#SHARP TEETH SHARP CLAWS SHARP EARS FUZZY FUR

[sentiniel]

adopting the curious cat as my fursona i will not be taking questions thank you very much

[greenandsorrow]

Morning Wood.

rut!Alastor x gn!reader

☞ I had some leftover smut scenes from the first chapter of "The price for misbehaving" and so, I decided to combine them with a slightly different depiction of Alastor. He's all fuzzy, basically covered in deer fur -anthropomorphic animal vibes and not the cartoonish, bright red guy we all know!

☞ You don't need to have read the actual multi chap in order to enjoy and understand this. However, I did keep the rutting/mating season theme. I love it when fictional men act pathetic -and the fact that I'm the one determining that in my silly, not so little, fics.

☞ Lots of horniness and hormones. Pet names. Masturbation and a blowjob, but make it goofy and playful! The reader is full of sass. Alastor is eepy and needy. Pre-established relationship. You're his mate!

🪻

Alastor is a mess.

A mess of sharp edges.

And antlers.

Antlers that bear little nicks along their edges.

His wiry frame is covered in patches of scruffy fur that cling to his body in a disarray. It's a chaotic blend of rough textures and soft tufts. His chest and arms are a map of scars, faint reminders of a past that seems to be trying to hide beneath some of the fluffiest tufts.

His tail is twitching with restless energy.

Somewhere on the upper floors of the hotel, his bedroom is dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the radio dial of a fancy antique. Alastor is sitting perched on the edge of his bed, legs spread wide and claws digging into the mattress beneath him. His chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths.

The air is heavy with the dizzying scent of his rut.

He lets out a low growl, his usual composure cracked by the haze of primal need that's clouding his mind. His cock is already in his hand, long, throbbing and impossibly hard, with veins pulsing. The fur at its base is damp with sweat and precum. His heavy balls are drawn tight against his body.

Alastor squeezes the base of his cock and the sound that escapes him comes out unbidden, raw and guttural. He can feel it... The unbearable heat coursing through him, a wild and instinctual drive he can't suppress.

He pumps his shaft, slowly and deliberately at first, as he tries to maintain an ounce of control. But his rut isn't something he can just ignore... And soon his pace quickens, his hips bucking into his hand.

"F~ fffuck~" he hisses through gritted teeth, his free hand gripping his thigh -in an attempt to not tear the poor bedding. His thoughts are filled with glimpses of you... The way you tease him with that infuriating smirk, the way your hands feel on his chest, your breath ghosting over his neck.

It only makes things worse.

His cock twitches violently in his hand, precum running down the length in sticky lines. His clawed hand grazes the sensitive skin of his cock head just enough to sting, but the pain only spurs him on more.

"Why now?" he growls, his voice gravelly.

His tail thrashes behind him.

Alastor is imagining you beneath him, your hands exploring every inch of his furred body while your voice whispers filthy encouragements in his ear.

The thought alone sends him over the edge. With a strangled cry, his body tenses, his hips jerking forward as his release spills on his hand in thick, hot ropes. His vision blurs for a moment, the intensity of his orgasm leaving him trembling.

The room is now silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing. Alastor slumps forward, claw still sticky and cock softening slowly. He grimaces, dragging a hand down his flushed face before letting out a defeated sigh.

"Disgraceful" he mutters to himself -though the shame is only fleeting. The rut isn't done with him yet and he knows it's only a matter of time before the unbearable ache returns.

Had you found him like that... What would have happened?

For now, though, he allows himself a moment of tranquility.

You said it'll only be four days... He can go four days without you, right? Pfft. Sure, he can. That was literally day two.

The morning light filters through opac curtains and the hotel fills with the familiar sounds of its guests going about their day.

Alastor stirs on the couch, his lanky frame sprawled across the cushions, tail twitching lazily. He lets out a small groan, rubbing at his chest absentmindedly.

The Radio Demon is practically draped across the couch like he invented the concept of fatigue. His shirt is half-tucked, the fabric wrinkled like he's been sleeping in it for days. His legs dangle off the arm of the sofa, one hoof idly moving to some rhythm only he can hear. His hair sticks out in every direction, defying both gravity and logic.

That's when he feels it.

"Oh, dear" he mutters, blinking, as he shifts his hips and feels the unyielding pressure against the front of his slacks. His cock, half-hard when he fell asleep, is now achingly stiff...

Alastor gives an exasperated sigh, though it is also tinged with some embarrassment. He shifts his long legs awkwardly, but the motion only heightens the friction, earning an involuntary hiss from him.

"Of all the things to wake up to" he says under his breath, voice carrying its usual cadence despite the situation.

One hand is already slithering near his waist before he thinks better of it... But he decides to resist.

It's no use.

His cock throbs, demanding attention, the weight of his balls adding to the torture. Alastor whines softly, while his tail is moving erratically against the cushions of the couch.

That's the sight you walk in on -Alastor spread on the couch, red-faced and visibly aroused, brows furrowed in sleepy distress. You lean against the doorway, taking a moment to soak in the ridiculousness of it all.

"Well, good morning to you too, sunshine." you begin, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I see you've got a… pressing issue in your hands."

Alastor's head snaps up, his wide eyes widening even more. He had forgotten it was today you were coming back.

"Wha-?!", he struggles to sit up.

You toss a pillow at him. He doesn't dodge -it smacks him in the chest and he groans theatrically, clutching it like it has wounded him mortally.

"Careful!" he pouts, half-lidded eyes gazing at you under messy bangs. "I'm already frightfully weak. Don't make it worse."

You rollyour eyes. "You're always weak when you want something, Al. So spit it out. What do you need?"

Alastor stretches, the movement languid and a bit too purposeful as his shirt rides up, exposing his lean, scarred stomach and the dip of his hip bones.

"Well", he drawls in a tone full of fake innocence, "since you're offering…"

He really is weak.... He hates but simultaneously loves how lust dictates his decisions.

His ears flatten against his head, hands moving to shield himself, though it does little to mask the twitching outline beneath the thin fabric of his slacks.

"Relax." you say, stepping closer with an amused smirk. "It's nothing I haven't seen before. Though, I'll admit… you look particularly needy this morning."

"I- I wasn't expecting company s- so soon again..." he stammers, his usual smoothness nowhere to be found as his tail continues to flick nervously behind him.

You raise a brow, letting your gaze drift deliberately downward.

"Clearly. But hey, I'm here now, so why don't I help you… ease into your morning?"

It's obscene, the way his cock is straining against the fabric like it is fighting to break free. The outline is clear -a fat dick, slightly curved and frankly, too big for him to be this embarrassed about it. His trousers don't stand a chance... The poor button at the top looks like it's holding on for dear life.

"Wow" you observe, crossing your arms. "When you called to say you were 'resting', I didn't realize you meant that. I guess you really were up all night."

His lips part in protest, but the words get caught in his throat when you kneel between his legs, smiling up at him.

"Don't act so shocked... You always do that." you tease, dragging your palms up his hairy thighs. "Y'know Alastor, you look like you could use a hand -or a mouth."

"Y- You are positively scandalous" he manages out, though his voice wavers -probably from the excruciating anticipation for your touch.

"Yeah, yeah" you quip, tugging at the waistband of his slacks. "Now shut up and let me work."

He can't help but make a strangled, static-laced whine at your order.

The moment his cock springs free, it hits his stomach with a thud, the thick shaft flushed and throbbing with need. A soft, furry, happy trail goes down till the base -where his balls rest against the couch, each movement causing them to shift enticingly.

You let out a low whistle, leaning in close. "Well, aren't you a pretty buck."

"This whole ordeal is utterly flawed!"

"Oh, I wouldn't use that word. It's more like an opportunity."

Alastor's right ear twitches at that, his breath ragged. "A- An opportunity for what, exactly?"

Grinning wickedly, you answer. "To see just how needy the great Alastor can get."

Alastor freezes... like a deer caught in headlights, the eternal grin faltering. He shifts his limbs, trying to compose himself, but there's no hiding it -there he is, the Radio Demon, infamous and terrifying… now looking like prey that has wandered into a very compromising situation.

And oh, is it compromising.

Your newly acquainted mate's cheeks flush a deeper crimson, his grin stretching unnaturally wide in a desperate attempt to assert himself. "Ah, well, you see- It's not- !"

"Save it. You're not fooling anyone, stag boy. Look at you... All scruffy and needy... Rocking an erection on your favourite vintage couch."

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I- I assure you, it's entirely… involuntary!"

"Yeah?" you quirk an eyebrow, letting your hand trail up his chest and then back down his stomach, relishing in the feel of his muscles clenching underneath your fingertips.

"Sh- shocking behavior! I- I don't know what you're-"

"Alastor" you cut him off sharply. "Stop talking."

He did.

The trembling demon's shaft isn't just stiff -it's... raging, twitching as if annoyed that it's not already getting attention. And oh, the head. Flushed an angry red, it's bulbous, slick with an impossible amount of precum that's dripping lazily down the sides. It is cartoonishly swollen to say the least.

"Good lord. How can you always wake up like this?"

Alastor squirms, his grin trembling. "I- I am a creature of many talents, my dear!"

His hand grips the armrest of the couch so tightly that the fabric starts to fray.

"Right" you mutter, your fingers finally wrapping around him. The moment you touch him, he lets out a static-filled gasp and the hotel's lights all flicker, his whole body jerking as though he hasn't been touched in centuries. It's been four days.

His cock is hot to the touch. The contrast between the smooth head and the slightly fuzzy base is oddly satisfying under your palm. You give him a little squeeze. He twitches violently in response, tail flicking and ears flattening again.

"Eager, huh?" you tease, stroking slowly. Alastor's sharp teeth clench, his head falling back against the couch as he lets out a broken groan.

"N- nothing like that! I- I'm always prepared!" he babbles, his voice breaking into static again.

"Sure, sure."

That earns you a petulant glare.

The smell of him -something earthy and musky- fills your senses. You let your tongue dart out, licking a stripe along the underside of his cock, slowly, tasting the salty precum that has been pooling at the tip.

Alastor lets out a sound that can only be described as pathetic, his sharp claws scratching the couch (aka the real victim) in a vain attempt to ground himself.

"Prepared?" you mock, your breath falling on his slick glans. "You're shaking like a leaf,u freckled sweetie. I'd say you're anything but prepared."

Alastor whimpers, an uncharacteristic noise for someone so smug. His deer tail is lashing furiously now, the coarse fur of his thighs brushing against you as he shifts in place.

You wrap your lips around him in one swift motion, taking him just far enough to feel the weight of him on your tongue. The ridges along his shaft catch against the wet heat of your mouth as you slide down his length. His claws dig into the couch, again.

He almost chokes... His grown antlers momentarily catch on the backrest. His chest is heaving.

Meanwhile, your lips remain around his hot cock. You hum, the vibration making him jerk so hard he nearly bucks into your mouth. He spills even more precum, coating your tongue.

Pulling back just enough to tease, you let your lips part with a wet pop, his shiny length gleaming.

His ears are still pinned back, his teeth biting into his lip as he struggles -and fails- to suppress a shuddering moan.

You don't wait for him to recover. Instead, you lower your mouth back onto him, taking him even deeper this time. His cock twitches and twitches, the veins pulsing against your tongue as you hollow your cheeks and suck hard.

"Ah- !", static again.

You pause to look up at him, his sweaty and flushed face making you feel oddly proud. Alastor's response to your simple gaze is a little pat on your head. He appreciates what you do, even if it brings him equal amounts of relief and torture.

An incoherent and strangled series of moans leave his open mouth as you work him over with a mix of slow strokes and hard sucks. His legs tense, the fur along his thighs bristling as he teeters on the edge.

"P- Please" he begs, his voice cracking in a way that makes heat pool in your stomach. His usual bravado has vanished completely, leaving him dazed, needy... and utterly at your mercy.

You hum again, the sound sending a shockwave through his body. His cock pulses hard in your mouth and you can feel him getting closer with every ragged breath and broken moan.

You shift your position on the rug slightly, your hand slipping lower to cup his balls. They are heavy and warm in your palm, fuzzy with coarse fur -like the rest of him. You give them a teasing squeeze. Alastor practically yelps, his thighs snapping shut for a moment before falling open again, leaving him vulnerable and exposed to you.

"Sensitive, aren't we?" you comment, rolling them gently between your fingers. His cock twitches violently in response, a bead of precum spilling onto your lips as you kiss the base of his shaft.

Alastor's hands claw at the couch helplessly, his sharp nails ripping the fabric. (🛋️RIP)

"I- I can't take this anymore!", his voice breaks into a high-pitched whine. His antlers clatter against the backrest, as his head tips back, neck taut and exposed.

"Oh, but you can, deer boy" you murmur, your voice sultry. "And you will."

As if spurred by your words, his hips jerk forward, his instincts betraying him. The movement is sudden, sharp and almost frantic, his cock sliding further into your mouth as he begins to rut against your face. His balls slap against your chin with each desperate thrust, their weight a reminder of just how pent-up he truly is when he's in musth.

"G- Goodness gracious, I- ah- oh my~!"

His fur bristles everywhere now -all over his back, his arms and chest- and his ears are spasming.

Static crackles in the air.

You tighten your grip on his base, your free hand moving to steady his hips.

"Easy there, mister buck" you say, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. "Getting ahead of yourself, don't you think?"

"F- forgive me... I really c- can't help it!" he stammers, eyes glazed over with a mix of embarrassment and raw, animalistic need. "You're- you're too good! And frankly, I missed you!"

You chuckle.

Then, you lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the very tip, savoring the way he shudders. "Oh, I know", you say smugly. "Now, be a good little deer and stay still, or I might stop altogether."

The threat makes him whine again, the sound almost pitiful -but he forces himself to stay still. His thighs tremble, the tension in his body visible.

Satisfied with his obedience, you take him back into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip before sliding down to the base. His hips twitch despite himself, his cock pulsing hard as you swallow him down.

His breathing grows extremely ragged.

"I- I'm... ah! I'm so close" he chokes out. His balls have drawn up tight against your palm, a telltale sign of his impending orgasm -making you moan around him.

Simply, that's enough.

With a desperate cry, Alastor comes undone, his cock throbbing violently as he spills into your waiting mouth. You swallow it, the salty heat flooding your senses as he slumps against the couch, his body trembling with aftershocks.

When you finally pull back, he is even more of a mess than you found him -his hair disheveled and wet, his chest heaving rapidly and his face flushed with a mix of exertion and satisfaction. You lick your lips, your eyes gleaming with mischief as you look up at him.

"Feeling better, bucko?" you ask, your tone smug but with an undertone of affection.

Alastor's ears rise on top of his head and he gives you a sheepish, toothy smile. "I… suppose you could say that", he admits, still breathless.

You laugh, the sound light.

You stand up and give his lips a peck."Good. You look cute like this... completely wrecked and at my mercy."

"The couch looks worse."

Thank you for reading!🪻

Support me further: ☞ PayPal link

~ My Hazbin Hotel masterlist ~

This work is part of the nymph's daily gifts! 💌

The dividers are by @saradika-graphics.

Tags; @stygianoir @aperfectidiot @lady-valtieri @what-0-life @clowncollegealum @whatinthepluto @dragonqueenfk @ajajajabdjsjx @ellie-x0xo @1rxsemary1 @ermmmwhattheflipguys @kimkimmm2411 @sukaretto-n @crowleysthings @ratskinsuit @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 @ilikemyteawithmilk @dontevenknowwhyimhere @dennsfz @sirens-and-moonflowers @diffidentphantom @midorichoco @speedycoffeedelight @cinnamon-galaxies @kammsinn @chibistar45 @alastorthirsty @victias @mezzo-piano230 @shayshaymonyou @atlaloversblog @iheartalastor @mydickisjuicy @pinestwinssimp

[citruslullabies]

Idea 3

Catnap x fox smiling critter reader

Reader originally sided with catnap but is now secretly helping player

catnap finds out and feels betrayed before trying to kill the player and accidentally killing reader

— I’m sorry I’m sending a lot I just can’t Get enough😭

No apologies sweetheart! Keep em coming!

Trigger warnings: death, blood

Romantic/platonic: unspecified

Requested by: yakufoku

Category: angst

Ship (romantic or platonic): catnap x fox!smiling critter!reader

Word count: 510

Accidents Happen

You had followed Catnap into believing the prototype would save you, it had to. Nothing else could in your eyes.

But you had started to lose faith, seeing how the prototype would just use you and catnap both. You believed that.. maybe someone else could help you instead. And they came, the player. You at first hunted them, but introduced yourself as a friend rather than a foe.

You came by at times, helping the player out however you could. Maybe this was it, maybe this would be your savior.

Your feline friend had eventually found out, and felt any emotion but glee. He felt infuriated, upset, and betrayed by your defiance. As you were quietly leading the player to a safe place, a loud yelp escalated your snout. You turned around thinking that your tail got caught in something, but to your absolute horror.. it was Catnap standing on your tail, growling and glaring. Your mangled ears went flat at the sight of him, trying to quickly calm him down.

You carefully pulled your tail away, approaching catnap - trying to seem low and weak so he'd take it easy on you but it backfired. You let out a yelp as he slashed you across the face, backing up and whimpering with tiny sobs. Catnap hissed at you and watched you back up and hit a wall with temporary blindness, before he started to approach the player. If he stopped the player, he could stop you. You could be redeemed and worship the prototype with him still, there was still hope for you. But not if an angel was in your way.

You finally took your paws away from your face, looking up at him with fuzzy sight as he approached the player with the aim to kill and destroy.

With the quickness, you stood and rushed over - grabbing onto him with paws bloodied with your own blood. The player started to run at the sight of two big bodies beasts fighting, catnap growling and swatting as you pounced back and forth and bit with your sharp teeth.

Catnap got away from you and started to chase after the player much to your dismay, your vocals chittered as you quickly called out. “CATNAP.” you yelled, quickly chasing after on all fours. You got there just in time, the player backed into a corner with Catnap starting to release a small dose of red gas, lifting his clawed paws up to end it once and for all. Only to be greeted with fur and tough skin rather than the soft skin of a human. You had quickly jumped in front of the player, hoping that catnap would stop before he killed anyone. But you fell instead of the angel you swore to protect.

Catnap was shocked, trying to nudge you with his head and paws. Too distracted by you rather than the player that escaped.. he was silent as he laid beside you. A croaky voice speaking up. “..(your name)?”

The thing that Catnap had sworn to protect had fallen instead.

Thanks for requesting!

[beansmack2021]

All For You (Part 2) (Human!Alastor x Daughter!Reader)

Summary: Y/N has never been so scared. How could her father do this? How could her father be this?

TW: blood, gore, mentions of death, cannibalism, Y/N and Alastor argue

It was warm. So very warm. Y/N wondered if she'd still had a fever, and that everything she'd seen was some sickness induced nightmare. Surely, her father wasn't really the Killer of the Bayou.

She opened her eyes. Everything was red and hazy. She looked to the side and scrambled away, shrieking, as she met a body, oozing blood and rib cage opened wide.

Someone to her left chuckled. She looked up and was met with a tall, shadowy figure. His eyes and mouth glowed a radioactive yellow-green color. He wore a tall, black cap. When he spoke, he sounded fancy. It was liking he was trying to sound posh but not quite speaking with a British accent.

"Hello, little one. You don't really look like you're supposed to be here."

"I-" Y/N didn't think she should have been there, either. Wherever there was. She had a feeling she was in one of the afterlifes. She had another, worse feeling that it wasn't one of the nice ones.

"I'm in Hell, aren't I?" The tall figure seemed shocked by how dejected Y/N sounded. She'd accepted where she'd ended up rather quickly, especially for someone who scrambled away from a body so quickly.

"Yes. You look a bit too.... gentle to be here. Usually, the new arrivals have some kind of scales or sharp teeth. Claws, maybe. But you? You look fuzzy."

Y/N looked to her left. She could see her reflection in one of the mirrored windows nearby. She reached up gingerly to touch the teeny little stubs on top of her head. She had little ears that stuck up through her hair. She was covered in tawny fur and white freckles. Her nose was replaced with a little black snout. It twitched as she took a whiff of the air around her. It smelled like sulfur, sewage, and blood.

She wondered vaguely if she had become too familiar with the coppery scent. Sure, she'd only seen one of her father's victims. But, she'd also smelled her own blood as she faded away. She thought she might have felt blood splattering her face as she died. She had heard a loud sound as aje went, after all.

Had someone found out what her father had done? Was their city so (rightfully) angry with him that they sought their own bloody vengeance? Were they happy that she was dead, too?

Y/N started hyperventilating. She thought of her friends from school and what their parents would say about her. "Oh, Joanna. Her father was a murderer. She wouldn't have grown up to be anything good."

"I'm not like him" she muttered. The cloaked figure looked confused. Y/N's eyes widened like she was some cornered animal. "I'm not like him!"

Before the man had time to respond, Y/N took off down the street. She didn't know where she was going. She just needed to find somewhere to hide. What if her dad found her?

She was panting heavily as she crashed into some trash cans in the alley she'd run into. She nestled between them, pulling her legs close to her chest. She looked around rapidly, trying to calm herself. She just couldn't. She'd hoped she was having some horrendous nightmare, and instead, this was her new reality.

Well, Hell was probably pretty big. The chances of her father finding her had to be a little lower, at least. The chances of anyone finding her in this alley....

She heard a noise to her right. She covered her mouth to try and hide the sound of her own breathing. Y/N was terrified. She should have stayed with the tall man. At least he seemed nice. What if this person decided to kill her? Could she die again? Would she be gone for good this time?

"You can come out. I know where you are and you're not really gonna be able to get out. I can keep you safe."

Safe? Y/N had forgotten that was a thing she could be. Between realizing she was living with a cannibalistic murderer and ending up in the fiery pits of literal Hell, safety sounds unreachable. Yet, she couldn't help but feel like maybe this new person could actually offer it to her.

Hesitantly, she climbed from behind the trash cans. Her hands, now covered in a layer of soft, brown fur, pushed against the tin beside her. She stood before the mysterious voice. It belonged to a fairly short man. He had yellow-gold hair that was somewhat hidden by a tall, white cap. He held a cane with a shiny red apple on the top. His entire suit was white. It looked expensive, at least by her standards.

Then again, everything was expensive to her. Her father had been the one to buy her all of her wants and needs. He'd insist on getting her something, even if she tried to protest. He'd buy all of her favorite foods. Her mother wasn't really in the picture, so her father had taken on all of the parental responsibilities. She found herself missing him just a bit, and she had to remind herself of the scene from her kitchen. He'd seemed so docile, just standing their cleaning everything up. Yet, the blood that painted his hands and face suggested he was anything but.

She shivered, trying to clear the image from her mind. This man before her radiated genuine care for her well-being, but he also radiated power. She was afraid to trust him. She was afraid to trust anyone. Surely, though, this man could protect her from her father. She could sense that much. She decided to follow him.

She was a bit surprised to see that he led her to some strange looking hotel, though. He introduced himself. He was Lucifer, King of Hell. She understood why he seemed to have such an aura of power. He was literally the most powerful being in Hell. He introduced his daughter, as well. Her name was Charlie. She was shown to a room and all but coddled.

Of course, she had to pretend that she was still sleeping when Lucifer and Charlie came into her room, peering down at her. She slowed her breathing, the way that she had that fateful night with her father, and listened in.

"I can't shake the feeling that she's not supposed to be here, Char. She's in my records. I called Saint Peter. She's not on his list. She's too soft for Hell. But she had to have done something that kept her from getting into Heaven, even something small."

"I don't know, Dad. The situation seems off. She seems really nice. She doesn't talk the way the rest of the new arrivals do, though. She talks like she's from an older generation."

"She talks like Alastor."

Y/N's breath hitched. Sure, she was in Hell. That wouldn't stop her from praying, though.

"We'll figure it out. Okay, Dad?"

𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳. It couldn't be. Could it?

She couldn't chance it. She tried to maintain her composure, waiting until the two left the room before she silently slid from the bed. If there was even a possibility that these strangers had brought her right to her murderous father, she needed to leave. She couldn't trust them, even if they really did want to help. Ignorance is dangerous. These people may not know what he did, and they'd probably bring her right to him if they connected the dots.

After wrapping herself in the new clothes Charlie had given her, Y/N tried to sneak down the stairs of the hotel. As soon as she saw the door, she made a break for it, only to immediately slam into someone.

She hit the ground hard and flinched as the man who stood before her asked if she was alright. She most certainly wasn't, though. The face and voice man she'd just run into were unmistakable. Looming over her, feigning concern, was Alastor.

[lostsoulofdragon]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

gggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i need to write a story about this. nnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhh

It's under the cut

[[ @valrayne-faeu by @antlered-knight & @owl-bones ]]

Snowfur OneShot

Soul huffed out a breath as she ducked under a branch. Oh dear. Her falcon had to have been caught MILES out, poor boy.

"I should have brought along a ride." Nightmare growled. Right. Soul lowered her head. Why was he here? She didn't want to go alone, and Nightmare still had a favor open for her. So she used that one.

She gave him an apologetic smile. "I was not aware of how far the way would be. I apologize for that."

"Mpfh." Ooookay then. Soul bit her tongue and continued walking.

It was silent in the forest. The cold snow hung heavy on the branches of the trees. The thick layer of snow on the ground made it hard to walk- Soul knew Nightmare would rather they fly, but she was quite unskilled in it.

Her wings twitched as she grasped the pendant of her necklace tighter. The pull that dragged her towards her falcon Blizzard was getting stronger the closer she got.

Soul looked up to the night sky. The lantern that floated by her shoulder gave off a warm, orange glow. She glanced at Nightmare who had his wings spread to avoid dragging his wing-tails trough the snow. It... was rather unsuccesful.

"... humans have a wonderful word for this: It's-" "Save it." Soul frowned. Well that was just rude.

A growl sounded through the forest. The female fae stopped. "... what-" "Down." She linked at Nightmare who'd raised his hand, a teal flicker announcing him preparing his magic. Soul ducked, grasped the bag with food that they'd taken along.

A soft wave of teal magic ran from Nightmares raised hand, splitting the darkness like the waves of a sinking pebble on an otherwise calm water.

Soul could see his good eye narrowing. Before she could say anything, the man drew his sword.

She heard branches crack. What... was that? A griffin? A bear?

... only silence.

Just as she wanted to draw in a deep breath, the night sky covered her eyes, and a body slammed into hers-

Soul merely stumbled. Cat like claws scratched over her horns and her thick collar, and the thing clinging to her face was barely weighing more then Blizzard. Why did she only see stars? Had she been blinded?

Soul didn't even yelp as her back and wings hit the snow. She reached up, pulled the thing off her. Her fingers found... fur. Surprisingly easily, she dragged the creature off her.

...

"Oh my stars! Look at you!" Soul cheered. Nightmare growled.

A small, fuzzy dragon hung in Souls grasp. Its red tongue was hanging out, revealing sharp and long teeth within the eyeless snout. The dragon had no horns, but white, fuzzy fur on its back and legs, and it's claws, bellies and wings were mirrors of the night sky.

It's tail was wagging as it squirmed in Souls grasp- the dragon was barely longer then her arm, tail included.

What a threat, right, Nightmare?

"Put it down." The king scoffed as he sheathed his sword again. The dragon on the other hand let out a 'Yip! Yip!'. Soul was absolutely smitten.

"Ohh- look at him, Nightmare! He's so cute!" Soul got up carefully, letting the small dragon nuzzle against her. With a grin, Soul cradled the dragon like a baby, it's claws digging into her thick poncho.

"Put. It. Down." "But why?" Nightmare pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It's a dragon."

"I know!" She didn't see how Nightmares wings flapped in irritation. "Are you suicidal? Put it down! The mother must be around." He drew his sword again. Oh well.

His words had the opposite of the wanted effect on Soul. Her eyes brightened, widened, and she turned her gaze to him in adoration. "A BIG one??"

"Oh, no. No, absolutely not. Soul, you will not go to search for the dragon, interact with it, or do anything but return to me in case you see said dragon."

Her wings folded flat against her back, and her ears twitched. She slumped, and looked down onto the small dragon, who was still trying to paw at her. "... yes, my liege."

"Good. Now put it down. The mother will smell you anyways, but if we're lucky she won't come after us." Nightmare growled. The female fae sighed, running her hand through the fuzz of the dragon. She put the dragon down like a cat, careful. Soul didn't stop the dragon from rubbing against her hand- Nightmare had to grasp her collar and make her stand. He turned her around, staring into her eyes.

"Soul. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Nightmare."

"Will you go after the dragon?"

"No, Nightmare."

The king nodded. "Good."

He swished some snow off his shoulder. "Now let us search for your falcon before I need to make use of my sword."

Soul looked back at the young dragon, which was digging through the snow.

"... of course, Nightmare."

ARGH this took me half an hour, did NOT spellcheck or re-read it whatsoever because I have swordfighting in like half an hour =).

There. Have it. I hope you enjoy =)

[wickmitz]

it is unknown what awakes her initially, besides the fluttering of purple smeared lids and how thick lashes ( ever so clumped and unbecoming, more than a lady would like ) tickle cool cheeks. somehow that dainty brushing rouses her more than roaring engines or footfalls, or how thinning body aches hastily upon consciousness and dream. feels where every sore has wiggled into, between sinew and toes, a throb worked against skin that webs, an array of ghostly scars and ankle-tied anchors. there’s some breed of damnation upon waking up ; intimately aware of where every strand of honey hair tangles, once shimmering texture sanded into brambles, split-ended and prickly.

one could be driven mad, she’s been told, by how long beauty takes to perfect, despite the ease to which it rots away. on mornings, on bad nights, and in death. which isn’t even touching upon the way drowsy eyes hang from lined gallows or the odd ways in which lavish gown has bundled up against her in fraught tossing, the sweat, the building filth -- but still she wakes without complaint and begins the ritual of stretching, mindful of the metal and glass confines she’s been dealt. keeps quiet, shushing even the creak and pop of marrow, all courtesy and grace until she sees it’s an unwelcomed effort.

paused in an arch, she breaks through darkened hours to murmur, “honey, you have to get some shuteye. we talked about this.” finds herself too exhausted and wrongly stretched to purposefully veil the disappointment brewing inside her. hooch soils into coffin varnish and all that when handled poorly, after all. the natural way of things. and, somewhere, that makes sense.

“do you hear that?”

ears flatten slowly, the same way drooping whiskers twitch. “no,” she sighs, eyes closing beneath the pressure built between brows, before gathering what remains of smart society manners and inquiring, “hear what?”

through hazes of dark blue, smattered with leather callouses and shining reflections, green gaze can trail along the shape of rocky behind the wheel. stubbornly blames the wrinkles creasing oddly alongside her eyelids for the red and pink flashes beaming through the tacky brim of hat, as though blood had been rubbed carefully into fuzzy forehead. funny, that. mitzi shuffles her legs around until her back hits her seat, and she does as anyone would do ; head lolling against bare shoulder as she catches moon-eyes in car window, so impossibly wide she thinks about how endless they are, how long and forever rocky is, and presses the rubies of her mouth together.

“the tapping.” he says, mumbles, as if he isn’t moving an inch. and maybe he isn’t, drawn up into his spine, staring outward into their dour, cruel world without blinking, all rising grey fur and ears. have they always looked so … sharp, when they’re turned like that? the boy is all edges and bones, mostly, a clumsy, hapless mess of stabbing elbows and teeth. she supposes she must still be dazed if such thoughts are haunting her now. as if it hardly matters, as if mitzi would wish for something fatter and equally tender. they’re well past the point of that.

one thick, knotted bush of bangs fall over one eye when she leans forward, gently knocking against the back of his seat. “i doubt it’s anyone of importance, sweetie. everyone’s long gone.”

“i always hear it,” rocky confesses, in that meandering way he does, “they’re out there, lurking with their yellow and claws and … and it’s okay, miss m. i’m invincible. i am.”

phantom paws slink past floorboards and through ever present oil to fist spindly fingers into cloth, her made anew pearls, to drag her into the crashing wave of sleep. an uncomfortable itch blooms around the area underneath the jut of collarbone, foaming and hot, a heat that brightens what false blush still resides on her cheeks. there’s a wetness somewhere, can feel the very drip-drop of a leak, but all she can think about ( in a haze ; so thick inside her mind she feels ash stick inside sniffling nostrils, the round shape of pink nose wiggling like a newborn ) is her moonshiner. imagines where harmless fangs scrape against the thin shine of black lip when he speaks, where moonlight bounces off his crumpled, dirty whiskers. can still smell where abandoned, amber bottles have touched him, as he reeks of nothing but giggle water and rust. and, perhaps with utmost priority, she had heard, or think she heard, how the words slurred together in some heady, breathless rush when he spoke. she’d think him canned if she didn’t know him a smidge better, truthfully.

but all in all, her own confession is this : the absence of pronunciation soothes something deeply distraught inside her soul, blows softened and meaning erased, an answer retired into easy sound. the feathery fur of tail slithers before making home draped over her wide lap, rested atop her empty paws, now holding onto nothing except her own knees. there isn’t a sound save for whatever insects crawl around outside, burrowed in marsh and river, buzzing and chriping in the air or bark. no tap. no anything. willingly blind, mitzi could almost fall into girlish naivety and believe there was only barren land lying in wait outside her car. something blank and, by definition, malleable -- useless clay she can shape into … into …

( something useful, desirable, an image which mirrors all her hopes and dreams, a creature who is everything and nothing at once, but will always be what she makes of it )

“i am.” rocky repeats, still whispering about tapping and outfits under his breath, an almost hissing noise. mitzi doesn’t bother wasting her breath further, and falls into slumber just like that ; head bowed and nestled into his back, seperated only by thick barrier.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Snow Way Home

After the portal accident, Danny is reincarnated as a baby yeti.

For the prompt: After the portal accident, Danny finds himself in the ghost zone (not that he knows that’s where he is). He has become a baby yeti and feels lost and alone. He eventually finds his way to the Far Frozen through instinct, where Frostbite finds him and takes him in. Fluff ensues! [from Neighbor]

Read also on AO3

[No applicable warnings]

Danny felt cold. A deep, penetrating cold that coursed through his veins and made a home in his very bones. But it didn't bother him. He was suspended in a bright green sky, so high above everything that he couldn't see the ground no matter which way he looked, almost like he was in space. He didn't know his up from down, his right from left.

And he was cold. A soft, comfortable cold, like the underside of a pillow, like a breeze on a hot day, like ice cream, or tiny raindrops drifting through a fog. Actually, he was a hundred times colder than any of those, but the cold felt the same.

The last thing he remembered, he was with his friends, poking around his parents' lab. Sam had been taking pictures, and she told him he should go in the portal and then—

Danny heard the sound of a baby crying, and it was close, but when he looked around, he didn't see anyone. Then, he realized the sound was coming from him. Slowly, the crying faded into tiny hiccups and then silence as Danny took stock of where, and more importantly what, he was.

His hands were tiny, and covered in white fur. His nails were thin, translucent claws. He kicked his legs up and saw that his feet were much the same—small, clawed, and covered in white fur. When he reached up to touch his face, he discovered that it, too, was fuzzy, with a damp nose at then end of a snout, no teeth, and floppy ears on the sides of his head. In fact, his whole body appeared to be fluffy and white like fresh snow. And except for the fur, he was naked.

He was a baby... something. A tiny little thing, lost in a vast and empty green sky, and he was alone. He started to cry again, but just as the ice-cold tears began to fall, he felt a weak tugging sensation in his chest. It didn't stop him crying, but he did let him pull him on an air current.

He followed the pull for what felt like days, until, in the distance he saw a floating island covered in ice, all sharp and jagged. In his head, he looked at those edges, and icicles, and spikes, and he thought that it looked like no place for a baby. But in his heart—or... whatever was pulsing in this chest now that felt both like a heart and very unlike a heart—he knew that was home, and he allowed himself to drift gently toward it until he was close enough for the island's gravity to pull him to the snowy ground.

It was a long several minutes before Danny managed to actually stand on his own two feet, but as soon as he took a step on the shifting snow, he fell. He tried several more times to get up and walk forward, but between the shifty, uneven ground and his underdeveloped baby legs, he never managed to stay upright for long. At least the fresh snow provided a nice, soft surface for him to fall on.

Eventually, Danny gave up and began to crawl forward on his hand and knees, calling out every so often. His mouth was uncooperative when it came to forming words, but it didn't stop him from making a decently loud "Eh!" sound every once in a while.

Then, after a few hours of crawling and yelling through the snow, he heard footsteps. Actually, he felt more than heard them, heavy, thumping footsteps that sent vibrations through the snow. Involuntarily, Danny began to cry again. Was this why babies cried all the time? They just couldn't stop themselves if they wanted to.

The footsteps grew closer and closer, and Danny couldn't run, so he just sat there, tugged on his floppy ears, and cried, hoping whatever monster appeared might take pity on him and at least kill him quickly—bite his head off in one big chomp, like he was a gummy bear, so he wouldn't have to suffer.

Finally, the monster rounded a massive jutting spike of ice, and Danny saw what it was. It looked like a yeti, with jagged, icy horns, huge teeth and claws, and glowing yellow eyes. Its left arm was made of ice, through which the bones were visible.

Danny cried louder, and the yeti knelt down, shushing him gently, and reached out with its soft, left arm.

"Shh," he said, in a deep, soothing voice. "Hush, little one. You did well in getting this far, and I'm so proud of you. I shall take you the rest of the way, little one."

Hesitantly, Danny let his tears lighten up, and allowed the yeti to scoop his tiny body into his huge arm and carry him off.

"I am Frostbite," the yeti introduces as he walked. "This is the Realm of the Far Frozen, home to all yeti, including you, little one. And I am its ruler."

As the yeti spoke, Danny looked up at him intently, hanging onto every word. So he was a baby yeti, then. Had he been reincarnated after—a stark fear and discomfort gripped him as he remembered again what had happened to him before winding up here. It must've killed him, he realized belatedly.

Frostbite gently hushed him again. "Shh, shh, little one," he said softly, stroking a frozen claw against the fluffy fur of Danny's face. "You have very intelligent eyes for one so young," the yeti observed. "It's almost as if you can even understand me. And I sense turmoil within you. Did something distressing happen on your journey? Or perhaps... before."

Danny tried to speak, but only succeeded in making a some infantile babbling noises and staring up at frostbite with huge eyes.

"You know, you have rather unusual eyes for a yeti. Most of us have yellow sclera and dark irises, but yours are green, with irises of pale blue," Frostbite mused.

Danny blinked owlishly at him. He hadn't seen his own eyes since showing up in this place of existence, wherever it was, so he hadn't known that. He wondered if it meant anything.

As if in answer, Frostbite said, "It would seem you are favored by the ectoplasm, the very energy of which everything in the Infinite Realms is constructed. That makes you rather special indeed.

"Once we get back to the village, I will take you to the soothsayer. She will divine your name, and determine your ideal parentage. Perhaps today will finally be the day I get to claim a child for my own."

Unsure what to say to that, and unable to say anything regardless, Danny kept staring at the yeti. This was his life, now, it would seem. Or perhaps his afterlife.

As he said, Frostbite carried Danny into a frozen, but cozy-looking village full of yetis. As soon as they saw Danny, several of them came over to coo and fawn over him, and Frostbite made his way to the soothsayer's hut very slowly as he had to keep stopping every few feet to let someone get a good look at Danny. It was overwhelming, and it wasn't long before Danny buried his face in Frostbite's fluffy chest to avoid their eyes.

Finally, the light changed, and Danny looked up to see that he'd been taken into a small, dimly lit hut draped in cloth and furs. In the center of the room was a low fire pit full of glowing coals and embers, circled by worn, blue cushions.

"Galacia," Frostbite called out gently. "Are you here?"

"I live here," croaked an old woman's voice.

Frostbite and Danny both jumped with a start, and looked over to see and elderly, hunched over female yeti. The white fur framing her face was longer and braided, and she war a twisted, golden circlet. One of her horns was broken, and one of her eyes was milky white, and a blue shawl with gold trim was draped over her shoulders.

"I see you've brought me a child," Galacia said. "Let's have a look at him."

She reached out with two skinny, bony arms, and Frostbite gently lowered Danny into them. Danny had been bracing himself for hard angles digging into him, but with the both of them being covered in fur, it wasn't any less comfortable than being held by Frostbite.

"What is his name, Galacia?" Frostbite asked.

"Well, let's just see, shall we?"

She stepped just outside, to where a crowd was gathered, and shifted Danny so he was being help in just one of her arms. Then she reached up with the other to grab one her her braids and ran her fingers down to the tassel at the end. She lifted the tassel to Danny's nose and tickled it.

Danny giggled for a moment, until he felt a sneeze coming on.

"Ah-choo!" He sniffed.

Galacia stared intently at the cloud of condensation that puffed and curled up into the air above him when he sneezed, humming thoughtfully, and when it dissipated she nodded. He waited for her to declare his name was Danny, but instead, she said something completely different.

"He shall be named Polaris, after the star of the north, which is steadfast, enduring, and a guiding light to its people, always there to point the way," the soothsayer announced.

Danny—no... Polaris felt an icy calmness settle into his chest, a rightness like he had never felt before. Though he hadn't been expecting it, it did logically follow that since he was now a yeti, he would be given a yeti name. He'd never met humans named Frostbite, or Galacia, a yeti couldn't be named something so mundane as Danny. Plus... it felt both fitting, and incredibly flattering to be named after a star.

"And... what shall be his parentage," Frostbite asked. He was standing behind Galacia now, in the doorway of the hut. Danny—Polaris could see him over the soothsayer's shoulder, looking hesitantly hopeful.

She put her cold hand on Polaris' soft chest, and closed her eyes, and hummed a low, rattling hum. Then, at once, she stopped cold and her eyes snapped open once more.

"He shall be the son of our leader, of course," Galacia declared. "He shall be raised by our great ruler, and trained to lead and protect the tribe. And when, a thousand years from now, he takes his father's place, we will know that we can trust him with our lives."

Frostbite absolutely beamed at that answer, his eyes glistening with hope, and pride, and joy.

Galacia grabbed Polaris with both hands and thrust him into the air like Simba in the lion king.

"I present to the tribe, Polaris, son of Frostbite, heir to the Realm of the Far Frozen."

The assembled yetis cheered as Frostbite took his new son into his arms with a thousand watt smile.

"I will take good care of you, my son," Frostbite promised.

The baby couldn't help smiling and giggling in the joyous atmosphere, but deep inside him was a heavy trepidation. He wondered if he would be able to hold onto his memories from his life before, as Danny, or if they would fade in time, replaced by his memories as Polaris. He wondered which he would prefer.

Would Sam, and Tucker, and his parents come to look for him? Was there even the slightest possibility of them recognizing him as he was now, if they were even able to find him? Would he be able to fit in with the other yetis if he'd once been human. Had any of the others been human like him, before becoming covered in white fur.

Frostbite held Polaris close against his fur and promised that everything would be fine, that he would always be safe and cared for, and Danny believed him. He believed that everything would be okay.

[komouri-official]

xmen evolution characters as Pokemon?

I did this cuz I was bored

X-MEN

CYCLOPS: GALLADE

- Kirlia in season 1

-Gallade in seasons 2-4

JEAN: GARDEVOIR

- Kirlia in season 1

- Gardevoir in season 2-4

- has MUCH stronger power than just a normal Gardevoir

ROGUE: VULPIX

- is a Vulpix for the entire series

- one of her tails and hair curls are white

SHADOWCAT: MINCCINO/CINCCINO

- I don't really have an explanation, I just see this fitting her well

-Minccino in seasons 1-2

-Evolves by getting a shiny stone thrown at her in season 3

NIGHTCRAWLER: IMPIDIMP

- shiny

- fuzzy

- has a tail

WOLVERINE: GUMSHOOS

-i know what you're probably thinking, "gumshoos? Why not Zangoose? It has the claws!" AND LEMME TELL YOU WHY

- wolverine's claws were a modification. Zangoose are just born with them. So yeah. Logan is a Gumshoos with adamantium claws. And it's sick.

STORM: ALTARIA

-do I need to say anything?

XAVIER: ALAKAZAM-

still needs a wheelchair 😼

-no mustache 💔💔

BEAST: ORANGURU

- imagine an Oranguru but bigger and bluer. That's him.

THE BROTHERHOOD

QUICKSILVER: PIKACHU

-has blue cheeks instead of red

-has silver and shiny fur

-ears are almost always pinned down

SCARLET WITCH: PIKACHU

-does still have all of her actual abilities just also electric powers as well now

-shiny

-has the black thing at the end of her tail that makes it look like a heart

AVALANCHE: KROKOROK/KROOKODILE

-Krokorok in season 1+2-Evolves in season 3

TOAD: TOTODILE/CROCONAW

-is a Totodile for seasons 1-3

-Is a Feraligatr in the future

-So just imagine a Totodile but with yellow teeth and acts like a frog

BLOB: SNORLAX

-i think this is self explanatory

ACOLYTES

MAGNETO: Shiny Raichu

-i mean I made his kids Pikachus soo..

SABRETOOTH: PYROAR

- long and sharp canines (like a sabertooth obviously)

GAMBIT: LUXUO/LUXRAY

-Luxio in season 2

-Luxray in seasons 3-4

PYRO: EEVEE/VAPOREON-

Eevee in season 2-3

-Vaporeon in season 4

-REALLY wanted to be a Flareon

- Accidentally touched a water stone

-Had blonde fur and his tail was dyed the same as his hair in the show as an Eevee

COLOSSUS: RHYDON

-not much to say, not much changes

[written-with-clouds]

Monstober Day 6: Minotaur (YunJoong)

Day 6/13

Summary: How Hongjoong, a petty thief, meets Yunho, a lonely minotaur.

CW: none

not beta read

Series Masterlist

All Hongjoong did was steal a piece of bread. And now, he was running through the twisting halls of a labyrinth trying not to make noise and startle the beast that lives within. He turns left, then right…then right again, frantically trying to find his way to the exit. He doesn’t know how long he’s been down there, but his stomach is growling in hunger and his feet ache more and more with every step.

Making yet another left, he can see a faint light start to spill into the halls. A smile explodes onto his face as he jogs towards the light, only to drop when he finds the source. It isn’t the exit, like he originally thought. But instead, the light came from several candles that were lit around the room–the room being the center of the labyrinth where a makeshift living space had been set up. There was a beaten up table and chair closest to where Hongjoong stood, a sleeping mat lying on the floor furthest from him, and a metal bucket in the corner opposite the mat…Hongjoong could guess what the bucket was for, but he didn’t really want to think about that. 

The room appears empty as Hongjoong peers around it, so he carefully steps into the space. He doesn’t make it more than three steps into the room before he’s being shoved into the wall and lifted by a hand around his neck. Hongjoong’s eyes go wide with fear as his hands claw at the one closing off his oxygen supply. 

“P-please…” Hongjoong stutters out, as his vision starts to go fuzzy around the edges. 

Staring back at him are the angry orange eyes of the minotaur. Its lips curl into a snarl as he huffs, breathing so harshly Hongjoong can faintly feel the puffs of air on his face. The minotaur opens his mouth, revealing sharp teeth and large canines. Hongjoong closes his eyes, waiting for the pain of a bite. When, after a few seconds, nothing happened, he opened his eyes. The minotaur roars, the sound echoing off the walls, and drops him. Hongjoong falls to the floor in a coughing heap, clutching his neck as he greedily sucks down air. 

He looks back to the beast that has turned away from him, busying itself with something Hongjoong can’t see. He takes a chance, carefully standing and trying to leave the room. Trying, being the key word. Nearly as soon as Hongjoong takes a step to leave, the minotaur whips around and roars again. Hongjoong freezes as the beast stalks over to him. 

Now that Hongjoong isn’t struggling to breath, he can really observe the minotaur. It’s tall… much taller than Hongjoong, and stands on two large hooved feet and fur covered legs resembling that of a bull’s. Its torso and arms were human, except for the sharp claws. its head and face was also human, unlike so many of the stories, the only difference being the color of its eyes, the bull horns that curled out from the side of its head and sat right above large bull ears instead of human ones. The fur of its legs and ears were a shade darker than the blonde hair on its head, and Hongjoong thought that it looked almost handsome. 

It stares back at Hongjoong expectantly, shit… He had spaced out while looking at the beast. “Um… sorry.. I don't know what you want,” Hongjoong says awkwardly. Does it even know what he is saying? Can it even talk?

“Sit.” It responds, pointing at the single chair. Well… that answers that. 

Hongjoong listens. It’s not like he has much of a choice anyways, his feet are killing him from running and he’s physically exhausted. He watches cautiously as the minotaur returns to whatever it is that’s in front of him before turning and walking to where Hongjoong now sits. 

The minotaur crouches before him, setting a bowl on the ground next to it. The bowl had ripped clothes hanging out of it and was filled with a thicker honey colored liquid. Hongjoong watches as the minotaur grabs a cloth and dips it into the liquid before ringing it out and looking up at Hongjoong. 

“Give me your foot,” It beckons with a hand and Hongjoong lifts his foot and lets the minotaur grab it. The hold is surprisingly gentle as it wraps the cloth around Hongjoong’s foot. 

“What-um.. What are you doing?” Hongjoong asks.

“I’m wrapping it in a tonic…” The minotaur responds curtly. 

“Why?” 

“I could smell the blood…” Hongjoong’s mouth makes an ‘o’ shape as he nods dumbly. 

“Do… Do you have a name?” He asks… doesn’t hurt to try. 

“Yunho. But it has been a long time since anyone called me that.” Yunho responds solemnly, continuing his work on Hongjoong’s other foot. 

“I’m… sorry to hear that..” 

“Don’t be… I’m not bothered by it anymore..” Yunho stands, having finished with Hongjoong. “Your feet should be healed in a few days. Stay here until then and I will take you to the exit afterwards.” 

Hongjoong balks, “What!?”

“Do I really need to repeat myself?” Yunho levels Hongjoong with an unamused look. 

“No…No, I’m just confused… Why are you helping me? Why not just eat me and get it over with?” Hongjoong asks. 

Yunho crosses his arms over his chest, sighing deeply. “I don’t eat people. And I haven’t killed anyone in a very long time, before you ask. I'm helping you because the sooner you leave, the sooner I can be unbothered… Now rest, you look as if you could collapse at any second. You can take the mat.” 

Hongjoong started to protest, but thought better of it at the look Yunho gave him. And, honestly, that mat was looking very enticing. It had been a long time since Hongjoong was able to sleep on something that wasn’t the ground or a hard bench. He stands, crossing the room over to the mat–being mindful of the cloth on his feet– and lays down. Sleep finds him surprisingly easy.

Hongjoong is woken up by the sounds of a fitful sleep. He scans the room, finding Yunho curled up in a corner. The minotaur is trembling and whimpering, hugging his arms around himself tightly. He’s whispering things in his sleep, but Hongjoong can’t make out the words. 

Hongjoong stands, padding over to Yunho and crouching down before him. “Yunho?” He whispers. 

No response but the panicked mumbling from his dreams.

“Yunho…” Hongjoong tries again, this time placing a tentative hand on Yunho’s shoulder. 

The Minotaur’s eyes snap open and he startles to a sitting position and Hongjoong jerks his hand away. “Hey… hey it’s okay..” Hongjoong soothes. Yunho visibly relaxes as he becomes more and more aware of his surroundings. 

“What happened?” He asked quietly. 

“You were having a nightmare…” Yunho nods slowly, responding with a small ‘oh’. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” Yunho stands and leaves the room, likely going to wander the halls of the labyrinth. With nothing left to do and no other option, Hongjoong goes back to sleep.

When Hongjoong wakes, Yunho is already back. Neither one of them brings up what happened. Yunho does his normal day-to-day tasks and Hongjoong tries to stay out of his way. They talk little, having no need to get to know one another. Things seem to be okay… until that night. 

Hongjoong wakes up to Yunho having another nightmare. He mimics what he did the night before and gets the same result. Yunho wakes up startled, slowly realizes where he is, leaves, and is back by the time Hongjoong wakes up. 

This continues for the next few nights, in much the same fashion. Until everything changes. 

Hongjoong is woken up, but this time, Yunho is already awake. He’s still in the corner of the room, but he’s sitting up and staring blankly into the room. 

“Yunho? Are you okay?” Hongjoong asks and when Yunho doesn’t respond, he crosses the room to him. He kneels next to Yunho and this close, he can see that Yunho had been crying. The Minotaur makes no sign that he notices Hongjoong’s presence next to him until Hongjoong reaches out and brushes a finger against his cheek, collecting a tear. 

“Yunho?” Hongjoong starts. 

“I’m fine.” Yunho wipes at his cheeks with his hands, moving to stand. He is stopped by Hongjoong placing a hand on his leg. 

“You’re not… I know that we’re practically strangers… but you can talk to me.” Hongjoong says softly, his eyes searching Yunho’s. The minotaur sighs, sinking back against the wall. 

“I…” Yunho stops, at a loss for words.

“It’s okay…” Hongjoong comforts, his hand moving to lay over top of Yunho’s and squeezing it reassuringly. 

“I’ve been alone for so long… I’m used to it, or at least I thought I… and then you showed up.” Yunho pauses and Hongjoong waits patiently for him to continue. “You’re the first person I've seen in I don’t know how long. And… I’ve grown used to you being here.. Even if we don’t talk much at all… it’s just nice having someone else here.. I don’t want you to leave…” He whispers the last part, like it’s a secret. And it probably was. 

Hongjoong sits silently, thinking over his next words carefully. “I.. I don’t have to leave.. It’s not like I have anyone waiting on me..”

Yunho’s eyes widen, snapping to look at Hongjoong. “Really? You’d want to stay… with me?” 

“Yeah.. I’m sure.” Hongjoong smiles.

Thus began the unlikely friendship between a thief and a lonely minotaur. And if a few months down the line that friendship blossomed into something more, who would stand in their way.

Series Masterlist

[wereh0gz]

Wish i had fuzzy little ears and a tail and lots of fur and big paws and claws and and big sharp teeth and

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: UGHH IM SO SORRY I'VE BEEN SO CAUGHT UP WITH EXAMS I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO POSTTT. Anyways here's chapter nine :D. This chapter is written by the lovely Nyota (@labaguetteisdabest). You can find the masterlist here

Warning(s): Apex gets panic attacks (kinda), mentions of death

Pairing(s): Kaepex

Three Days Later... 

I snack on an apple I discovered I had, at some point, packed in my bag, and flip the pages of one of my favorite books. 

But the excitement flowing through my veins keeps me from focusing all the way. 

Clip clop. 

Clip clop. 

Clip clop. 

The rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves had become reassuring by now. It tells me that we’re on track and that everything is fine. 

Totally fine. 

But there’s still something nagging at me. It feels... weird that there’s no other carriages traveling this route. This one isn’t the most popular, but it’s commonly used. 

So, then, why is there no one here? 

The carriage begins slowing down. I peek out the window, delighted to see the lush gardens and pristine pathways that surround the palace I call home. 

Burgunjax Palace. 

The carriage stops moving, and I hear Avior jump down to open the door for me. I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and adjust the red vest I’m wearing. 

Once the blond knight opens the door, I hop down, my black boots thumping against the cobblestone. 

I look ahead and I feel a smile spread across my face. 

Home, I think. Finally. 

The palace looks just like when I left. The same white bricks, the same colorful mosaic window on the largest tower that shows the Pyracent crest (a golden crown with a flame in the center; simple, I know), the same red-roofed towers... 

But it’s eerily quiet. 

Too quiet for a wild 11-year-old boy who’s probably overly excited to receive his Reya. 

What shocks me the most is that the drawbridge is open. … My parents would never leave it open. 

Something’s not right. 

Avior says something I don’t hear and walks off. I begin to walk towards the palace. 

Something rustles in the bushes behind me. I whip my head towards the noise, but there isn’t anything there. 

I step in the palace warily. 

“Hello?” I call, uncertainty lacing my voice. 

My footsteps echo through the halls as I make my way to the throne room. 

No one. 

The kitchen? 

No one. 

The maids’ quarters? 

No one. 

The stables? 

No one. 

I rush up the stairs, worry flooding my veins, my heart racing. 

“Is anyone up here?” I try to disguise the shakiness of my voice, but it doesn’t work too well. My voice is still noticeably shaky. 

Covyn’s room? 

No one. 

It's messy, as if someone trashed it and bolted away so they weren’t caught in the act. 

And while the Covyn I knew was young, I feel like he would never mess up his room this badly. 

Daxton’s room? 

It's a long shot, but maybe he came back for a visit while I was gone? 

No one. 

My parents’ room? 

No one. 

“Where is everyone?” I ask aloud. My eyes begin to water. 

It feels like I’ve been abandoned. 

They all knew I was returning soon. 

The letters I exchanged with my parents and Covyn said that he was counting down the days. 

So why is no one here? 

Is this a cruel joke? 

I hate feeling like I've been abandoned, thanks to my older brother, Dax. 

I rub at my eyes gently, careful not to irritate my burn. 

But the emotions overwhelm me, take control of me, and I fall to my knees, trying my best not to cry. 

A sudden crash comes from outside. 

I jump, startled, and leap to check out the window. 

I clap my hands over my mouth in horror. 

A reddish-brown wild animal – but not an animal, somehow? - had jumped at the carriage. It tears the wood apart, splintering each piece and throwing them around. Then it stops, suddenly. It sniffs the air and turns in the direction of the palace, so I can finally see what animal it is. 

It's a bear – but at the same time, it isn’t. It has the body of an espyn, but bear attributes are all over its body. Reddish-brown fur, sharp claws and teeth, fuzzy ears. ...  

Its eyes. 

Its eyes are teal. 

The same shade as my father’s. 

The same shade as Daxton’s. 

And when I look closer, it’s clear that the bear-espyn-thing is Dax. I don’t know how I can tell – the behavior of the creature that used to be my brother, maybe? 

The creature that used to be my brother. 

Those are the words that throw me over the edge. My body is racked with quiet sobs and hot tears stream down my face. 

Someone screams from outside, and I hear a loud snarl. 

I whip my head towards the sound. 

The bear-creature had attacked Avior. 

“No!” I shout, disregarding my own safety. 

I want to run down there, to save Avior, but I’m frozen in place. 

I watch the animal slash its sharp claws at my friend, deep red lines appearing in their stead. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter under my breath. 

My eyes continue to widen to levels I didn’t even know were possible as I watch the scene play out below me. 

Avior shrieks in pain when the bear-espyn-thing knocks him off his feet. 

The animal pins Avior down. 

And slices at his face. 

The tears only keep streaming from my eyes as I switch to thermodynamic vision and watch the heat gradually fade out of my friend. 

The bear-espyn-thing – whatever it is – clambers off into the gardens farther away from the palace, sensing that its job is done. 

I want to run down and... save Avior? I don’t know. 

But what I do know is that it’s not safe yet. And I don’t know if it ever will be. 

My stomach growls and I realize that I desperately need to find food. 

There's no way I’m surviving off a singular apple. 

I've scoured the entire palace – and for the record, this place is huge. And I haven’t found a single scrap. 

So, either my family escaped and took everything, or my newly-turned-bear-brother ate everything before I arrived. 

The latter seems more likely, considering I have no idea how long Dax has been here. 

Panic begins to pulse through my body. 

I have no food, for one. 

Two, my brother is half bear. 

Three, I don’t know why he’s half bear. 

And four, I have no way of communicating with other survivors – namely Cari and, ugh, Kaeda. 

Even worse: Kaeda’s my best bet on surviving. She lives closest to Asraxvale and is probably having the same thoughts as me. 

Now, I hate Little Miss Flawless with my whole soul, but if she’s my only way of survival, I must accept my fate, right? 

Or she’s already been attacked by some other wild animal and is unfortunately (read: fortunately) bleeding to her death. 

I don’t know which I prefer. 

But my preference on whether Kaeda survives or not shouldn’t be my greatest concern right now. 

I should be worrying about my survival. 

As I walk back to the immaculate staircase, I hear a low growl come from far behind me. 

I freeze, then slowly turn my head. 

The Daxton-bear-espyn-thing is in the entryway. 

Crap, I think. 

Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. 

I need to run. 

I sprint up the stairs, two or three steps at a time, and run into the first room I see. 

It’s Covyn’s room. 

Where can I hide here? I think. Panic clouds my mind and I can barely think straight (not that I could in the first place). 

I scan the room frantically, then realize: 

The closet. 

I dash across the room, dodging the disarray on the floor. Hopping into the dark closet, I gently shut the door behind me. 

Then it hits me. 

Oh, how cliche. 

I quiet my breathing so that, if my brother comes in here, I don’t get caught. 

One minute passes. 

Then two. 

Then three. 

Heavy footsteps come from the hallway, and I bite my lip so I don’t shriek. 

Just don’t die, Adrienne. 

Just don’t die. 

[bardkin]

while my dracionity turned out different in the end, this was still an important post for me to write!

<:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::{[xxx()o

when I see my draconic self in my mind’s eye, or become more aware of my phantom parts (because they're always present to a degree), there’s a consistent, distinct shape.

o()xxx[{:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>

- a long-ish mammalian muzzle, full of sharp teeth & fangs. also has a feline- or mustelidae-like nose-pad. (“padded nose”? idk the exact term for these types of critter snoots.) - brown fur of short-to-medium length. - unsure if i have scales or protective plating anywhere? might have some on the lower sections of my legs. - body is pine-marten-y in shape & length. - tail is also quite long. sleek, thick-ish, and is capable of corkscrewing around itself at least once. tapers off into a (albeit large) lion-like “tuft” at the end; like a traditional unicorn’s tail. (may be longer, and i’m just experiencing a length that’s relative to my human body???) - paws with five digits, paw-pads, & claws. unsure if said claws are retractable at all. overall very marten-esk. - ears are always in a “back facing” position, which seems to be their natural/neutral positioning. ears are large, almost fennec-like, and fuzzy inside & out like a donkey’s. - set of small nub-horns, teal in color, positioned like a goat’s or deer’s. - one of the closest placement matches i’ve seen are Trico’s (beast from The Last Guardian), but mine grow the opposite direction (i.e, toward my back).

- i do not have wings, and notably feel like i’d be incapable of (natural/non-magical) flight.

- i believe my species lived in, or at least frequented, a temperate forest environment of sorts. and/or potentially somewhere that feels like a mix of Alaska & California's wilderness? it's a jumble of fuzzy noemata that i'm still sorting through.

all this got me wondering; is there any example of this sort of dragon in wider media? in any known mythos or folklore? thus far, the closest examples i've found in these sources are Chinese & Japanese Dragons, such as the character of Haku from Spirited Away; but these aren't exacts. when i look up images & read about them in mythology texts (historical & fictional alike), i always think to myself "Kind of close, but... not it."

one fictional type i've found that sort of matches me is Imperial dragons, from Flight Rising.

however, many details just don't ring as "me." i lack wings, those prominent whiskers, full scales, or any kind of beard, my horns are much, much shorter, i could go on. bottom line, i'm not an Imperial dragon. so, i'm left with the same feeling: "Close, but nowhere near exact."

the absolute closest body-type/shape i’ve found (outside of drawing something myself) is from various original characters. there's a consistent handful of design tropes that make these characters distinctly this type of "fuzzy noodle dragon" — like a mosh-pit mix of almost "off-brand" depictions of eastern dragons. if you're in character/adoptable design circles, you may know what i'm talking about. you may even own a character like this, or be in the same boat as me.

i did briefly consider the idea i might be OC-kin, but... similarly to historical depictions & Imperial dragons, these designs feel like they’re just that; designs. not part of my identity.

"Close. Nothing more."

even this fursona/character concept i whipped up a few years ago, which has pretty much every visual aspect i described, doesn’t feel like me. that character still feels like just a for-fun-mascot or character; not a self-portrait, idealized or true-to-form.

which brings me to a label i've been ruminating over: Folcinteric (Nonhumanity).

i feel @who-is-page’s label of folcintera might really fit me, especially with the specific type of dragon i’ve described here. problem is, (and this is most likely just the imposter syndrome talking) i'm not even sure i have any mythos to begin with.

well. maybe i do. in a slightly more abstract sense.

as i said, this kind of design is not that uncommon; i'd even dare to say it's popular. popular enough that a lot of people will understand and have a fairly distinct image in their mind when you say “furry noodle dragon.” (i'm extremely curious about the origins of this design trend, and who might've kicked it off, or if this concept is a conclusion that multiple artists came to when making a lung dragon inspired design.)

so, perhaps my larger “mythology” — to potentially stretch the definition a bit — is from a subset of the dragon art & character design communities. something in me says that could count as a "lived mythology" of sorts.

and, i am still a type of dragon, one that varies in imagery/details and person-to-person lore, at the end of the day. one that is also very tied to my own personal understanding of "dragon."

dragons, in the larger scope of folklore, are typically an allegory for the wealthy, or the concept of "evil," or are simply more "neutral" symbols of power, wisdom, strength, and/or magic.

dragons were never something i feared / saw as universally "villainous," or even as strictly symbolic of any of the previously listed symbolism. my first exposure to dragons was within the Eragon/Inheritance Cycle series. due to the dragon and rider bond i saw there, "dragon" was cemented in my brain as a companion; protector, friend, but also animal. a fearsome one, yes, but not cruel or "evil by nature." not greedy, just naturally curious and drawn to "shiny" objects in the way any corvid is. sapient as any human or humanoid folk, but still as much of a beast as any wolf or bear.

publicly, i'll most likely just say "I'm a [species of] dragon," and leave it at that. the details of my identity are for me alone, and thus any further explanations or descriptions will be given voluntarily.

but even the things i keep private, i like to put names to. this is one such thing!

"theriomythic" felt somewhat like a hasty choice, though i don't mean that as a bad thing, at least for me. a bit of "my experiences fit here [within the therian label], but the species and my understanding of it doesn't [fit the definition of "only" earthen/nonfictional animals]... so i'll go with something that's close enough."

i do quite like the terms "draconity" & "dragonkind," since they're both very all-encompassing; but... i'm not sure how to articulate how that also feels like the problem (though i use the term loosely) that my brain has with them. "dragonkind," from my understanding, is more-so a label for the community itself rather than the individual. (it can be for personal use, i.e "I am dragonkind," but i don't know if it's widely used as such.) and "draconity" doesn't... quite ring the way i feel it should. it feels more like a general descriptor to preface my experiences and identity.

i could come up with my own term(s), and who knows, i might end up doing so. but at the same time, i don't want to reinvent where i don't need to. to me, the idea currently feels like calling that particular shade of lavender purple by another name, just because i can.

so maybe my flavor of dragon does fit the definitions for being folcintera. the term is supposed to be pretty much limitless within "lived mythos."

all that to say, i'm going to be trying out folcintera for myself. worst that happens is it doesn't end up fitting lol if that becomes the case, i'll find or make something new~

[bluxstories]

I glanced around suspiciously, to make sure she wasn’t in the room anymore. It has been a year since I’ve seen my brother and his wife, but there was something completely off about her.

“Hey, what’s with the doom and gloom?” Mike shook my shoulder and I flinched.

“Mike there is something completely off about your wife. Have you noticed how hairy she is?”

“Woaahhh… that is NOT something you mention out of the blue! What’s gotten into you?” He took a sip of his drink and set it back down, ice clinking in the unbearably silent house.

“I’m telling you I think she’s a.. she’s a wolf or something! Like in Little Red Riding Hood!” Mike chuckled and stood up, bringing me over to the kitchen window where we saw his “wife” Shiela, tending to the garden.

“I don’t think a wolf can farm carrots and potatoes, can it?” Sheila had dark yellow eyes and extremely fuzzy ears. As she grinned while pulling weeds, her teeth were unsettlingly sharp, and her jaw extended a bit too far in front of her face. Not to mention she was covered in fur.

“MIKE, SHE IS QUITE LITERALLY A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING, LOOK AT HER LEGS!” They were vent the wrong way, like a dogs.

“She was just born that way! Cut it out.” Mike was obviously upset at me pointing out his wife’s insecurities, but I wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. He sighed and stepped away from the window, grabbing a butter knife and something from the cabinet. I continued watching her through the window, digging holes for the garden. With her hands.

“Do you want a peanut butter jelly sandwich?” Mike asked, holding the ingredients. I glanced over at him and to my shock, the peanut butter bar was destroyed by claw marks and bites. The lid was hardly functional anymore and the inside of the peanut butter was very clearly licked up.

“MIKE! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU! THAT IS VERY CLEARLY A WOLF’S DOING! DO YOU EVEN HAVE A DOG?”

“No, we don’t have a dog! What is wrong with you? It’s just Shiela and I. Sometimes she get’s hungry and wants a snack”

“Michael that is not a SNACK that is a gored jar of peanut butter. And you said you didn’t have a dog, and Sheila’s not a wolf, how do you explain the fur everywhere and the leash on the wall?” I was furious with him. Can’t he see his wife is a wolf? He can’t be this deep in denial.

“Shiela sheds! Girl thing. I don’t ask.” Mike curiously glided over the leash statement.

“If you’re gonna keep attacking my wife like this I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

I looked back outside the window, waiting to see Shiela staring back.. waiting to pounce, but instead I heard the door open. THIS! THIS WAS UNDENIABLE PROOF. SHE WAS HOLDING THE CARCASS OF A RABBIT IN HER MOUTH! HE TOOTHY, EXTENDED JAWS HAD BLOOD DRIBBLING DOWN THEM!

“Thanks for bringing dinner honey!” I promptly left due to frustration without another word.

You’re pretty sure your brother’s wife is a talking wolf in a dress, but he simply refuses to believe you.

[nighmares-art-and-stories]

Puppeteer 2 - WIP

Thousands of golden eyes glittered like firefly lights in the fog filled darkness. A deep throaty growl reverberated throughout the clearing, loud, violent, and strangely electric. An animal, predator, wolf, crept out of the cover of the trees, teeth bared and glittering in the low light like serrated daggers. Its eyes wild, but intelligent, swirling with unknown thoughts. Fur all black and silky, rippling like deep water with power.

Today, they hunt.

The wolf growled. A signal.

The pack surged out the underbrush like a furry grey wave. Teeth snapped at his clothes, claws swiped at his eyes, leaving behind red valleys on his skin. What little metal he had whipped at the wolves left and right. Some yelped and howled as the metal found its mark and turned back. Sweat oozed out of Quincy’s skin and dripped like a small salty stream from his face, blinding his sight. He wiped it out, leaving behind an earthen smear. Legs pumping full of fear and adrenaline, mind filled with the watery crimson and static as all resemblance of thought flew from his mind like birds. The wolves barked and growled, their white sharp pearls clinking against each other like shards of broken porcelain. The branches from the trees reached down with thin brittle claws, drawing childish red scribbles on his arms. Some trees laughed when the wind weaved through the branches and reached out their roots. One of them tangled around Quincy’s legs, twisting the ankle inwards. Lightning like pain shot up his leg, sending him in a tumble.

Quincy closed his eyes, waiting for the snap of teeth around his throat. Instead, the ground gave way, and the rocky abyss welcomed him in its embrace.

The wind Whispered sweet nothings in his ear, empty promises, and comfort in the face of saber-toothed death, opening its maw. Quincy saw the unknown in it, the futures of what is and not to be, and shivered. The ground closing in his vision felt like warm hands. He reached for it longingly.

The first thing he felt was pain.  

A sort of unrest in his bones, a live wire jammed into the marrow. Crimson soaked though his shirt, a red puddle in a field of white. Each breath rattled in his chest like a hinge inside his chest had gotten loose. Fog danced at the edge of his vision like ghostly bats. Unconsciousness teased at his mind, laughing at his pain.

Something moved at the edge of his vision. A white flash, much brighter than the fog danced around, gliding over the ground like some sentient mist.

The last thing he felt was the soft brush of cloth on his face. Darkness danced at the edge of his vision, calling for him.

He answered.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Awareness filtered through into his brain like the dripping of mineral water on the floor of an ancient cave. The fuzzy darkness surrounding his thoughts slowly faded away, and pain filled his veins like liquid made of the most acidic corrosive materials on earth. It ate away at his skin, his bones, his nerves, sending his mind in darkness. Pain was strangely white, like it was dissociated from his body, like he was seeing it from another dimension, another time. Like his soul is rendered whole and ripped from his bodily flesh.  Everything was still. Moving but not. His limbs were pieces of wood, and inside were worms, under his flesh, under his skin, scratching, moving, consuming him alive.

He opened his eyes.

[hazbinextgeneration]

Hazbin Worlds Collide Ch24

(Mako/Tristan/Francis/Nidra/Hornet and part written by Palettepainter101

Cheshire/Gemstone/Beauty/Wild-Card/Angel-Cake -me)

BANG

Everything was brought to a dead silence, the shrieking silenced almost instantly as the loud explosion of a new noise filled the room. Eyes where wide and it was in that split second that Wild-Card, first born to Princess Charlie Magne and Husk and next descendant in line for the throne, felt his heart stop beating. A pit formed in his stomach, his knees buckled under his bodies weight as his red rose wings pathetically dropped to his sides, as though he’d just seen a loved one be murdered before his eyes.

Mako on the other hand, seemed to be the only individual in that room that was acting normally - with a gruff sigh the wolf got up from his stool where he had been sitting, after recovering from the shock of the situation - right before the lights and electronics appliances in the room began to act out. The wolf casted a glance to the now limp body that lay on the floor, the only faint sign of life was the steady rising and falling of their chest.

He began to walk towards them, just as the other shocked figures in the room began to recover from his sudden action. The prince naturally, was the first to erupt with anger “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” The room was once again flooded with booming noise as the young prince threw his paws out to gesture at Mako - whom merely gave him nothing but a side ways glance.

“YOU DIDNT NEED TO FUCKIN’ SHOOT HER YOU ASSHOLE!!” When the wolf continued to ignore the princes yelling, Wild-Card knew he gave a proper growl and likely bared his teeth - even as he approached the wolf didn’t budge as he lifted up his lovers wrist to check for a pulse.

“ANSWER ME YOU FUCKIN’ BASTARD!!” Wild-Card demanded. “YOU THINK IM JUST GONNA LET YOU GET AWAY WITH SHOOTING HER?! MY LOVER?! THE ONLY GIRL THATS ACTUALLY GIVEN TWO FLYING FUCKS ABOUT ME?!” Without thinking he threw his fist forward, hoping to land a nice, harsh blow to that little fucks face. Alas he was not prepared for when the wolf grabbed his punch with his own paw - but just barely - and swiftly rotated the princes arm to the side, causing him to be yanked to the floor with a thud.

The wolf scowled “You may be fast, but I’m faster princey.”

Of course he growled in pain, shifting to sit up a bit and cradle his bow sore wrist. His anger begin to boil, and it was then did his final shred of patience finally snap. Horns began to grow outwards from his head and curl backwards as his calm blonde hair began to burst with deadly red at the ends. Fur bristled, he lifted his paw and prepared to dish out another blow - and THIS time, he wouldn’t miss-

“I didn’t fuckin’ kill her you jackass.” Mako bluntly pointed out as if it was an obvious fact.

A wave of silence swept over the room, only for it to break a few moments or so later, only this time it was by none other then the other deer in the room “...Then what DID you do?” No one was exactly sure if Cheshire was asking a question or possibly stating a threat, but no one dared to speak up and ask any further questions.

Cheshire as well as Wild-Card watched with sharp, narrowed eyes as the wolf demon carefully moved to Maizy’s shoulder...and then moved his paw away, a fuzzy red tipped needle like bullet held between his claws. Anyone who had common knowledge in fire arms would have immediately identified what bullet it was Mako was holding in snap - sadly, the majority of those present in the room weren’t as educated in the fields of guns unlike he was.

“...What is that?” Beauty asked half sniffle half growl, her one eye shiny against the light with a fresh bulk of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Her girlfriend Gemstone held her close, fur along her neck and arms bristled and ears perked and alert. “A tranquilliser dart” Angel-cake answered, before letting out a mild sigh of relief, thank god!

“That still doesn’t justify it!!” Gemstone barked at the spider demon before glaring daggers towards her alternate brother, teeth bared, a clear sign she was pissed. The two hounds pinned each other down with their famous scowls, the likes of which the row only could have gotten from their boisterous hot headed mother - until a deer stepped in between them

“Now now calm yourselves! We may be demons but we’re not murders!” He shifted his gaze between the two dogs, mentally and physically preparing himself if either one was to pounce. “Besides...the last thing we need is yer another fight from you two-“

“Are you seriously gonna take this bullshit?!”

“Wild-Card I said ENOUGH.” Cheshire repeated more sternly then before, his tone alone was enough of a warning to know that he was gradually loosing whatever kind of patience he had left. Cheshire was known for often being mistaken by his farther by commoners who weren’t familiar with him, with his uncanny looks though it was understandable. However anyone within his close circle of friends knew very well that all of Alastors children had one thing in common: his power. When you where the children to a tyrant, you could have a rather literal hellish tempter.

Cheshire relaxed when everyone in the room fell quite, and Gemstone reluctantly stood down, crossing her arms with a grumble as she backed up a few paces. Although Cheshire was protective of his sister - he would have gladly sunk his teeth into anyone who dare lay even a hand of harm upon her - he wasn’t stupid. He may be talented in fields of dark magic, but he didn’t know Mako well, he didn’t know how well he was skilled with a gun - nor did he know if Mako was out of bullets, tranquillisers or worse.

So he decided the best option would be to let his little incident slide...for now anyway. However, he couldn’t say the same for the young naga who slithered out from her seat, who’s face showers just the faintest bit of shock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pinky red eyes narrowed at the demoness across from him, who mirrored his look evenly. The room had fallen under a blanket of silence, chilling silence, but the dangerous glint in both the demons eyes was all the communication the two needed to get across.

On one side of the room sat Cheshire, only son to the renowned and ever feared tryant, the Radio Demon, and phenomenal show actress and profiteer Mimzy. On the other sat Nidra, only child to the ever villain wanna be try hard Pentious, expert in the dark arts from hexes to curses and (and she has referred to herself once or twice) ruler of the darkness and the undead - which seemed appropriate since her three reanimated cronies sat loyally at her side. And neither could over look the third, Maizy. Cheshire’s sister lay still in the king sized bed, her chest rising and falling with his breaths and hair messy against the three large pillows her head rested against.

It was a glare off between the two equally powerful children, that was until the younger of the two was the first to break the silence.

“I’m not apologising” Nidra hisses out, gently stroking her rabbit companion who lay happily in her other arm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What in the world was that?!” Tristan asked to the empty room.

Neither he nor the two younger demons where prepared when the lights and electronically appliances in the room began to act up, but it had all happened so quickly that Tristan was still struggling to process what he has just witnessed. But he didn’t have long to ponder on it when he discovered that both the children had vanished from sight.

Panic sunk in “Francis?! Hannibal?! Where are you two?” His heart raced, what on earth would be tell Velvet if Francis was gone?! By Satan’s horns what would Queeny do?! Would she still keep up her side of the deal? Would the deal be off? His mind was soon overrun with thoughts and the worst possible outcome...until he noticed the quivering purple tail poking out from under the bed.

“Francis?” He spoke in the most calmest voice he could, knowing Francis he was almost defiantly shaken by what had just occurred, and when he was like this he needed to be reassured gently. His rather unpredictable powers would often lead to further malfunctions in the lights and nearby appliances, so Tristan needed to take this slowly.

Carefully he kneeled down by the side of the bed, and pulled the blankets away to peer underneath, and at the sight he let out a sigh of relief.

Both boys were under the bed, and from the looks of it unharmed, thank goodness! Francis lay trembling under Hannibal’s wings, arms wrapped tightly over his eyes and ears pinned against his head as he mumbling incoherent sentences to himself. Hannibal, who compared to Francis was much more calmer, had his mother ears perked and eyes wide, appearing alert and skittish after the sudden flickering lights.

“I-Is...is it over?” Hannibal asked cautiously

[hanji-is-life]

based on this and this

Werewolf Bakugou who has been planning on eating the precious little bunny he captured weeks ago, but just can't find himself to do it. As the days go by, you look tastier and tastier, but he doesn't want to eat you.

Well, he does. But definitely not in the literal sense.

You're just so cute! All big round eyes and cute twitching nose, big lop ears that match your fur color that droop and cover your eyes when you're scared, the softest little plush body, and an adorable cotton tail that he just wants to tug at like the overgrown pup that he is.

You're so scared of him, though. Always freezing and whimpering whenever him and his claws and his big sharp teeth get too close to you. He somewhat understands your fear, especially since he talked up such a big game of eating you the day he captured you. But its been weeks! You should know by now that he won't hurt you, damnit!

So he starts courting you instead. Finds all the berries he's seen you stuff your chubby cheeks with, other small bunny delicacies that calm you as each day passes. You're still on edge around him, though.

He almost gives up on courting you, until the it's time for your bath. After the last time you tried to escape, he decides that staying with you is the best option. He takes you to the huge bath, slots himself in on the other side of you. You sit curled up on your end, trying to cover yourself with your ears as you softly slosh around the bubbles. He lets you soak in the water for a while before he calls you over.

"C'mere bunny, gotta wash your stinky ass." You frown but comply nonetheless, knowing he had no problem with snatching you onto his lap.

His washing goes by uneventfully, your back to his chest, until he gets down to your tail. He holds it with one hand, cleanses it with the other. It's not until he touches the base of your tail and squeezes out the water, when he hears the tiniest sound, watches how your whole body shivers.

He pauses, glances over at you over your shoulder, before doing it again. You gasp this time, latch onto the sides of the tub as you slightly buck forward. Bakugou only grins, pulls you back some until he has enough room for one hand to play with your tail, and the other to find itself between your legs.

"Oh?" he whispers against your fuzzy ear. It twitches with his breath, as you screw your eyes shut. You tell yourself that you shouldn't let your guard down around this predator, but the way he's both stroking your tail and petting your cunt has you more sensitive than ever.

"Does bunny like it when I touch her little tail like this?" He asks, rubs sharp claws over the base the same moment he lets the pad of his middle finger brush over your clit. He's so big, it only takes three of his fingers to sit over your entire cunt. You whimper, buck your hips again, practically gnaw your lips off with your front teeth.

"Nasty bunny, aren't ya? Letting the big bad wolf touch and play with you." His petting gets heavier, starts swiping your clit back and forth, tugging and rubbing at the base of your tail until your mouth drapes open and you collapse back fully onto his chest. It's harder to touch you this way, but you make the ache of wanting to cum better as you grind against his trapped hand.

Bakugou only laughs at you, how you stimulate yourself, use both of his hands to get your little bunnycunt off until you gush in the bath water. You reach back, grab one of his ears, to which he growls, and pets heavier until your little mewls grow in sound.

"Cmon bun, cum for me. Cum for your wolf." He growls, keeps himself from sinking his fangs into the pretty flesh of your exposed neck. You follow his command seconds later, let out the cutest moans as you fuck yourself back and forth on him, until he feels the warmth of your slick spill into the water.

When you finally come down from your high, you lay boneless in his lap. Bakugou only presses sweet kisses to your neck and cheek, before turning your head and claiming your mouth. It's your first kiss with him, but something tells you that it won't be your last.