Faë McSparkle and the Shadow Daddy [flash; satire]

Book 1/38, banned in all countries except Zengland

Photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

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When Faë awakened, she was chained to a damp, stone floor, inexplicably wearing nothing but a skin-tight black-lace thong and heart-shaped pasties. Who put those on?

But garments were the least of Faë’s worries. Before she was locked up here, she was a serious girlboss-huntress who couldn’t be fucked with. That was because her mom died somewhere along the way, her deadbeat dad was too drunk to twiddle his own ding-a-ling, and her bitch sisters did nothing but complain and imitate TikTok dances. Faë was forced to fend for herself. That was all she’d ever done: pull herself up by her bootstraps until she had a major wedgie. And look where that had gotten her.

She was only trying to save a stranger’s life while she was hunting in the forest from a dark, wolfy, (and dare I say hunky) shadow creature. Next thing she knew, she awoke here. At least there was a lit candle in her cell. Bath and Bodyworks, Midnight Spell, to be precise. It was supposed to smell like “tombstone moss” according to the label, but in reality, it smelled of burnt imitation-vanilla.

Better than inhaling the fumes of my own piss, Faë thought. Indeed, toilets and plumbing worth the trouble had not yet been invented. There was just a steaming bucket in the corner of the dungeon. Luckily, Faë was born with a condition where she didn’t poop or have periods, but remained fertile and healthy, as indicated by her tastefully voluptuous hips. That’s right: Faë was body positive.

Speaking of body positive, a perfect male specimen materialized out of the darkness just as Faë began to consider flicking her neglected bean to pass the hours.

[Insert Ian Somerhalder, but hotter and tanner and more tattoos.]

He was biting his lower lip with fanged teeth that glimmered white in the Bath-and-Bodyworks candlelight, and his eyes glowed the same shade of purple as the shadowy wolf-thing Faë had seen in the forest.

“¡Ay, papi!” Faë cried, her sparkling wings aflutter. Did I mention she was an elf-fairy-witch? (Also a princess-queen-empress-demi-god, but she doesn’t know that yet!)

She camped a hand over her mouth, in awe of the man in front of her. She didn’t even know Spanish, that wasn’t a language they spoke in her nation of Zengland.

“My name is Lord Zayn Malik. You interrupted me in the forest, when I was about to savagely murder a random person. He had a wife and kids, you know, yet you sit there, clit perked in my direction.” He smirked in a racially-ambiguous manner. “I think we’re going to get along nicely, you morally bankrupt and emotionally-stunted fuckhole.”

Faë’s mouth fell open. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. But his use of “fuckhole” was intriguing. She wondered if he was bisexual.

“Not explicitly,” he replied sexily.

Faë’s mouth opened even more.

“That’s right, I can read minds, too.” He snapped his fingers and the irons that chained Faë to the ground vanished in a puff of imitation-vanilla scented sparkle-smoke. “Now, prepare yourself for a telekinetic orgasm.”

Golly gee! Faë hadn’t orgasmed since Bumfuck Farmboy gave her pussy’s lips mouth-to-mouth. When was that, over a year ago?

“Bumfuck has nothing on me,” Lord Zayn growled. His purple eyes flared and pupils dilated like feline’s. A masculine feline.

He growled again, and kept growling as he drew nearer, his boner visible in his tight, leather leggings. Faë was worried he had something in his throat, since he was growling so much. As it turned out, he did. He held up a finger, (adorned with black, chipped nail polish) and hacked out a ball of hair and bones. Faë gasped.

Unquestionably, those were the bones of the man she had tried to save in the forest. She could tell because there was a bite-mark in his skull, and her last memory was of the shadow-wolf-vampire gnawing on the man’s head before turning its attention to her.

Shane—I mean, Zayn—sighed. “I have to eat humans to survive.”

“I’m vegetarian.”

Lord Zayn touched her face tenderly. “Wow,” he said. “I am too! I don’t eat other animals, just humans. It’s like being pescatarian, but with manflesh. I also only eat grown men who had it comin’ because they are the least likely to garner sympathy.”

“That’s amazing,” Faë whispered. Her heart fluttered inside her chest like her wings, and Lord Zayn’s breath smelled like a minty, evergreen forest—better than the Midnight Spell candle.

His lips brushed against hers in a movement that would simply be bizarre in real-life, but accept it for the author’s purposes, please. Then his lips traveled to her ear, (not by themselves, his body didn’t detach like that. He was invincible, though). “Let’s get married and make shadow-babies,” he suggested, voice like velvet soaked in Josh Cabernet Sauvignon and chocolate syrup.

“How can I resist?” Faë closed her eyes and leaned in for the kiss. But before their tongues could perform the perfect waltz to the tune of a sped-up version of Johann Strauss II’s Rosen aus dem Süden/Lady Gaga’s Poker Face, Fae backed away. “Wait a minute—I’m a girlboss, not a tradwife!”

Lord Zayn blinked at her sudden outburst, his expression revealing pain before quickly recovering. His purple eyes winked. “Don’t worry, kitten,” he purred. “If we get hitched, you can do all the hard work of ruling the whole universe and committing genocide against various ugly fantasy races while I focus on my true passion, pretending I like to read bell hooks.”

Faë grasped his broad, muscular shoulders (he was shirtless) and smiled in relief. “You’re saying I can still be a palatable yet morally-ambiguous girlboss and live out my beauty-and-the-beast fantasy?”

“That’s right, my sweet little tiny itsy-bitsy-teeny-weenie bug-winged baby. You can have it all in Zengland.”

Then they fucked ‘til the cows came home!

✧༺♥༻∞The End ✧༺♥༻∞