to find his comrade gone. He called, and he says that the answer he received was a peculiar whistling noise which raised all the hair on the back of his neck. He flashed his electric torch all around, but could see nothing. He swears, however, that he heard a slipping, sliding noise approaching him, and he felt that some one was looking at him. He stood it as long as he could and then threw down his rifle and ran for his life."

"Had he been drinking?"

"No. It wasn't delirium either, as was shown by the fact that a patrol found his gun where he had thrown it, but no trace of the other sentry. After this second experience, the guardsmen weren't very eager to enter the cave, and the Governor asked for regulars. A company of infantry was ordered down from Fort Thomas to relieve the guardsmen, but they fared worse than their predecessors. They lost two men the first night of their guard. The regulars weren't caught napping, for the main guard heard five shots fired. They rushed a patrol to the scene and found both of the rifles which had been fired, but the men were gone.

"The officer of the day made a thorough search of the vicinity and found, some two hundred yards from the spot where the sentries had been posted, a crack in the wall through which the body of a man could be forced. This bodycrack had fresh blood on each side of it. Several of his men volunteered to enter the hole and search, but the lieutenant would not allow it. Instead, he armed himself with a couple of hand-grenades and an electric torch and entered himself. That was last Tuesday, and he has not returned."

"Was there any disturbance heard from the crack?"

"None at all. A guard was posted with two machine-guns pointed at the crack in the wall, and a guard of eight men and a sergeant stationed there. Last night, about six o'clock, while the guard were sitting around their guns, a faint smell of musk became evident. No one paid a great deal of attention to it, but suddenly for no apparent reason at all one of the men on guard was jerked into the air feet upwards. He gave a scream of fear, and an unearthly screech answered him. The guard, with the exception of one man, turned tail and ran. One man stuck by his gun and poured a stream of bullets into the crack. The retreating men could hear the rattle of the gun for a few moments and then there was a choking scream, followed by silence. When the officer of the day got back with a patrol, there was a heavy smell of musk in the air, and a good deal of blood was splashed around. The machine-guns were both there, although one of them was twisted up until it looked like it had been through an explosion.

"The Officer commanding the company investigated the place, ordered all men out of the cave, and communicated with the War Department. The Secretary of War found it too tough a nut to crack and he asked for help, so Bolton is sending me down there. Do you think, in view of this yarn, that your experiments can wait?"

The creases on Dr. Bird's high forehead had grown deeper and deeper as Carnes had told his story, but now they suddenly disappeared, and he jumped to his feet with a boyish grin.

"How soon are we leaving?" he asked.

"In two hours, Doctor. A car is waiting for us downstairs and I have reservations booked for both of us on the Southern to-night. I knew that you were coming; in fact, the request for your services had been approved before I came here to see you."

Dr. Bird rapidly divested himself of his laboratory smock and took his coat and hat from a cupboard.

"I hope you realize, Carnsey, old dear," he said as he followed the operative out of the building, "that I have a real fondness for your worthless old carcass. I am leaving the results of two weeks of patient work alone and unattended in order to keep you out of trouble, and I know that it will be ruined when I get back. I wonder whether you are worth it?"

"Bosh!" retorted Carnes. "I'm mighty glad to have you along, but you needn't rub it in by pretending that it is affection for me that is dragging you reluctantly into this mess. With an adventure like this ahead of you, leg-irons and handcuffs wouldn't keep you away from Mammoth Cave, whether I was going or not."

It was late afternoon before Dr. Bird and Carnes dismounted from the special train which had carried them from Glasgow Junction to Mammoth Cave. They introduced themselves to the major commanding the guard battalion which had been ordered down to reinforce the single company which had borne the first brunt of the affair, and then interviewed the guards who had been routed by the unseen horror which was haunting the famous cave. Nothing was learned which differed in any great degree from the tale which Carnes had related to the doctor in Washington, except that the officer of the day who had investigated the last attack failed to entirely corroborate the smell of musk which had been reported by the other observers.

"It might have been musk, but to me it smelled differently," he said. "Were you ever near a rattlesnake den in the west?"

Dr. Bird nodded.

"Then you know the peculiar reptilian odor which such a place gives off. Well, this smell was somewhat similar, although not the same by any manner of means. It was musky all right, but it was more snake than musk to me. I rather like musk, but this smell gave me the horrors."

"Did you hear any noises?"

"None at all. The men describe some rather peculiar noises and Sergeant Jervis is an old file and pretty apt to get things straight, but they may have been made by the men who were in trouble. I saw a man caught by a boa in South America once, and the noises he made might very well have been described in almost the same words as Jervis used."

"Thanks, Lieutenant," replied the Doctor. "I'll remember what you have told me. Now I think that we'll go into the cave."

"My orders are to allow no one to enter, Doctor."

"I beg your pardon. Carnes, where is that letter from the Secretary of War?"

Carnes produced the document. The lieutenant examined it and excused himself. He returned in a few moments with the commanding officer.

"In the face of that letter, Dr. Bird," said the major, "I have no alternative to allowing you to enter the cave, but I will warn you that it is at your own peril. I'll give you an escort, if you wish."

"If Lieutenant Pearce will come with me as a guide, that will be all that I need."

The lieutenant paled slightly, but threw back his shoulders.

"Do you wish to start at once, sir?" he asked.

"In a few moments. What is the floor of the cave like where we are going?"

"Quite wet and slimy, sir."

"Very slippery?"

"Yes, sir."

"In that case before we go in we want to put on baseball shoes with cleats on them, so that we can run if we have to. Can you get us anything like that?"

"In a few moments, sir."

"Good! As soon as we can get them we'll start. In the meantime, may I look at that gun that was found?"

The Browning machine-gun was laid before the doctor. He looked it over critically and sniffed delicately at it. He took from his pocket a phial of liquid, moistened a portion of the water-jacket of the weapon, and then rubbed the moistened part briskly with his hand. He sniffed again. He looked disappointed, and again examined the gun closely.

"Carnes," he said at length, "do you see anything on this gun that looks like tooth marks?"

"Nothing, Doctor."

"Neither do I. There are some marks here which might quite conceivably be finger-prints of a forty-foot giant, and those two parallel grooves look like the result of severe squeezing, but there are no tooth marks. Strange. There is no persistent odor on the gun, which is also strange. Well, there's no use in theorizing: we are confronted by a condition and not a theory, as someone once said. Let's put on those baseball shoes and see what we can find out."

Dr. Bird led the way into the cave, Carnes and the lieutenant following closely with electric torches. In each hand Dr. Bird carried a phosphorus hand-grenade. No other weapons were visible, although the doctor knew that Carnes carried a caliber .45 automatic pistol strapped under his left armpit. As they passed into the cave the lieutenant stepped forward to lead the way.

"I'm going first," said the doctor. "Follow me and indicate the turns by pressure on my shoulder. Don't speak after we have started, and be ready for instant flight. Let's go."

Forward into the interior of the cave they made their way. The iron cleats of the baseball shoes rang on the floor and the noise echoed back and forth between the walls, dying out in little eerie whispers of sound that made Carnes' hair rise. Ever forward they pressed, the lieutenant guiding the doctor by silent pressure on his shoulder and Carnes following closely. For half a mile they went on until a restrainable pressure brought the doctor to a halt. The lieutenant pointed silently toward a crack in the wall before them. Carnes started forward to examine it, but a warning gesture from the doctor stopped him.

Slowly, an inch at a time, the doctor crept forward, hand-grenades in readiness. Presently he reached the crack and, shifting one of the grenades into his pocket, he drew forth an electric torch and sent a beam of light through the crack into the dark interior of the earth.

For a moment he stood thus, and then suddenly snapped off his torch and straightened up in an attitude of listening. The straining ears of Carnes and Lieutenant Pearce could hear a faint slithering noise coming toward them, not from the direction of the crack, but from the interior of the cave. Simultaneously a faint, musky, reptilian odor became apparent.

"Run!" shouted the doctor. "Run like hell! It's loose in the cave!"

The lieutenant turned and fled at top speed toward the distant entrance to the cave, Carnes at his heels. Dr. Bird paused for an instant, straining his ears, and then threw a grenade. A blinding flash came from the point where the missile struck and a white cloud rose in the air. The doctor turned and fled after his companions. Not for nothing had Dr. Bird been an athlete of note in his college days. Despite the best efforts of his companions, who were literally running for their lives, he soon caught up with them. As he did so a weird, blood-curdling screech rose from the darkness behind them. Higher and higher in pitch the note rose until it ended suddenly in a gurgling grunt, as though the breath which uttered it had been suddenly cut off. The slithering, rustling noise became louder on their trail.

"Faster!" gasped the doctor, as he put his hand on Carnes' shoulder and pushed him forward.

The noise of pursuit gained slightly on them, and a sound as of intense breathing became audible. Dr. Bird paused and turned and faced the oncoming horror. His electric torch revealed nothing, but he listened for a moment, and then threw his second grenade. Keenly he watched its flight. It flew through the air for thirty yards and then struck an invisible obstruction and bounded toward the ground. Before it struck the downward motion ceased, and it rose in the air. As it rose it burst with a sharp report, and a wild scream of pain filled the cavern with a deafening roar. The doctor fled again after his companions.

By the time he overtook them the entrance of the cave loomed before them. With sobs of relief they burst out into the open. The guards sprang forward with raised rifles, but Dr. Bird waved them back.

"There's nothing after us, men," he panted. "We got chased a little way, but I tossed our pursuer a handful of phosphorus and it must have burned his fingers a little, judging from the racket he made. At any rate, it stopped the pursuit."

The major hurried up.

"Did you see it, Doctor?" he asked.

"No, I didn't. No one has ever seen it or anything like it. I heard it and, from its voice, I think it has a bad cold. At least, it sounded hoarse, so I gave it a little white phosphorus to make a poultice for its throat, but I didn't get a glimpse of it."

"For God's sake, Doctor, what is it?"

"I can't tell you yet, Major. So far I can tell, it is something new to science and I am not sure just what it looks like. However, I hope to be able to show it to you shortly. Is there a telegraph office here?"

"No, but we have a Signal Corps detachment with us, and they have a portable radio set which will put us in touch with the army net."

"Good! Can you place a tent at my disposal?"

"Certainly, Doctor."

"All right, I'll go there, and I would appreciate it if you would send the radio operator to me. I want to send a message to the Bureau of Standards to forward me some apparatus which I need."

"I'll attend to it, Doctor. Have you any special advice to give me about the guarding?"

"Yes. Have you, or can you get, any live stock?"

"Live stock?"

"Yes. Cattle preferred, although hogs or sheep will do at a pinch. Sheep will do quite well."

"I'll see what I can do, Doctor."

"Get them by all means, if it is possible to do so. Don't worry about paying for them: secret service funds are not subject to the same audit that army funds get. If you can locate them, drive a couple of cattle or half a dozen sheep well into the cave and tether them there. If you don't get them, have your sentries posted well away from the cave mouth, and if any disturbance occurs during the night, tell them to break and run. I hope it won't come out, but I can't tell."

A herd of cattle was soon located and two of the beasts driven into the cave. Two hours later a series of horrible screams and bellowings were heard in the cave. Following their orders the sentries abandoned their posts and scattered, but the noise came no nearer the mouth, and in a few minutes silence again reigned.

"I hope that will be all that will be needed for a couple of days," said the doctor to the commanding officer, "but you had better have a couple more cattle driven in in the morning. We want to keep the brute well fed. Is there a tank stationed at Fort Thomas?"

"No, there isn't."

"Then radio Washington that I want the fastest three-man tank that the army has sent here at once. Don't bother with military channels, radio direct to the Adjutant General, quoting the Secretary of the Treasury as authority. Tell him that it's a rush matter, and sign the message 'Bird' if you are afraid of getting your tail twisted."

Twice more before the apparatus which the doctor had ordered from Washington arrived cattle were driven into the depths of the cave, and twice were the screams and bellowings from the cave repeated. Each time searching parties found the cattle gone in the morning. A week after the doctor's arrival, a special train came up, carrying four mechanics from the Bureau of Standards, together with a dozen huge packing cases. Under the direction of the doctor the cases were unpacked and the apparatus put together. Before the assembly had been completed the tank which had been requested arrived from Camp Meade, and the Bureau mechanics began to install some of the assembled units in it.

The first apparatus which was installed in the tank consisted of an electric generator of peculiar design which was geared to the tank motor. The electromotive force thus generated was led across a spark gap with points of a metallic substance. The light produced was concentrated by a series of parabolic reflectors, directed against a large quartz prism, and thence through a lens which was designed to throw a slightly divergent beam.

"This apparatus," Dr. Bird explained to the Signal Corps officer, who was an interested observer, "is one which was designed at the Bureau for the large scale production of ultra-violet light. There is nothing special about the generator except that it is highly efficient and gives an almost constant electromotive force. The current thus produced is led across these points, which are composed of magnalloy, a development of the Bureau. We found on investigation that a spark gave out a light which was peculiarly rich in ultra-violet rays when it was passed between magnesium points. However, such points could not be used for the handling of a steady current because of lack of durability and ease of fusion, so a mixture of graphite, alundum and metallic magnesium was pressed together with a binder which will stand the heat. Thus we get the triple advantages of ultra-violet light production, durability, and high resistance.

"The system of reflectors catches all of the light thus produced except the relatively small portion which goes initially in the right direction, and directs it on this quartz prism where, due to the refractive powers of the prism, the light is broken up into its component parts. The infra-red rays and that portion of the spectrum which lies in the visible range, that is, from red to violet inclusive, are absorbed by a black body, leaving only the ultra-violet portion free to send a beam through this quartz lens."

"I thought that a lens would absorb ultra-violet light," objected the signal officer.

"A lens made of glass will, but this lens is made of rock crystal, which is readily permeable to ultra-violet. The net result of this apparatus is that we can direct before us as we move in the tank a beam of light which is composed solely of the ultra-violet portion of the spectrum."

"In other words, an invisible light?"

"Yes. That is, invisible to the human eye. The effect of this beam of ultra-violet light in the form of severe sunburn would be readily apparent if you exposed your skin to it for any length of time, and the effects on your eyesight of continued gazing would be apt to be disastrous. It would produce a severe opthalmia and temporary impairment of the vision, somewhat the same symptoms as are observed in snow blindness."

"I see. May I ask what is the object of the whole thing?"

"Surely. Before we can successfully combat this peculiar visitant from another world, it is necessary that we gain some idea of the size and appearance of it. Nothing of the sort has before made its appearance, so far as the annals of science go, and so I am forced to make some rather wild guesses at the nature of the animal. You are probably aware of the fact that the property of penetration possessed by all waves is a function of their frequency, or, perhaps I should say, of their wave-length?"

"Certainly."

"The longer rays of visible light will not penetrate as deeply into a given substance as the shorter ultra-violet rays. This visitor is evidently from some unexplored and, indeed, unknown cavern in the depths of the earth where visible light has never penetrated. Apparently in this cavern the color of the inhabitants is ultra-violet, and hence invisible to us."

"You are beyond my depth, Doctor."

"Pardon me. You understand, of course, what color is? When sunlight, which is a mixture of all colors from infra-red to ultra-violet inclusive, falls on an object, certain rays are reflected and certain others are absorbed. If the red rays are reflected and all others absorbed, the object appears red to our eyes. If all the rays are reflected, the object appears white, and if all are absorbed, it appears black."

"I understand that."

"The human eye cannot detect ultra-violet. Suppose then, that we have an object, either animate or inanimate, the surface of which reflects only ultra-violet light, what will be the result? The object will be invisible."

"I should think it would be black if all the rays except the ultra-violet were absorbed."

"It would, but mark, I did not say the others were absorbed. Are you familiar with fluorescein?"

"No."

"I think you are. It is the dye used in making changeable silk. If we fill a glass container with a fluorescein solution and look at it by reflected light it appears green. If we look at it by transmitted light, that is, light which has traversed the solution, it appears red. In other words, this is a substance which reflects green light, allows a free passage to red light, and absorbs all other light. This creature we are after, if my theory is correct, is composed of a substance which allows free passage to all of the visible light rays and at the same time reflects ultra-violet light. Do I make this clear?"

"Perfectly."

"Very well, then. My apparatus will project forward a beam of ultra-violet light which will be in much greater concentration than exists in an incandescent electric light. It is my hope that this light will be reflected by the body of the creature to a sufficient to allow me to make a photograph of it."

"But won't your lens prevent the ultra-violet light from reaching your plate?"

"An ordinary lens made of optical glass would do so, but I have a camera here equipped with a rock crystal lens, which will allow ultra-violet light to pass through it practically unhindered, and with very slight distortion. When I add that I will have my camera charged with X-ray film, a film which is peculiarly sensitive to the shorter wave-lengths, you will see that I will have a fair chance of success."

"It sounds logical. Would you allow me to accompany you when you make your attempt?"

"I will be glad of your company, if you can drive a tank. I want to take Carnes with me, and the tank will only hold two besides the driver."

"I can drive a tractor."

"In that case you should master the tricks of tank driving in short order. Get familiar with it and we'll appoint you as driver. We'll be ready to go in to-night, but I am going to wait a day. Our friend was fed last night, and there is less chance he'll be about."

The early part of the next evening was marked by howls and screams coming from the mouth of the cave. As the night wore on the noises were quite evidently coming nearer and the sentries watched the cave mouth nervously, ready to bolt and scatter according to their orders at the first alarm. About two A. M. the doctor and Carnes climbed into the tank beside Lieutenant Leffingwell, and the machine moved slowly into the cave. A search-light on the front of the tank lighted the way for them and, attached to a frame which held it some distance ahead of them, was a luckless sheep.

"Keep your eye on the mutton, Carnes," cautioned the doctor. "As soon as anything happens to it, shut off the search-light and let me try to get a picture. As soon as I have made my exposures I'll tell you, and you can snap it on again. Lieutenant, when the picture is made, turn your tank and make for the entrance to the cave. If we are lucky, we'll get out."

Forward the tank crawled, the sheep bleating and trying to break loose from the bonds which held it. It was impossible to hear much over the roar of the motor, but presently Dr. Bird leaned forward, his eyes shining.

"I smell musk," he announced. "Get ready for action."

Even as he spoke the sheep was suddenly lifted into the air. It gave a final bleat of terror, and then its head was torn from its body.

"Quick, Carnes!" shouted the doctor.

The search-light went out, and Carnes and the lieutenant could hear the slide of the ultra-violet light which Dr. Bird was manipulating open. For two or three minutes the doctor worked with his apparatus.

"All right!" he cried suddenly. "Lights on and get out of here!"

Carnes snapped on the search-light and Lieutenant Leffingwell swung the tank around and headed for the cave mouth. For a few feet their progress was unhindered and then the tank ceased its forward motion, although the motor still roared and the track slid on the cave floor. Carnes watched with horror as one side of the tank bent slowly in toward him. There was a rending sound, and a portion of the heavy steel fabric was torn away. Dr. Bird bent over something on the floor of the tank. Presently he straightened up and threw a small object into the darkness. There was a flash of light, and bits of flaming phosphorus flew in every direction. The anchor which held the tank was suddenly loosed and the machine crawled forward at full speed, while a roar as of escaping air mingled with a bellowing shriek burdened the smoke-laden air.

"Faster!" cried the doctor, as he threw another grenade.

Lieutenant Leffingwell got the last bit of speed possible out of the tank and they reached the cave mouth without further molestation.

"I had an idea that our friend wouldn't care to pass through a phosphorus screen," said Dr. Bird with a chuckle as he climbed out of the tank. "He must have been rather severely burned the other day, and once burned is usually twice shy. Where is Major Brown?"

The commanding officer stepped forward.

"Drive a couple of cattle into the cave, Major," directed Dr. Bird. "I want to fill that brute up and keep him quiet for a while. I'm going to develop my films."

Lieutenant Leffingwell and Carnes peered over the doctor's shoulders as he manipulated his films in a developing bath. Gradually vague lines and blotches made their appearance on one of the films, but the form was indistinct. Dr. Bird dropped the films in a fixing tank and straightened up.

"We have something, gentlemen," he announced, "but I can't tell yet how clear it is. It will take those films fifteen minutes to fix, and then we'll know."

In a quarter of an hour he lifted the first film from the tank and held it to the light. The film showed a blank. With an exclamation of disappointment he lifted a second and third film from the tank, with the same result He raised the fourth one.

"Good Lord!" gasped Carnes.

In the plate could be plainly seen the hind quarters of the sheep held in the grasp of such a monster as even the drug-laden brain of an opium smoker never pictured. Judging from the sheep, the monster stood about twenty feet tall, and its frame was surmounted by a head resembling an overgrown frog. Enormous jaws were opened to seize the sheep but, to the amazement of the three observers, the jaws were entirely toothless. Where teeth were to be expected, long parallel ridges of what looked like bare bone, appeared, without even a rudimentary segregation into teeth. The body of the monster was long and snakelike, and was borne on long, heavy legs ending in feet with three long toes, armed with vicious claws. The crowning horror of the creature was its forelegs. There were of enormous length, thin and attenuated looking, and ended in huge misshapen hands, knobby and blotched, which grasped the sheep in the same manner as human hands. The eyes were as large as dinner plates, and they were glaring at the camera with an expression of fiendish malevolence which made Carnes shudder.

"How does that huge thing ever get through that crack we examined?" demanded the lieutenant.

Dr. Bird rubbed his head thoughtfully.

"It's not an amphibian," he muttered, "as is plainly shown by the shape of the limbs and the lack of a tail, and yet it appears to have scales of the true fish type. It corresponds to no recovered fossil, and I am inclined to believe it is unique. The nervous organisation must be very low, judging from the lack of forehead and the general conformation. It has enormous strength, and yet the arms look feeble."

"It can't get through that crack," insisted the lieutenant.

"Apparently not," replied the doctor. "Wait a moment, though. Look at this!"

He pointed to the great disproportion between the length and diameter of the forelegs, and then to the hind legs.

"Either this is grave distortion or there is something mighty queer about that conformation. No animal could be constructed like that."

He turned the film so that an oblique light fell on it. As he did so he gave a cry of astonishment.

"Look here!" he said sharply. "It does get through that crack! Look at those arms and hands! There is the answer. This creature is tall and broad, but from front to rear it can measure only a few inches. The same must be true of the froglike head. That animal has been developed to live and move in a low roofed cavern, and to pass through openings only a few inches wide. Its bulk is all in two dimensions!"

"I believe you're right," said Carnes as he studied the film.

"There is no doubt of it," answered the doctor. "Look at those paws, too, Carnes. That substance isn't bone, it's gum. The thing is so young and helpless that it hasn't cut its teeth yet. It must be a baby, and that is the reason why it made its way into the cave when no other of its kind ever has."

"How large are full grown ones if this is a baby?" asked the lieutenant.

"The Lord alone knows," replied Dr. Bird. "I hope that I never have to face one and find out. Well, now that we know what we are fighting, we ought to be able to settle its hash."

"High explosive?" suggested the lieutenant.

"I don't think so. With such a low nervous organization, we would have to tear it practically to pieces to kill it, and I am anxious to keep it from mutilation for scientific study. I have an idea, but I'll have to study a while before I am sure of the details. Send me the radio operator."

The next day the Bureau mechanics began to dismount the apparatus from the tank and to assemble another elaborate contrivance. Before they had made an end of the work additional equipment arrived from Washington, which was incorporated in the new set-up. At length Dr. Bird pronounced himself ready for the attempt.

Under his direction, three cattle were driven into the cave and there tethered. They were there the next morning unharmed, but the second night the now familiar bellowing and howling came from the depths of the cave and in the morning two of the cattle were gone.

"That will keep him quiet for a day or two," said the doctor, "and now to work!"

The tank made its way into the cave, dragging after it two huge cables which led to an engine-driven generator outside the cave. These cables were attached to the terminals of a large motor which was set up in the cave near the place where the cattle were customarily tethered. This motor was the actuating force which turned two generators, one large and one small. The smaller one was mounted on a platform on wheels, which also contained the spark gaps, the reflectors and other apparatus which produced the beam of ultra-violet light which had been used to photograph the monster.

From the larger generator led two copper bars. One of these was connected to a huge copper plate which was laid flat on the floor of the cave. The other led to a platform which was erected on huge porcelain insulators some fifteen feet above the floor. Huge condensers were set up on this platform, and Dr. Bird announced himself in readiness.

A steer was dragged into the cave and up a temporary runway which led to the platform containing the condensers, and there tied with the copper bus bar from the larger generator fastened to three flexible copper straps which led around the animal's body. When this had been completed, everyone except the doctor, Carnes, and Lieutenant Leffingwell left the cave. These three crouched behind the search-light which sent a mild beam of ultra-violet onto the platform where the steer was held. The engine outside the cave was started, and the three men waited with tense nerves.

For several hours nothing happened. The steer tried from time to time to move and, finding it impossible, set up plaintive bellows for liberty.

"I wish something would happen," muttered the lieutenant. "This is getting on my nerves.

"Something is about to happen," replied Dr. Bird grimly. "Listen to that steer."

The bellowing of the steer had suddenly increased in volume and, added to the note of discontent, was a note of fright which had previously been absent. Dr. Bird bent over his ultra-violet search-light and made some adjustments. He handed a helmetlike arrangement to each of his companions and slipped one on over his head.

"I can't see a thing, Doctor," said Carnes in a muffled voice.

"The objects at which you are looking absorb rather than reflect ultra-violet light," said the doctor. "This is a sort of a fluoroscope arrangement, and it isn't perfect at all. However, when the monster comes along, I am pretty sure that you will be able to see it. You may see a little more as your eyes get accustomed to it."

"I can see very dimly," announced the lieutenant in a moment.

Dimly the walls of the cave and the platform before them began to take vague shape. The three stared intently down the beam of ultra-violet light which the doctor directed down the passageway leading deeper into the cave.

"Good Lord!" ejaculated Carnes suddenly.

Slowly into the field of vision came the hideous figure they had seen on the film. As it moved forward a rustling, slithering sound could be heard, even over the bellowing of the steer and the hum of the apparatus. The odor of musk became evident.

Along the floor toward them the thing slid. Presently it reared up on its hind legs and its enormous bulk became evident. It turned somewhat sideways and the correctness of Dr. Bird's hypothesis as to its peculiar shape was proved. All of the bulk of the creature was in two dimensions. Forward it moved, and the horrible human hands stretched forward, while the mouth split in a wide, toothless grin. Nearer the doomed steer the creature approached, and then the reaching hands closed on the animal.

There was a blinding flash, and the monster was hurled backward as though struck by a thunderbolt, while a horrible smell of musk and burned flesh filled the air.

"After it! Quick!" cried the doctor as he sprang forward.

Before he could reach the prostrate creature it moved and then, slowly at first, but with rapidly gaining speed, it slithered over the floor in retreat. Dr. Bird's hand swung through an arc, and there was a deafening crash as a hand-grenade exploded on the back of the fleeing monster.

An unearthly scream came from the creature, and its motion changed from a steady forward glide to a series of convulsive jerks. Leffingwell and Carnes threw grenades, but they went wide of their mark, and the monster began to again increase its speed. Another volley of grenades was thrown and one hit scored, which slowed the monster somewhat but did not arrest the steady forward movement.

"Any more bombs?" demanded the doctor.

"Damn!" he cried as he received negative answers. "The current wasn't strong enough. It's going to get away."

Carnes jerked his automatic from under his armpit and poured a stream of bullets into the fleeing monster. Slower and slower the motion of the creature became, and its movements again became jerky and convulsive.

"Keep it in sight!" cried the doctor. "We may get it yet!"

Cautiously the three men followed the retreating horror, Leffingwell pushing before him the platform holding the ultra-violet ray apparatus. The chase led them over familiar ground.

"There is the crack!" cried the lieutenant.

"Too late!" replied the doctor.

He rushed forward and seized the lower limb of the monster and tried with all his strength to arrest its flight, but despite all that he could do it slid sideways through the crack in the wall and disappeared. A final backward kick of its leg threw the doctor twenty feet against the far wall of the cave.

"Are you hurt, Doctor?" cried Carnes.

"No, I'm all right. Put on your masks and start the gas! Quick! That may stop it before it gets in far!"

The three adjusted gas masks and thrust the mouths of two gas cylinders which were on the light truck into the crack, and opened the valves. The hissing of the gas was accompanied by a thrashing, writhing sound from the bowels of the earth for a few minutes, but the sound retreated and finally died away into an utter silence.

"And that's that!" cried the doctor half an hour later as they took off their gas masks outside the cave. "It got away from us. Carnes, how soon can we get a train back to Washington?"

"What kind of a report are you going to make to the Bureau, Doctor?" asked Carnes as they sat in the smoker of a southern train, headed for the capital.

"I'm not going to put in any report, Carnes," replied the doctor. "I haven't got the creature or any part of it to show, and no one would believe me. I am going to maintain a discreet silence about the whole matter."

"But you have your photograph to show, Doctor, and you have my evidence and Lieutenant Leffingwell's."

"The photograph might have been faked and I might have doped both of you. In any case, your words are no better than mine. No, indeed, Carnes, when I failed to make the current strong enough to kill it outright I made the first of the moves which bind me to silence, although I thought that two hundred thousand volts would be enough.

"The second failure I made was when I missed him with my second grenade, although I doubt if all six would have stopped him. My third failure was when we failed to get a sufficient concentration of cyanide gas into that hole in a hurry. The thing is so badly crippled that it will die, but it may take hours, or even days, for it to do so. It has already made its way so far into the earth that we couldn't reach it by blasting without danger of bringing the whole place down on our heads. Even if we could blast our way into the place it came from I wouldn't dare open a path which would allow Lord only knows what terrible monsters to invade the earth. When the soldiers have finished stopping that crack with ten feet of solid masonry, I think the barrier will hold, even against that critter's papa and mamma and all its relatives. Then Mammoth Cave will be safe for visitors again. That latter fact is the only report which I will make."

"It is a dandy story to go to waste," said Carnes soberly.

"Tell it then, if you wish, and get laughed at for your pains. No, Carnes, you must learn one thing. A man like Bolton, for instance, will implicitly believe that a four leaf clover in his watch-charm will bring him good luck, and that carrying a buckeye keeps rheumatism away from him; but tell him a bit of sober fact like this, attested by three reliable witnesses and a good photograph, and you'll just get laughed at for your pains. I'm going to keep my mouth shut."

"So be it, then!" replied Carnes with a sigh.

#public domain #audiobook #The Cave of Horror #science fiction #scifi #horror #scifi horror #science fiction horror #vintage scifi #Rjalker makes audiobooks #Youtube

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the-cookies-of-darkness · 4 months

Note

Prism: GLADLY! *he sticks two fingers in his mouth and lets out a SHARP whistle! after a second! the ground SHAKES a lil! as SOMETHING BIG! lumbers over from the treeline! and when it comes out into the LIGHT! both Matcha'n enchantress're in for a SHOCK! its basic body shape'n details are CLEARLY based on cakeberus's- yet Match must be feeling like she's looking at a FUNHOUSE mirror! cause its WEARING her face- LITERALLY! at least ONE head looking EXACTLY like her if she was cakeberus- the other two resembling flowery shadowcaller- the goofy head being witherbark shaman- three black collars at the base of their necks! and the two side head's eyes being bright red! the middle a pure PIERCING blue- it walks up behind Prism TOWERING over him STARING the two down! all three heads SNARLING lowly! as Prism smiles at the two like the face of the devil himself!* Prism: ta-da, my magically inclined friends~!

(yes Jax and his sister made another one)

Dark Enchantress was more confused than horrified. What and why?

Meanwhile Matcha seems rather unphased of a giant 3-headed cake based on her.

#cookie run #other people's ocs #red velvet cookie #dark enchantress cookie #matcha cookie #cackling hounds

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sekhisadventures · 8 months

Text

Soon to Dream

Valdrakken, a private room in the Dragon’s Hoard a few days after Aziguni joined Avalon.

All of Avalon and Savage united were there, all fourteen adventurers total now, as they examined a large map of the Dragon Isles spread over the table in the center.

“There is no mistaking it everyone. Fyrakk has found the means to breach the Emerald Dream, and he seeks to take Amirdrassil.” nodded Laura Brightflame, the dracthyr currently in her more mortal guise, as she pointed to the island off the eastern coast of the Isles proper.

Nelen frowned, stroking his goatee, “Indeed… the Druids of the Flame…” he sighed, “Gordrinn’s Fangs I knew we weren’t going to make it out of this without something from that mess coming back to haunt us. I suppose I should just feel fortunate its not the Twilight’s-bloody-Hammer this time.”

Shalandrae scowled at the map, gritting her teeth, “Again with this too… can we just have one damned tree without a lunatic wanting to burn it?” she snarled. The fact that the Incarnate of Flame had targeted their new world tree had brought back some very bad memories for the druid, her hand idly feeling over the burn-scars covering the left side of her face from where a branch of Teldrassil, covered in Azerite-fueled fire, had scorched her with scars that would never heal fully… that had burned her so deeply that even her skull had been visible at first before Dareley was able to treat her wounds.

She glanced at the dwarf, and noticed he looked more troubled than normal. She remembered he’d been… well… before their stint in the Shadowlands he had been perfectly fine staying up with them and drinking the night away at the Golden Keg, but lately more and more he had been going to bed early, and even cutting back on his ale.

For a dwarf, that was never a good sign.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced to her side, seeing Aziguni looking back at her, then glancing to Dareley and giving her a nod.

The druidess sighed and nodded back, then walked over to the dwarf. “Dareley, are you alright?” she whispered.

Dareley started a bit, then shrugged, “Eh, I’m fine lass. Just… yanno, another huge threat ta innocent souls. Gotta deal with it, aye?” he replied.

She nodded, “Just… if you need to talk to someone about… well, you know…” she offered, but the dwarf waved one metal-gloved hand.

“Nah, thanks Shal’, but I’m fine. Still plenty o’ steel left in me hammer.” he grinned back… but as he did Shalandrae could almost see the tiredness in that smile. His face had so many lines these days, and his beard had been black streaked with grey when they met, but now was as white as the snowy lands of Dun Morogh itself.

Old age came for dwarves slower than it did for many of the races of Azeroth but come for them it did… and Dareley was a very old dwarf. He’d already been a grown man and a soldier of Ironforge when the first Dark Portal opened some forty years ago.

The druidess’s people were so long lived that dying from old age had been something of an unknown to them for generations… but she could almost feel the years beating upon her friend.

Atu & Family’s Wagon, the Outskirts of Valdrakken

Leza focused and closed her eyes, holding the image in her mind as she held her hand out, waving her other hand over it as if kneading an invisible object, and with a sudden swirl of arcane energy her fingers closed around something hard and warm to the touch.

She risked a peek, then grinned and wagged her tail as she saw a pair of dark brown humanoid-shaped cookies with icing making out their features and details on them, made not from flour and sugar but pure arcane magic.

On either side of her the girl’s younger siblings, the twins Zato and Eeda were staring open mouthed at them, their tails moving so fast they were almost a blur.

“MAGIC COOKIES!” shouted Zato finally, immediately snapping one out of her hands as Eeda grabbed the other.

“Hot sands ya can make magic cookies!” grinned Eeda as she snatched the other, the two sniffing over them, then immediately scarfing them down as if they were worried they’d vanish back into the arcane energy they had been made from.

“Yupyup!” grinned Leza, “Not just those but buns too! Though th’ bigger stuffs is trickier yet… Nelen said the real trick is making sure to keep the image in my head ‘n rememberin’…” she trailed off, “… rememberin’… uh… um…” she paused, “… ah yip, rememberin’ what…” she grumbled, pulling out a journal she had been using for her notes from the lessons the worgen mage had been giving her.

She felt really lucky that Sekhi was friends with someone like Nelen, having a master she trusted to teach her sister was a big relief for the shamaness as well and if nothing else Nelen was meticulous about her lessons and had taught her a lot of good tricks to remember things.

“Oh right, yeah…” she nodded, finding the page of notes she’d taken during their conjuration practice, “Gotta remember to keep it so th’ stuffs I make ‘em out of is still th’ same as a real one… otherwise I might… uh…” she trailed off, hearing a pair of chittering sounds.

Zato and Eeda were bouncing on their toes, their tails practically a blur behind them, their eyes wide and huge grins on their faces.

She spotted a small piece of one of the conjured gingerbread men on the ground, then reached down and picked it up, giving it a nibble, then making a face. It was WAY too sweet! It was like whoever had baked it had used four times as much sugar as they needed!

She blinked slowly, then glanced at her siblings, “Uh oh…” she whispered, “Uh… m-ma?” she called towards her mother.

A moment later Zato and Eeda leapt into the air, chased each other ten times around the campfire, then bolted off into the streets of Valdrakken.

“OH YIP! MA! TH’ TWINS!” she cried out as she took off after them as her mother saw them, let out a loud yelp, and joined in the pursuit.

The Wintersky Estate, Silvermoon City

Alalestria sat in her study, which had been used by the leaders of House Wintersky since the city’s founding, turning the dagger Chillheart over and over in her hands as she scowled. After her meeting with Lord Lor’themar (rather her yelling at by him,) she had been forbidden by the ruler of the city to go after her brother turned void elf turned woman Samantha Montebank.

She stood, stalking to a map of Azeroth set up on a wide table… and all across it were splashes of color. A leygraph, much like the one in Nelen’s sanctum, but far bigger and more detailed than the modest one the mage used. On it she could see the Dragon Isles and on several spots were swirls of darkness mixed with an orange/red… the unmistakable hue of shadowflame.

She thought back to that worgen mage’s words… how he’d pointed out that her vendetta was petty in the extreme with a starcursed monster like Fyrakk causing chaos on the islands.

She smirked, well… perhaps she could use that. Travel back to the Isles and fight the Primalists… and if her sibling happened to show up and, say, get caught between one of her spells and one of the Incarnate’s minions… well, friendly fire was an unfortunate reality of warfare.

Then she scowled at that thought, banishing it immediately. Trickery? Deceit? That’s what Sam’ael would do! Those sorts of tactics were unworthy of House Wintersky! She shouldn’t need to consider the tactics of a common thug! That’s what assassins were for…

She sighed, assassins like her loyal servant Sinranir had been… but of course he was dead now. She had not confirmed this, but he would have delivered the Sapphire in person had he not been. First the Sapphire, then Sinranir, how like Sam’ael to rob her of such useful tools… at least she had gotten the Sapphire of House Wintersky back, but there was no way to get him back…

She paused, glancing out her window.

… or was there… it was just magic after all… a spell like any other… and if a traitorous cur like Dar’khan could manage it… well, nobody could blame her for wanting such a useful servant back now could they?

She glanced over at the collections of tomes that the family had collected, and several that had entered their collection since the Third War, used primarily for countering the sorceries of the Scourge.

She walked to a bookshelf and took a tome down, looking at the cover.

The Secrets of the Grave, a book wrested from the private collection of Dar’khan during a raid on Deatholme several years prior.

She opened the book, flipping through it, then grinned. Yes… Lor’themar had told her not to go after her sibling, but if it wasn’t her doing it… and even better someone who had fallen to Sam’ael’s blades… well, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had sought to avenge their own deaths on Azeroth. All she had to do was track him down.

She walked across the room, then took down a thinner tome on scrying, and began to read.

The Twisting Nether, Dissonantia’s Lair

Malgum growled and tugged at his chains but found that they were every bit as sturdy as the last… forty-seven times he had tried that today, then sighed and hung limp in them. He again tried to reach for the felfury, the overwhelming madness he had used in the Azure Span, but his back suddenly burned and after a moment he relented.

The tattoos were far from done. As Gremori had said Eredar Skin was thick and difficult, but the most important one was complete. A huge glyph of silencing on his back, which prevented him from invoking his demonic berserker state. No matter how hard he tried, the felfury was denied to him as long as that mark covered him back there.

His arms had been marked as well, but those tattoos were not complete yet… and there was another for his neck that had to be put in place to seal the spell, a ‘collar’ for the witch’s newest demon.

Malgum seethed at that thought, what a wretched fate… he had saved his sister only to wind up magical bound to become a new weapon against her and her new allies! Once the markings were complete he would not even be able to speak without Dissonantia’s leave, he wouldn’t even be able to warn them of the witch’s plot until it came time to strike the killing blow!

As he hung there however, he heard a voice.

“You there, your name is Malgum, is it not?” said a deep masculine voice.

Malgum tensed, looking around as he growled around the gag filling his mouth.

“Do not try to speak, we do not want this overheard.” the voice said again. “Pay attention boy, you are not hearing me with your ears.”

Malgum blinked slowly, then he realized the voice was right… it wasn’t a voice so much as a sudden intrusive thought in his mind.

Malgum hesitated, then thought ‘Who are you?’

Then the voice told him, and after a few moments the captive man’ari grinned around his gag, and gave a firm nod. He liked what the voice had to say.

#adventures in azeroth #warcraft fanfiction #warcraft roleplay #world of warcraft #dragonflight

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harfanfare · 3 years

Text

How to win a heart of Jamil Viper?

1. Don’t be a typical hero(ine).

Contrary to the popular romance trope, tripping over the air to land on a certain cool-looking boy, and dropping all carried things, wouldn’t make Jamil fall for you. Instead, just falling because of you and sharply crashing with a floor would make him rather cautious around you and keeping a distance whether he has anything in his hands.

Believe him or not, he doesn’t need another ditsy and erratic person around him—like a certain leader from a certain dorm, who happens to create a mess anytime, anywhere.

So, let someone else be the protagonist of the story.

In that situation, you may be a side character that gets its way through obstacles and classic borders of story scheme and is much more interesting than the main persona.

That’s how you get his attention.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Be a help.

Oh, a person that would help him with his chores means to him much more than gold. Sometimes.

“Can I help you anyhow?” you asked when Jamil was going to the kitchen after a daily training with the rest of the dorm. He lifted his eyebrow, waiting for further explanation. “I mean with cleaning or something.”

Jamil glanced at you, not sure about your intentions.

Who would like to do something to help without having something in return? With only your will? No, it doesn’t work well in the same sentence.

But some help would be great. So, he just needs to keep sure that he won’t fall into any trap for letting you help, yes?

“Sure,” he said casually, not letting his face nor voice reveal any of his thoughts he run into. “[Name], right? Could you bring and clean the dishes from longue?”

And you helped. You really helped him a lot, staying over two hours till everything was shimmering with cleanliness and your abrupt desire to clean something and be more useful, burned out.

“Thank you for your help,” Jamil said, after correcting the last cushion in the Scarabia’s longue. You flashed him a smile. “But why, if I can ask, did you offer it in the first place?”

He got a quick response in form of a shrug.

“I... don’t really know,” you admitted, glancing at him. “...But you don’t complain, no?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3. Be his dish taster.

“The way to a one's heart is through his stomach.”

“Try it,” Jamil handed you a spoon filled with some kind of stew. You consentaneously your opened mouth and drank all content of the spoon. Your mouth filled with many flavours and you couldn’t be sure if you ever ate that good combination in your life. “How was that?”

“Excellent as always.”

You said it all sincerely and maybe would have asked for seconds, if not the fact that Jamil already turned his back to you and got back to pots. He took another spoon and tried the dish himself, clicked his tongue and added more salt.

Once again, he turned to you and handed you a spoon.

“And how was that now?”

“Excellent as always,” you chuckled as he frowned at you.

“Don’t you think that you should add more words to your dictionary? You say the same thing on every dish,” once he said that you finished drying the last plate and preparing silverware for today’s fiesta.

“Don’t you think that I won’t be able to eat anything at the party when I will eat enough of your cooking now to write a poem about each of your culinary masterpieces?” Jamil chuckled slightly at your words.

“So, you don’t want any more?” he teased, but inside he was really flushed. Praises or cajolery, it all makes his heart skip a beat.

Finally, there was someone who appreciated all work he’s done.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4. Distract Kalim from him.

“You really shouldn’t go there,” you said, your voice as serious as you could keep it. “I mean, what if there is a monster who wants to kidnap you?”

Kalim cocked his head a little, considering your words. After a while, he nodded, fully convinced by your argument.

“You’re right,” he said. “I will warn others about this..!”

Kalim turned on his heel and spotted some people returning from morning classes. He ran to them, greeting them and walking with them as he tried to introduce the situation.

Still not believing Kalim fall for your words, you were standing alone in the centre of the corridor, a bit dumbstruck to discover the excuse Jamil came up with work.

“...Are you sure, you don’t want to tell him that some student’s from other dorm are here?” you asked as if saying to yourself your thoughts aloud.

But there was someone, someone who was hiding behind a big potted palm. He only gave you thumbs up as a preventative measure if there was still a chance that Kalim didn’t just dash through the halls to talk with some dorm students.

Jamil only looked at you and mouthed “No. Party. Today.” and quietly shifted to the corner, where the wall hid him and he could finally get up.

Mission accomplished.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5. Get rid of bugs for him.

“[Name],” Jamil called out to you, bursting through the door to your room. He looked very pale and panic was staying still in his eyes. “Would you be so kind to... deal with an intruder?”

You frowned a little before biting back a sigh. At first, you were concerned. Even Kalim getting in a serious mess didn’t make him react that seriously. But then you remembered that there was one thing that could make Jamil call you out of nowhere, acting like in an emergency. Emergency only in eyes of few.

Bugs.

Jamil never admitted to you that he is scared of them, but every time you brought up the topis, he snapped his fingers at it, saying that insects just aren’t his favourite kind of animal.

“Hmm~ Maybe after I finish this chapter,” you said, conspicuously turning a page of the book you were reading and with all your will trying not to smile nor to look at the wincing expression Jamil was wearing.

“[Name],” he said, his voice shaking with anger or frustration. “Go there right now or I will make sure you won’t get today’s dinner.”

...No dinner?

“Yes, mum,” you said putting the textbook aside and getting up from the comfortable couch.

Of all people, Jamil is probably the only one—well, maybe also Trey—that could make those words sound dangerous. Like, no dinner made by the best chef in Scarabia? It would be pure agony.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6. Have competitions.

“Aren’t you a little too good in this game?” you asked, regretfully placing pieces of the game back to the initial places.

He gave you a smile that slowly turned into a smirk, as you groaned at the next round you have lost. You flopped on the big pillow, all your will to play destroyed, as you sank between really cosy material.

“I told you I won’t give you a head start,” Jamil said, his steady voice mixed with amusement. “You even told me that you don’t want me to go easy on you before the game started.”

“Too bad,” you clicked your tongue at his response. “I was sure that after watching you play with Kalim, I remembered your tactics.”

You’ve watched at least eight rounds of Jamil and Kalim playing this game, and when it was coming to end, you were almost sure you understood and remembered the technique he was using in certain situations.

But, to your disappointment, it looked like he – even without using any of his tricky cards in his sleeve – was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, because, after three moves, you knew that probably all three were wrong when the opponent was Jamil.

“You gained nothing by it. Of course, I lost to him or... there would be a trouble,” he exclaimed. “You are different.”

“Oh, thank you. I can lose but he can’t, huh?” you frowned at him as he almost choked on the surprise he felt by hearing your response.

“...Yeah, that’s it. Just it.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7. Have study sessions together.

“One class had a test before us,” you said scrolling through your class chat group. “They said that there wasn’t any question about these dates.”

Jamil scribbled down years of the most important magic wars, from time to time looking at you who were listing some test exercises and feeling somehow unmotivated to even properly open a history book.

Your notebook was lying in front of you, today’s lesson topic on the top of the page and many detailed doodles on its margin.

Once again... what was the unit you are having an exam about?

“It doesn’t mean, we won’t get a question about that,” Jamil tried to convince you, sliding textbook your way. “Now, read that aloud, while I prepare notes.”

You blinked twice as if woken up from daydreaming. Were you daydreaming?

“Are you sure..? I mean, all I will do is reading. Wouldn’t you rather want us to read it silently and then share our notes after this?”

“Don’t think about it much. I really like your voice,” he said it so thoughtlessly you weren’t sure if said it as an unarguable fact or just his smooth talker abilities were showing off, “and gave me your notes for the last exam so we’re even. And you won’t do any good notes when you’re sulking over this exam like that.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8. Remind him to take breaks.

“You won’t get out of here,” you exclaimed spreading your arms as shielding a door from him. “Not a chance.”

Jamil stood a feet next to you, grimace stretching on his lips as he knew what’s coming up.

“I have to go, [Name].”

He tried to get through you, lightly removing you of his way. He wasn’t a fan of using force on anyone, and he was a hater of using force on you.

Much more than a speakable argument, you were pushing each other closer or further from the door, having a staring contest and reciting all the things he had done in the past two days; except for his daily duties and with the upcoming birthday party of few students of Scarabia who happen to have a celebration in the same day, the number of tasks he was given was overwhelming.

“Stop it!” you protested, trying to push him back. “I am seriously worried about you! Please... take a break.”

Every time he was coming closer to the exit, you stepped back, blocking his way, bumping into him and having to try again.

“You know I have a lot of work to do,” he said, finally stepping back and giving you a break from trying to separate him from the door. “I can’t just give up all my duties, even if I would love a break.”

“I can do it for you,” you quickly offered. “But please, now, go to sleep and don’t you dare touch anything related to school or cleaning.”

...What a weird request.

When was the last time anyone told him to take a break?

He doesn’t remember.

But now, he can say it was recently, all thanks to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9. Promise.

It was really hard for him once all his hard work to keep a high position within the dorm students suddenly dropped after his overblot accident.

“[Name]...”

However, the thing he regretted the most was hurting you. Taking the whole dorm under his unique magic spell, the hypnosis also affected you, making you another servant of his. Even you weren’t the one he ordered a lot, you felt betrayed that even the friendship you two developed didn’t stop him from overblotting.

And if he knew that you would avoid him like fire after the accident, he would probably hesitate a lot.

His throat tightened as he saw you one day in the corridor, looking somehow lonely and tired. He dashed to you, beseeching you to talk to him.

“Sorry for asking, but, Jamil, you don’t hate me, right?” you asked with a pain in your voice. You couldn’t even look at his face, feeling the incomprehensible weight in your gaze. “I mean... Do you only act in front of me friendly? ...Like... with Kalim..?”

“No, no, no,” he protested quickly, making it almost sound like a plea. He gently grabbed your hands, praying that you won’t harshly jerk them back because of him. “I don’t hate you. I really like you. I mean every word I said to you.”

The feeling of release struck you like thunder, you took a big breath, your eyes watering. You slowly reached for his touch, finally ending in a hug.

Jamil ran his fingers through your hair, smelling a familiar, reassuring scent of yours. After a while, he whispered a question.

“So... could you please not avoid me anymore? I know it will be hard to bring up the same relationship we had, but... could you give me a second chance?”

“Okay. But under one condition,” you said, slightly backing off from him. Before he could wonder about the term you would require from him, you finished your thought. “You must be honest with me. I... don’t know what will I do if it all turned to be a play...”

“I will,” he replied, putting his whole heart in these two words. “I will always be honest with you. And won’t ever use my unique magic on you.”

You looked up at him, a small smile starting to rise and heart-throbbing more wilder with his words. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10. Make him confess.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Jamil appeared in front of you, almost like popping out of nowhere, as you were done with today’s lessons and slowly heading to your dorm. He caught up with you, changing his pace to match yours.

“I have no plans. I will be probably sleeping or something,” you answered honestly, shrugging and reminding yourself that you should finally hang out with some people from your class to make sure your social life isn’t all over dead.

You were walking in quietly before Jamil broke silence and spoke up again.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” he asked his voice only giving a hint of nervousness—it was nothing compared to the stress he felt inside. It was just a “yes or no” question, he knew that he will meet in future many amazing people like you and shouldn’t be stressed, but having someone so dear to him being asked for a meeting where he will try to finally out find his feeling... it is stressful.

“Hehe~ what, are you asking me on the date?” you teased, but much more than mocking, you were hoping for an answer. For the honest answer, he promised you.

“...And what if I am?” he asked, his voice a bit hushed, but steady.

You felt how heat was coming all the way up to your cheeks, although you tried your best not to let anything more, as if a blush wasn’t obvious enough, know how excited and spellbound you are.

“Then, your wish is my command.”

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