#I want to be a mysterious wolf that lurks in the woods

[emovulture]

any other Therians that get a weird sense of envy when you see things like this?

[blingblong55]

Little red riding hood- König NSFW

Based on a request:

Can I ask for a werewolf König with red riding hood reader and maybe age gap if you’re comfortable with it? And knotting and breeding kink if that’s also allowed Red is a witch in this if that’s okay since it’s October ☺️.Red is in her 20’s while I think König if I’m reading it right, he’s like late 30’s? I could be wrong.Red follows the tale of the story, but what if in this one, Red and König knew each other? Like he was her guardian angel for her growing up, and they were like friends of being outcasts; König being the Big Bad Wolf and Red for her red hood and for being a witch, all because she lives out more in nature then in a village but is their only known healer so they tolerate her. They always say that wherever Red went, the Wolf followed as to make sure Red was never harmed, lurking in the woods. But then, a mysterious woodsman/huntsman appears in town; and he helps around. Goes into the woods to chop trees and hunt; but it is secretly König posing as a man as to avoid suspicion but to also get close to Red 👀 _____ F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, monster au, werewolf!könig, age gap, witch au, witch!reader, unprotected!sex, friends to lovers, P-in-V, breeding _____

A/N: It won't be as extensive as I wanted but I hope you enjoy and im sorry for posting this a day late

A small home in the woods, where a young witch lived, and a neighbour far away that became her friend. You and he became friends when he first introduced himself. Ever since, he has become your protector, friend and guidance. But with time, that sense of protecting you just because you were his friend changed. Infatuation for some. Love, respect and honesty for him. He wasn't normal, that was known and you weren't very much liked, that is a fact. But why don't you get the townspeople to pester you? You heal, and anyone in town sick comes to your small home for healing. No pharmacy in town, just the same old hospital and you. Yes it's true, while no one likes you, they respect you and your abilities to heal others.

It has taken time to get used to this newfound fame, but with König around to help and protect, life is great. And now as you made your way to the dark forest for another special herb for a healing session in the morning, you pulled the hood of your cloak on your head. The red material disguises you in the woods. This is perfect for the man who follows you like a shadow, a new stalker you swore was out to harm you. The dark magic protects you from it when it knows you don't know it. As it doesn't protect you from this mysterious creature, you begin to fasten your pace. König not with you this time scares you. "For the souls, help me," you whisper as you begin to sprint. A tree that you recognise in sight. "König," you remember and turn a sharp right, running towards the only haven besides your home.

Your wicker basket in hand, the plants and book moving with this quickened pace. You knock on his door, it takes time but when he opens it, he is in his human form. "König, there…there was a man- or thing…and-" you try to explain. His large form moves you inside, he smiles, knowing he has his precious thing with him now. "You're safe now, liebe," he whispers as he holds you in his arms. Your basket is now on the ground of his cabin, the cosy walls surrounding you both from the cold breeze and fog of the autumn season. The moon was almost full as it was the 30th of October, almost his time of turning. He pulls away and cups your face in his large hands, he chuckles to himself at this beautiful view. "Now, why don't you and I sit down and talk, ja?" And as time passes, he walks you home. Hallow Eve in the coming minutes, you with a journey to your grandma. He kisses your forehead and disappears in the night.

By morning, as you take your baked goods to the one lady who kept you sane, you see a lumberman, axe in hand as he walks through the woods. You stop in your tracks, as far as you are concerned, no one in town took trees down from your property. König at his home as you stared at his man. Figure more rougher than any man you've seen. Hallows hour is approaching soon, and your grandmother needs your protection at that time. You continued walking and then the man turned to you, scarecrow mask on, you know this wasn't normal. Everyone in town knew not to mess with you, for the man with the howls was behind when his precious girl came to town. With a hand on the dagger the old witch crafted, you never give this mysterious man your back as you walk past and before you make it to the sacred gardens, he chases you with the power most men can't possess.

König, you think of. He was not near, nowhere as near as this man posing as a noble lumberman. You can't drop the basket in fear that your potions and book will be stolen and used against yourself and the greater good of others. Three claw marks in a tree of where König left his mark. A haven, his home much closer as possible. The early morning fog made the ground nearly visible. "König!" you scream in hopes of having his ability to hear it all and listen to you. You run and run, the red cloak dancing with the wind like a willow tree.

Once you make it to him, you knock and knock, calling for him in desperation. It was the oldest trick in the book for dark, smart and in need-of-love wolves. To court and how to make it fast. "For heavens my Liebling, what's the matter?" he asks with a soft tone, breathing trying to slow down. "It happened again, but this…this time the man chased me with-…i..an axe and- well." He shakes his head, inside spirit smiling like the devil. "I'm here to protect you, my liebe," he kisses your forehead and acts as if he is determined to kill the man. The hoax is well done as he has you vulnerable and scared, all for him to use against you and kiss you and make you his finally. Your arms holding him close, he chuckles knowing that the woman he loves finds comfort in him. He kisses your forehead over and over, and guides you to his bedroom to, 'let you rest' but it's all part of his plan to make you, his.

They say to claim, is to leave a mark, and König intended to do just that. His scent on your red cloak, your dress and the basket you carried with care. His gaze softens, but his touch is rough as he lays you in bed. "Now, why don't I show you how good I can take care of you?" One nod from him and another from you has him removing the unnecessary clothes. There was something different in the atmosphere, he felt it and you know you can feel it too. "König, I-" you say but his finger flies to your lips. "Let me show you I care," his voice was still so soft but as time kept getting closer, that soft voice would turn to howls and hoarse words. He kisses you, you kiss him back, which he smiles to as he knows you feel the same way…finally. No longer does he have to lure you into his home, he can have you come here, willingly. The lumberman character is lost in the woods as he gets lost in you.

His hands are on your waist as with his thumb he lifts your dress, and you squirm. "It's okay, I won't hurt you, I want to please you," he tells you. You know it's not an empty word he ushers but honesty. Your body soon to be his, your love and devotion, written in time as his. His bulge, with a wet shadow as his pre-cum leaks from just this contact. You un-do his trousers, he looks down and then at you, "You want it that bad, don't you?" A devil smirk on him again. "I need it," you tell him. He pushes you deeper in the bed as his kisses become rough, trailing to your jaw and neck, he growls and time ticks. It's a countdown. Poets and other simple writers, all authoring about a woman in a red cloak, afraid of the big bad wolf, to have it debunked by you and him. Covered in lust and deep in love. His cock is ready to pump you full of his seed. He needs to breed your pretty pussy that drips the taste of heaven. Your hands fly to his back, he lets out a groan.

"That's it, baby, mark me," his hands fly to your cunt, fingers it and licks his fingers after. "Just like I predicted, heaven from you," he kisses you once more, this time so you can taste glory. His cock, in a desperate need to fuck itself into you, slowly lets his tip in. You moan, he was big, thick and already so red and swollen for you. Seconds pass and now, as his werewolf self comes to play with his prey, his heavy cock spreads you open. You whimper and cry. "That's right darling, keep making those pretty noises for me," he kisses you, and you moan into it. His large hands on you, claiming every last bit of you as his. His thrusts are like this form of himself, animalistic and wild. Your body and his, in unity, as he claims that cunt of yours. Your clit, rubbed by his large hands, your eyes rolling back. Thrusts so good it turns you into a blabbering mess. His dark laugh melts you, he loves this view of you.

Your orgasm building up, your pussy wrapping around him like a perfect glove. He groans and grunts. It was art for what sex can be. To have your cunt, spread and filled with his fat cock, it was art. Your hands, marking his back, he lets out a growl, his beast cannines on view. "Don't. Fucking. Stop." He adores how he claims you and you do him. His hands fly to your neck as he chokes you and as his moans and grunts fill the gap between you and him. And just as you were already riding your high, you feel him, his cock grow within you, creating a nest inside of you. The art of sex and knotting your mate, a plan he knew all too well. Your eyes leak with tears, tears he helped create as he proves to you, that love is not emotional at times but physical. His cum, leaking from your cunt that was already filled to the brim. "You like it when I breed you like that?" This is a not-so-innocent question that will be asked throughout this relationship. "You like it, I know my little whore does," eh kisses you, and thrusts slowly as he plans on keeping his cock in you for some more time.

A/N: I apologise if this wasn't good or how it was requested...sorry

Tags:

@bigtimesalt8196 @alxexhearts @kit-kats06 @greatstormcat @crimson404deer @liyanahelena @sleepydang @arithestrawberry @l0calfatherfiiigure @sigrid666 @killshotcodxxx @potatoknight @scarletevening @elowynnlane @brazen-haze @rinsworld @briefartnaturewolf @rnangoes @ess-perspective-blog @jihyowl

[dandelion-network]

"Because dead things felt only love for the universe." A dreamy, doom fanmix dedicated to Jeff VanderMeer's Dead Astronauts.

i. ivixor b / phase inducer - electric wizard // ii. white stork - bossk // iii. ekpyrotic - the otolith // iv. the screen - yob // v. the shooting star - gojira // vi. souvlaki space station - slowdive // vii. moon in your mouth - goldfrapp // viii. ptolemaea - ethel cain // ix. evaporate - a.a. williams // x. feather - windhand // xi. fight like gods - chelsea wolfe // xii. marked for death - emma ruth rundle // xiii. drag me into the woods - holy fawn // xiv. the things they believe - loathe, john waug // xv. and, we disappear - alaskan tapes.

i. ivixor b / phase inducer - electric wizard : I chose an instrumental as the first song in this mix and this specific song because it emulates the feeling of traversing a desert wasteland, similar to the astronauts' odyssey heading toward the Company during the first part of the book. There are radio signals and warbbing-like sounds along with unintelligible speech in the background that remind me of the original Star Trek where there'd be random 'scifi' noises.

ii. white stork - bossk : Another instrumental track. While Ivixor B / Phase Inducer felt more passive to me, almost a song that would assist setting the vibe of the story's landscape, White Stork for me is the song of desert's active mystery and signs of hostility. It hasn't asserted itself yet, but there's a kind of danger lurking as the story progresses.

iii. ekpyrotic - the otolith : I consider this song to be the theme of all the living beings in either opposition to the Company or those separate from the dichotomy of friend and foe. The foxes are the first that came to mind when listening to this song. The subject of the song is the interconnectedness of all living beings and rebirth, along with the inherent power of being one's true self that cannot be contained. [Lyrics]

iv. the screen - yob : This song represents confrontation, violence between the astronauts and their other selves, the dark bird, the behemoth. An ancient battle forever taking place. It also makes me think of the horror Charlie X experienced during his time with the Company. It's his pain, the pain he inflicts, his need to please what he and the Company demand of him. There's almost this ancient rite he performs when constructing his creations. And of course, the violence done upon the foxes by man. [Lyrics]

v. the shooting star - gojira : This is thee theme for the astronauts - Grayson, Moss, and Chen -, the song that represents not only their mission or their struggles as they fight to succeed, but also their connection with one another. I think of the last four bars of the song: everlasting-love is ever-growing / hang on to what you have and let it grow / everlasting-love is ever-dying / it's in the past, you have to let it go. [Lyrics]

vi. souvlaki space station - slowdive : This song brings more of the dreamy, abstract imagery that I experienced when reading the book. it reflects more of the subdued moments in the story. There's a refusal in the song to confront someone. It feels like the disconnection between the astronauts and Charlie X. [Lyrics]

vii. moon in your mouth - goldfrapp : The astronauts love each other. Moss cares so much for Chen, Chen cares so much for Moss, Grayson cares so much for Moss and Chen, and they for her. I wanted to celebrate that while also moving away from the confrontational sounds and lyrics of the earlier tracks. Because of the lighter note, you can think of this song as something from the very beginning of their mission, before trials, before the violence really took hold. Maybe even when they still had Charlie X. [Lyrics]

viii. ptolemaea - ethel cain : We're back at the Company and Charlie X surviving his father. That's really what this is, it's the section of the book where we really learn what Charlie X has done and what has been done to him by his father, by the Company: you poor thing / sweet mourning lamb / there's nothing you can do / it's already been done. The one of the scariest parts of the story. [Lyrics]

ix. evaporate - a.a. williams : It's the general sense of despair. The despair in moments of fear, violence, pain. Uncertainty really. Might seem like a throwaway because I don't have that much to say about it, but I know it feels Right to include. A lot of characters harm themselves, either by their own hand or they put themselves in harm's way. [Lyrics]

x. feather - windhand : We're returning to sounds that remind me of the wasteland again. Could be viewed as despair but I see it as acceptance of what must be done. There's something about it that reminds me most of the blue fox. The sense of knowing that is to come, what has come. [Lyrics]

xi. fight like gods - chelsea wolfe : The closest songs I can find right now that reminds me of the foxes, but the blue fox specifically. The violence upon them frightening like the violence upon Charlie X - moreso even. Turned to retribution, to revolution, to revenge. Oh did they fight like gods. [Lyrics]

xii. marked for death - emma ruth rundle : Another love song, in all the ways to define love. For Moss and Chen. For Moss and Grayson. For Charlie X and the dark bird. For the blue fox and the foxes, the blue fox and perhaps the Strange Bird; for the Strange Bird and... Who will be there when you are dying, when you are dead, when you are going to die. [Lyrics]

xiii. drag me into the woods - holy fawn : I am reminded most of the transformations and changes and alterations the characters go through. Less of a violence and more of the enviably of it? The awareness of it. The changes that happen not so much out of violence but from a place of love or the natural order of things. [Lyrics]

xiv. the things they believe - loathe, john waug : The instrumentals have returned. Some loose ends aren't so loose anymore. Some things make some sense. It's that dreamy landscape again. The dust settling in its own way. A respite from what we've been through.

xv. and, we disappear - alaskan tapes : "We will always be there. Even before we know you. Even after we've known you. Even then. And, finally, she was free."

[lifeonstar]

Them Bones

Pairing: Leopika

Summary: Leorio is adopted by the Kurta clan, against the wishes of the Kurta clan.

(1/7)

1. The boy

The elders of the village had been angry when the old apothecary brought 'the boy' with him.

In fact, the outrage seemed to be contagious for the rest of the members, and that did not leave out the children.The kids that Kurapika and Pairo had been playing with for as long as they could remember, whispered about it with the exact same condescending tone that their parents used.

One of them, Kaparo, who perceived himself as a leader for being a few months older than the rest, claimed to have seen 'the boy' outside the old apothecary's cabin. Kaparo said that his limbs were thin and long and that his eyes were expressionless. It was different, he said, like a big, hollow monster. He claimed that 'the boy' did not even resemble the common people of Lukso whom they saw very occasionally.

"Dad said outsiders can't be trusted because outsiders can't communicate through their eyes like we do" the kid had said, happy to be the center of attention.

There were six children of the same generation sitting in a circle in the most wooded part of the village, an old kerosene lamp was in the middle, lit at its dimmest level to set a horror story that this time was real.

"That's true" answered Patki, the little redhead trembled slightly "How do you know what that person is feeling if their eyes aren't able to communicate it?"

"How will we know if he's angry? If he's happy? Or if he likes us?" Oruki asked between whispers while looking to the sides, as if he wanted to make sure that 'the boy' was not there, lurking between the bushes.

"What if he fools all of us into thinking he likes us and hurts us?" Bokit questioned, noticeably concerned.

The air became tense, the children looking around with the same terror that their parents had inspired. Kurapika didn't see the problem, nor what made this situation so special.A child is just a child, just like them.

"Maybe the apothecary adopted him because he wanted to have a child" this time it was Pairo's voice that cut the silence.

Kaparo shook his head; "The apothecary is over a hundred years old, the elderly cannot have children"

"It's true" Patki whispered.

"A person from outside our tribe shouldn't come in. It's like putting a wolf in the sheep pen," Kaparo continued, making a proud face, probably because his metaphor hadn't been as arse as it usually was.

Kurapika smiled back.

"You say that we are weak like sheep?" Five pairs of eyes turned to see him, Kaparo's eyes had a spark that Kurapika knew well. The red spark of anger.

"I didn't say that, it's just an expression" the other boy stated.

"I doubt that a malnourished child who can't communicate with his eyes is a worthy opponent" Kurapika counterattacked "He shouldn't even understand what we say"

"However, no one will go near him" Kaparo sentenced.

On ordinary days, that 'command' would have been directly disobeyed and Kurapika would have personally gone to the apothecary's house to see 'the boy'. But these weren't ordinary days, not since the accident that had damaged Pairo's eyes, since that day there had been no curiosity that could overcome his need to accompany his friend home, to see that he was okay, to see that he didn't get discouraged when he realized that he could not do the same things he did before because his eyes no longer allowed him to.

He could not play, or run, or jump into the lake from the big rock on days when the heat was overwhelming. The others were still doing all that, they were still the same as always, but he and Kurapika weren't.

This was the first of many times that Kurapika would thank that mysterious 'boy'. Thanks to him, his friends had kept still in an activity that Pairo could follow with enthusiasm: listening and speaking. At least until they could operate on their eyes.The apothecary was going to cure him, the same old apothecary who was now embroiled in controversy for adopting a foreign child was going to repair Pairo's eyes. He said that he just needed time to study how to do it, to be able to carry out his recovery in a good way.

Kurapika was curious about that strange foreign creature that filled the nightmares of children and adults as if it were death personified. But not so much curiosity as concern for Pairo, so he relegated the desire to investigate to a little corner of his head, piled between the to-do list and the responsibilities of being eleven years old.

And without thinking much more, he took his best friend to his house.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4.5/5

Book Blurb: From the author of New York Times bestseller House of Hollow comes a darkly seductive witchy thriller where, though both men and demons lurk in shadows, girls refuse to go quietly into the night.

Three girls, one supernatural killer on the loose . . .

Zara Jones believes in magic because the alternative is too painful to consider—that her murdered sister is gone forever and there is nothing she can do about it. Rather than grieving and moving on, Zara decides she will do whatever it takes to claw her sister back from the grave—even trading in the occult.

Jude Wolf may be the daughter of a billionaire, but she is also undeniably cursed. After a deal with a demon went horribly wrong, her soul has been slowly turning necrotic. It’s a miserable existence marred by pain, sickness, and monstrous things that taunt her in the night. Now that she’s glimpsed what’s beyond the veil, Jude’s desperate to find someone to undo the damage she’s done to herself.

Enter Emer Byrne, an orphaned witch with a dark past and a deadly power, a.k.a. the solution to both Zara’s and Jude’s problems. Though Emer lives a hardscrabble life, she gives away her most valuable asset—her invocations��to women in desperate situations who are willing to sacrifice a piece of their soul in exchange for a scrap of power. Zara and Jude are willing, but they first have to find Emer.

When Emer’s clients start turning up dead all over London, a vital clue leads Zara and Jude right to her. If a serial killer is targeting her clients, Emer wants to know why—and to stop them. She strikes a tenuous alliance with Zara and Jude to hunt a killer before they are next on his list, even if she can’t give them in return what Zara and Jude want most: a sister and a soul.

Review:

Three girls, a supernatural killer, and deals with demons, Emer Byrne is an orphaned witch, on the run trying to find the murderer who killed 19 members of her family, she's near feral, having spent years living in the woods but is determined to hunt down the killer. Jude Wolf is the daughter of a billionaire... except she lives in exile due to the fact that she might have accidentally made a deal with a demon and she has no clue what she's doing only that its slowly rotting her away, all the money in the world and she's willing to do anything to find a witch to help her. Zara Jones believes that she can find a way to bring back her murdered sister, and if she can just find a way to use magic then she can bring her sister back from the dead. All three girls find their paths converging when both Zara and Jude need a witch... and Emer just happens to be the perfect one for them... yet a supernatural killer is hunting down witches and women who have made deals with demons and now Jude is becoming the target. Can they figure out who the killer is before he comes after them or will they be next? This was such an interesting read, it nails the supernatural mystery so well and the distinct voices between the three protagonist was great. I loved Emer the most, she just had my heart and I can't wait to see (if there is a next book) the things in store for her. I loved the deal with a demon aspect and the way magic was used. Emer has been in survival mode ever since her family was murdered, she's good at hiding and blending in and I loved seeing her open herself up to having friends after everything she's been through. Jude has her entire life turned upside down and she craves love and acceptance from her family, she might have all the money in the world but she's still lonely and aches for real connections. Zara is in denial about her sister's death, she doesn't want to admit that she's gone and is willing to go as far as possible to get her back... yet sometimes you have to learn to let go. It's such a fun story and I would definitely recommend it!!

*Thanks Netgalley and PENGUIN GROUP Penguin Young Readers Group, Nancy Paulsen Books for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[wolfboy88]

💫🤲💌 (i meant to send this the other day, kept getting interrupted as i was trying to find the right emojis and then forgot, and just randomly remembered now so i scrolled back to find it again 😅)

All good and I completely understand :)

💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

I love all types of comments and feedback. They are so appreciated. But I really love when they mention certain things, phrases, etc that they liked. @thiamsxbitch always leaves the best and most loveliest comments 💜

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

Well, I guess it started out as a way for me to be creative and to get things out of my head when I was younger, but it’s grown into a hobby that I love so much and try to make time for it every day, even if it’s just for a little bit and even if it's just me reading or organisng my notes. I would say during the covid lockdowns and when I rewatched teen wolf again is when it truly took off.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Oh, well, I’m really close to finishing the first chapter of Don’t Blame Me, Love Made Me Crazy - the dark thiam S6B retelling which is becoming more like a canon divergent fic with where I want to take it and I'm really looking forward to writing a chaptered fic and sharing it with you all.

So, I'm gonna leave this excerpt here. It's the opening few paragraphs:

Liam can’t explain the strange elation he feels when sees Theo again after the demise of the Ghost Hunters and the Wild Hunt. Nor can he explain the strange pride he feels at Theo’s help. He’s not sure why he cares so much. Maybe it’s because they’ve always had a bond or maybe it’s because he resurrected the big bad chimera from the depths of his own hell, and he told his alpha that Theo is responsibility.

Liam finds Theo lurking in the shadows of the hospital waiting room, where most of the pack have regrouped. The chimera’s filthy and bloody, clothes shredded, sporting a half-smirk that both irritates and excites him. And when Theo’s eyes flicker to his, Liam’s whole body judders. Theo may be the pack’s enemy, but Liam trusts the wayward chimera and maybe that’s why he asks Theo for a lift home and not because he's seeking Theo's comfort.

The car ride back to Liam’s place is quiet but not uncomfortable. Theo’s presence is welcomed by his wolf yet still a mystery for Liam to solve. Admittedly, if Liam’s being honest, he’s always felt a strong a pull towards Theo, even before he resurrected Theo without permission. The night he blindly followed Stiles into the woods to aid in spying on Theo was the night his wolf’s connection to the chimera truly awakened and Liam, well, he’s been burning with curiosity ever since.

Theo is an enigma. He’s dangerous and malicious and not to mention a murderer and he’s addicted. The chimera awakens long hidden desires the pack would take offense to if they ever found out, and Liam, well, he never said he is entirely innocent.

[alterncs]

✸ MARS CULLHEIM, 24, werewolf/shapeshifter, body littered with old scars from being rough with her packmates

TW: death, mention of mauling but nothing too graphic

The moon was rising as Mars exited the employee locker room of the amusement park, changing into her street clothes. Her enhanced senses could already feel its pull, the wolf within straining against her human skin.

She had to work the late shift tonight, keeping an eye on stragglers as the park closed down. It was a struggle every full moon, but the pack needed this income & the job helped burn off some of her restless energy.

Still, her father's news weighed heavily. Another hiker found dead in the preserve - and one of their own suspected. As the Alpha's daughter and heir to lead the pack, it fell to Mars to investigate quietly. If the killer was indeed one of the pack, she would deal with them herself.

Her enhanced hearing caught a muttered slur as she passed a group of customers. “Can't you hurry it up? Useless,” Mars stiffened, claws flexing in her gloves as the wolf snarled for release, wanting to rip the man’s face off but she couldn't afford to blow her cover, for the pack's sake. With visible effort, she continued on, locking her fury away until the moonrise.

After her shift, Mars headed back to the pack territory, making a mental note to pay a visit to the suspect and get to the bottom of this. For now, she had a job to do - and humans to protect, whether they knew it or not. The night was young and the moon's call was rising. Almost time to hunt.

With wavy blonde hair and piercing brown eyes, Mars carried an air of strength and determination. Her lineage as the alpha's daughter bestowed upon her a sense of responsibility, a duty to protect her pack from the dangers that lurked beyond their peaceful community.

The pack had lived peacefully on the outskirts of town for generations, keeping their lycan nature secret from human eyes but now it seemed their cover was at risk of being blown.

Nestled in a small town near the woods, far removed from the bustling city, the pack had found solace in their harmonious existence. However, their idyllic haven would soon be disrupted by a series of mysterious deaths.

When word came of hikers mauled in the woods, the authorities wasted no time clamping down on ‘wild animal threats’. Overnight the forest became off-limits, the pack’s training grounds cut off just as the moon called young ones to learn control.

Tension was rising to a breaking point when Alpha Cullheim called his daughter Mars to his side. “Scent leads me to believe one of ours turned under the moon's madness. I need you to shadow Orion, see if he shows signs of being the killer,”

It was a well-known fact that werewolves tended to lash out and crave the thrill of the hunt during the lunar cycle.

Mars nodded, though the request troubled her. To accuse a packmate was a grave thing, but the safety of all depended on the truth. That night as the moon rose, she tracked Orion’s movements under its pale light.

At first all seemed normal - he patrolled borders as always. But when the moon reached its apex, Orion began to change. His footsteps led him to the scene of the mauling & there he paced, claws unsheathed, as if reliving old urges.

In response to the horrifying incidents, security around the town and its surrounding woods was drastically heightened, much to the dismay of the pack.

The increased vigilance meant that the young werewolves could no longer receive the necessary training in controlling their wolf blood within the woods. The once serene atmosphere began to crack under the weight of tension, as paranoia seeped into the hearts of the townspeople.

Mars found herself torn between loyalty to her pack and the need for justice. She understood the gravity of the situation, the dire consequences that could befall their peaceful existence if the true culprit was not brought to light.

[queenofdragons12]

Frozen Bonds | Trolltider

In the dark and mysterious realm of your imagination, the concept of trolls had never been something you took seriously. Of course, there was always the possibility that they existed in the shadows, lurking somewhere in the periphery of your consciousness. Who really knew for sure? One thing, however, was crystal clear in your mind – humans had to be eradicated. They were just one of the five races, yes, but after being confined too often in cages, trust in any human was a luxury you could no longer afford.

Yet, fate has a way of playing tricks on even the most resolute minds. Your conviction was tested when a little girl came darting through the forest, her cries for help echoing through the trees. In that moment, you found yourself at a crossroads, torn between the ingrained fear of humans and the innate desire to extend a helping hand.

The air was thick with uncertainty as you grappled with conflicting emotions. Could you overcome the deep-seated mistrust that had taken root in your soul, or would you let the past dictate your actions? The girl's desperate pleas reverberated in the stillness of the woods, challenging the very essence of your beliefs.

Perhaps, in that pivotal moment, you realized that the boundaries between races weren't as rigid as you once thought. The line between predator and prey, human and troll, blurred in the face of shared vulnerability. As the girl approached, you felt the weight of a decision hanging heavy in the air, a decision that could redefine not only your perception of humanity but also the course of your own destiny.

"Help, please!" she cried, and you growled under your breath. "Snowfall, what are you waiting for?" your younger sister, Fanneløv, sputtered. "I don't want to attack, Fanneløv. You can't force me," you snarled back, swatting your tail in frustration. Your sister shook her head and leaped from the trees.

You jumped when a horde of other wolves followed. These weren't from your pack; they were larger, stronger, and all had sleek black fur that shimmered in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

"Take the human child!" one of them bellowed in a deep, guttural voice that reverberated through the entire forest. The child screamed and ran the other way, but the wolves from the woods were quicker. Soon, a large male pinned her down, growling low.

The tension in the air was palpable, a clash between loyalty to your own principles and the instinct to protect the helpless. Fanneløv shot you a glance, a silent plea to intervene. The moral dilemma gnawed at you as the scene unfolded before you.

In that critical moment, you had to decide whether to defy the instincts that had been ingrained in you or to stand firm against the encroaching threat. The girl's desperate cries echoed through the forest, painting a vivid picture of vulnerability and fear. The black-coated wolves seemed relentless in their pursuit, imposing a challenge that demanded either acquiescence or defiance.

As the drama played out, you found yourself at a crossroads, a moment that would define not only your identity but also the intricate balance between the wild and the humane within you.

"Let her be!" shouted another little child, hurling themselves toward the male wolf. However, he merely swatted them away with a paw, and one of his comrades pinned the child down. "Pateksuie troll, you have no right to come here and dictate to us," snarled a gray-toned she-wolf, her teeth bared. You sighed and approached calmly.

"Let them go," you said, and both wolves hesitated. "Snowfall," grumbled a smaller male, sneaking his head forward. You ignored him. "I said let them go." You growled again, meeting the gaze of the alpha wolf and his mate who just stared back at you.

"You may be the alpha's daughter, Snowfall, but you're not our leader. Go back to the ice," snarled the alpha. The tension hung in the air, a battle of wills between the hierarchical structure of the pack and the innate sense of justice within you. As you stood your ground, it became evident that the dynamics of power were shifting, and your actions would determine not only the fate of the human child and the little defender but also the delicate balance within the wolf pack.

"Please, we don't want to capture you," whimpered the little girl. "We just want to find my dad." You stared down at her and inquired, "And where is this father of yours?" She hesitated, then spoke, "He… he was captured by stone trolls and taken to the Black Mountain. Please, I need him." Tears welled up in her eyes, and a wave of empathy surged through you. You sighed and swished your tail.

"Let them go. I'll say it one more time," you declared. The alpha wolf snarled, but he lifted his paw, and the boy helped the girl back onto her feet. "Thank you, white wolf. We won't forget this," the child expressed gratitude.

"No need. Just don't enter the wolves' forest again," you said, dipping your head. With that, you and your pack, along with the black wolves from the north, swiftly retreated, leaving behind a tense encounter that had tested the boundaries of both compassion and dominance in the heart of the enchanted forest.

"Maybe, Dad, if we help them, we could improve our relations!" you suggested to your father, who sat proudly on the golden throne. "Snowfall, you know very well that Gorm of the trolls won't allow it. He despises wolves," your father, Blackmuzze, replied sternly. You sighed and flopped down. "For once, I just want peace," you grumbled, and your sister snorted, "You always want peace, dear sister. You're no true wolf; you're just a pacifist." She then ran out of the clearing, and a significant portion of your wolves followed her. You sighed again. Times were no longer at their best.

The scent in the air was as potent as that of a wounded deer unaware of its impending demise. You sighed, quickening your pace, and soon you stumbled upon Black Mountain, sending shivers down your spine. Now or never, you thought and trotted faster into the cavern. The air reeked of mildew and decaying fungi. Moss and various fungi clung to the stone walls, and you halted abruptly when you spotted a colossal troll, petrified in the midst of this eerie landscape. "Mountain troll," you muttered, scanning the surroundings. There were no stone trolls in sight, no servants either. Strange.

You ventured deeper into the heart of the mountain, and soon, you discovered a dark cavern. The scent of humans wafted from it like pus from a poisoned wound. Intrigued and cautious, you approached, the darkness swallowing you as you delved further into the mountain's bowels.

The human jumped when you entered, and you rested your head on your paws. "What is a human like you doing deep in the heart of the mountain?" you inquired, settling down with your tail draped over your front paws. "I-I have the formula that can break the amber," he said softly, and you hummed in acknowledgment. "A golden stone, huh? It seems there's more to this forest than we thought. I am Snowfall, and you must be the pungent human I've been tracking."

"Gustav," he introduced himself, and you nodded. "I know scents reveal more than you think," you remarked. Rising to your feet, you scratched at the lock, but it didn't budge. "Hmmm," you circled the cage twice before finally detecting metal amidst the decaying items within. Standing on your hind legs, you retrieved a small key from a hanging and inserted it into the lock.

"How can you use a key?" Gustav asked, clearly puzzled. "I've been among humans before. They captured me once and took me to a circus for entertainment or something. I don't know. I got tips from an elephant about turning a key in the hole, and the door opened," you explained matter-of-factly.

"I—I don't know what to say," stammered Gustav, and you snorted before opening the cage door. "Come on, I'm sure some stone trolls will notice me here soon," you said, ushering Gustav out, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[kayleerowena]

so i’ve loved every piece of media i’ve found through you. what are your favorite podcasts?

ooh, very good question!! i'm pretty behind on podcasts right now, but here's some i've been enjoying / enjoyed in the past! lmk if you want some nonfiction recs too; i went for just fiction here just to keep it a semi-reasonable length, but ive got lotsa nonfiction recs as well

mabel (fantasy/horror, ongoing but on hiatus) — a caretaker named anna moves into an isolated house to take care of an old woman. she starts leaving voicemails for the woman's granddaughter, mabel. there's ghost stuff and lesbian stuff and fae stuff and houses that are alive, and it has wonderfully poetic writing, and the creators are super cool!

wolf 359 (sci fi, completed as of a few yrs ago) — a spaceship orbiting a distant star starts picking up on strange music transmissions, and also: toothpaste-based mutinies, plant monsters, mad science, doppelgangers, explosions, and a really cool spaceship ai who i am in love with!

woe.begone (horror, ongoing and updating weekly!) — mike walters starts playing a mysterious online game called woe.begone. it turns out to be, like, super deadly. [mild spoiler] he cuts his own arm off in EPISODE TWO. really funny narration even in the midst of super horrifying events. did i mention theres also time travel

greater boston (urban fantasy? idk. ongoing, on hiatus) — it's ghosts, baby! but mostly in a less literal way! but sometimes actual ghosts! starts off with this guy, leon, dying. this is not a spoiler, it's literally the basis of everything else that happens in the show, bc it follows all the different chain reactions set off by this one guy's death. also a really good example of setting playing a huge part in a story, which, if you follow me, you probably know that's something i adore!! it's so grounded in boston in a way that really delights me! 10/10, super cool podcast

friends at the table (ttrpg actual play, fantasy + sci fi + horror, depending on the season) — ok, i've only listened to marielda and part of sangfielle so far, but it's real good. i feel like everyone probably knows abt fatt already, but it consistently has some of the best worldbuilding i've heard and the stories they tell are super fun! i started with marielda and i'd say that's a neat place to start if you like fantasy, or start with sangfielle if you like horror.

old gods of appalachia (horror) — anthology series of horror stories set in appalachia, told by appalachian creators! cryptids and monsters and witches and eldritch horrors and other things that lurk in the woods and the mountains and the mines!

there's a pretty wide range of genres/vibes here, so i hope you like at least some of em! feel free to come back and let me know what you think!!

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Can I place an order for Yandere Geralt de Rivia with the kind and loving reader who sees the best in people?

Yes lemme cook something up for our mans Geralt⚔️

Geralt of Rivia x reader - Full Moon on the Rise

Summary: You’ve never felt actual hate for others, you can’t even bring yourself to hurt a fly, and with Geralt, he’ll make sure you never have to.

Warning: a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective Geralt

Masterlist

“So what do you think? The green cloak or the black one....ohhh or maybe the red one?” You ask excitedly as Geralt stands next to you, looking around for any potential threats more then actually paying any real attention, “I mean, the green matches more with the woods, you know trees n’ such and that’s great for blending in. But the black gives off those scary vibes you have. But the dark red one just looks so good, and comfy too.” You raise a brow as he nods, “You know.”

“Right.”

You smile at his adorably lack luster reply, it’s just how he is and that’s perfectly fine with you, “I’m going with the dark red cloak.” You grin with a curt nod of self approval for your knowledgeable decision making skills.

Turning to the cloak vendor you hold up your prize, “Good evening ma’am, how much for this mysterious beauty?”

The old woman smiles brightly, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as she beams, quite excited to have some business with you, “Oh, my dear that’ll be five silver pieces.” You nod, tucking your new cloak under your arm as you nudge Geralt for some coin.

He quickly snaps his head over to you, his golden irises showing concern before he realizes you’re completely fine, “Y/N what is it?”

With a small giggle you make a grabby motion with your hand, “Spare me five silver pieces my good sir.” You muse with a mischievous brow wiggle, earning an amused huff from your Witcher.

He politely grins, “Whatever the lady asks.” Feeling around he pulls out the exact amount of coin you need. Your palm is spread as he tilts his hand into yours, conveniently giving you the coin.

“Thank you my love.” You whisper softy as he simply hands you the flash of a smile before turning his head to scour the market place once again.

The old woman opens up a small sack of coins for you to dump yours in, “Thank ya dear, have a save eve’nin.”

Clink. Sounds the last silver piece as you hold your new dirt-less red cloak closer in your arm, “You too.”

She suddenly leans in a bit closer, her face going serious, “Best keep that Witcher close, never know what kind of beasts be lurking in the woods. Specially with the next full moons a com’in.” Her wrinkly complexion turning back into her original beaming old lady face, “Have a nice stay in Bellepav.”

Stepping away you nervously nod, “Uh, yes....I’ll try?” You reply, not certain if you should be concerned or ignore the weirdness of the locals.

Deciding to ignore the strange behavior of the kind old woman, you flash her a last generous grin before turning on your heel and walking over to Geralt. With the familiar sound of your approaching footsteps he turns an intrigued eye over to you.

His brows furrowing as you gently lay a hand on his arm, “You alright Y/N.” He worries, noticing the slight wariness in your step.

Lightly squeezing his forearm you send him a reassuring smile, “Of course, that old woman was just acting odd. Well not that odd, I’ve definitely seen weirder....she just had a strange look when she told me to keep you close and watch out for the next full moon.”

He moves to take your cloak from you, quietly swinging the thick comfortable dark red fabric around your shoulders, clasping the lock together that keeps the material from falling off your body.

After he’s done, does his beautiful golden eyes find your alluring ones, “Y/N, we’ll be fine. I wouldn’t dare let a soul touch you, you have my word.”

Reaching up to gently cup his scruffy cheek, you smirk, “I know you do.” Releasing your warm touch from his face do you turn towards the bakers cart, the smell of fresh bread wafting into your nostrils.

“Geralt!” You exclaim with an excited twinkle in your eyes, “Fresh bread....” Your skilled eyes land upon the shiny red apples displayed about on the stall, “Apples! Ugh, I haven’t had an actual apple in almost four months, what I would do for one.”

Your eyes stare dreamily at the bakers cart, your mouth watering at the smell and sight of the desired foods. Geralt chuckles at your adorable reaction before tugging at your arm. “Come on Y/N, I’ll get you something.” Speaks your kind Witcher with a tinge of humor in his gravely voice.

Snapping your head towards him, your eyes going wide in excitement, “Aww yes!” You shout before pulling him in the direction of the cart, joy flowing through your heart as you make hasty steps across the market place.

The red apples are even more beautiful then you’d first seen as you stand ogling them from your spot in the muddy lane, “Sir I’d like three apples and a loaf of that bread please.” You ask, your voice sweet as honey.

He nods, “That’ll be two silver pieces and a copper cent.” Inquires the baker with a friendly smile, casually looking you up and down though you’re to focused on the apples to even notice his slight creepiness.

Geralt does and immediately steps forward, his broad leather armored shoulder placing itself in between you and the lonely baker. His golden irises dark and deadly as he stares down the now noticeably frightened man.

The baker takes a step back, sending him a shy half grin, “Uh...I’ll get those apples...and uh...loaf of br-bread.” He stutteres, dropped his eyes to nothing else but his new task at hand.

You watch from behind Geralt’s strong body, your mind on those big beautiful apples as Geralt fishes out the coin, dropping it atop the wooden table as the baker hands him the loaf and a small bag filled with three juicy red apples.

A smile breaks out upon your face as Geralt hands you the food, you gratefully accept as he turns and practically death glares at the stunned baker, who’s notably averted his gaze to his fluffy loaves of bread.

Geralt turns back around to watch as you hug your valuables close, a small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips at your obliviously cute demeanor.

Resting a hand on your shoulder he finds your beaming eyes, “Lets go find Roach.”

You gasp, “I bet Roach would love one of these big beautiful bastards.” Earning a chuckle from your silver haired lover as he walks by your side on the way to the front entrance of the small village.

You both wander past some more harmless villagers going about their business until a small dirty little boy races past the two of you, tripping over his own two feet and just like that does he abruptly fall into the dirt. His hands landing with a thwack sound as his stomach and knees reach the hard ground.

He lets out a pained cry once his chin hits the earth, you don’t have time to think before you’ve crouched by his side like a concerned mother. You gently touch his shoulder as he sniffles, his dirt smudged face turning to you.

“That was quite the tumble, are you alright?” His big brown eyes are filled with unshed tears as he moves into a seated position, his hands clutched tight against his chest as he holds in the pain.

“Y-yes.....sorry miss I should have been looking were I was going.” He mutters, his eyes downcast as he avoids Geralt’s hard gaze from right next to you.

Your eyes turn soft before you take one of your red apples from out of your thin ruck sack, “I have just the thing that would cheer you up, ever taste something as colorful as this crimson beauty?” You add with a raise of your brow, the young boy sniffles again. His face lighting up as you wave the shining red apple across his line of sight.

You smile, handing him the scarlet treat, “I think you need this more then me. Maybe it’ll sharped those senses so you won’t fall again, hmm.”

He holds the valuable in his small grubby fingers, his eyes wide in surprised wonder, “Th-thank you miss, I’ll try and not fall again.”

You breath out an amused snort, “Yes, I wouldn’t want to land on these streets again, considering horses are ridden through them daily.” The brown eyed boy gives you the shyest of smiles before you stand to your full height once again.

“Safe travels.” You add with a friendly wink before continuing on your way out of the village, Geralt trailing after you like the ever loyal lover that he is.

His large form keeps comfortably at your side, “That was our apple Y/N.” States Geralt in his titular gruff Witcher voice.

Turning an amused smirk to him, you nudge his arm, “Great observation, but the little beast seemed to need it more...poor thing just about face planted in the street. Did look quite painful.”

Geralt smiles, always bemused by your kind intellect, “Y/N you are too kind.”

Walking past the front gates and down the muddy village trail you let out a small laugh, “What? Can I not give a little, if you haven’t noticed my White Wolf...this world doesn’t like to be very kind to the innocent most times.” He hums in agreement, “So you see, I’ll do whatever I can to help those who need it most. And if that’s a clumsy child with a dirty face, I’ll be glad to make their day better.”

You can’t see it, but Geralt’s heart could just about explode with how much love he has for you in this very moment, the way you speak with such care and kindness for the people of the continent. He’s never met anyone like you, through it all, with all you’ve seen, your heart still goes out for the ones who need it the most and Geralt knows this. 

Your whole aurora feels light and warm, excitement courses through your vessel as you think of how happy Roach is going to be once she gets a taste of your delicious apple. And especially how much you’re looking forward to taking a bite out of your own crispy red apple too. It’s the little things.

Boots press into mud as you finally find your way to the small stream where you both left Roach to nibble on some vegetation. You quickly set your loaf of bread onto a mossy log before reaching in your thin ruck sack to pull out one beautifully shiny crimson apple.

“Hello my dear Roach!” You exclaim happily as the mare neighs, “I’ve got a lil somethin’ for ya, it’s a...da da da daaaa....apple!” Geralt chuckles to himself in the background as he fumbles around in his black traveling bag, finding something to sharpen his sword with.

“How bout’ them apples..” you burst with laughter at your admittedly cheesy jest, “Okay, okay...here ya go Roach. A prize for the best lady in all the land.” Her head bobs up and down as you bring the red apple near her face. She quickly devours the fruit in a matter of seconds, the speed and her clear delight enough to earn a giggle from you.

“Roach.” You tut with a shake of your head, “Those manners are something else. Wonder who you learned them from?”

You turn an eye to Geralt who’s stopped sharpening his sword to find your humored gaze, “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea.” He mutters, doing his best to hide his growing smile.

Turning a flustered face away from him you gently pet Roach’s soft mane, “He thinks he’s funny, doesn’t he?” You whisper to the mare.

After tending to Roach for a bit do you walk down to the stream, washing away the dirt and grime from your hands and face as Geralt starts a fire close by. You can feel his golden irises watching you as the cool water washes away the worries of the day.

Finishing up your nightly routine, you stand once more, turning around to face the loving smile of your dear Witcher. You walk over to his glowing fire, a small smile upon your lips, “Room for one more?”

He scoots himself down the log, patting to the extra spot, “There’s always room for you.”

Sitting yourself next to him, he quickly wraps a protective arm around you, pulling your body close. The both of you do nothing but enjoy one another’s company and the crackling of the campfire for what seems like hours. You couldn’t be bothered to remove yourself from Geralt even if a whole war party was racing past you both louder then a giants scream.

Though you’re just about certain without a doubt in your mind that Geralt feels the exact same way. His breathing his steady and calm, it’s a comforting rhythm that you could listen to for hours. Even his large muscular arm is warm against your body, he’s like a furnace on the coldest night. And all yours.

You’re just about to drift off into dreamland when a sudden loud howl is heard in the near distance causing you to jump. Geralt hugs you closer, “Fear not Y/N, it’s just a damn wolf, nothing to be afraid of.” He assures you with the kindest of smiles, not a note of falseness lacing his words.

Resting your head against his broad shoulder once again, you gently squeeze his hand, “Right, of course. Just a stupid old wolf who apparently feels it the time to howl at the full moon tonight.” You affirm with a curt nod, “I mean, it’s beautiful out and whatnot, guess it just startled me is all.”

“There’s nothing in these woods to be afraid of, except for me.” Grumbles Geralt as he stares into the embers of the fire.

“Oh, my love I could never be afraid of you. Never.” He smiles at your truthfulness, his chest filling with warmth at your kind words.

In reply he places a gentle kiss atop your head, earning a content sigh to leave your lips at the feeling, he is too good to you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not once has he ever made you uncomfortable or in fear for your life because of him, Geralt makes sure of himself to always put you first. He couldn’t bare to ever see you in pain.

The grip on your Witcher’s arm goes tighter at the sound of another piercing howl, this time much too close for your liking. Geralt can sense the fearful uneasiness radiating off of your smaller frame, how your heartbeat has picked up with the rush of your nerves. You’re not one to scare that easily, but this wolf is most definitely getting closer for whatever reason.

“Geralt!” You whisper yell, “That sounded close!”

With one arm wrapped around your torso and the other one clasped around the hilt of his silver sword, he looks around him as they two of you keep seated atop the log, a grand moon cloaking the land in a strangely beautiful whiteness. Revealing enough light upon the ground so that not all of the forest is covered in darkness and shadow.

“Don’t worry Y/N, I will protect you.” He swears to you, giving a light squeeze to your hip in a small act of comfort, “And anyways, if this was anything to be truly concerned about, Roach would show it. We are going to be fine. This wolf is simply just passing through.”

Your eyes glance over to Roach who’s casually nibbling on some grass, “Alright. Perhaps I’m overreacting, it’s just a wolf going on a nightly stroll as you do, nothing weird about that.”

“Precisely, now how about we get ready for bed? I’ve got the bed rolls already layed out for us....so don’t worry Y/N I’ve got you.” Reassures your Witcher as he removes his arm from your side to rest his sword in the grass right next to his makeshift bed. 

Feeling much better now you eagerly follow suit, the roughish cloth of your traveling bed roll is a cherished luxury of journeying across the vast lands of the continent. Though a tavern mattress would be more inviting, the arms of Geralt are always enough in your eyes, or perhaps arms in this case.

Even on the coldest of nights out here would you never really feel a shiver or the icy touch of the cool night air upon your skin. For your Witcher’s large frame seems to always be enough to block out the chill with his body heat when pressed closely against your back.

 Just like he is doing now, holding you securely to his large chest, his arms wrapped around your torso. Pulling yourself firmly counter to him, a thick blanket holding in the needed heat that nicely covers over the both of you.

With Geralt so near, your wandering and worrying mind has subsided those troublesome thoughts away from you, the howling wolf from earlier now finding it’s way into the back of your head. Giving yourself time to forget and find the call to sleep once again. With the warmth of Geralt holding you close, your eyelids flutter shut in a matter of seconds, the pull into the dark void of unconsciousness taking hold of you quickly.

Soon you’re out like a light, Geralt falling asleep not long after you do, leaving only the dull glowing embers of the campfire to keep watch over the two of you. Sleep is peaceful and full of strange images presenting themselves as dreams in your head, you can hear the soft sweet calling of Geralt as he speaks sweet nothings into the bleary grey void. 

Suddenly you’re standing in a large field of the greenest grasses flowing at your feet, large beautiful mountains surrounding you on all sides off in the far distance, you look to your left and find a single small tree with a branch sticking out. 

Walking closer, a black raven materializes right before your very eyes, breaking the silence with a gravelly shrill caw as it nods in your direction. Like it’s trying to communicate with you in the birds own way, furrowing your brows, you trek closer to the mysterious bird. You don’t appear to feel afraid or scared, you’re not even sure if you feel anything at all. Guess that’s just how dreams are sometimes.

Taking another step closer the raven lets out a thrilling caw before the dark bird spreads its black wings, you stumble back as the bird jumps from its perch to take flight. It flaps past you before landing on the short green grass where it is immediately clouded in dark smoke of blues, purples, and deep reds until everything clears to reveal the dirt smudged face of the little boy from earlier that day.

You gasp, surprised to see the little guy standing right before you once again, he looks up to you now, the tiniest of smiles crossing over his face. You stand perplexed, ready to ask him why he’s here when suddenly he points to the blue sky. 

“Hold your silver close.” He speaks softly, in that unassuming boyish voice of his.

Hugging yourself, you glance back down at him, “Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”

He simply points his little stubby finger back up at the sky, you follow, bewildered to find that the sky is now dark and full of stars, though you can still see around you like the sun is still out. How odd.

“Hold your Witcher close.” Warns the small child in the calmest of voices. 

Furrowing your brows in confusion you meet his stoic gaze once again. “Uh....I’m kind of lost, sorry.” You mutter, “I’m not certain what you mean.”

The child smiles a beaming grin, letting out the most adorable of giggles before pointing up at the night sky for the third time, you shift your gaze to find nothing but pitch blackness. And a huge milk white glowing full moon, it’s the largest you’ve ever seen and it’s absolutely magnificent.

You don’t even notice the smile that's fallen onto your face when you suddenly hear the flapping of feathers, snapping your sight back over to the young boy, you’re perplexed to be greeted with the beaming wrinkly face of the old woman from the market. 

She nods, acknowledging your presence, “Watch for what lurks in the woods dear. The full moon is here.” She whispers, the warmest of smiles gracing over her aged face as she nods to you once again.

Taking a step closer you take a nervous fistful of the red cloak that’s covering your body, how strange you didn’t notice the material before hand. “Oh, uh hello there....it is quite beautiful isn’t it.” You stammer, “There was a little boy just here moments ago. Do you know where he went?”

She tilts her head to the side, walking a couple steps forward so that she can reach out to clasp both your hands with hers, a kind twinkle in her eye, “My dear, he will always love you, through land and sea, from woods to meadow, and far beyond what makes us human.” She gently squeezes your hands in reassurance, “No matter the cost, he will always love you. For you are his moon, and he is your sun.”

Your brows scrunch together at her poetic words of wisdom? Or, well you’re not entirely so sure, “Sorry. I’m not confident on what you’re getting at ma’am, uh...thank you, I guess.” She smiles once again, showing you a nod of approval before letting go of your hands. 

She takes a step back, clasping her palms together, “He is here.” 

“Who is here?” You wonder.

“You will see.”

Without warning she abruptly bursts into a flurry of cawing ravens that squawk and screech as they press and flap their dark wings against your face, causing you to fall back into the grass from the jolting intrusion. Suddenly you suck in a quick breath of cold air, your eyes shooting wide open, only for you to find the snoozing face of Geralt. 

His tangled dirty white hair a mess over his handsome face as he lets in slow and calming breaths, you relax, letting out an audible sigh of relief. What a strange dream that was, you’ve never had anything like it before. And your dreams are far from anything normal most times. 

Though Geralt feels rather nice snuggled next to you, your body feels hot and sweaty, like you can’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed and cornered at the moment. Wanting to get some air and cool off, you quietly and skillfully slip from your Witcher’s sweet embrace. You slowly cover him back up with the thick blanket, tip-toeing over to Roach who’s itching her furry bottom on a tree.

You take small steps towards her, a half smile pulling at the corner of your lips, “Hey there girl, having fun?” You chuckle to yourself as she does her thing.

“Nice night huh, I hope no one’s come around to bother you.” She leans her big soft nose into your gentle touch as you pet her, “I got a little too warm, guess Geralt’s a lot hotter then I anticipated. Well, I mean...he’s always hot if you catch my meaning...but you probably already new that and uh....you’d probably rather not listen to me ramble on about how attractive your rider is, hmm? So don’t fret, I will stop.”

She snorts, nudging her nose into your opened palm, “Okay girl, I think you’re great too. I’d say you’ve helped us out quite a bit and not to mention when...” 

Snap.

Your head leers to the left at the abrupt sound, nothing but milky white darkness and shadow is to be seen as your eyes trail over the wood line. That was certainly very close, what the hell even made that stick break? Was it a deer, or maybe a coyote? 

Your nerves prick when Roach suddenly takes a wary step backwards, her leather reigns pulling to their limit as she takes another step away from you. Thinking quick, you rush to her side, pulling out Geralt’s other silver sword just incase some weird shit is about to go down.

Grasping the blade in your tight grip, you take cautious steps towards the heavy pines that seems to be the place where the stick snapped. You swallow nervously, your heart just about beating out of your chest as you travel closer and closer to the green bristles. 

Y/N what are you doing? Have you learned nothing from what those weird dreams were telling you?

Blinking hard, you stop, turning an apprehensive glance over to your peacefully sleeping Witcher, why wake him this could be a simple deer? Letting out another shaky breath you turn towards the thick pine trees, squinting your eyes as you try and do your absolute best to locate the intruder. Walking past a small evergreen, your heart feels like it’s about to explode when suddenly you hear a gentle rustle of leaves directly in front of you.

Turn back idiot.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you blink again, attempting to focus enough that maybe you’ll be able to see what’s making that noise. But as you’re leaning in to the pines, does your eyes finally catch the sight of a large black figure standing on the other side of the tree. Without warning the shadow leaps, you don’t even have a chance to scream before the flash of pearly white fangs reveals itself to you in a raging blur. 

The beast shoves you back into the clearing, emitting a blood curdling howl of agony as it steps into the moonlight, your eyes widen in fear at the chilling sight of a huge dark-grey werewolf. It’s inhuman eyes that of glowing topaz, it’s fangs bare and mouth dripping with saliva. Your chest rises and falls with heavy terrified breaths as the wolfman stands on two legs, its strong hand going to its stomach where a thick human like paw pulls out your silver blade.

Steaming red hot blood pours to the frost covered earth as the beast drops the shinning silver to the ground, its wound showing in the bright moonlight as it eyes you down like you’re nothing more then a lost sheep. You shiver at the sight, desperately scooting yourself backwards towards the fire as the werewolf growls a low but haunting note, falling onto all fours as it takes a step closer.

A frightful tear falls down the side of your cheek, you see nothing but hunger and pain in this creatures eyes, he’s slowly dying, but you know he will kill you before his last breath is had.

The wolfman growls again, readying a last charge when all of a sudden a shimmering silver sword is thrust deeply into the beasts throat, the source of its demise steps in between you and the wounded bastard.

Your eyes are wide as you watch the werewolf sink to the earth, gargling and choking on it’s own blood as it dies, twitching here and there before finally it goes still as stone. Not a sound emitting from it’s vessel but the heavy breaths of yourself and Geralt, who’s walked over to the beast now. Crouching down to observe it better, he hums, pulling the blood covered sword out of the monsters throat with a gross meaty sound.

You let out a shaky breath, slowly pulling yourself to your feet as Geralt drags his bloody silver over the beasts fur to clean the wet red from the blade. You swallow thickly, eyes watery from the whole frightening ordeal, “So not a deer as I had hoped.” You mutter, a nervous chuckle leaving your lips causing you to gasp in pain at something on your ribs. 

Geralt pierces his sword into the soft dirt, his face a mask of frustrated anger as he turns to you, “Y/N what where you thinking? You could have been killed, you didn’t know what was lurking in the dark, why wouldn’t you have just stayed by the fire?” He grumbles as you avoid his troubled gaze.

Another tear slips down your cheek causing his face to immediately soften, “I don’t know?” You whisper sadly, “I...I shouldn’t have thought to walk in the dark alone like that, it was foolish of me Geralt, truly...I’ll think better of it next time I promi- agh ugh...”A sharp jolting pain rips through your body right down the side of your right ribcage, feeling like someone has just burned you with a cast iron. 

More whimpers slip from your tongue at the searing violent stinging of your flesh causing you to press your hands against the area, your face contorting into one of agony while Geralt’s expression reveals deep concern. Not understanding in the slightest why you feel such misery all of a sudden, your eyes slip down to the dreaded area where you take notice of how your dark coat appears to be torn in jagged slashes where the pain is coming from.

Your brows furrow as you slowly remove your tied overcoat, Geralt’s big golden irises studying your every move for what the problem may be. Your hands make quick work of the lacing, now your arms move as you remove the jacket, you gasp in fear once it falls to the ground.

“Y/N.” Whispers Geralt in the softest of voices as a lone tear slides down your cheek.

Slowly you raise your weary head to meet is saddened gaze, “I’ve been bitten.” You rasp, lifting your bloody hand up into the silky moonlight, the burning ache of your wound making itself more present then ever.

Suddenly a surging spike of white hot torment angrily tears up into your side once more, though this time it’s too overwhelmingly excruciating that you fall to your knees, desperately grasping your wounded side when Geralt takes quick steps forward. Pulling you into his strong arms before you’re able to even hit the cold earth completely, his eyes never leaving your distressed face.

“Y/N look at me love, I’m right here...” He speaks gently while holding you close, though you can’t look at him, “don’t be afraid I’ve got you.”

More fearful tears fall freely now as you press your face into his shoulder, a numb and dark feeling finding it’s way into your soul while your arms wrap themselves around his waist, “No, not this.” You cry, shaking with fright, “This cannot be, I-I cannot be a wolf beast....I won’t ever harm anyone Geralt I swear to you on my life, I would never! I-I could never, it isn’t in me!” 

“Oh Y/N, my dear Y/N..” His voice surprises you with how uncharacteristically tender it sounds, “Look at me love.” He pleads calmly, pulling you from his shoulder so that you may look into his kind-hearted gaze, “Do you think now, that I would dare lay my blade against your precious skin?” Your lip quivers as your watery eyes slip from his to the werewolf laying dead near the two of you.

“I am one of them now Geralt. How can I live as this now, I am not a monster. I can’t hurt innocent people, I can’t.” You exclaim, your voice breaking as you speak, “All the years we have been together have been the happiest of my entire life, know this Geralt. You bring me so much joy and light that I never imagined I could ever feel, you have given me your heart even when you first claimed you could not love. I will never forget that.” His heart breaks in two at your truthful words of honesty paired with how somber and dismal you appear.

Not being able to stand you looking away from him for much longer, he carefully lifts a hand up to turn your face to his, leaving his palm on your cheek in a comforting manner, “Y/N my love, you will never be a monster in my eyes, not once not ever. I may be a Witcher, but you will not meet an untimely end due to this curse that has made it’s way into your vessel.” His eyes are soft and serene, full of absolute love and adoration for you.

Y/N he will not hurt you, but you cannot hurt others.

You sniffle, your voice thick as you speak, “I will not let others suffer a violent death because of me Geralt, it’s not in my blood.”

“You will not, there is always another way..”

“There is no other way!” You interrupt, sure of yourself that this new affliction will be your inevitable demise, “A werewolf cannot be broken of their curse once it is had, there are no known antidotes!”

“Y/N..”

“This bite cannot be undone Geralt.”

Eyes softening, he pulls you in closer to rest his head against your own, “My dear Y/N, your life means more to me then you know. I will find you the cure, I have seen a vial of it myself long ago when visiting an experienced alchemist who taught me many things about potion making. He will surly know how to rid this she-wolf within you, I am sure of it.”

Lifting your face away from his, you finally show him the tiniest of relieved smiles, your heart bursting with joy at this refreshing news, “You never fail to surprise me, even now. I trust you...I love you Geralt of Rivia with my entire being, every part of me from now until death. I guess this world has yet to bring me down.” 

Studying your newly determined expression, he grins with eyes full of love, “I do not doubt it my dear one.”

[morigns]

 A woods witch! A hag! Is this what the wolf thought of her, then? wondered Morrigan, and she laughed shrilly, amber eyes flashing as she continued to circle the witcher curiously as he explained what manner of duty what called him to her swamps, so far away from any human settlement that no simple man could wander in their depths and live to tell the tale of it... Yet, he was not a man. ❛ What is the name they have for mother and I? Apostates? Witch of the wilds! Such idle fancies... Truly it boggles the mind.❜ she huffed, a mocking smile on her lips as she came to stand near the witcher now, fiddling with the leather belt wound about her slim hips. It wasn’t often that Morrigan enjoyed a person past an odd...encounter to say the least—certainly not that of a mutant.  Eskel was somewhat... different.  She enjoyed lavishing the witcher with her time, and did not mind his intruding upon their wilds like she would have had it been someone else. She did not fear his intentions so much as what Flemeth would do were she to find out he's been traipsing through her marshlands. He did not make her bare her fangs and lurk in the shadows to watch him in frightful suspicion until mother came to lure him to whatever end she believed most fitting. If anything, she was glad to chance upon him again.  She would argue that it was the wolf in him that enthralled her so, yet, this explanation would fall flat in many aspects.

Impatient to get on with the little adventure he has offered her, and deeply intrigued too, for she did not often had the pleasure or even the opportunity to truly spend time in anyone's company but mother's (and oh how she had wearied of it already!) Morrigan finally came to a halt, considering his proposal. Mother had been gone, off to chase only the Gods know what sorts of mysteries, now; too fiercely, had she instructed Morrigan to lay low and close to their hut, not wanting her wandering beyond the wilds, no doubt. She lounged against a tree, in an elaborate show of boredom. The golden necklace hung about her throat sparkled like a flame under the sunlight. A shadow of hesitation swiftly flickered across her face, and she could not help the nervousness in her eyes as she considered her options... Well, how long could it truly take a mutant to hunt down and cut a beast dead? And with her help? Truly, it should take them no more than a day —no? Flemeth would surely not return this quickly to the swamps. She had been gone, only a nightfall, after all. Yes. She would be gone a while. Morrigan decided to indulge her curiosity.

❛ Yes. let us run errands for the betterment of mankind as well as a few coppers. Most kind of you to invite me! I shall come with you, witcher. These wilds are far more dangerous than you might thing... Let us proceed, lest the dust gather on us. ❜  she decided before the prospect of Flemeth returning to chance upon them here, so close to the hut, can worry her overmuch.

@wanderingwolfwitcher

“Mmm. Part of the profession. Been too long, Morrigan. Not usually fond of woods witches... witches of any kind... but you meet all sorts of interesting folk on the Path. Rare exceptions to rules. I'd say you're one of them. Higher up on the list than most."

Eskel's deep, calm voice spoke to the alluring raven haired swamp woman before him with some amusement and a trace of a fond smirk touching his marred visage, viper eyes studying her pleasing form and own yellow pair again. Uttering a low, slight chuckle under his breath as she circled around him, acting coyly and enticing as ever. When he had heard his quarry was headed out into these particular woods and swamp land, he had been wondering and silently hoping that she was still living in the area. It seemed destiny still held some pleasant surprises for him, on the Path, a reunion with one of the few decent, interesting folk he met on it. Given her profession and this place being her home... to say nothing of the interest perhaps lingering between them... he had little doubt she would be willing to accompany him, if offered. The Witcher remained standing where he was, looked between her and their forest surroundings for a moment, before returning his attention Morrigan's way and languidly explaining the reason for his presence, folding his arms comfortably over his armor and silver wolf head medallion as she continued circling him. Returning some of her teasing manner as well.

“Unfortunately, here on business for now instead of pleasure. Contract. Pursing an Idr, one of the monsters created and set loose by a madman... a renegade sorcerer named Idarran of Ulivo, one of the creators of my kind as well. Insectoid, centipede-like being, crafty, cunning... more intelligent and dangerous than most experiments. Magically enhanced. Figured if you were still here you might want to tag along, being as it's nesting and preying in your territory. Only one dangerous magical being allowed around these swamps. Best we kill it, before it reproduces. Enough of them in the world as it is. Its entrails and blood are valuable as well, a unique being... know of some alchemists and mages who offered an arm and a leg for each. Wouldn't be opposed to splitting the reward. Sure you could talk me into it. Into a few things."

@morigns

[starshipsofstarlord]

2k followers blurb for teen wolf!! I would love the Hale Pack watching Twilight with the reader, who knows just a little bit about the supernatural world (so, yeah, her werewolf reference is JACOB haha). Congrats on the 2k followers!!

thankyou hun!!!! 😁

Twilight

Pairings | Hale pack x platonic!human!reader

Summary | based on the request

Warnings | brief mention of nudity and drugs, fluff, ‘naive’ reader, slight bashing of Scott (as a joke, it’s not serious),

2K blurb masterlist

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

The bowl of popcorn was in the space of your lap, as Isaac reached across to grab a handful, throwing some at Boyd, who only shook his head at his pack mate’s behaviour. Eric sat on your other side, Boyd beside her, as she wore a baggy grey sweatshirt, her hair up in a ponytail. She looked quite similar to how she did before, minus the acne that had miraculously healed.

“The drama is tense.” Boyd snorted at Isaac’s sarcastic remark, more so when he earned and elbow in the side from yourself. He dropped a couple of pieces of the movie snack food, sighing at the consequences of your words, before digging for another shovel of the cornels.

“It’s a movie Isaac.” Eric stated, shaking her blonde head at the unruly haired boy. “Of course it’s going to be far fetched, vampires don’t exist, much less sparkle in the sunlight.”

“Vampires could exist.” Boyd spoke, unknowing of how much was really out there. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the strangest thing in the world. As we know, this town has always had some weird shit going on.”

“I mean, Scott McCall’s a werewolf, so maybe.” You shrugged, watching as Taylor Launtner came upon the screen as Jacob Black. You stretched forwards, licking your lips at the sight of his bare torso. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Scott is not ugly. But why can’t there be cool and mysterious werewolves like that?” Your hands gestures towards the screen.

“You mean the type that turn into big dogs, and imprint on people. Yeah, that’s so attractive y/n, let me just undress before your eyes, strip down naked, and run through the woods as a dog on steroids.” Isaac retorted, leaning his head against the bottom of the sofa, which none of you were seated on.

Instead, the lot of you were perched on the floor below the furniture, pillows and blankets piled around you, as you all sat in a tight knitted line, the light of the ever moving screen highlighting upon your faces.

“I thought you said you’ve never seen this before.” Erica quirked her cosmetic free brow, coercing the friend that she had put on the spot to stumble over his words for a reasonable excuse.

“I haven’t...” He frowned, trying his utmost to act convincing. “but what is wrong with real werewolves, they’re kinda cool, and scary, right?”

“At least as wolves, you wanna pet them and ruffle their fur, not take a razor to their face to get rid of the excessive facial hair. And not to mention, they look like they’ve had a facelift that did not lifting at all.” You smirked, unknowing of how Isaac especially took it as an insult.

That was the thing; you had been informed about Scott and his constant mess of a life, so that you were aware of the potential threats that lurked, although McCall and his sidekick were far but threatening. But they had managed to leave out a significant detail...

That they too were creatures that bade under the full moon, and Derek, whose premises you were currently on, was their alpha. The man himself, adjoined with his sour exterior walked into the room, lowering his head to silently tell Isaac to say nothing more.

It wasn’t that he and they didn’t trust you, in fact it was quite the opposite. They would each put their lives in your hands if it was crucial, but informing you of the dangers that prowled within Beacon Hills would create a shifting balance in your chances of survival.

There was no question about it, they wanted you to remain naive, and continue on with your life, as though you were a normal teenager, with little knowledge of the truth.

“What are you all doing?” The broody man crossed his arms, tilting his jaw as he watched you shuffle more buttered pieces into your mouth, innocently staring towards him, and then your eyes flickered back to the screen.

“Movie night.” Boyd shrugged, shuffling closer to Erica, and pulling a spare blanket out, offering it to his alpha, as to invite him in the evening comfort.

“We’re watching trash cinematography, that is literally making me question my existence.” Isaac leaned his head back, huffing at the ceiling, and as he breathed, you dropped popcorn into his mouth from above, which made him cough for a second, before he began to crunch into the delicacy. “Thank you.” He mumbled through his full mouth.

“It has a good soundtrack.” Erica admitted, having watched it plenty of times before she had been turned. In fact, she had been obsessed with it, watching it had been a comfort strategy for her, and now she was no longer alone whilst viewing the film series.

“The effects aren’t terrible either.” Boyd prompted, smiling as Derek joined them, but still kept a little bit of space to pursue his dominance in their golden hidden eyes.

“It’s called twilight.” You noted, focusing entirely back to the screen again, as you brought your knees up to your chin, using the bone as a head rest. “The books are better, but I suppose you don’t have much time to read.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, his black brows affirming into a light and curious frown. You shrugged, kicking your legs out and resting the crown of your head upon the sofa cushions behind.

“What with running a pack of these idiots, and keeping McCall in check, I’d say your hands are pretty full.” You blatantly stated, not thinking much of it. Though, apparently they did as all their eyes zeroed in on you, staring at you with shock. “What?”

“You know?!”

[unbloomingmoonflower]

undead.

The betrayal of the heart is the most wicked thing. 

That was the moral of the story when many whispered of the betrayed, murdered bride. 

No one knew the origins of the deceased bride, except that her beauty known throughout the small towns. It was said that a stranger arrived in her hometown and they had crossed paths. Her heart was stolen by this mysterious man, and he whispered sweet nothings to further lull her deeply into love.

The story goes that the bride went to meet her beloved deep into the woods for them to run away together--only for her to never return.

What else was there to assume, but that she was killed in cold blood?

 The story was whispered and told to any young bride-to-be to be wary of whom they were to marry. Some grooms were wolves in sheep’s clothing. Many brides-to-be have been fortunate with their grooms. Yet there was always a bride who would be wary of her husband-to-be, fearing that he may indeed be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

This young bride ventured into the selfsame forest where the rumored murdered bride lay still, her corpse decomposing to the earth. Her eyes darted around nervously, the fog dense in the forest. The trees were withered as though it were a perpetual winter in this forest, the sounds of crows and other animals ringing hauntingly in the air. 

After what seemed to be an eternity did the young bride find herself before the rumored tree that the bride was murdered beneath, large and ominous, its branches hanging dangerously low to the earth. She knelt before the tree, clasping her hands in a vain prayer. 

After all, her gods have abandoned her in her time of need.

“Please,” she whispered, “I fear that my groom simply wants my family’s money. I fear he may dispose of me once we are wed. I beseech thee...I have no one else to turn to.”

The air was still, no noise to be heard. The bride feared that maybe her pleas were in vain after all. This marriage will happen, will bind her to the wolf she feared. No one was going to rescue her from her fate. 

She bowed her head, aiming to rise to her feet, before a voice called out. “Your gods have not heeded your please, so you turn to me?”

The bride lifted her head, a gasp leaving her lips as her eyes widened at the sight before her. 

Mismatched eyes spilling streaks of blood fixated on the bride, lips pressed into a thin line with her face of stone. Long, white hair, matted with dirt, framed a delicately structured face. The dress, once a pristine white, was tattered and greyed, blood stains and decay evident on her skin. Save for her horrific appearance, the corpse bride looked as radiant as when she was to be flee with her intended. 

Before he murdered her. 

The corpse bride’s countenance was cold, unforgiving, as she beheld the living bride. The living woman’s face was full of wonder and fear, as was to be expected when one sees an undead. “You fear your groom. You have retained your wits, unlike I when I once lived,” she rasped, lifting a hand to point at the bride-to-be. “You suspect your groom to take your life once you bind yourself to him in marriage. What do you expect me to do about it, young bride?”

The bride trembled while trying to stand tall. “I wish to be freed from my fate. I fear I may befall...” she trailed off, her voice but a whisper. 

The winds suddenly began to howl, the crows sounding their dark song anew, and before the living bride could blink, the undead one was close to her, face-to-face, to lift a decayed hand to caress a pale cheek. 

“Before you befall my fate. And a tragedy it would be, would it not?” the corpse breathed and the living bride tried not to wince at the rancid stench of rotting flesh. The corpse bride’s eyes were devoid of any emotion, as though what made her human had died when she did. “You want me to free you? What would you give me in exchange?”

The living bride could hardly breath with the close proximity of the undead. Yet she was the one who summoned the being, who brought her from her grave. What did she expect? For the corpse bride to free her on a whim?

With shaking breath did the living bride make her offer. “A chance at vengeance. Even if it not to the one who wronged you, surely it would appease you?”

The corpse tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her lifeless eyes for the first time. She withdrew, throwing her head back with a wild laugh. “Vengeance, is it? You’ve more wit than I give credit for. Very well, then.”

The living bride scarcely could let out another breath, could blink, before the corpse bride vanished, seemingly into thin air. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The storm was beginning to brew and his wife-to-be has not returned. 

The man paced impatiently. The day of their marriage could not come soon enough. He had suspected his bride-to-be was becoming wise to his plan to get his hands on her fortune, to put her to rest from a “tragic accident” once his goal was accomplished. 

Yet this marriage was arranged. There was no way she could escape it. No way he would give up his plans. 

Thunder boomed and lightning crackled when he turned, only to jolt at the silhouette near the threshold of the room’s door. He pressed a hand to his chest in an attempt to imitate his surprise. “Ah, my dear. Wherever have you been?” he asked in mock concern. 

His bride was silent, obscured by the shadows. Something felt amiss. Why ever would she remain silent? Why would she lurk in the shadows?

The man approached his bride, stretching his hand out. “Come, my dear. Why hide in the shadows as you are? Let me behold you,” he murmured, false sweetness like honey practiced in his tone. 

There was only a few heartbeats of silence before his bride stretched her own hand out to clasp his--only for the man to let out a shout of disgust at the rotting hand that grasped his own. The grip was tight, to the point where it could shatter the very bones, refusing to relinquish his hand. 

“So...how ironic that we meet again like this.” 

The raspy voice, devoid of emotion, was still familiar. His eyes widened as the woman came into view, her features unobstructed by the shadows. “Shuri?” he gasped in genuine shock. 

A wicked smile curved the woman’s lips, her grip finally shattering his hand and wrenching a scream from the man and she watched him crumple to his knees. “I was simply another of your victims. You have not changed, marrying this maiden for the same reason as I,” she snarled. “Did you run out of my money so soon? The jewels I’ve brought for you? The gold? So soon after you took my life?” 

“I’ve left you!” the man howled, gripping his wrist with his remaining unbroken hand. “I’ve left you!”

The corpse bride leaned close to the face of her murderer, kneeling herself, the wicked smile still on her lips. “For dead.”

The undead bride closed the distance, her lips against her murderer’s before his vision went black. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The young bride-to-be returned to find her fiancee laying upon the floor, his eyes wide and expression petrified. His countenance was pallid, his broken hand at such an odd angle, his lips blue. 

The corpse bride stood over the body, a self-satisfied smile on her lips before she turned to look at the newly-freed bride. “Your offer was fortuitous. Your betrothed...was my murderer,” she hummed, stepping over the dead body of the man who stole her life, who would have stolen another’s. 

“Enjoy your freedom, freed bride. The hells know, I will not have that chance.”

[calpops]

red ruins | c.h.

Under every full moon Calum would get lost. Pain would set in and the world would fade. He would change, shift, and phase with the moon. He became something less than human and something more than any ordinary animal. He was content to wander from place to place in an attempt to escape himself and the ruins he thought he left behind. All until he met her and felt the influence of her words and the gravity in her eyes keeping him grounded in himself—even when all of his instincts tried to make him lose himself to the night. 

6.6k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included). 

<< >>

Fog floated through the town, crept along cobblestone streets from the depths of the forest surrounding small homes. The sky was deep purple, tinted with red as the sun dipped below the horizon. The village was quiet save for the cry of circling birds overhead and the rustle of leaves falling from the trees. The moon was nearly full by the time it made its appearance, the last of purple and red tinged light fading. Wind picked up and started blowing through trees, howling around the town and rattling closed shutters. Fire crackled, red and orange casted haunting shadows against the dark of the cottage lonely on a hill. Calum looked over to the corner where a bed claimed the north wall of the one room holding. She was buried beneath the sheets, hair splayed across the pillow and a smile taunting and teasing and begging him to join her.

They had met under a moonless sky. The dark was foreboding but his touch was light and his voice was easy. He told her his name was Calum but she couldn’t be sure of that; he was a wanderer, a traveler moving from place to place with secrets following him. She couldn’t fault him, she had not offered her true name to him; instead she told him to call her Honey so as to keep secrets sweet. She invited him to her home and into her bed and he stayed as the moon phased from nothing to glowing. She saw the scar on his back when his shirt came off, four jagged lines running parallel to each other. He regaled her with a tale about a boy traveling with a caravan, left to sleep under silver stars—he spoke of howls in the night and eyes that followed through the foggy tree line. She shivered when his hands cupped her jaw and his breath hit her neck, lips following soon after. He never usually stayed so long but she was enchanting, something in her eyes bringing him in and keeping him there.

She sat up when he stayed still, the sheet pooled around her waist. She gathered it around her and made her way over to him. He stood by the window where the wooden shutters stayed closed, just a sliver of moonlight shining through the crooked cracks. He felt her behind him, heard the faint thump of her heart and the small, even breaths that escaped her.

“Will you stay the night?” Her question was simply asked and her tone held nothing but wonder.

Calum turned, as tempted as he was to open the shutters and feel the bite of wind and see the glare of the moon he suppressed the urge, and took her in his arms instead.

“Only one more,” he said and ran a thumb over her bottom lip when she pouted. She shivered though it was not from the cold nipping through the thin blanket shrouding her. “Then I will be gone.”

“You could stay,” she said, longing lingering in her voice but words of want staying trapped within her. “You don’t have to go.”

“I do,” he responded without hesitation, thumb running from her lip to her cheek and jaw and down her neck where his hand settled on her shoulder. His other hand claimed the curve of her waist. “And you know why.”

She shook her head, hair falling in her face and a sarcastic laugh pouring from petaled lips. “That’s just a fool’s tale. Trying to scare me for a laugh, that’s all,” she said. The blanket dipped and her hand came up to catch it as Calum caught view of the marks his own lips left on her exposed skin.

“I told you my truth,” Calum whispered, even though he knew the truth he offered was just a sliver, and some was told as a story. “In so many words.”

“When the moon is at its brightest and glows yellow so will my eyes. The scar on my back glints silver and that’s what can kill me. When I leave it won’t be on two legs.”

He had whispered those words to her the second night after they met. Usually he was gone before the sun could rise but she kept him entangled in the sheets, enchanted by her eyes and voice and the songs she sang of lust and pleasure. He found refuge in the one room cottage warmed by a continuous fire. He sought solace in her arms and bliss in the way they moved together. He couldn’t bring himself to leave after the first night, not when he had never known a calm and storm so bright and unwavering before. He stayed a second night and felt a tug of guilt in his chest when her eyes held hope. He told her the words that had been emblazoned in his mind for years. They ran along the lines of the scar on his back, told the story of the wound and the war that lived inside of him.

“So many words and none that I believed,” she said with another shake of her head. Her free hand trailed up his chest, her index finger light and ticklish against his skin. She followed the curves of his collarbones and circled around marks she made with her lips and teeth during their nights together. “Just stay. For me.”

“It’s for you that I leave,” Calum promised, knowing the truth in his words and reasons. The shutters knocked against the cottage, pounding out an erratic rhythm that echoed around them and the silence they fell into. She didn’t believe his words and even if she did Calum feared she wouldn’t understand.

“Then go now,” she said and took a small step back, the sheet around her swaying at her feet and dragging on the wooden floor. “Why waste another night?”

“If that’s what you want,” he heard himself say, voice resigned and wandering to wherever he would end up next. He made for the door but he heard the small intake of breath and the creak in the floor as her weight lurched forward.

“No,” she said, the word sudden and loud. “You don’t have to go,” she repeated her earlier words verbatim and while the meaning was the same there was an added layer and desperation to the plea. “Not until tomorrow,” she added on, finally relenting to his words and plan. “Stay one more night. Tell me that story again? Maybe this time I’ll believe it.”

Calum stopped before his hand could even reach for the door. He turned back to her, felt a pull in his chest and a drag in his feet as he moved back to her. They found their ways to the straw stuffed bed and sat back down, her pull on him bringing his back to the sheets and back into her. A strike of lightning lit up through the shutters and a rumble of thunder quickly followed, making work to shake the cottage and Calum’s resolve. Rain joined, the sound of it pelting against roofs and the earth ricocheting around them. He had told her the tale twice before. The first time to warn her, the second to remind her when she laughed at stories of the village she perceived as myths.

He would tell her one more time in the hopes that it wouldn’t be just a story or a notion to scare her. He wanted her to understand it was his past and it tied heavily into his present. It was the reason he must leave. She was quiet beside him, affording him time with his thoughts. Her silence was strong and effective. She was able to sway him without words or thought or trying. Calum swallowed past a lump in his throat and turned to face her, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and focused on the pattern in her irises. Her eyes were hypnotizing, a force she didn’t know she had. Calum’s skin prickled and he looked away, up to the roof that leaked under heavy rain. If he were able to stay longer he would have fixed that for her.

“I was only a boy,” Calum began, his words a stark contrast to the way he had told the story before. The two times previous it was a boy, any boy, this time, it was him and it was honest. “I had just turned ten and was traveling with a caravan of people searching for refuge amid the war. My parents and sister were missing—presumed dead—and I had nowhere to go and nowhere to stay but the torched remnants of our home. So I left, as soon as I saw the people marching I followed.”

She made a noise of interest and sympathy, the sound as sweet as the name he called her. Honey simmered and sweetness followed, her nose pressed into his neck and her lips placed a small kiss to his skin. He didn’t want to continue but her influence was enough to bring the words out of him.

“The first week was fine. We scrounged up money to sleep in the stables of inns that were still standing. Once the coins ran out we slept under the stars, hoping the number of our people would scare off any outlaws.  It worked. But numbers meant nothing to the animals that lurked in the woods. Simple blades and bullets weren’t enough to stop them. The attack was swift, the screams still haunt me.”

“Animals?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing as she laid beside him. Her hand came up to trace four lines down his chest, four lines just like the ones on his back. “Your scar?”

Calum nodded, let her eyes calm him and swallowed harshly. “Animals,” he confirmed. He would tell her what kind but there was still an air of mystery in the sheer size of them, in the footprints and bloodstains left in soft earth. He knew what they were but they were even more than that. “Wolf like,” he added on, wanting to paint a picture in her mind so she might grasp some semblance of understanding. “Bigger than ordinary wolves. Two or three times the size. I could see their eyes through the tree line. They were eerily quiet as they watched. I woke everyone but as soon as the panic set in a howl sliced through the night and”—Calum sucked in a breath, let his fingers curl into his palm—“they descended on us.”

Honey came closer, settled into his arms and rested her head against his chest. He wondered if she could hear his heart beating the way he could hear hers from yards away. She was cool against him but that was nothing new, he ran much hotter than her, his blood ran faster and his body strengthened as the full moon came closer.

“I tried to fight back but I was too weak and the blade I carried was made of steel—it did little to wound and could not kill the beasts among us. I don’t remember what made me lose consciousness but everything went dark for a time. I woke under a willow tree, my shirt was crusted with blood and my shoulder seared a pain I’d never felt before. I could tell I was running a fever just from the feel of my forehead, I was drenched in sweat, blood, fears and tears. The wound on my shoulder blade was deep and it took many nights to nurse it. Almost two fortnights went by before the true symptoms began.”

“You already had a fever,” she said, mistrusting his recount of his life. He knew his words were tangled and double meanings left wonder hanging in the air. “What more could have afflicted you?”

“Pain. More pain than the first day I woke with the claw marks sunken into my skin,” he explained, and held his breath, knowing the next part of the story would take a lot of convincing to believe. His words didn’t hold the same sway and influence as hers did. He couldn’t make someone believe just with a certain look or tone of voice. “The pain was bone deep. It felt as if I was being crushed and reformed. Every muscle held an ache, every bone hurt. My heart rate quickened. My temperature spiked. The world spun. I started to change.”

She shifted, eyes shooting to the ceiling as the tale of old prowled through Calum’s life. When he was a kid, before the caravan and the night of terror came to life, before his family was missing, his mother would tell him stories. Stories of half wolves, half men who lurked in the woods and stalked prey under the full moon. He had been enthralled by the tales, the stories scary enough to keep him awake at night. Her words took on a life of their own.

“Change,” she repeated, knowing the rest of the story from his words telling it of someone else. “You really want me to believe that?”

“I want you to listen,” Calum pleaded, voice near to trembling as the rest of his story simmered between them. She nodded beside him, eyes softening as she took in his honesty and the desperation he exuded for her to understand. For her belief. “The last thing I saw was the full moon, how bright and yellow it looked. That was before the pain was overwhelming and my senses shifted. I could only feel. I couldn’t think. I had no control. I lost an entire night to residual darkness and unknowing wander. I woke by a river but I don’t remember how I got there but there were prints in the mud, four clawed feet tracking right up to where I laid.”

She bit her lip and contemplated the rest of his story, took in the new details that he had omitted and the power of his truth. She blinked slowly, eyes once more enchanting Calum. Shadows from her eyelashes danced along her cheekbones, her breaths came shallow and short, a scattered symphony against the downfall of rain and cracks of thunder. Calum reached for her when she didn’t say anything. He hoped she was processing the new information and understanding.

“. I’d wake in the morning miles from where I once was. I’d wake with blood on my skin and fear creeping through the towns I could manage to find. Village people shunned me when they set sights on the scar on my back, they burned mixtures said to ward off evil and curses. It’s not a curse,” Calum explained.

“Then what is it?” She finally asked, her curiosity getting the better of her, whether she believed it or not.

“An affliction. A disease. Something past skin deep that sank into my bloodstream when claws raked my skin. I’m not the only one plagued by it. I roam alone but some wander in packs. Some resent the skin they’re bound to live in and fight against it tooth and nail. Some like the power and give themselves to it completely. Burning mixtures won’t cure it; I’m near sure there’s no cure. The only way to get rid of it is to kill it.”

“And how would that be done?”

“Silver,” he said, voice and mind long lost to the stories his mother would tell him.

People would try to rise up against the monsters that stalked the night but steel and bullets did little with their efforts. Only silver was enough to cut through and sizzle, it’s properties burned from the inside out. It ate away the afflictions and stopped the bloodstream. It killed. It killed the disease and it killed the person.  Lucky it was hard for the common folk to come by a weapon forged of something so expensive. Unlucky as well.

“Or another of my kind,” Calum added on, a shiver descending down his spine.

It could be another to strike with claws and teeth to meet a demise. Or something different but as equally as afflicted—a different type of poison settling into their body.

“Let’s say I believe you,” she started around a breath that spoke the opposite. “Why leave? And if you must, why not come back?”

Calum had already considered those questions through the nights he spent with her. Honey was tempting, enthralling and a craving he wasn’t sure he could kick. But his mind tumbled through scenarios more powerful than that. They put a pit in his stomach and coursed fear through his veins. He didn’t know what he would do during the night, he didn’t know where he would go or what he would walk into come morning if he were to come back. He had to leave. He voiced those thoughts to her and felt himself ease when she ran soft fingertips along his jaw.

“Then if it’s truly our last night together let’s not waste it,” she said, voice breathy and speaking a silent need as she pressed closer to him.

Calum received her and let the night slip by in beautiful bliss. She was still sleeping when he woke to the first sliver of sunlight creeping through the shutters. The air was thick after the night of rain and storm. He distentangled himself from her and the sweetness of their time together. It was the first time he would be leaving with regret and want following him. Her hair was a tangle across the pillow, skin smooth but interrupted by the press of his lips. She didn’t stir when he stood but she shifted when his lips brushed her forehead in a silent goodbye. Before he could step out of the door he stopped at the hearth where the fire had turned to nothing but embers clinging to life. He kneeled down, hand fishing into his trouser pockets to pull out a folded piece of cloth. He left it on the floor beside the logs and hoped if she needed it, she would find it.

He left her behind and made his way through the still sleeping village. He memorized the curves of the roads and the identifiable structures. The woods curved around the village, trees thickening the town line. With nothing to his name but the clothes on his back, a spare change in a small pack and the memories with a woman as sweet as honey he descended into the forest, wanting to put as much time and distance between him and the common people who shrouded the town. The farther away he was when the sun began to set, the better. His footprints lingered in the soft earth, a trail following him with every step he took. He couldn’t help but think they were also a path back to her. He shoved the thought away, knowing he couldn’t but not knowing if he wouldn’t. The day passed him; he knew the air and wind was cold but his body was heated and he could feel the change start to ache inside his bones as the sun began to set.

Calum found himself in the thick of the forest when his heart began to race and the ache in his bones made him stop. He kneeled beneath a tree, it’s foliage falling to the ground around him as the wind swept through the woods. Leaves stirred up and floated through the air. Calum sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wandering his surroundings dipped in a golden haze as the last of the sun graced the grounds. It reminded him of her; of honey and golden glows during mornings they woke together. He didn’t want her to be his last thought before the inevitable took away his mind, his body and rationale. But images of her drifted through his mind and made his heart ache with a yearning he had never known before. His knees pressed into the soft earth below him, leaving indents in the dirt he was sure he would leave behind. His back arched, neck craned so his head looked up. The sun was leaving, the sky darkening from gold to a blue silver that could have been calming for anyone else.

He ran hot, sweat beading on his forehead, fingers curling into his palms and his chest rattled as a guttural noise escaped him at the first of the intense pain to ripple through him from head to toe. The scar on his back burned to the point he felt it was sizzling. He was still semi aware, clinging to thoughts of honey and sweetness and all that she was when clothes ripped, breath left him and fingers unfurled from his palm, claw marks claiming the ground. His last thought was of the moon and the way she might look under it’s full and shining beams. His eyes caught slivers of moonlight through the trees, conjured up her image glowing around him and then the world faded with the last of his human form.

***

The village was quiet as Honey spent her day around the town, wandering and lost among the people. She wasn’t in search of Calum but if her eyes spotted him in the fray it wouldn’t be a bad thing. His story echoed around her thoughts, and would barrel through her mind under the sunlight. She shivered at the haunting words and the pain in Calum’s voice when he relived his past. She wasn’t sure she believed him, she wasn’t sure she believed in anything. She had grown up around superstition and curses, of stories told through her village that had no evidence to back them. Her mind was skeptical but her heart yearned to believe in something more. To believe in Calum—though she still wasn’t sure that was his true name or why she had grown so fond of the stranger who stumbled onto her property two fortnights ago.

She left town, made the trek back up to her cottage where it stood on a grassy hill away from the rest of the people that plagued the town. The cottage was quiet save for the creaks in the floorboards as she paced the small room and the drip from the ceiling as rain from the previous night leaked through the roof. Sunset loomed on the horizon, her lookout from the window atop the hill showing the entire horizon. Everything was yellow and golden and it reminded her of eyes that would glow like the moon. She trembled as she walked away from the window and resigned herself to her bed that was too cold for one. She let her eyes close and wished for sleep, knowing the first night alone was always the most difficult.

“When the moon is at its brightest and glows yellow so will his eyes,” she whispered into the night as the sun bid a temporary goodbye to the world. “The scar on his back glints silver and that’s what can kill him,” she continued, the warning burning on her tongue. Words of an affliction having no cure but silver through bloodstreams making her dip under the covers. “When he leaves it won’t be on two legs.”

The cottage darkened as the sun left and the sky turned deep blue and eventually black with streamlines of silver from the full moon working its way through the open window. She tossed and turned, body and mind restless, heart breaking from the feel of cold sheets beside her. Minutes or hours may have passed, time was bleeding away unbeknownst though it felt drawn out like many lifetimes. When she couldn’t lay there any longer she stood, walked to the hearth and prodded at the fire. Worn cloth beside the pile of logs caught her attention. She reached for it, knowing it wasn’t hers but curiosity needing to be satiated. Something hard laid within the bundle. It took one unfold to reveal what was inside.

A bullet glared and glinted back at her under moonlight. The feel was smooth and as her throat burned she realized the cost of the solitary bullet. Silver was expensive; worth a life and then some. She dropped the cloth and bullet and heard it roll along the hardwood floor. She lurched away from it and ran to the window. Palms hit the wooden sill and gripped with a strength she didn’t know she had. Eyes roamed the hills and the village below her. She bit her lip and sucked in air when a howl echoed around the open air. She didn’t know she was shaking until her body swayed and her shoulder hit the frame of the window with a bruising force. She heard rustling in the distance, her first instinct to push away ridiculous notions being drowned out by childish fears coming alive inside of her.

Eyes lurked in the dark, yellow and glowing and brooding it’s sights on the small cottage. She heaved a breath and let fear freeze her. Wind whistled and a howl followed, a beat of pause where her heart stammered out an erratic rhythm ensued. She swallowed down a tight lump in her throat harshly, grip on the sill tightening as she fought against her limbs content to stay still. It was as if her mind was convinced if she didn’t move she wouldn’t be seen. But she knew the tales, the stories and the myths come to life. Eyes that glowed in the dark could see leagues further than those that could not. She shivered and the eyes stalked closer, her body finally catching up to her mind, hand gliding slowly up the sill to find the where the shutter was closed and latched.

Before she could so much as get a proper grip on the wooden panel the animal afflicted was prowling forward and taken down. A guttural rip of a snarl cutting through the night. Another appeared, larger than the first. A broken cry left her lips, dry and cracked and breathy as she finally found purchase on the shutter and slammed it closed. She turned abruptly, back to the wall and eyes slipping shut as her chest heaved with staggered breaths. All she could do was listen. Remember that Calum had asked her to do so and now it fell upon her in howls and whimpers and bodies double the weight of an ordinary animal crashing to the ground. The noises neared and she thumped to the ground, knees hitting the splintering wood with a resounding thud. Her eyes sprang open and she forced herself to crawl back to her bed, pulled herself to the sheets and surrounded herself in the comfort they offered. She almost covered her ears but felt vulnerable with another lost sense.

She could only see flashes through the crooked shutters. She could hear the movement and the fight. She felt fear clawing through her, burning her eyes and heart and shoulder blade as the flashes and noises and myths came even more alive in front of her. A bang ricocheted against the cottage, bodies hitting the wood as a startled scream left her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, body trembling as she shook her head, trying to maintain disbelief. Another hit to the cottage rattled her, the shutters splintering and breaking under the force of the combined weights. She tried to get up, to run for the door to make an escape. But another slice of fear trembled through her. The noises died but her fear stayed alive. Wood fell to her floor along with a wash of blood much darker than she’d ever seen before. Wolf-like was the only thing she could think of when one beast rose amid the other, a giant paw slamming with finality into the other presumed dead beast.

The fire lit a glow of orange around yellow eyes. Dark fur was raised along the creature’s back, standing up on edge as if struck by lightning. Honey was still and stricken. The living beast neared, slow steps carrying its sheer size towards her with thumping paws hitting the ruined floor. She sucked in a breath, eyes unblinking until the beast whimpered and backed off, headed for its kill, the other beast being taken by the dark one’s teeth, dragged out the ruined wall and into the night.

***

Morning came in a rush. Calum woke within the woods, on much higher ground than he last remembered. The sky was pink through dying leaves and muted brown trunks. He was still hot, skin simmering and bones still aching. Blood was on his skin and a metallic taste lingered in the back of his throat. Paw prints in the earth wound a path away from the woods. His sights became set on them and then beyond, to where the tree line broke and the familiar air that carried through the breeze. He managed to bring his change of clothes with him, the ones he started the day in tattered and abandoned somewhere in the woods. He quickly dressed though the pain in his body lingered and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. But the woods were filled with dangers. If not creatures of his own kind then things that were worse, other stories come to life beneath the moon and stars.

A feeling of dread consumed Calum as his feet dragged through the dirt and out into open air. The hill was calm but the destruction spoke volumes. Honey and home were in red ruins. One wall of the cottage was dilapidated, the window now a hole in the wall. Red ran over wood and though Calum’s body protested he started running too. Anxieties took over, made his heart race and his deepest fears flickered through his mind. Honey.

She was nowhere to be seen within the cottage and it’s ruined remains. The fire was dying in the hearth yet Calum felt a wash of heat against his face. He knew he lost control the night before, he knew his memory never held but a flash of something familiar hit him full force. He could almost recall added warmth in the night. The damages cried something akin to him, something he could almost recall, something that sat on the tip of his tongue and the back of his mind.

“Honey?” Calum called out, hoping his attempt wasn’t futile. Hoping that he hadn’t destroyed sweetness in the night.

A beat of silence had his heart falling, throat burning and eyes watering against the few tendrils of smoke claiming the air. HIs lip jutted out and trembled. A wave of nausea hit him but broke a faint heartbeat prickled his senses and had him turning. She stood outside the cabin, dress stirred up in the breeze, hair in disarray and influential eyes carrying a haunted glow.

“Wolf-like,” she said, voice unwavering and shoulders squared as she took a step forward. “I guess I should have believed you.”

Calum nodded and kept his eyes on her, let his gaze flicker down when her hand outstretched and her fingers opened from her palm to reveal what he left her. He remembered the previous morning, leaving the silver bullet by her fire, hoping she wouldn’t need it. His gaze flickered back up and he shook his head while she pursed her lips and tried to offer the silver back to him.

“Keep it,” he insisted.

“Seems I won’t need it if you’re leaving again,” she said, voice dropping and eyes narrowing. “You came back, though. Twice now. Saved my life.”

“I should leave,” Calum murmured, the latter half of her words seemingly lost upon him as a tangle of thoughts entered his mind. “There’s more than me out there, keep it,” he insisted again, took a few steps forward to close the distance between them and let his fingers brush hers and close them over the bullet. He felt a sizzle in her touch, it wasn’t for the silver in her hand but for the fiery cold of her hand and the way she made him feel.

“I know there is,” she mused, hair blowing in the breeze. “Now, anyway. You killed one right before my eyes.”

“I did?” Calum wondered, suddenly caught in the destruction around him, his mind trying to catch up to the animalistic instincts that swiped his rationale and tore away his memories and thoughts. “I did…”

It came back in a rush with just one look into her eyes, the pattern of her irises enrapturing and filling in the gaps the night left him. The warmth of the fire on his face as blood dripped down his jaw, his feet approaching her, his eyes seeing her—truly seeing her—the push and pull of her influence having him turning and taking the last of the danger from her home. He couldn’t remember how he ended up back at her cottage on the hill but he was sure it was due to her pull on him, that she was something more than what she knew.

“There’s more to the world than I know,” she admitted and dropped her hand holding the silver bullet to her side.

“And there’s more to you than you realize,” Calum said, grasping for an explanation and a way to tell her what he could only assume as true. She neared him, the press of her body delicate but sure against his.

“What might that be?”

Her hand came up, fingertips trailing along his jaw, her breath warm against his skin. “You’re enchanting.”

She smiled, the curve of her lips begging him to kiss her. “You’ve told me that before,” she said and he heard her heartbeat pick up.

Calum’s hand came up to stall hers from its path along his jaw. He held her hand and played with her fingers as their hands dropped and swayed. “More than that. I should’ve known it from the first time I looked into your eyes. I should have realized it when it felt like you could sway me and the earth underneath me. I should have told you sooner.”

She was confused, eyebrows furrowing and nose twitching as she tried to process his ominous words. She was quiet, waiting for him to further explain. He was caught in a whirlwind of her, chasing down words and moments to help her understand.

“You’re not just enchanting. You’re an enchantress.”

Her breath caught in her throat and Calum saw a war within her. He knew she knew what that meant, she had laughed at stories of the like. Stories of mystic people with persuasion in their eyes and words and spells that could be spoken and never broken. Tales of old that followed centuries of life lived before them. She didn’t believe in the far fetched. But the far fetched had broken through her home, broken through her resolve and created belief in her heart. She nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation but took a breath and pressed on anyway.

“How do you know?”

“You kept me calm. One look in your eyes and I felt like myself again,” Calum explained, a sudden rush of memory from the night previous invading him. He remembered the gaze they shared and the sense of himself that came crashing back into him. He knew the moment he first looked into her eyes, the pattern in her irises one he was familiar with. He’d only seen it once before, just before the moon phased him. “I met someone like you before,” he said though that wasn’t entirely true. He was nearly positive he hadn’t met anyone quite like her, only someone with a similar ability. “He tried to use me but the full moon took away my senses.”

“He didn’t keep you calm?”

“I guess some people have a stronger pull. Maybe it’s less to do with what you are but more who you are,” Calum explained, almost certain that whether she was born with the power of persuasion he could find himself within her grasp in any case.

“Stay?” The question was simple but the emotions evoked from looking into her eyes was stronger, more complicated and a battle in and of itself. “I won’t ask again,” she warned with glossy eyes.

Calum shook his head no. He couldn’t. He couldn’t stay and now he was convinced neither could she. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen if she stayed and anyone else were to find out about the power within her.

“Come with me?” Calum asked, the three words escaping him before he could think them through. But he knew deep down they were the right ones.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere,” he said with a far off look in his eyes. “We can follow the river or the sea,” he added and took a deep breath, knowing he needed to convince her, knowing he lacked the power of persuasion the way she did. “We can keep each other safe.”

She took a look around the remnants of her home and guilt tore at Calum for a moment until he realized all he did was to keep her alive and well. He could keep her safe. She could keep him as himself even when the moon phased and tried to tear away his humanity.

“Okay,” she agreed with a small smile, surprisingly needing no other convincing. “I’ll go with you.”

***

Water rushed past rocks, jagged edges meeting the smooth flow of the stream. Wind blew softly through the forest, a day of calm following the harrowing night of the full moon. The sun shone a little bit brighter than usual, the clouds were nonexistent and the town Calum and Honey left behind stayed unaware to the altercations and revelations the night brought. Flashes of fire and silver in Calum’s mind left them running at first, but ignorance swayed them to a slower pace. The village knew of stories and superstition but their reclusive stay at the cottage on the lonely hill bid them time to make their escape. His hand held hers and he realized the lifelines on their palms aligned and ran parallel to each other. She was cool though the sun beat down. She was calm though her world had shifted overnight.

They walked on, leaving footprints in the earth and the past behind them. Calum wasn’t sure where they were going, he never really was when he left after the moon changed him. He figured they might follow the stream, wander out of the woods and find the sea. With her at his side he was certain it didn’t matter where they ended up. She swayed their hands, caught gazes with him and didn’t so much as falter when a howl carried through the breeze. Calum stiffened but kept walking, his senses heightened at the call—though he was certain it was a regular wolf in the woods there was still a bite of apprehension flowing through his bloodstream, making the scar on his back burn with curiosity. The world was filled with more than met the eye. Calum knew there was more than him and her, more than wolves and persuasions, there was sharpened teeth and blood, beautiful songs of the ocean that turned to watery graves, fire and death, the natural turning to something more and something less. He led them away from the howl.

“You still have it?” Calum asked.

Honey nodded, hand reaching into the pocket on her dress, the bullet shining under the glare of the sun. He nodded his approval and kept them walking. He wondered where they would end up, what would happen at the next turn of the moon. He hoped they could stay together in spite of the silver scars and red ruins that brought them together. 

<< >>

To be continued...?

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[5nuff4rtist]

New oc time! :D

This is Ronin, he's a werewolf. I will talk about some of his story below the cut. But for now, I want to introduce one of the species I created that started the werewolf situation; wolf shifters.

I will post about wolf shifters soon. For now here's Ronin!

Credit for the lines goes to @/draphene_sprok_trash on Instagram.

Ronin Attenborough is a lumberjack, living in the woods that hold a mystery. The mystery being; disappearances. People have been disappearing for a while, but appeared in the newspaper only recently. The daily newspaper has always arrived at Ronin's cabin a little later, which does make sense considering he lives in the woods, away from the city. He found it funny he lives in the exact same woods as mentioned in the newspaper, yet he was always fine and in one piece.

One day, he went out of his cabin and was on his way to cut wood, which later was meant to be delivered. Unknowingly though, he was being stalked by a beast, lurking in the dark. It was a black wolf shifter, it's eyes shined in the dark as it watched Ronin walk, gripping his axe tightly. The wolf shifter stayed close behind, but was silent and careful enough not to make a sound.

Ronin stopped at his destiny and started chopping down a tree, it took some time, so the wolf shifter used that as an opportunity to get a bit closer. Right as he was almost finished chopping down the tree; the wolf shifter pounced at him and bit his arm, but Ronin had fast reflexes and struck the wolf with his axe. It did not get hurt badly, but still whined before running off, back into the trees. Ronin's arm was bleeding with blood streaming down from the bite mark.

He returned to his cabin and washed the bite, then put some bandages around his injured arm. He will go back and finish his job tomorrow...but tomorrow will be a surprise for him.

The next day, he woke up and took the bandages off, but to his surprise the bite mark was no longer there, but there were other changes. He looked in the mirror and saw more facial hair than he usually has. His body had much more hair, his arms seemed swollen and his teeth seemed...sharper.

He asked himself; "What is happening to me?"

He stayed in the cabin for most of the day, but eventually went out to finish his job.

Once he finished cutting wood, he wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was just about to return home, until he heard a voice.

"Hey, remember me?"

The voice said, and then the same wolf shifter jumped out right in front of Ronin.

"I bit you yesterday, now you can understand me."

Shocked to hear a wolf talk, Ronin stayed in place, almost as if paralyzed, mouth wide open. He managed to cough out some words. "What the fuck..."

"Don't be afraid." The wolf said. "I see you are having trouble controlling the werewolf."

"Werewolf?"

"The ones we bite turn into werewolves."

Their conversation continued, and Ronin learnt to control how much his appearance changed. Eventually also showing his full werewolf form. That's when he met another werewolf and got a large scratch across his chest that never seemed to heal, as well as getting shot by a hunter. The wolf shifter helped Ronin escape from both situations and then led him to his cabin.

"I'll see you around, Ronin."

The wolf shifter spoke before running off yet again.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The She-Wolf and the Young Dragon (Lyanna Stark x Daeron Targaryen OC)

I wrote this during my fanfiction module in my final year at university. 

Brief: An AU of GRRM’s novels ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’, taking place before the events of the first book. A ‘what if’ scenario where one of the children of King Aerys II and Rhaella Targaryen, Daeron survives infancy into his adulthood, where he is the one to supposedly ‘kidnap’ Lyanna Stark instead of eldest brother, Rhaegar.

BRANDON

His father warned him many times before, that the Starks never did well down south. Yet no matter how stubborn he was, he would never listen.

It lingered in the warmer climate how out of place Brandon Stark was in comparison to what he experienced in the North. No matter how big the lands were, it would remain outdated in contrast to the rest of Westeros.

The Capital held a different atmosphere to Winterfell when he landed ashore from the mouth of the Blackwater Bay. The smell of the streets and manure was strong even when mixed with the strong current of the salt in the air.

Even from here, he could see the Red Keep in all its glory, as beautiful and imposing as he had predicted it to be. The dragons who had ruled for centuries made everything very impressive, even when no winged beast flew any longer in the air. The Targaryens had made King’s Landing their home and he knew for certain of the risk of walking into the dragon’s den. 

“Where is she?” His voice was thunderous when it bounced from pillar to pillar, booming across the hall with steps following, the five men he journeyed with were persistent in tailing behind. The Great Hall was quiet when the Young Wolf of Winterfell stormed through the double doors, noting of the fact that neither the King nor his Hand was around to witness, excluding the few Kingsguard and those of Prince Rhaegar’s own sworn swords that lingered; a deadly chill that passed. Good, Brandon thought, the Gods know how this would go if he were here.

“Brandon Stark, your travels to King’s Landing were swift?” At the base of the steps to the Iron Throne, the Silver Prince was dressed as if ready for long periods of mourning: his deep indigo eyes were just as drab and dark as his attire, his long silver-gold hair tied in a careful knot.

“Don’t you play me for a fool, where is she?” He barked. “I know you have her!” Hovering below the steps himself, glaring up at the Prince. Brandon Stark was all wolf and no man it seemed, yet he still felt inadequate beneath the Dragon.

“Why would you accuse me of kidnapping your sister?”

Brandon’s face grew ever-so-hot, “You gave her the roses at the tourney! My brother had been the one to hold me back before I had the chance to smack you off your horse. Or had you forgotten just as much when you were getting cosy with her that same evening?”

Ser Arthur Dayne was just an inch away from cutting the Stark heir in half if he dared lay a finger on his Prince - Brandon knew that himself. It would be all Seven Hells unleashed if the King had heard of such a crime. The Prince of Dragonstone didn’t seem alarmed nor angered by the accusations, albeit puzzled, before telling his close friend to lower his weapon.

“I think you have been left in disarray by this, Brandon.”

“How? You were taking part in the tourney, my sister had eyes for you even with a future betrothed waiting for her.” He glowered, holding his sword carefully. Prince Rhaegar’s jaw clenched noticeably before he gave a polite, strained smile.

“There has been a misinterpretation of information spread between who you believe was me and the one you seek. You see, I was not the only Targaryen Prince there.” Rhaegar explained calmly, observing how Brandon’s face scrunched up. “If you are looking for a man with my features, perhaps it is my brother you may be wanting to pursue.”

Brandon seemed reluctant to admit that, grudgingly removing his hand from his sword. Of course, it would make sense now, and now the only fool standing here is I.

“Daeron,” Brandon groaned, “he was the one to give the roses to my sister?”

“It would seem so. Those two did seem to grow close in a short amount of time. After all, who would’ve imagined the skilled mystery knight to win the tourney and my brother’s heart?” Said Rhaegar. “She had tended to his wounds after his defeat, I saw it myself... What took place in Harrenhal was what I had to explain to my wife.”

Poor Elia Martell was sweet and innocent: someone who should’ve been told everything in the end. At the end of the day, Rhaegar’s so-called infidelity was untrue and Elia could rest easy knowing her husband remained nonetheless faithful. “What would we do with them then? For all we know, they could be all the way to Essos by now.”

The Silver Prince moved before he stood at a level ground with Brandon. “If I know one thing about my brother, he wouldn’t be keen to travel east. Don’t take my brother for a fool. My father’s spies have eyes not just in Westeros but across the Narrow Sea, thanks to his growing paranoia. He’s still here, I know that for a fact - lurking in a shadow that keeps him and your sister concealed from wandering eyes.”

But for how long will that veil stay up? Brandon thought. You cannot hide anything when you lurk within these walls. “Help me find my brother before the wind catches our words and my father or Robert Baratheon do. Stay here in the Keep and I will grant you and your men housing, your stay here unscathed, and we will go find them together.”

Brandon wavered, but the consequences seemed far too grave; with too much at stake. “And of your father? What if he hears of this squabble between me and his heir?”

Rhaegar grimaced. “Then I pray to both the Seven and your Old Gods that his wrath is merciful.” No mercy would come from those haunted by madness. Brandon knew of no such thing. The Mad King was more an old dog than a sane ruler, one that needed to be put down soon enough. 

-

LYANNA

“Oh, my love.”

The laugh had tumbled from her throat by the time she had landed softly on the pillows beneath her, her long dark hair fanning around her with the following melodic chuckle shortly joining hers. Their bodies were tangled and laid naked as the day they had been born, beneath the cherry wood ceiling with the low candlelight surrounding them.

In the past, Lyanna would’ve held her admiration for the eldest born son of the Mad King at bay around her brothers, but she had never imagined the second-born to have captured her heart. In the dim light, he could’ve been the spitting image of Rhaegar, but the shadows cut false definitions of sharp edges to his face, giving him a more mature look like his brother momentarily. But his eyes were not like the Silver Prince: the second-born was more spirited and his eyes were the lovely colour of lavender, just like the ones Lyanna saw when travelling down on her travels to Harrenhal. She had gotten her brother Eddard to pick some for her and she smelt them whilst riding horseback, as sweet as the summertime and what the singers proclaimed. Had she been able to keep them before Benjen stole them from her tauntingly, she would’ve braided them into her hair, a freshness to keep her content for the rest of the journey down south.

The Young Dragon had eyes that brought her memories of Winterfell with her brothers: where Old Nan would talk about the ice giants beyond the wall and of the wilderness that followed. The cold bite was ever so bitter but the She-Wolf survived throughout. There was more to the North in his eyes that she wasn’t used to, a rigidness that was not found in him. Daeron had more Northerner in him than dragon, it seemed.

She remembered the night when Rhaegar sang with his silver harp at the feast and how the tears came quickly to her eyes, the same as most of the other ladies in the hall. His song was full of solemnity, yet Lyanna had to ignore the snickering from Benjen and when she and Daeron stole timid glances, sheepish but frequent. Rhaegar was a man a decade her senior and tied in matrimony. She would never compete with a married woman for a man everyone admired. What he’s not like of Rhaegar, I prefer. He will be everything his brother is not and so much more.

“You still have much energy, even at this time of the night.” She smoothed at the fair hairs on his chest, kissing at his shoulder fondly. She could imagine living here for the rest of her life with just Daeron and away from the eyes of those, the duties and responsibilities, living and making their own family. “You have tired me out, Daeron.”

“Few people get to ride a dragon; it can be rather draining.” Her husband winked, chuckling softly when her face warmed in reaction. Their laughter died down when his attention was drawn to her kisses resuming on his skin, quickly kissing her back with such feverish intent.

“The last of the dragons died a century before you were born, Your Grace. Lost in tragedy if we dare choose to forget, hmm?” Her eyes were blue as the winter roses she loved in the North, alive and full of mirth.

“You needn’t address me like that, my lady,” Daeron smiled, stroking away the hair from her face, “after all, we are equals.” In the eyes of the north and the Old Gods, they wouldn’t be, but Lyanna did not need to follow those customs. In the eyes of the Gods and men, we are one and together. A Targaryen, whose flame burns bright like his, just like those of greatness who came before him.

“In the eyes of the Faith, perhaps, but not to my father.” Lyanna sighed. “I believe he would find me more wild than dutiful.”

His hair was slicked from sweat when he pulled it from his face, tenderly kissing at her with such ardour. “The North I was told of was all cold and bitterness, but there was a flame within you that was only seen in those who carried the blood of the dragon. I never thought I would see it so brightly in you.” Daeron said. “When we return to the cities, we may wed in your custom, and revisit our fathers when the time comes.”

“And of your father, Aerys? Has there been no word of His Grace or his spies?”

“My father… grows more delirious the longer the days grow, his position falters whilst my brother is alive, his mistrust festers. Rhaegar is every right a King, but getting rid of my father will be troublesome without the right aid.” Daeron admitted bitterly. “That will be his problem, for now. He’ll be ready to find us when he has dealt accordingly with my father.”

“Rhaegar will not be able to conceal everything if he is not in on our secret already, not from my brothers alone. We will not be able to hide any longer.” Brandon will have to halt his wedding for a month if he hasn’t already. He would hunt to the ends of Essos to find me. She dreaded.

Daeron hesitated when he rose from their small bed, his bareness not a problem for either of them. “I fear my father may do something that will not only break him and our families, but tear the entire realm apart.”

Lyanna too rose from the bed and came to embrace him from behind. “If you have me, you have the North by your side, I swear it. We knelt to the Conqueror three centuries ago, we have stood with you since then.” Lyanna promised proudly. “Brandon shall marry one of Hoster Tully’s daughters, and therefore, he will have the Riverlands too. The Arryns from Ned, thanks to Jon. They would aid you if it is needed for their allegiance.”

Daeron’s lavender eyes widened in surprise when he turned to her. “And of your betrothed? Surely Robert Baratheon will not have our side when he accuses me of kidnapping his lady.”

“I am not his lady. I never was. Robert is all boar than man, and his appetite for other ladies would continue no matter his age.” Lyanna objected. “He will hear of my wrath before he dares lay a hand on you.”

The Young Dragon held her tightly in his arms, “I would hope no day would have to arrive, for any of us.” He drawled. “No stress should come to a mother and her potential newborn.”

Lyanna could imagine how her stomach would look when swelled with a child—their child—and the very image of her one day holding her babe in her arms. It made the She-Wolf eager for it to be a so-called reality. A son, she hoped for, a son who would share the blood of the North and Old Valyria. Two powerful houses, coming together as one.

“We still have not thought of names, if the time comes for it.” Lyanna changed the subject quickly, settling her husband to sit once more, his hand to her back and stroking the back of her long hair. “Were there any you had in mind?”

“My grand-uncle Aemon is at the wall, but he is everything a King should be had he not turned it away for my grandfather,” Daeron said with a sad smile, “I want to honour his name, for the man who was too generous and gave the crown to his brother.”

Lyanna smiled, “He sounds like a good man.” Daeron agreed, and for a moment, the wistfulness hung over his head as much as it did over his older brother, giving him a similar look to the Silver Prince. No matter how far he goes, he will always have some part of Rhaegar’s despondency.

“No matter what happens, we will endure this together, against everyone else. We deal with your father and my own when we return. For now, I want to enjoy your company as much as possible.” The She-Wolf softly spoke, enveloping her husband gently. Even in the coolness of their room, he was warm to the touch. But she would get used to it.

The Young Dragon had encircled her to his chest and pulled her back to the bed, caressing and kissing her with such glee. “My little wife, as brave as those of winter who came before her and strong as ice itself. The dragon and the wolf have a fitting name.”