drabble — mare lamentorum

“Well then ya’ ma said,” Felcy’ra’s voice rises into a breathy falsetto, a terrible imitation of his wife, “’Oh won’t some han’som hero save me from this terrible, disgusting chigoe?’ An’ then she gave a great swoon—”

“She what?!” Her ebony ears fly back in surprise, disbelieving eyes sliding across to Stelmaria, who works quite determinedly at her embroidery—head down and lips thin.

Rosie can’t imagine ma ever swooning.

Fel grins in unrepentant glee. “—Ya’ ma went swoonin’. Pay attention sweetroll, this is gettin’ to tha good bit.”

The small kit stifles giggles with her dove gray hands, amethyst eyes shining, “Aye, da.”

“So I come leapin’ into the clearin’, strong lance arm ready to bring down this foul beast—”

“What did it look like, da? The chigoe?”

Chigoe sometimes lived in the tree outside her bedroom window. Rosie could hear their gentle chittering on quiet nights before she drifted off to sleep, but she’d never seen one.

“Huge. Three or four yalms tall at least, giant slaverin’ mandibles click-clackin’ away thinkin’ of its’ next meal. To this day I’m deadly sure it meant to devour ya’ ma whole righ’ then an’ there—jus’ snatch her up all in one big gulp.”

Rosie, ever the appreciative audience, gasps. Good thing indeed that the ones in her tree couldn’t possibly be that big, or she might worry they planned to eat her too.

“So I come leapin’ over the hedge, then manage to jump up on one log, then over to another—up an’ up an’ up until—”

“Until?”

“I snap on my lucky goggles,” he demonstrates, ”an’ I come down off the bough like the wrath o’ the Twelve. Jumpin’ wi’ all my might—an’ ya know ya’ da, wee Rosie, I got a lot o’ might. The wind was whistlin’ in my ears an’ sending my hair all flyin’ any which way. I tell ya I was very glad I had my goggles for protection.”

Rosie’s da only takes his blue-lensed goggles off to sleep and take baths. She’s allowed to wear them herself for a single bell on her nameday, to make the next twelve moons happy ones.

They are that lucky.

“Anyway, the point o’ my lance pierces right through the monster’s crispy shell an’ brain an’ deep into tha dirt. All twenty of it’s long, spindly legs go twitchin’ an’ flailin’ as it dies, an’ so I twisted my lance jus’ ta be sure it was dead.”

“Was it dead?”

“Aye. An’ I was so lightnin’ fast I managed to kill it stone dead an’ catch ya’ ma ‘afore she hit the ground.”

“Ma fell!?” The little girl’s mouth hangs open, eyebrows almost hidden under her sweep of jet black hair.

“She caught a swoon, Rosie, remember?”

Rosie may be just six summers old but she’s learning that her da sometimes fibs in his stories. She loves them though, and loves her da and ma, so she lets da think that she believes him, even when she doesn’t.

Besides, if he goes too far ma will stop him, like always.

“An’ there I was: covered in sticky, green gore, hair a right mess, my lance stuck in a dead chigoe, and with the most beautiful miqo I’d ever laid eyes on laying helpless in my arms. All well an’ good—‘cept she was out cold.”

“No!”

Ma knocked out? He is definitely telling tales.

“Aye. So I kissed her to wake her up.”

“Like in the stories?”

Da puts his broad hand over his heart and assumes an earnest expression. Pity it’s completely ruined by the quirk at the corner of his mouth.

A rustle of skirts before ma’s clipped tones ring out, “—That’s enough nonsense for tonight, I think. Time for kits to trot away to bed.”

She rises from her rocking chair and tidies away her things, making ready to take Rosie to her room for bedtime.

“But ma—,” whines Rosie.

“But Stel—,” whines da.

“No buts. Bed.”

With a petulant grunt, Rosie pads down the hall ahead of her ma, tail hung low.

Da clears his incomprehensible metal thingamajigs into a basket he keeps by his chair. All traces of his former protest have vanished, replaced with his usual fanged smirk.

“I don’t swoon. I’ve never swooned,” quips Stel, without heat.

“I beg ta differ. I could make ya swoon right now if I wanted,” murmurs Fel, wrapping his wife in his arms and chuffing warmly into her ear. He traces the shape of her jaw with one scarred thumb, calluses rasping on her smooth skin, before pressing his lips softly against her carmine mouth.

She smiles against his kiss. “Hush.”

cabal

Thu, 14 Oct 2021 14:35:31 +0000

#wordoftheday #prompt #drabble #horror #warning

cw /// paranoia (stalking/voyeurism); psychosis; body horror; self-harm; eye injuries

Unseen eyes watch from each corner.

At the brightly lit grocery store, on the silent street in the evenings, and from the shadowed doorway of the office supply closet. The eyes rake over every inch of her, their gaze an almost physical weight capable of tearing straight through her thick coat and rubber boots, her layered shirts and pants.

They can see her naked flesh.

They can even see her bones.

Bare, dry joints clicking and clacking in a parody of life as she goes about her daily routine. Trying to ignore the gazes resting upon the bleached white of her exposed shoulder blades.

She cannot escape them but she tries all the same.

Refuses to leave her apartment. Installs her own blinds. Adds extra locks to the door. Quits her job. Cuts all social ties.

They still watch.

She can feel the pressure on her skin.

How anyone could find her insignificant drudgery so interesting, she can’t say, and she certainly can’t ask; she’s never seen them. Ironic, considering how much they’ve seen of her.

But then.

Once.

Just once.

She sees them.

Wavering, shadowy humanoid shapes, edges ragged and blurred, as though cut haphazardly from a sumptuous cloth of deepest ebony. They go about their business exactly as she does: standing over the overflowing sink, sitting on the couch or on her unmade bed, leaning against the dirt streaked wall by the door.

Floating directly behind her, about 3 inches in the air, as if suspended on a hook or rope, toes pointed downward. A thing made of cloying darkness, drawing rattling breaths and staring.

Staring.

Eyes glowing like banked embers set in a featureless black face formed of smoke and fear and night.

Teeth.

White and sharp and glinting. Winking at her in the muzzy half-light of her apartment as if they are both in on a private joke.

She smells wet earth and a faintly fermented sweetness.

Like rot.

She holds two spoons over what appears to be a flickering orange blossom, sprouting incongruously from her oven burner. When the metal glows red with heat she presses the convex sides hard into the sunken pits of her eyes.

Sizzling so bright and painful she screams, even as what remains of her ruined eyes dribbles down her hollow cheeks and onto her shirt.

Into her mouth.

Tasting of blood and pus and salt brine.

Only then does she realize her mistake.

Seeing them was one thing.

However, now that they can no longer be seen they whisper.

That air reeking of the grave wafts gently past her ears, carrying words that she cannot fully make out but then, suddenly she can understand…

She wishes she had not.

They aren’t words.

They are vessels in the guise of words. Filled with no meaning, simply madness.

The whispers never cease, even in her new darkness.

They will never leave and neither will she.

odious

Wed, 13 Oct 2021 17:47:59 +0000

#wordoftheday #prompt #drabble #eberron #threadsbetween #polly #dnd

A halfling woman with clever hands—their dealer for the evening—exchanges a loaded glance with a petite tiefling, her dewy skin the color of blush. Obscured as it is through a haze of smoky, stale air and colorful, pulsing magical signage, the meaning is clear: You’re only getting one shot at this. Make it count.

The mark sprawls in the seat beside the teifling, arms and legs arranged so as to inconvenience the majority of passers-by. He doesn’t smile so much as smirk: an open challenge to anyone who fancies themselves his equal. His companions speak in undertones, but only until he projects his voice to interject his incontrovertible opinion on the subject.

He’s tall and lanky, pale as a ghost save for streaked lines and darkened palms from a botched experiment with fake tan, and peacocked in gaudy glamerweave. A single, sad tendril of limp, sweaty hair sweeps across a thinning pate in a poor attempt at concealment.

A sore spot apparently, as his toadies' eyes never fail to bounce away from his shining dome, instinctively repulsed like magnets of the same pole.

He leans in far too close, lowering dark shades to level watery blue eyes at her décolletage, “I can teach you the game, if you like. I’m the best and I always win.”

His pupils are wide as platters from the drugs. Polly giggles, displaying shapely thighs through the slit in her red spangled dress. One leg is fashioned of gleaming, golden artifice.

This pompous fool is still laboring under the impression he’d been ogling her in secret all evening. In truth, it was anything but—the brazen stares at her figure made her skin crawl and her stomach heavy as a ton of bricks.

Lashes full and dark as raven’s wings flutter against soft rose cheeks, rouged in such a way as to foster the illusion that she didn’t bother with rouge at all, “That’s kind of you. I could do far worse than learning from the best.”

Of course, she already knows how to play.

She intends to cheat with the dealer’s aid, however she aims to lose.

Once he wins, and he will, he’ll be in such a good mood he’d eat right out of her hand if she asked him to.

She’ll only need one shot to get the information.

On her knees in front of him

Tue, 12 Oct 2021 16:02:45 +0000

#drabble #wolship #felstel #fel #stelmaria #nsfw #ffxiv

On her knees in front of him, she gives an impressive imitation of submission.

Large, limpid eyes turned upward to catch his gaze. Ears down and tail across her lap, her hands behind her back, exactly as he'd instructed. She very nearly had him convinced.

However, he knows that there is no man or woman that could truly tame her, she simply allowed them to believe that she could be—when it suited her designs. A shadow-striped tiger prowling behind cage bars it could easily squeeze through.

But it doesn't. Won't.

He can't say exactly why, but the danger of it is just as exciting as seeing a creature so wild playing at being a housecat up close. At any moment she could bear her fangs and open his throat.

Instead, she kneels. Eager. Willing.

Ruby red lips parted wetly around the fullness of his aching cock.

She was only allowed to touch him with her mouth, but he could touch her however he liked. And touch her he does.

A soft moan escapes her as he palms the delicious weight of a milk-white breast, pinching the sensitive nipple he finds at it's apex and feeling it pebble under his touch. His slate fingers run the length of her delicate collarbones before tracing down the stark black lines inked onto her graceful shoulder. She shivers in response, a true surrendering of herself to him, and not the part she's been playing until now.

It's the reaction he's been waiting for.

Fisting his hands in the heavy silken fall of her long violet hair, he pulls gently and she obeys, sliding her hot mouth along the full length of him.

Now it is his turn to shiver.

He watches her bright eyes as he fucks into her mouth slowly, keeping the strands of her hair wrapped tight in his fingers. The expression on her face, bliss mixed with adoration and love, almost undoes him completely. Every part of her feels so good but this...

“Stel,” he growls, voice trembling at the effort it takes to keep himself still.

She looks up at him, quiet. Serene. Obedient.

Then she runs her tongue along the underside of his cock, lingering deliberately on the sensitive ridges of the head.

His mind goes blank, conscious thought blinking out before a rushing wave of desire so powerful it takes his breath away. The fists in her hair tighten involuntarily and she moans again at the pain of it, delighted at being treated roughly by the man she loves. At being desired with such ferocity that he becomes a monster of pure instinct.

Slamming himself in and out of her slick, burning mouth the tight pressure in his belly intensifies, all sensation narrowing to the slide of her soft, wet lips over his swollen girth.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck ya feel so good I want to fuck ya so bad I want ya to scream for me when I make ya cum I'm gonna make ya forget your own fuckin' name.” The debauched filth pouring from his lips spurs her to greater heights, angling her head so that he goes deeper with every sharp thrust of his hips.

It's all too much.

The knot within him unties, all the pressure it held in check suffusing his entire body with warmth, a feeling of mind-altering pleasure so powerful he shivers from head to toe, cock pulsing hot spend directly down her throat.

It feels like a lifetime and yet no time at all before his awareness widens beyond the sweet beguiling curve of her lips, which are turned upward in a self-satisfied way.

“Ya just so good at that. Should be illegal,” he whispers, breathless.

She preens at the compliment but replies, “It's only because you're so fun to tease, Fel. I love to watch you squirm when you come for me.”

He bends to kiss the top of her head to hide the pinkening skin at the bridge of his nose.

Fel is on his knees in prayer

Tue, 12 Oct 2021 16:00:25 +0000

#drabble #wolship #felstel #fel #stelmaria #nsfw #ffxiv

Fel is on his knees in prayer.

Making supplication to a being composed of moonlight and mystery, sweet cream and salt brine.

She overwhelms every part of him, each sense honed in on her—and only her—with mathematical precision.

The soft curves of her hips bless his scarred hands, rough calluses rasping over silken flesh. Curious, greedy, his hands wander further, climbing the delicate ladder of her rib cage. He tests the weight of a breast by giving a peaked nipple a gentle squeeze and smiling widely at the resulting catch in her trembling breath.

Her shivering moonstone skin is slick with sweat. He allows his large hands to glide down to her sides to better bring the searing heat of her firmly against his lips.

In his experience, prayers are better received the more fervently they are whispered. He intends to engage in very fervent worship indeed.

Lazily, he swipes of the flat of his tongue across that most sacred part of her, filling his mouth with the taste of starlight, sin, and sea salt. She whimpers sweetly in the back of her throat, tightening her grip in the wild tangle of his ebony hair.

Oh how he loves that sound.

He wants to hear it again. To make her lose control, to cause her to gasp his name in the throes of pleasure. A pleasure that she only experiences because of him.

More than half mad with desire, he lifts one lean, pale leg over his shoulder, glad for the solid presence of the wall behind her. Running his steady hand up the smooth, warm flesh of her inner thigh he's rewarded with a low moan, that soon becomes a sharp intake of breath when he presses two clever fingers gently into the dripping heat at her center.

“Fel...” she whispers, eyes closed in ecstasy.

He works his fingers in and out with a slow rhythm, as steady and deliberate as the tide. The thumb of the same hand rubs circles on her pearl, slick from his attentions and her own arousal.

“Ya so beautiful, Moonbeam,” he murmurs, punctuating each word by sucking a small, vivid red mark into her perfect pale skin.

“Ya smell so good,” he says, inhaling the scent of the lavender perfume she always wears.

The pressure of his thumb increases slightly and she rocks her hips against him, moaning.

“Ya feel so good,” he growls, gripping her haunch tighter to keep her still while his slick finger move faster. She's so wet that each sheathing of his digits causes an obscene squelching sound. His cock swells to an almost painful hardness against his belly.

He ignores it, concentrating instead on bringing her to the very peak of pleasure.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Inside, she flutters. Her eyes open and meet his for a long, lingering moment before, grinning, he lowers his mouth over her pearl again and gently sucks.

“Oh” she breathes, almost a whisper.

But he hears it.

Pressing his lips harder against the sweet wetness between her thighs he continues to fuck her with his fingers. His free hand reaches up to roll a pebbled nipple between thumb and forefinger.

“Oh Fel...” her voice begins to break as her breathing grows wild and unsteady.

The grip on his hair and ears tightens again. Desperate for relief from the building tension, Fel rubs his aching cock against the silk of her trembling calf.

Circling, sucking, brushing, and rubbing, his clever tongue samples every part of her irresistible heat. She rocks her hips hard into his face but he keeps going, thoroughly undeterred.

The pressure in his belly builds past where thrusting against her leg provides any assistance; he wraps his free hand around his length and pumps experimentally.

A thick haze settles over his brain.

He wants to make her come apart shivering.

He needs to stroke himself until he comes with her, for her, spattering his offering of liquid pearls at her feet.

Frantic, he increases his pace once more, fingers and tongue working in feverish tandem to shatter her, reduce her to a sobbing mess. His hand slides easily up and down his cock, slick with pre cum.

She trembles, stiffening, involuntarily pressing his mouth into her petals with the hand tangled in his hair. Releasing a strained, wordless cry her hips fie an involuntary buck as the fire and silk of her inner walls clench rhythmically on his fingers.

He imagines that it's his length inside her instead of his digits. He pictures burying himself to the hilt inside her tightness before pumping his release into in the heavenly wet depths of her body, then tattooing languid kiss after kiss on her beloved heart shaped face, her pale shoulders, and the delicate column of her throat.

With a grunt he comes, spend pulsing out between his fingers to land in shining white puddles and spatters across the floor, the wall, and up her silken limb as far as her hip.

Her trembling travels the full length of her body, skin of coalesced moonlight shivering, raising goosebumps as though she's chilled. The motion passes from her into him, magnifying with each kiss he burns on the canvas of her hips and thighs.

Absently, her gentle hand traces the velvet edge of his notched ear.

He shivers again with a laugh, catching her fingers to kiss them, “Can't seem to stop shaking, sprout.”

“Maybe we should go to bed then? Get some rest,” she says, wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

He has a sudden irrational desire to kiss her precisely there. “We're not gonna rest, are we?”

She shakes her head in the negative, the violet curtain of her hair swaying with the motion.

“Good,” says Fel, rising to his feet and moving to pick her up.

extricate

Tue, 12 Oct 2021 15:12:04 +0000

#wordoftheday #prompt #drabble #kindansfw

“Don’t,” she murmurs, so quiet the words are nearly swallowed up by the blood thundering in his ears. Her long limbs tighten around him, entangling him with searing warmth.

He stops pulling away and relaxes, dipping to press a kiss to the trembling curve of her breast, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Swear it.” Her gaze becomes tight, syllables clipped and hard as a blade’s edge.

Gripping the soft flesh of her thigh he rolls onto his back, pulling her astride his lap. A delighted grin spreads across his features at her muffled gasp of pleasure. “You have me trapped I’m afraid. I could not extricate myself even if I wished to.”

She crosses her arms to cover herself, but he is quicker, seizing her thin wrists and rocking his hips upward into her.

The grin widens at the high, keening moan he rips from her throat. The pulse under his thumbs quickens to a thrumming buzz. “Needless to say, I do not wish to.”