#There are pros and cons to having fur

[driftingballoons]

the biggest battle in this dungeon is with the humidity

But there are some benefits

[prehnite-soul]

Important work, important work.

( ALSO @superbfirnacho you got me to study seals for like an hour for this selkie design lmao )

[ectologia]

STARVING

YANDERE x FEMALE READER

CONTENT ♱ SMUT, NONCON, DUBCON, YANDERE, KIDNAPPING, POTENTIAL STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, READER’S BODY IS DESCRIBED IN A WAY THAT REFLECTS MALNUTRITION (EG. THIN, WEAK, SMALL), MAY BE TRIGGERING TO PEOPLE WHO HAVE SUFFERED WITH EATING DISORDERS OR BODY IMAGE

extended metaphor for yanderes who take to much and leave you with nothing ♡

YANDERES who keep you malnourished, leaving you with barely enough strength to carry yourself, let alone fight him off.

You’re only allowed small inadequacies, crackers and dried fruit that are difficult to chew between your teeth, the enamel paper thin and weakened from neglect.

Deficient in everything, much like the rest of your brittle structure where your ribs carve into your skin like ivory gates beneath a veil of skin, porcelain from the lack of sunlight where you can only long for it’s apricity.

He kept you in the basement originally, hoarding you away undercover of dust and darkness. Though he quickly realised you had no chance of surviving down there during the cold of the winter months. Exchanging fettered bonds for something more snug.

It’s a bitter sweet discomfort. You’re left pondering the pros and cons every once in a while. While you’re grateful for the plush pillows and warm blankets he provides you - a blissful contrast to your prior enclosure - keeping you wrapped up in thick fabric at all hours of the day. It makes you too available.

Gnarled hands seize your haggard flesh with primal force, harsh fingertips already pressing red marks into your skin that are sure to bloom into grim galactic purple and yellow bruises.

“What have I said about leaving the bedroom on your own?” He asks, dropping you down onto the mattress below, lips pressed into a thin unforgiving line as he watches you bob slightly on the springs.

You’re quick on your hands and knees, the sharp joints creaking as you press yourself against the wall adjacent, cowering like a weeping ruin of a willow tree in a storm. “I.. I was just.. I wanted..”

He’s quick to cut you off, slicing your sentence in two with his own bladed words. “I don’t give a shit. You do as you’re told.” He rakes a hand through his hair, his movements jagged and tense. “Last thing I need is you fuckin’ fallin’ ‘n’ breaking a bone.” You watch as he mounts the edge of the bed with his knee, stalking towards you to rest his fingers over your thin ankle, his thumb encircling the limb to meet his index. “You’re fragile. And fragile things break.”

Your own digits twitch, planted in his pillow, gripping the dough tight enough to make your nails bend and split. Flexing with unbearable need to tear yourself apart and snap your ribs off, to release them from their makeshift cage and forge them into weapons made to stake the man before you.

But you can’t.

So instead, you sit. Docile and supplicant as a pair of petalled lips travel up your leg, his tongue occasionally rolling from his mouth to lap at your near translucent skin as he journeys upward.

He transforms before your very eyes, all the frustration and anger he previously held melting away and solidifying into something much, much uglier.

“So fuckin’ fragile.. my weak, helpless little creature.”

You remember the days, early on. When he’d come home and storm down the derelict stairs of his basement, all for his fists and heavy boots to mingle with your impressionable flesh. Leaving you a heap of blood and bruises on the concrete before giving you a good night kiss.

It would be wrong to say you miss it, but the pain experienced is incomparable to the sacred violence of his love. A wound that does not bleed, but burns.

He groans as he peels the shirt he’d given you over your stomach, mouth leaking at the sight of your scared, quivering sex nestled against the fur of his quilt. “Cutie.” He purrs, talking more directly to your flushed pussy than you.

His hand bulldozes through the valley of your thighs, splitting your folds open on the dry pads of his fingers. You can’t help the fawnish squeak that hiccups from the back of your throat as he holds your plush lips open, embarrassingly vulnerable and exposed as he purses his lips, all to blow warm, moist air over the bud of your clit. Watching it bloom under his thumb. “She’s so shy.” He purrs, pinching the small cord of your shaft between his fingers, stroking up and down until he had coaxed the tiny pink head of your bead out from it’s hiding place. His tongue protrudes from his lips, flicking a gentle kitten lick over the fleshy pebble before flattening against it fully, panting like a grotesque beast as he lapped up your entire muff, hard enough to give you carpet burn.

Your toes curl in their socks, flexing and extending as they slid over his back, kicking fussily at his thick shoulder blades in your attempt to escape his gross tongue bath.

He grabs both of your legs in one meaty hand, holding the lithe limbs in a bundle as he folded them back until your shins met your nose, restraining you like a tied up lamb. “Enough.” He spat cooly, the word sharpened so neatly you didn’t dare move out of fear of getting cut. “I’m eating.”

[winxanity-ii]

FOXED IN [2/2]

ship: fem!fennec fox!reader x various!beastar warnings: non-explicit ( maybe cursing/profanity; sorry y'all I gotta loose mouth) word count: 4.4k a/n: lolol y'all tell me why it took me like 3 weeks to write just 4k words?? i swear school work got my ass writing like 150 words a day/whenever i can 😭😭 coutning down to christmas break mwah... Part 1

★·.·´🇧‌🇪‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇦‌🇷‌🇸‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You were staring at yourself in the bottom-left corner of the mirror, crouched like you were hiding from your own reflection.

It wasn't like the rest of you had changed. Same face, same skin, same... everything.

Except for those. The ears. And the tail.

You ran your hand over your head for the fifth time in ten minutes, fingertips grazing your human ears where they'd always been, before trailing upward to the new set. Secondary ears, perched high on your head, covered in soft, velvety fur. They flicked lightly at your touch, like they were alive—like they could feel you.

And then there was the tail. You could feel its weight behind you, swishing gently across the floor like it had been there your whole life.

"Calm down, ____. Calm the fuck down," you muttered, your voice tight as your hands dropped into your lap. "You're not a freak. You're just—"

You paused, staring at your reflection. Your tail swished in your peripheral vision, as if taunting you.

"—just... anthropomorphically challenged," you finished, deadpan. "Yeah, no, that doesn't help."

You tilted your head, the new ears moving along with the motion, twitching at the sound of your voice echoing softly off the dorm room walls. Twitching. Like they had their own independent nervous system or something.

"Oh my gods, I'm like a walking FurryCon booth," you hissed under your breath. Your tail wagged again, making a soft thump against the floor. "Cut it out!" you snapped, glaring at it.

The tail stopped, curling slightly like it was offended.

For a moment, you just stared at yourself, breathing slow and deep, trying to will away the rising panic. But the longer you looked, the harder it was to ignore how... not normal this was.

You reached up again, brushing your fingers over the fur. Soft, velvety. Honestly, they felt kinda nice—like luxury pillow material—but that only made it worse.

You could feel the touch through the ears, every stroke and tug sending tingles down your spine, all the way to your toes.

It wasn't bad, exactly, but it wasn't something you were used to, either.

You squinted at your reflection. "Okay. Pros and cons. Pros and cons." You tapped a finger to your chin like you were about to make a PowerPoint presentation to yourself.

"Pro: I didn't, like, fully mutate. Still got my face. I'm still me. Kinda." You gave your reflection a once-over. "Con: I now look like I could be fan-casted into a BTS Hybird AU fic."

Another pause. Your tail thumped lightly again, this time like it was trying to soothe you. Oh, we're friends now? you thought bitterly.

You straightened up from your crouch, squaring your shoulders as you stared yourself down. "I'm still me. This is fine. You're fine, ____. Nobody even knows you're... this."

Except that was a lie, wasn't it? Blond Labrador Boy had seen you.

Your 'cousin' had definitely seen you, tackling you like a rugby player on the street and announcing your new school enrollment to the entire city.

And who knew how many other people were out there, casually walking around with ears and tails like this was a thing?

The thought sent a chill down your spine. Your tail swished again, making another faint thump.

"Oh, so now you're nervous too?" you hissed at it. The tail stopped mid-swish, freezing awkwardly in the air like a guilty child caught red-handed.

You sighed, finally breaking eye contact with your reflection and dropping into the chair beside your bed.

The ears twitched at the sound of faint chatter outside your door, catching snippets of distant conversations you wouldn't have been able to hear before.

It was a weird feeling, hearing things so clearly and intimately.

You groaned, flopping back against the chair. "Great. Super hearing. Now I'm a discount superhero too."

Your gaze flicked to the mirror again, to the reflection of your tail, curled awkwardly around your chair like it didn't know where it was supposed to go. It looked so out of place, just hanging there, like someone had pasted a sticker on a portrait.

"This is fine," you said again, more to convince yourself than anything. You leaned forward, running a hand through your hair and tugging gently at the ears again. They flattened slightly, and you sighed.

"Totally fine," you muttered. "I just need to figure out how the hell I ended up in a whole-ass Disney movie."

You dropped your hand, letting out a shaky breath. Your tail twitched again, brushing against your ankle like it was trying to reassure you. Yeah, sure. That's comforting.

"Okay, think," you said aloud. "I was at the pool. There were kids—too many kids. Somebody's wet-ass croc sent me flying. I hit the water. And now I'm..."

You trailed off, looking at yourself again. The reflection didn't offer answers, just more questions.

"Maybe I hit my head," you tried, your words shaky but gaining confidence as you spoke. "Yeah, that's it. Smacked it real good on the bottom of the pool. This is a concussion thing. Right? This is my brain making stuff up. Any second now, I'm gonna wake up in the shallow end with chlorine in my nose and my baddass nieces and nephews laughing at me."

The tail swished again. Your ears twitched, catching faint noises outside the door—muffled voices, footsteps, distant laughter.

"It's fine, ____," you told yourself, your tone sharper now. "You're gonna figure this out. One step at a time."

That's when you smelled it.

A soft, flowery scent filled your senses; it was faint at first but grew stronger, making your nose twitch involuntarily and your new ears perk up.

Before you could puzzle it out, a knock came at the door.

The voice was muffled but clear enough to make you freeze. Your ears caught the sound of footsteps shuffling just outside, even before the knock—a light, hesitant rhythm that matched the voice perfectly. You blinked, the scent hitting you again. Your tail twitched, matching the rhythm of your thudding heart.

"Uh, ____, your cousin Vox is waiting for you outside the dorms... he said something about beating the lunch rush?"

The voice was soft and kind of awkward, carrying an airy quality to it.

You stared at the door for a moment, your reflection forgotten. "Yeah," you called out, your voice a little higher than you wanted it to be. "I'm... Uh, thank you! I'll be right there."

"You're welcome," the voice replied, followed by the soft shuffle of footsteps retreating, the scent fading with them. You exhaled, realizing you'd been holding your breath.

"Right," you muttered to yourself, standing up and brushing your clothes down like that would somehow help you feel normal. "Pay attention later. Deal with this... whatever this is."

You froze mid-brush, cursing under your breath. "I should've asked how to get outside."

You glanced around your room, biting your lip as you remembered how confusing it had been just getting here. The winding halls and staircases that twisted in ways that didn't quite make sense.

You were pretty sure you'd passed the same painting of a sunflower three times before you finally found the door marked with your room number—901.

In the corner of your eye, you caught sight of your reflection again—this time, ears drooping slightly. You frowned, then made a face at yourself, sticking out your tongue. "Yeah, real helpful," you muttered, shaking your head before deciding to just thug it out and go.

You stepped out of your room, closing the door behind you and taking a deep breath. "Okay. Just... find the exit. How hard can it be?"

As you started walking, you quickly realized you were surrounded by others—just girls. Your eyes flicked around, taking in the different forms.

You remembered your 'cousin' rambling about gender-segregated dorms, so you chalked it up to being in the girls' dorm.

But as you kept walking, something else began to dawn on you. You weren't just surrounded by other girls; you were surrounded by other, like, carnivorous girls. Sharp eyes, pointed ears, and an aura that made the small hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

And they weren't your size. They were big—taller, broader, more imposing. Compared to them, you felt almost comically small; it was rare, only a few times did you spot someone smaller than you.

You glanced nervously at a nearby group chatting against the wall. One of them—a towering girl with long dark, glossy hair—laughed loudly, her sharp teeth catching the light. Another girl, smaller but just as intimidating, flicked a sleek, striped tail that looked distinctly feline.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting around as you tried not to look too out of place as you walked past.

You barely noticed when you stepped outside, the warm sunlight hitting your face and momentarily distracting you from the strangeness of it all.

The building behind you was large and imposing, with a plaque above the entrance that read: Female Carnivore Dorm.

You blinked up at it, the words sinking in slowly.

Female. Carnivore. Dorm.

As you scanned the area, your eyes landed on a familiar figure standing a little way down the dorm steps. The boy from earlier—the small fox boy, Vox, if you remembered right. He was by himself, his ears perking up as soon as he spotted you.

He beamed, his tail wagging excitedly as he ran over to you, crashing into you with another hug. "I missed you so much, cuz! Can't believe you're really here! This year is gonna be so awesome!!"

He hooked an arm around you, tugging you along before you could even react. "Come on, let's meet up with the guys! We gotta beat the lunch rush!"

You barely managed a grunt in response, your arms pinned awkwardly to your sides. Despite his short stature, he was still taller than you, his enthusiasm making him feel even larger.

As you followed him, or more accurately, were dragged by him, you started noticing the others lounging around.

It was a mixture of herbivorous and carnivorous features. "...and there's a ton of clubs you can join!" your cousin rambled, oblivious to your growing unease. "I can help you pick one out later, but for now, let's just get to lunch before all the good stuff's gone!"

His voice grounded you, if only a little. You focused on his words, nodding absently as your eyes darted around the courtyard. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, but you didn't have time to dwell on it.

Vox was still tugging you along like it was his life's mission to get you fed.

And his excitement was infectious, even if you were still reeling from everything. You couldn't help but think of your cousin Devon. The thought made your chest tighten, a flicker of warmth amid the chaos.

You hadn't seen Devon in ages—he'd always been the "fun cousin," the one who dragged you into trouble but somehow managed to charm everyone out of getting mad.

It was like the time Devon convinced you to climb a tree for the "best view ever," only to abandon you when the branch cracked. You'd sworn then to never trust his grin again, yet here you were, following another like it without question.

Vox seemingly had the same boundless energy, the same way of dragging you into things without a second thought. And as you trailed behind him, Vox's tail might have been wagging, but it was Devon's mischievous grin you saw every time Vox beamed at you.

Soon, he led you toward a small fountain surrounded by students.

The first to take notice of you two was the blond Labrador boy from earlier. He was standing at the center of a group of guys, and his floppy ears perked up as soon as he spotted you, his golden tail starting to wag in an eager rhythm that matched the bright grin on his face.

"Hey, you're okay!" he called out, stepping forward with an energy that was as disarming as it was sincere. His soft brown eyes met yours, and before you could even react, he reached out and gently patted your head, his hand light but reassuring. "I was worried after what happened earlier. You feeling alright?"

You blinked, struggling to find your words. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine," you mumbled, still processing the overly friendly gesture. His tail wagged faster for a second, his grin widening.

Before you could say more, your attention was pulled to someone else in the group.

A guy who immediately stole your breath. He was tall—easily the tallest person you'd seen all day—with broad shoulders and a relaxed, easy presence.

His dark brown skin contrasted sharply with his shaggy, platinum blonde locs that hung messily over his eyes, giving him an effortlessly cool vibe. His short, floppy ears rested close to his head, twitching slightly as he smiled at you beneath his thick eyebrows.

Everything about him radiated chill, from the slow sway of his tail to his unbothered posture.

He walked over with a casual stride, throwing an arm over the blond Labrador's shoulder. The height difference was almost comical—the Labrador barely reached his chest.

The taller guy chuckled, his voice deep but mellow. "Now what'd ya run off to, Jack?"

The Labrador boy—Jack—turned, laughing sheepishly before glancing back at you and Vox. The taller guy noticed you two as well, his gaze shifting. He smiled, one of his small canines poking out slightly, and leaned down at the waist to give Vox a high five.

"Wassup, Vox?"

Vox grinned, returning the high five with enthusiasm. "Nothin' much, Collot! Just showing my cuz around Cherryton."

He threw his arm around you again, pulling you in closer. Collot's eyes shifted to you, still bent at the waist, and he held his hand out for a handshake.

"Nice to meet ya. Name's Collot," he said, his voice warm.

You hesitated for a second before taking his hand. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, his palm warm against yours. "Uh, nice to meet you too. I'm ____," you replied, giving what you hoped was a confident smile.

Collot straightened up, still towering over you even from a distance. "Cool. Vox's been talking nonstop about ya since he found out you were coming," he said, his smile turning into a friendly grin.

You blinked, glancing at Vox, who just beamed up at you, oblivious to the embarrassment that was creeping up your neck. "Uh, yeah, well... it's my first day," you muttered, trying to laugh it off.

Jack gave you another reassuring smile, his tail wagging slowly behind him. "Don't worry. You'll fit right in." He gestured toward the group of guys behind him. "Come on, let's get you introduced."

Vox wasted no time, tugging you forward as Collot and Jack led the way.

Walking over to the group, a voice chimed up, drawing your attention to a smaller, wiry boy with reddish-brown hair that stuck out at wild angles. His sharp green eyes were quick, darting between you and Vox with a hint of amusement. He leaned slightly forward, his short, pointed ears twitching as if he were constantly on high alert.

"Who's the hottie?" he asked, his grin crooked, his eyes flicking toward Vox teasingly.

Vox's face scrunched in playful annoyance. "Aye, chill out, Durham! That's my cuz, alright?"

Durham snickered, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, just messing with ya."

Vox turned back to you, rolling his eyes. "That's Durham," he said, gesturing toward the coyote hybrid. Durham gave you a quick, crooked grin, his bushy tail flicking once as if punctuating his easygoing energy.

"Welcome to the chaos," Durham said with a playful lilt, his grin growing wider as he eyed Jack's wagging tail. "Speaking of chaos, you feeling okay after Jack's heroic rescue? His tail's still wagging—might take off soon."

"Hey!" Jack huffed, ears perking up indignantly. Durham's laugh only grew louder, his sharp teeth flashing.

Before you could even register Durham's teasing, another figure stepped into view. He was shorter than the others, with olive-toned skin and messy gray hair streaked with faint spots.

There was something almost wild about his energy. His round ears twitched frequently, and his curled tail swayed behind him like he was barely containing his own excitement. His sharp grin, revealing slightly larger-than-average teeth, was equal parts friendly and mischievous.

"Miguno," Vox said, introducing the spotted hyena hybrid. Miguno gave you a toothy grin, leaning casually against Collot as he waved.

"Good to see someone new around here. Don't mind the chaos—Durham's worse than me," he said, his sharp teeth flashing as his grin grew even wider. Something about his energy was electric, like he thrived on the group's chaos.

"Lies," Durham shot back, but his grin betrayed his amusement.

The rapid-fire introductions had your head spinning. Each name and face blurred together, their personalities hitting you one after another like a whirlwind you couldn't escape.

And then... you saw him.

Lanky and pale, with shaggy bluish-gray hair streaked with cream highlights, the wolf hybrid stood slightly apart from the others. His posture was hunched, his long limbs curling inward as if he were trying to take up less space.

His dark, almond-shaped eyes flickered to the group occasionally, but he mostly kept his gaze low, avoiding their chatter, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

His drooping ears twitched faintly, responding to the noise around him, and his long, scruffy tail swayed low, mirroring his awkward demeanor.

Your gaze lingered on him. Something about the way he carried himself felt off—not in a bad way, just... different.

The others were loud, energetic, owning their space. But this one? He was quiet, reserved, like he didn't want to be noticed.

Why does he seem so familiar? you thought, a strange sense of déjà vu bubbling up, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. It was like you'd seen him before, but only in a dream—or maybe in the back of your mind, in some long-buried memory.

"Legoshi," Jack said, nudging the wolf with a friendly grin. "Say hi."

The name hit you like a freight train. Your breath caught as your mind scrambled to make sense of what you were seeing.

Legoshi.

Your heart thudded in your chest as pieces began to click together faster than you could stop them. Carnivores. Cherryton. Jack. Vox. Legoshi.

This can't be real. This can't—

The group's chatter seemed to fade as your pulse roared in your ears.

Am I in fucking Beastars?

☆

☆

Time seemed to blur after that revelation. One moment, you were standing by the fountain, and the next, you found yourself sitting at a lunch table.

The chatter of the cafeteria buzzed around you, the noise overwhelming—students chatting, utensils clinking, chairs scraping against the floor—but it all felt distant, like you were watching a scene play out from behind soundproof glass.

You stared blankly at the plate in front of you, slowly picking at your food—a sad, slightly overcooked egg that seemed to mock you in its mediocrity.

Vox and his friends filled the space around you, their energy bouncing back and forth like a rubber ball in a crowded room. You could hear Collot laughing loudly at something Miguno said, Durham snickering along, while Jack chimed in with his soft-spoken voice. But none of it really registered.

Your mind was too busy running a mile a minute, trying to process the impossibility of your situation.

I'm not a furry, you thought, stabbing a piece of egg with your fork. I mean, sure, I dabbled in a fanfic or two, but this? This is insane.

You glanced around the cafeteria, taking in the sight of students with human bodies but animal features—ears, tails, fur, scales. The way they moved, the way they interacted—it was surreal. 

The low murmur of a nearby conversation caught your ear—too clear, too distinct. A girl with glossy feline ears leaned over her tray, whispering something to her friend. Her tail swayed lazily behind her, the fur shimmering in the sunlight.

It should've been normal—or at least as normal as anything else here—but you couldn't look away.

Before you realized it, her sharp gaze flicked to you, catching your eye for half a second. Her pupils narrowed slightly, and a wave of heat surged up your neck as you quickly averted your gaze, your heart thudding in your chest.

Smooth, you thought bitterly, stabbing at the egg again. Real subtle.

The pressure of trying to seem normal began to creep up your spine, making your ears flick involuntarily. It felt like the entire cafeteria could see you, like every twitch of your tail screamed, "I don't belong here." You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to blend in.

Beastars is supposed to be set in a world of anthropomorphic animals, you mused, peeking open your eyes to watch the girl turn back to her friend, her feline features utterly unbothered. So what the hell is this?

It was absurd, like something out of a fever dream. And yet, here you were, surrounded by them.

Is this really Beastars?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a gentle nudge. You looked up to see Jack smiling at you, his tail wagging slightly.

"Hey, ____," he said, his voice friendly. "How was your old school? Was it anything like Cherryton?"

You blinked, your fork pausing mid-air. Old school?

Panic clawed at the back of your throat. How were you supposed to answer that? You didn't even know what your supposed background was supposed to be. And Vox was sitting right next to you. If you lied, he could easily call you out.

Before you could stammer out a response, Vox chimed in, saving you from your predicament.

"Oh, she was homeschooled," he said casually, taking a bite of his sandwich. "So she might not be as used to all this social stuff yet, you know?"

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, grateful for Vox's quick thinking. Thank god, you thought. This is perfect. I can roll with that.

You offered a sheepish smile, nodding along, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Yeah, it's... a bit overwhelming," you admitted, your voice a bit shaky, trying to sell the homeschooled bit as much as you could.

No need to drag out fake stories about classmates, teachers, or what electives you took back in the "real" world. You could just sit back and let the homeschool excuse handle all the heavy lifting.

In your head, though, the real story was much messier. You weren't homeschooled—far from it. You knew nothing about homeschooling beyond what you read in books and saw on TV; public school had been your playground and battleground.

You'd seen it all: hallway fights over nothing, the chaos of pep rallies, and those awkward group projects where you did 90% of the work.

But here? In this place, wherever the hell this was? Yeah, let's call it a coma. The pool, the slip, the whole "falling into another world" thing? It had all the makings of a good old-fashioned knock to the head.

I'm in a hospital somewhere, you told yourself, hooked up to a machine while a nurse complains about understaffing. This? This is just the brain doing brain shit.

And hey, if this was a dream, then maybe all you had to do was play along until you woke up.

But whatever it was, you decided to roll with it. You didn't have many options.

Homeschool, huh? you thought. I've seen those documentaries—unsocialized weirdos trying to find their way in the world, eating lunch alone because they don't know what the word "lit" means. You snorted softly. I can fake that if I have to.

"Hey, ____." Jack pulled you back to the conversation once again; his golden tail was wagging hard now, almost as if it had a mind of its own.

"Huh?" you asked, blinking at him.

"I said, don't worry about not being good with talking to people. We'll help you out!" His voice was so genuinely optimistic it made your chest tighten.

You were about to reply when a snicker broke the moment.

It came from one of the boys—Durham. His shoulders were shaking as he laughed, pointing lazily in Jack's direction. "By we, he means himself," the coyote said, grinning. "You know how Jack gets. Tail's wagging harder than a windshield wiper in a thunderstorm. Bet he's already got a crush."

The group erupted into laughter, and Jack's face turned a deep shade of red.

"W-What?! No!" Jack stammered, his ears twitching erratically as his tail kept wagging despite his obvious embarrassment. "That's not— I didn't mean it like that!"

Miguno burst into laughter, leaning forward to nudge Jack's shoulder. "Aw, c'mon Jack, don't be shy! We all saw how you were wagging your tail earlier, like a little puppy."

Vox, ever the instigator, patted Jack on the shoulder with a wide, toothy grin. "Yeah, relax, buddy. She's just my cousin. You don't have to marry her."

You nearly choked on your own breath, the absurdity of the situation hitting you like a freight train. "Wait, what?" you managed to say, but your voice was drowned out by more laughter from the group.

Jack covered his face with both hands, muttering something under his breath that you couldn't catch. His tail, however, kept wagging wildly, betraying every bit of his flustered state.

"Alright, alright, chill," you said, holding up a hand to quiet the chaos. "Let the man breathe before he combusts."

Durham and Miguno both chimed in with their own apologies, their expressions a mix of sheepishness and amusement.

"Yeah, our bad," Durham said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "We were just messing around."

Miguno nodded, his tail flicking behind him. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, really. Just having a bit of fun."

Jack peeked out from behind his hands, his cheeks still pink, but he managed a sheepish smile. "Thanks," he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow at him, fighting back a grin, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your own cheeks. "No worries," you said, your voice a little softer.

This whole situation was ridiculous, but at least it was entertaining.

As the laughter died down, Vox leaned toward you, his smile as mischievous as ever. "See? Told you we'd help you fit in. You're already the life of the party."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile that crept onto your face.

The group continued chatting, the conversation drifting to topics like classes, clubs, and campus drama. You mostly kept to yourself, occasionally nodding along or giving short answers when prompted.

For a moment, the weirdness of everything—the ears, the tails, the everything—faded into the background.

It was surreal, like something out of a story—but it was real. As real as the egg on your plate.

And for now, you had no choice but to roll with it.

But in the back of your mind, the same thoughts kept circling.

How long am I gonna be here? And how the fuck am I going to survive it?

Whatever this was—dream, coma, or insanity—you'd have to figure it out. But for now, blending in would have to do.

One step at a time, you told yourself. Don't drown...again.

Lego

[kai-the-creature]

Pros and cons of having a human body (inspired by @/evanpapevan711)

Pros:

Having opposable thumbs is nice

I can eat foods that my theriotypes can’t eat (like chocolate, grapes, alliums, and citruses)

I can communicate with my family and friends easily

I can read, write, and draw

Cons:

My stamina is terrible

I’m not very flexible

I have no ear mobility

No tail :(

I have no fluffy fur to keep me warm and express myself

To add, I also have no scales

My teeth aren’t sharp

I have no claws to scratch things

I can’t vocalize properly like my theriotypes

I can’t fly and have no big wings

I can’t climb things very well

My senses are dull compared to my theriotypes

Have to go to school

Have to pay taxes

Have to get a job

Have to deal with capitalism and bigotry

I have boobs :(

Have to deal with body dysphoria

I think you get the point lol

[daechwitatamic]

The Price || MYG

banner by @/itaeewon

The Price

Rating: NSWF - minors do not have my consent to interact Genre: Snow White and the Huntsman!au, angst, smut, unhappy ending WC: 8k

Summary: The Queen is responsible for everything you call yours: your home, your job, your freedom. You live without laying claim to anything else, lest the Queen leverage more in exchange for her grace. But the Queen has just named her latest price: the life of the young blacksmith, Min Yoongi.

Warnings: language, drinking, there’s a plague and it’s a problem, reader’s parents died (see the previous warning lol) and there are scenes of her grieving process, reader is a hunter so there’s mentions of animal carcasses and hides, lots of mentions of reader’s big fancy knife, a murder attempt, kissing, nip stim, groping, fingering, clit stim, penetrative sex (protection not mentioned either way), reader on top, angst, unhappy/ambiguous ending

A/N: Part of the Make Me Your Villain collab! Please give the other authors a lot of love!!! Huge huge huge thank you to @/here2bbtstrash for beta-ing!

//

Mirror, mirror - look and see. Who might take this throne from me? Mirror, mirror - who's the threat? Show me which boy's blood to let.

There are pros and cons to living outside the village. The pros are that you’re mostly left alone - you live by your own laws, most of the time. It’s better this way; you come and go as you please, you don’t worry about latest fashions or gossip, you aren’t under the thumb of any societal niceties or norms. You concern yourself more with what the forest tells you. Bad weather, humans who don’t belong, sickness on the horizon - the forest knows it all, and you know how to listen.

You knew about the plague - in a vague, something isn’t right here kind of way - days before the first villager fell sick. You didn’t see anything bigger than a possum for three days - you knew something was in the air. It was the baker first, then his wife. Now it’s made its way into the castle, the guards and servants falling like flies. 

Another pro - you won’t pick up illness from the baker if you make your own bread in your tiny cabin in the woods. 

The main con - the only con, really - is that when you make your weekly trek to the castle to present the King and Queen with your scores (deer, mostly, but usually a few fowl too) it takes so damn long to get there.

It would be faster on foot, much faster, but you have to load your kills onto a cart and take the dirt road, which winds and twists and takes its time. Today your cart is loaded: venison, fowl, a few rabbits, even a fox. That had been a good score. The Queen likes furs - she’ll pay you well for it.

But the trip into town once a week is a fair price for your freedom, you think.

A few vendors through the heart of town wave hello as you pass. You lift your hand in response but don’t stop. You’ll shop after, when your cart is empty and your purse is full. For now, you stay on the main road until it changes over from tamped-down dirt to cobblestone to, eventually, flat stone that leads to the bridge over the castle’s moat. 

The usual guard, the one who knows your face and always waves you through, isn’t there. You wonder if the plague reached him, if he’ll recover or if they’ll send his body to the sea like all the others. 

You show identification, the card nearly illegible due to how many times it’s been folded and stuffed into your shoe for safekeeping, and this new guard waves you on. 

As usual, you stop in the courtyard just inside the first set of walls. You hop down and start undoing the straps of the fabric you have over the top of the cart. Two guards join you, and they begin moving your scores down from the cart. Each is weighed and given a quick once-over as a scribe stands to the side recording it all.

“Make sure you mention how nice that hide is,” you tell him, pointing at the fox. “I got that one special, for her.”

The scribe rolls his eyes a little, but you see him peer at the fox and scribble something on his little parchment. When they’re done, your cart empty, the scribe rolls his paper up and leads you up the steps towards the main doors to the castle. You flip one of the guards a silver coin and follow the scribe. As you head up the steps, you hear the sound of your horse’s feet moving across the stone, the cart creaking and groaning behind him, as the guard you paid takes him to be cared for. 

Inside, you follow the thick, red carpet into the throne room. You’re surprised to see only the Queen present, but you school your face and drop into a bow anyway, your forehead brushing the soft carpeting. 

When you rise, you see the scribe has handed her the parchment, and she reads over the report of your goods. You wait, knowing better than to speak until she has. 

“A good week,” she observes. 

“Yes, your Grace,” you say, eyes on the carpet. “I was pleased as well.”

“Are you well?” she asks as she signals for her Chief of Coin, who scurries close to the throne and lowers his head to hear her whispers. 

“Quite well,” you say automatically, though you’re not sure what exactly she’s asking. Does she mean your health? Your home? 

The Chief of Coin makes his way to you and you pull your practically-empty purse from your back pocket. 

“You have need of nothing?” she asks. 

This would be your opportunity to ask after anything major - repairs on your home, medicine, anything you couldn’t get during your walk back through town.

“No, your Grace,” you say. “I had need of a new blade, but the local smith took my request.”

The local smith and your new blade are one of your stops on your way home. 

“I’ve heard from the citadel,” she tells you, and you pull your eyes away from the Chief of Coin to look at her. “They say your brother is doing well. He’s applying himself to his studies.”

When you’d lost your parents, you’d begged to keep your brother yourself, desperate to keep him away from the citadel’s orphanage. You were of age, could handle yourself. You could handle him, too, you’d argued. 

The King had considered this. Your family was well-known in the village, and your father had hunted for the crown for many years. Your brother was only about five years out from finishing his schooling. 

You were investments, you and your brother.

In the end, the deal had been struck - the crown would see to the rest of his education under the condition that when he finished he’d work for the crown, pay back his debt, begin to build his own name. 

And, in the meantime, you’d take over the hunting. You could keep your family’s little cabin out in the woods, away from town. Your brother wouldn’t be apprenticed off to a stranger.

It was an easy deal to agree to. 

“We’re grateful for the opportunity,” you say to the Queen. “If the report said anything less, I’d travel there to knock sense into him, myself. He’s at that age. You know.”

You try to bite back a cringe. The Queen might not know. She’d never been able to bear a child for the King. 

She smiles at this, thinly.  “Very well,” she says, and you take back your now-heavy purse from the Chief of Coin. “Then I shall see you next week. I wish you continued health in the upcoming days.”

You nod your head. “I wish the crown health and longevity,” you say. Head bowed, you miss the way her eyes tighten.

–

You pick up the goods you need - eggs, flour, and the like - on your way through town. You eye the tavern, tempted to stop for a pint. Alas, you are embarrassingly excited to get your new blade, so instead you carry on down the road towards the smithy. 

After tying up your horse - though he’s a lazy thing and probably wouldn’t wonder anyway, not with the cart hitched up - you head inside, following the sounds of a hammer striking metal. 

You wait until there’s a break in the noise and then shout a hey back towards the open door to let the team know they have a customer. 

There’s the sound of a heavy instrument being dropped to the ground, and you catch yourself smoothing your hair back. Stop it, you scold yourself, scowling. 

That’s the face that greets the youngest of the smithing team, Min Yoongi, as he steps into the shop, blinking as his eyes adjust to the light.

“Ah,” he says, lips curling into a smirk. “Is it Thursday already?”

“Is my blade ready?” you ask, ignoring both his self-satisfied grin and his question. “Park Jihoon said I could get it today.”

At his boss’s name, Yoongi’s smirk fades until he’s all business again. He turns to the wall, where special orders are tacked. He searches until he finds yours. 

“It’s ready,” he grunts, reading the slip of parchment. “Wait here.”

He disappears into the back again, returning with a hefty-looking blade, sheathed in a leather case. 

He places it on the counter between you, pulls the blade from its case and turns it over so you can see each side.

You frown. “I didn’t order engraving on the case,” you say, jutting your chin towards the delicate design at the top. It curls in and around itself, all the way around. “I’d better not have to pay extra for that.”

“Ah, but he worked so hard on it!” Park Jihoon says cheerfully, appearing out of the back and clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. You keep your eyes on the knife; Yoongi looks steadfastly at the wall with the orders, a pink flush working up his neck. 

“It’s not extra,” he mutters. 

“I’m heading to Bridgeport,” the senior blacksmith tells Yoongi. “I’ll be back before sundown. You’ll be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” Yoongi says, disgruntled. Jihoon nods goodbye at you both and moves through the door, leaving you in silence. 

“What’s the price?” you ask, placing your purse on the counter and digging for coins. He turns the paper over so you can see what his boss wrote, and you slide him the payment. You work on attaching the blade’s sheath to your belt, ignoring how Yoongi watches you through heavy-hooded eyes. 

You know that look. You are ignoring that look. 

“Lovely,” you say, once you’re situated and ready to go. You swipe up your purse and toss it once, catching it deftly. “Have fun pounding on metal, or whatever.”

His grin is razor-sharp. “I’d be happy to pound something else, if you want.”

The laugh rips out of you, unbidden and unwanted. “Disgusting,” you tell him, but the laughter takes the bite out of the words. “My God, you ought to throw yourself down the well for that.”

He lifts a brow, his smile turning less dangerous and more open.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “None of that today, thanks. I’ll be off.”

“Come on,” he cajoles, coming around the counter to follow you to the door. “You know you want some. It’ll be such a long ride back here when you change your mind later.”

“Keep dreaming, blacksmith,” you tell him, lips pursing in amusement.

He lays a hand over his heart like he’s wounded. “Blacksmith? You remembered my name just fine last week when you were -.”

“Well, I seem to have forgotten it again!” you blurt before he can finish the thought, pulling the door open. Over your shoulder you call, “Good day!” 

His laughter rings out onto the street, following you home.

Regretfully, you have to admit that out of everyone who lives in this village, built out from the castle’s western gate, you know the most about Min Yoongi.

You knew him in passing, of course - before. When you’d ride through this same village on this same cart, your little brother squeezed between you and your father. When you’d stand silently, peeking around your father’s side, while he took payment from the King for his scores. When you’d greet the peddlers and the shop-keepers politely before climbing back on the cart and riding all the way back home. 

Yoongi was just an apprentice then. You hadn’t paid him any mind. He was quiet, a bit scruffy, stayed close to Park Jihoon. He was no more interesting to you than the apprentice for the bakery, the tannery, the copywrite. Wasn’t even the best looking out of the bunch, honestly. 

He was just there, unassuming. He was there when you’d pass through town on the cart full of your father’s scores, there whenever your family had business with the blacksmith, there when the holidays rolled through and your mother dragged you into town in a dress you hated and shoes that pinched.

There the day your parents’ bodies, along with six others, were loaded onto a barge headed for the sea. There the day your brother joined four more young people from the village as they climbed into a deep blue carriage headed for the citadel. 

Yoongi’s dark eyes, cool and undemanding, had been on you as you stood fully alone for the first time in your life. 

You hadn’t paid him any attention then, either. You couldn’t pay mind to anything then except dragging yourself through dark day after dark day until, finally, the clouds seemed to part and your new life seemed bearable. And bearable turned into decent. And decent turned into enjoyable. 

The seasons turned. The hurts faded. 

And you began to pay mind to Min Yoongi.

You began to learn things about him, then - after. 

In your time around town, you learned first that he was good at his work - his blades were made well, easily as well as his master’s blades. You learned that he scowled and grunted but hardly ever meant it. You learned that he had a good reputation around the village - was known for helping his neighbors without being asked, known for being polite and keeping to himself. You learned that he had no family either, that the master blacksmith who’d taken him as an apprentice had more or less raised him, too.

Alone with him, you learned that his smile could be razor sharp, one side lifting and eyes glinting in a way that made your pulse sing. You learned that when he meant it, his eyes squeezed shut and his gums showed. His shoulders shook when he laughed. He made the funniest faces when someone said anything he didn’t agree with or didn’t understand. He’d grown strong, his craft shaping his arms and roughening his hands.

You learned that he took whiskey neat at the tavern when he was done working for the day. You learned that he had a smart mouth behind his quiet demeanor, and opinions about everything. You learned what he was willing and able to do with that mouth when he pressed you against the rough wood of the tavern’s side alley, and then later, back in his rooms behind the smithy. 

You learned that he fucked rough but loved soft.

And that was where it had to stop.

Because it couldn’t be - but this you knew the whole time. 

When he pressed his mouth to yours sweetly, stretching to reach you, brushed one lovely finger down your cheek and whispered, I want you, you knew this: it couldn’t be. 

There was no life for you in the village. There was no life for you as someone’s wife. There was no future for you as someone’s homemaker. 

Even if he could somehow give you partnership and love without taking away the wildness of your lifestyle - there was no love ready to bloom and grow behind your iron ribs. You had nothing you could give him back. You knew only survival. Only killing and coin. Only the forest and its secrets.

“You can’t have me,” you’d whispered back. “I am not to be had.”

You were surprised when he didn’t fight it. He hadn’t pushed back. He hadn’t held it against you, hadn’t been wounded. He’d accepted exactly what you were willing to give him and asked for nothing more. 

You know this, above all else: he’s sweet, and conscientious, and good. Yoongi is good.

You - forest-dweller, hunter, orphan, unmannered, uneducated - don’t deserve him. You aren’t enough for how good he is.

The royal physician’s face says it all. 

The Queen purses her lips, her eyes on her husband’s prone form. He meets her gaze weakly, too far gone to mask any of it. 

“How long?” she asks, the words clipped. 

The physician spreads his hands before him. “Impossible to say, your Majesty. Days, maybe. Weeks, if he can be strong.”

She scoffs. “Days it shall be, then.” She dismisses him with the wave of a hand. 

No one is surprised, she thinks. The plague would breach their walls eventually. Only the strong survive - of course it would be her husband who would succumb first, and quickly. He’d never been strong, not like her. 

After all, she was the one who tried all these years. She looked and acted the part of a partner. She was faithful. She focused on the crown, on the realm. 

Not like him.

He coughs as he shifts on the bed, and she looks at him again. Weak, she thinks again. She can only feel disgust for him, for everything he never gave her. 

“You’ll finally get what you always wanted,” he croaks. 

She turns to look out the window. The day is grey, dreary. 

“It seems I shall,” she agrees. Then she turns and walks closer to her husband’s sickbed - deathbed, perhaps. She drops delicately into the chair at his side and takes his clammy hand in hers. 

It might look as if she doted on him. It might look as if she mourned.

“What became of him?” she asks, voice even and unbending. “The boy.”

Her husband’s eyes crinkle with amusement, and the chuckle that rumbles from his chest is accompanied by pained coughing. 

“You truly are something, my Queen,” he says, shaking his head. “The boy doesn’t even know.”

He will say nothing else.

The Queen is delivered two things at once, not a week later.

The first, a gilded mirror, promised to possess magical ability.

The second, the expected news of her husband’s passing.

The realm begins its period of mourning, flags lowering, shutters closing. The Queen begins her incantations, alone in the southernmost tower of the keep.

The frame is made of ornately twisted gold, so heavy it takes two of her men to hang it for her. When they pull the dust cover off, she steps back to appraise it. 

“Pretty,” she observes, watching her own reflection in the glass - unmagical, unextraordinary. 

The swirling, green-hued mist doesn’t appear before her reflection until her men are dismissed, the door closing and leaving her alone. 

Your Majesty, the mirror intones, the voice coming from the depth of the mist. Your wish is my command.

The Queen pauses, considering. The throne, the throne - hers, finally, only hers. 

Unless.

The King’s last words to her ring through her head - the boy doesn’t even know. 

She raises her chin and chants, 

“Mirror, mirror, look and see…

Who could take this throne from me?

Mirror, mirror, who’s the threat?

Show me which boy’s blood to let.”

The mist, green and growing, takes over the glass. The Queen’s fists clench tightly at her sides. 

The mist clears. The Queen lets out a laugh, short and bitter. 

The blacksmith’s boy smiles shyly in the glass, one hand coming up as if to hide his face. 

The blacksmith’s boy. The king’s bastard. Her only threat, the only other claim to her throne.

Your next trip into town isn’t with a cart full of venison and fowl. Instead it rings more true to the holidays of old, with your mother in charge. You wear black and a scowl, just as you did then.

The funeral services for the King threaten to last the full day, maybe into the night. You wish you could abstain, but if ever there was an event you were obligated to attend - this would be it. 

You’re not sure what the King’s death means for you - for your brother. Will the Queen uphold the bargain? Does she still want your brother’s counsel, someday, when he’s of age? Without the King’s affection for your father, will she continue to allow you to live freely as part of the arrangement? 

You sit alone in the church pew; rather, you’re surrounded on either side by strangers. You know Yoongi’s in the crowd somewhere - you can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of your head. You don’t turn to look for him. What good would it do?

It’s well after dark when the town begins to file out into the night. Your stomach growls, and you ponder if you should stop for a hot meal at the tavern before making the trek back through the woods or if you can hold out until you’re safely back at home.

You’re stopped on your way out the door by a guard reaching across you, blocking your path.

“Her Majesty requests your audience,” he says gruffly, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand at attention. Your audience? 

It can’t be good. You’re sure of it. 

You don’t meet her in the throne room as you have in the past. Instead, the guard leads you to a small chamber off the chapel, a nondescript little room with no decor, only a table with a candelabra lit in the center. 

She’s seated, and it’s so cramped in the room that it’s hard to properly bow, but you do your best. 

“Is my brother well?” you blurt out as soon as the guard has closed the door behind you. It was the first, biggest concern you had - you couldn’t hold it in. Had something happened in the citadel? 

She inclines her head, shrouded in darkness. “I asked you here because I need something done. You seem, somehow, to be my best option.”

You duck your head, flooded with relief. “I’m at your service, as always.”

And you are. You owe the crown everything - the home you were allowed to keep, your brother’s education, your income. Your freedom, as conditional as it is. 

The Queen seems to think before she speaks, and when she does each word is short and deliberate.

“There’s someone I need gone,” she says, her voice giving away no emotion. No sign of grief from the widow, no sign of trepidation from the new ruler, no sign of regret from the human asking you to take a life. “A threat to my throne. I’ll pay five times our normal scale. And I’ll pay you for your discretion, as well, on an ongoing basis.”

You respond with silence. You can’t process quickly enough - you don’t know what to tell her.

The only thing you can tell her is yes. She holds your whole world in her hands. 

But if you tell her yes, then you have to do it. Can you kill a person, can you pretend it’s no different from cutting a rabbit’s throat? 

Could you tell her yes and then leave? Vanish into the forest? What would become of your brother, if you did? Would he be responsible for your sins?

Five times your normal price could do a lot for you. You could send finer clothes to your brother, help pay for his books, maybe even a little spending money. You could fix up the cabin - patch the roof where it leaks, reinforce the cellar the way you’ve thought about for years. 

And payment for your silence - ongoing? For how long, forever?

None of it matters. You can’t say no to the Queen.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you hear yourself say. Your stomach is a block of ice, turning over and over with the tide. “I am yours to command.”

You know it. She knows it.

“The blacksmith’s boy,” she says coolly, and you aren’t even surprised. It’s like part of you knew, somehow. Part of you has been waiting for this ending all along. Isn’t this exactly why you’d never let him get too close? There was never a happy ending in the stars - not for you.

She accepts your silence as acquiescence and adds, “Tonight.”

“Tonight?” you repeat, voice coming out too wispy. 

She meets your gaze, still cold. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you say, the only correct answer. But your mind is scrambling far away, getting ahead - what weapons do you have on hand, how will you do this -

“You didn’t strike me as softhearted,” she says, full of disdain.

“I’m not,” you defend. It’s just that it’s Yoongi. Yoongi, who sees your sharp edges and smiles because he knows firsthand how much sharp edges are worth. How - how - how can you? How can you pretend it’s just a hunt, just a necessity, when you know how his mouth tastes, how he looks at you like you’re something?

Her even look turns darker, a shade closer to a frown. “I know you have the stomach and skill to kill. And I know you dally with him. He’ll follow you - take him to the woods and be done with it.”

You haven’t been as discrete as you thought you had. You wonder who else in town knows about whom you dally with.

Not that it will matter, after tonight. Not if you follow orders.

Not when you follow orders.

“Yes, your Majesty,” you say, head bowed. 

There’s no other correct answer. Your freedom had always had a price.

–

There’s some poetic irony, you think, in killing Min Yoongi with the blade he made just for you. 

Your mind is stuck on this, circling it, unable to let go, as you approach the smithy.

The lights are out - there’ll be no late-night projects, not during the official mourning for the King. You hope Park Jihoon, whose quarters are above the smithy, just across the yard from Yoongi’s tiny cabin, sleeps deeply. 

You know Yoongi keeps a key in the eaves above his front window; you’ve seen him retrieve it no less than a half-dozen times - usually he’s reaching for it, his shirt rising and showing a slip of belly that you can’t help but run your hands across as he laughs and tells you to be patient.

You reach it on your own, tonight. You let yourself in as silently as possible, closing the door behind you, placing the key gently on his tiny, wooden table. His bed is in the far corner of the room, and although the fire in the hearth has gone out, you can see the lump of blankets through the darkness that show you his form.

You approach quietly, as you would approach a potential score, letting yourself slip into the mindset of surviving the forest. 

You hesitate when you stand over him. He sleeps on his back, the light from the streetlamps outside casting flickering yellow over his delicate features. His eyelids flutter. Next to his head, his fingers twitch. 

If you strike true, this could be over in an instant.

His eyes slide open, and a hazy smile drifts over his face. “Am I having a very good dream?” he murmurs. His eyes trail down your form and freeze on the knife in your hand. The smile fades, and his eyes meet yours again, a question in them. “Or perhaps a very bad one?”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. Then, you move at the same time - you lunging and plunging the blade into the spot where his heart lay, and him rolling sideways and hitting the floor with a thud.

You yank your blade free from where it pierced Yoongi’s empty mattress and wheel to follow him as he scrambles upright and towards the door. 

You should’ve locked it. You shouldn’t have apologized, your voice and your regret giving him the split second to bolt.

You follow him at a sprint, panting hard, as the fool runs barefoot through the smithy’s yard, heading for the forest. 

Your forest. 

It’s overcast tonight, threatening rain. No moon or stars to guide you, you follow Yoongi as he zigs and zags blindly through the trees. You have the advantage. You know where you are, even in the dark. 

It’s primal, as you forge deeper and deeper through the underbrush, just sinew and silence as you run. Wind whistles around you as you focus on breathing, focus on following the crunch of Yoongi’s wild path. The earth seems to rise up to meet each footfall with a jolting slap. The darkness seems to spur you on like it knows you need this, pressing you onward, telling you, hurry, hurry.

If you can herd him towards the east, you can cut him off at the ravine - he won’t be able to do it barefoot, not without stumbling, not without cutting those bare feet on the sharp rocks. You pick up the pace, emboldened by the plan, knees and elbows pumping as you close in.

Without warning, Yoongi stops short and wheels around on you, feet skidding a little on the loose needles that coat the forest floor. It’s so unexpected that the inertia carries you to him before you can tell your legs to quit. Before you can slow, before you can turn, he grabs you by the arms and slams you backwards into the thick trunk of an oak tree, hard enough to knock the wind out of you with an audible gasp.

You’re surprised enough that the knife drops from your fingers, and he wastes no time gripping you even tighter and throwing you to the ground, instantly dropping his body over yours and holding you down as best he can as you struggle. The blade lies just out of reach, taunting you, and you reach up and stretch as hard as you can to wiggle your fingers closer, but Yoongi roughly jerks your arm away.

You’re gasping for breath as you struggle beneath his weight, trying to keep your vision clear. This wasn’t part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to have to chase him, have to fight him. You aren’t used to this - the deer don’t fight back.

“Why?” he pants heavily, his whole body heaving with each inhale and exhale. Sweat runs down his neck from the curled, damp edges of his hair. His eyes are wild, confused above you.

“Do you know who your father is?” you respond in answer, and the question surprises him so much that he leans back, like he’s trying to get a better look at you. 

It’s all you need. You use your feet and your core strength to stretch just past where you couldn’t reach with his full weight on you, and your fingers close around the blade’s handle. In a flash, you have the sharp side pressing to the pulse point on Yoongi’s neck, hard enough that you know he can feel the sting, your other hand curling in his shirt and holding him still. His eyes widen and he freezes, straining to hold himself up and away from you.

“If you move I’ll do it, and it won’t be quick,” you hiss, teeth gritted so hard you’re sure they’ll crack. Your heart slams in your chest, adrenaline sending tingles clear down to your toes. You’re dizzy with fear. You aren’t sure what’s scarier - actually doing what you’re meant to, or having to report that you didn’t.

You’re both stuck there - a tableau, an oil painting, frozen for eternity, never moving on from this moment. A million possibilities stretch on as Yoongi’s pulse beats visibly against the knife he’d sharpened for you just days ago. 

You feel like you’re floating outside your body; you can’t feel any of it - not the knife’s handle against your palm, not Yoongi’s hips still pinning yours, not the sticks and stones beneath your spine, not the sticky humidity of a night on the precipice of storm. Not your own thrumming, frightened heartbeat.

You know you can’t do it - not this way. Not like this, not with his eyes on yours, steady, as if he’s not staring down his death. Not like this, looking into his face and remembering the first time you were under him this way, remembering every time after that. Your hand trembles as you will yourself not to pull the blade away. 

But he knows. Yoongi’s always called your every bluff, has always been perfectly capable of shooting you a knowing half-smile and pushing right past your blustering, always able to find the person on the other side of the facade - the person who’s scared,confused, alone. 

“No you won’t,” he murmurs, low, and there’s nothing accusing or mocking in it. He’s simply telling you what he knows. 

Slowly, carefully, he lowers his face closer to yours, so deliberately that the knife slides harmlessly along his skin until he’s clear of it. He presses his lips to yours, uncertain at first, then with more insistence when you don’t push him away. 

The fear and adrenaline crash through you in time with a not-so-distant crack of thunder, blinding you, rendering you thoughtless and animalistic. You drop the knife with a thud, barely aware that you’re doing it, your hand coming instead to tangle in his loose hair, clutching it tightly at the base of his neck and pressing his head closer to yours, kissing him deeper, needing to absolutely drown in his kiss. 

He grunts at your enthusiasm, nipping at your bottom lip before diving into you again, licking deep into your mouth and pressing his hips down into yours in rhythm with the kiss. You move with him desperately, the quiet of the woods scattered by your combined gasping breaths, tiny sounds of pleasure slipping through the cracks in your armor, the wet sounds of your mouths coming apart and meeting again hungrily. Despite the earth solid beneath you, you feel like you’re spinning. You clutch him tightly, one hand in his hair and the other arm coming around his shoulders, tethering him to you. 

He’s the only thing keeping you here, in the present, not skittering off to somewhere safe inside your head.

You let him hold you there, pressed between him and the unyielding ground below you, channel all the rushing adrenaline into how you meet his fiery kisses, pressing your mouth hard back against his like it’s a battle, into how you roll your hips against his, thrilling at feeling him hard and ready for you. But for all the intensity, for the dizziness sweeping over you, neither of you rushes - you kiss for so long that your lips tingle, your core throbs, the night grows blacker, the thunder tiptoes closer. 

You swipe your tongue over his familiar lips, whining in your throat when he opens for you again, welcomes you in, rocks against you and closes his eyes against the sting as you unconsciously tighten your fingers in his hair. 

Then he breaks the kiss, pulls himself free of your grasp, nudges his nose to the underside of your jaw until you lean your head back, breathing hard, giving him room to attach teeth and lips to the skin of your neck. 

He gathers a bit of skin and worries it between his teeth, muttering, “You won’t kill me. No one else can make you come undone like I do.”

The sound that tears out of you is half laugh and half desperate groan. “Prove it, then,” you goad, fingers finding the hem of his shirt and pulling the edge towards you. He releases the spot on your neck long enough to let you pull the material over his head. Then he sits back on his knees between your legs and looks you over, one hand absently sliding down the front of his trousers, pressing relief into his waiting cock.

“Yours,” he says, tone steely. You find your own hem with shaking fingers. Distantly, there’s a flash of lightning, illuminating the canopy of tree branches above you before plunging you into darkness again. You pull your top over your head and drop it next to his, leaning back on your elbows.

All thoughts of what you’re supposed to do here have left you; there’s only hands-shaking adrenaline and instinct driving you to give in to your desires and pursue what you want - Yoongi, Yoongi, more of Yoongi.

“Trousers, too,” Yoongi tells you, voice quiet. His fingers are on the string of his own trousers, but his eyes are on your exposed chest. Hungry. 

You do as he says, untying your bottoms and pushing them away with your feet and waiting for his next move. The night isn’t cold, but you shiver. The forest, your forest, feels like a sanctuary, like it’s wrapping around the two of you and keeping you safe from everything outside. Like if you stayed in here, together, you might be safe from her after all.

But you know that’s a lie. 

You push the thought away by coming up on your knees and approaching Yoongi, who’s still kneeling, too. You press your chest to him with a shudder as you reach to kiss him again. He gives a quiet, happy noise low in his throat and you answer with a hum as you lick into him again.

You slip a hand between your bodies and find him heavy and leaking. He presses into your touch with a nearly-silent keen that you manage to catch, and you trace your fingertips up his length, playing in the wetness you find waiting for you at the tip, then pulling that wetness down to the base again. You repeat the motion, touch featherlight, and listen to Yoongi’s breathing hitch and catch and sigh as he closes his eyes and enjoys it. He’s silky against your fingertips, skin like satin even here.

Yoongi trails kisses down your jaw, making a clear path towards your neck, and he skims a hand up your side and past your ribs, cupping one breast and rubbing his thumb roughly over your hardening nipple. You gasp, fingers twitching against his length, which spurs him on. He runs his knuckles lightly over the bud, then takes it gently between his thumb and forefinger, giving it an experimental roll. Your gasped ah turns into a liquid moan and he does it again, harder. You keen, a note of complaint in it, as he repeats the movement that is somehow both too much and not enough. 

You wrap your hand fully around him, done teasing him with barely-there strokes, and roll your wrist once, twice, three times, his low grumbling reply music to your ears. He’s still mouthing at your neck and he switches hands, igniting sparks as he gently pinches the other nipple instead. Then he reaches and bumps your wrist out of his way as he cups your sex and spears you on his middle finger. 

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you whine, rocking into his hand, trying to take the digit just a little deeper. 

He must hear the desperation in your tone or sense it in the way you clench around his single finger, because he takes mercy on you and presses a second finger in beside the first. You sigh, still rocking against his hand, as he fucks into the spot in your front wall that makes your eyes drift closed and your toes curl up. You abandon his cock, bringing your hands to his shoulders, hanging on to keep yourself upright. When he presses his thumb against your clit you groan, loud and long, no one to hear you, and let your head fall back.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, plunging his fingers in and out of your wet heat. You can hear it each time he pushes them back in, the sound ringing in the silent woods, the only competition the approaching rolls of gentle thunder.

He works you up until you’re panting, your forehead dropping to rest against his collarbone, your hips in constant motion as you seek more. Your arms are looped around his neck, though you don’t remember starting to hold him, and your fingers find the ends of his long hair, tugging lightly in time with his motions. Occasionally his thumb circles your clit, causing your hips to jerk, but the angle stops him from keeping it constant. He pulls his hand away, and you take a bracing breath, coming back to your senses as the sensations fade. 

He drops back from his knees, one arm behind his head as he lays back. He locks his eyes on yours as he strokes himself, his teeth toying with his bottom lip. 

“Come on, then,” he prompts, his hand languid and lazy on his cock. Your body buzzes as you climb over him and sink down, letting him fill you, stretch you, break you into pieces. You ride him hard, one hand splayed on his flushed chest for balance, as around you the wind picks up, the leaves on the trees fluttering.

Yoongi’s eyes screw closed and his head tips back, even as his hands continue to guide your hips through each rise and fall.

You slow, savoring the drag against your walls, savoring his pretty skin beneath your fingers, savoring the grunts and hitched breaths he’s trying to hold back.

You could have loved Yoongi. In another life, where you had chips to bargain with. In a life where you fit into place within the village, where wild wasn’t as necessary to you as air. Even if the Queen had never called for Yoongi’s head - this life never meant for you to love him.

This is what you think about as you lightly rake your nails down his chest, watching him squirm beneath you. You think about all the times he’d been on the edge of saying it.

You think about all the times the feeling had risen up in you, as warm as a patch of sunlit floor, and you’d had to blow it away like an errant dandelion seed.

Maybe you do love him. You just can’t forget - not for a second - how little it matters.

The knife sits where you’d dropped it before undressing, just past Yoongi’s head.

You could probably reach it now.

Yoongi seems to sense the change in your motions and cracks an eye open, his fingers on your hips loosening.

His gaze follows yours. A flash of lightning makes the metal shine for a split second, and then you’re surrounded by the sudden patter of falling rain.

“Guess we better hurry,” Yoongi mutters, reaching up to grip the back of your neck and pulling you down so your chest is flush with his.

All thoughts leave your mind as he hammers into you from below - the knife is forgotten. Your feelings are forgotten. The rain, starting to muddy up the ground around you, forgotten.

You cum around him in silence, jaw clenched, fingers digging into his biceps. The groan he lets out as you squeeze around him in waves is drowned out by a growl of thunder that feels like it’s right above you, all around you.

Yoongi pumps into you with abandon, suddenly losing the rhythm he’d created. He gives two more shuddery thrusts and then lets his arms flop to the ground with a contented sigh.

For a second, you both lay there, sweat-slick and panting. Another lightning splits the sky, and the rain comes harder. He slides out of you and you wiggle until you’re laying just next to him instead of on top of him.

You can’t stop looking at him. He seems determined not to look at you.

The rain washes everything away - the smell of sex, your sweat, your affection, your sadness, your pride.

“My father,” he murmurs beneath you, and you go deathly still. “Yes, I knew.”

You swallow, brush rainwater from your brow. “So does the Queen,” you say back. An explanation, and an answer to the why he’d leveled at you an hour ago.

He nods slowly, expression clearing with understanding.

You feel no absolution for it.

Finally, he leans his head back again, his bangs flopping heavily now that they’re saturated with rainwater, and eyes the knife.

You sit up. He brings his eyes to you and watches silently - as if he accepts whatever move you make. As if, should you reach for the metal, he wouldn’t fight you this time.

“Go.” The word tumbles roughly onto the inch of mud between you. You don’t remember making the decision to say it.

He sits up, elbows and shoulders caked with mud. But all he does is watch you, wait for you to change your mind.

“Go,” you repeat, meaning it. Now that you’ve said it once, now that the decision was made, you know it’s the right one. “I’ll tell her it’s done.”

You could never kill him. You both knew it all along.

He dresses wordlessly, and you do the same, pulling your top back over your head and tying up your trouser string. When you look up, he’s standing in the rain, watching you.

You stoop and grab the knife he’d made you. You grip it tightly in your hand, refuse to meet his eyes.

He’s not challenging you, not questioning you - and that, in itself, feels like a slap.

“You can’t come back,” you say, as evenly as you can muster. When he just looks at you, infuriatingly silent, you add, “You can’t. Okay? If she - she can never know.”

“I know,” he says, and then he gives you a long, searching look. He’s drenched now, and your hands itch to push his set hair away from his face, to use your thumbs to chase raindrops - you think - away from his lashline.

Then, choked, he offers, “You could -”

“Don’t,” you bite out, stopping him before he can make you any kind of offer. You can’t. You can’t go with him. You can’t disappear into the night. Your brother is counting on you. You won’t let him pay for your sins.

Yoongi shakes his head. He takes another step closer. Your fingers tighten on the knife’s handle.

“Y/N, I -”

You raise the knife above your head in a flash, eyes going wide in fury.

“Fucking go!” you bark.

He holds up his hands, takes a few steps backwards, giving up his quest to make this harder than it needs to be. Lightning illuminates him and above your head, the blade shines for a split second before everything is cast into inky darkness again.

When your eyes adjust to the darkness, trees around you forming a shape again, he’s gone.

You don’t follow him, and you don’t return to your cabin. You sink to your knees in the mud, dropping the knife onto the ground, and sob into your hands, the noise swallowed by the flurry of rain and the intermittent cracks of thunder.

—

You sleep. You hunt. When the time comes, you bring your scores to the Queen atop your wagon.

She doesn’t ask you about Yoongi. You don’t offer her anything, just thank her for her grace routinely when she orders your purse to be filled.

You don’t stop at the tavern on the way back home. You don’t stop at any of the shops - not this time. You don’t trust yourself to act right if Yoongi’s disappearance gets brought up. You don’t trust that no one will do the math that he vanished four nights ago, and now you’re a hollowed shell who can’t form words.

The townspeople have seen you grieve before. They’d know what they were seeing.

The next trip is easier, and the one after that even more. The Queen never thanks you, not that you expected it, but you start finding an extra purse of coins in your wagon each time you return to it after bringing in your kills.

The price for your silence. The price for what she thinks you’ve done.

It hurts the most when your wagon passes the smithy, but you keep your eyes on the cobblestones and your hands on the reins and eventually the hurt fades along with the village as you get farther and farther away.

The seasons turn. The hurts fade. You send extra money to your brother. You sleep. You hunt.

Eventually, you stop waking up from nightmares that feature the glint of metal. You stop waking up trying desperately to cling to your dreams as fruitlessly as clinging to smoke, left with only damp places on your pillow and the memory of a low, throaty chuckle ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you can ride past the smithy without the pang in your chest. You can stop for a pint without watching the shadows for the appearance of a gummy smile. You can laugh when the bartender cracks a joke, can sound like yourself when you ask the baker’s daughter how she’s been faring.

It is after one of these trips, deep into color-saturated autumn, that you return to your cabin with wagon empty and purses full.

Something isn’t right. You freeze, casting your eyes around the forest, but it holds its secrets tight.

On the ground in front of your door, illuminated by the late afternoon sunlight, is a brand new, shining blade.

thank you so much for reading!!! i really really like this one and i hope you do too!! <3

[proshippers-against-censorship]

have you heard that fur affinity is basically run by puritanical admins of which one sounds like a pro lifer?

this just in, you can’t depict furries enjoying egg laying because a minor (the egg) is involved. But as long as the egg is not fertilized, then obviously it’s not a minor

no I’m not joking, this is their new stance on things. So is this limited to ovipositon or also stuff like… pregnancy kinks? Pregnant sex? Cause you know, both involve “minors”. A fertilized egg is a minor now, sounds like a pro lifer all right

Wonder how long feral art will last on there. I've been afraid to check since Dragoneer passed. I know ABDL is no longer permitted, which is wild because most of the biggest names in the community are babyfurs. Like, most of our big con hosts? Babyfurs. 9/10, that popular adult furry? Babyfur.

They're destroying their target audience.

[junkdrawerfics]

First Meeting

Jasper Hale X Reader

Series of Firsts

Summary: The first time you meet Jasper Hale is when you get lost in the woods. Is he your rescuer or the danger you should be looking out for, though?

Words: 1712

Note: New series wooh! Hope you guys enjoy!

---

Moving to Forks in the middle of summer had its pros and cons.

Pro: You have plenty of time to explore and get to know the area.

Pro: You can adjust to the new home before school starts.

Con: You haven’t been able to meet many people your age and therefore have no friends yet.

Con: You thought it would be nice to take a walk by the woods, but you swear you saw a hurt cat and you tried to help it but it ran away and you followed it and now you’re lost.

The last point may not have anything to do with it being summer, but still.

On the bright side, you did catch the little guy! Not without a few scratches, but you got him.

You perch yourself on a tree stump, a small tabby kitten nestled in your arms, completely tuckered out from running. Careful to not jostle him,  you give him a good once over. It looks like he was maybe clipped by a car, or maybe a bike, dried blood running down one of his legs which looks significantly out of place. 

Poor thing.

Sighing softly, you tuck him back into your lap and glance around. The trees all look the same, and you have no clue what direction you came from. There’s no way to tell what time it is either, since you left your phone at home and the sun is completely blocked out by the clouds. Not the best situation.

At least it’s still light out, you think to yourself. It could be a lot worse. For now, it’s light, you’re warm, and you told your mom you were going out before you did, so she should notice when you don’t come back in a few hours.

If you don’t make it back yourself, that is!

“I don’t suppose you know the way out?” You hum, scratching the small kitten’s head as he raises his head at the sound of your voice. He looks at you with dark amber eyes, barely open.

“Mew.”

“Hm, I thought so.” You shake your head with a fond smile. “That’s okay. Maybe if I just start walking, I’ll find someone.”

The kitten grumbles a little when you pop to your feet. Might as well go with your gut, right? That’s what people usually do in situations like this. So, you go to set off in the directions you think you came from. Hopefully. 

Until you hear a loud snap come from behind you.

Every muscle in your body goes still. The ball of fur in your arms bristles, suddenly far more alert, letting out a quiet, squeaking hiss. It makes your chest tighten, a spark of fear and realization traveling through your bones.

Are there predators in these woods?

“You’ll hit the coast before you find a soul if you go that way.”

The sound of a low, rumbling voice immediately puts you at ease, the tension dripping from your shoulders. Thank the heavens you don’t have to wander even deeper into the woods. There’s no telling how much more lost you could get. You turn to thank your savior, eyes going wide when they land on him.

Pretty. That’s your first thought.

He’s very pretty. For a moment, you could even convince yourself you are just looking at a sculpture abandoned in the woods. He’s tall, very tall, gold hair falling to his sharp jaw, skin shockingly pale in the dim light. His eyes, dark and narrowed, glint with curiosity and maybe a hint of concern as he looks you over.

Heat flares across your cheeks. This feels straight out of some teen romance novel. A handsome stranger comes to the rescue of the damsel in distress. Except, while he is a handsome stranger, you are dressed in an oversized, pastel hoodie with cat scratches all over your face and hands. Not to mention the mangy kitten in your arms who looks like he wants to kill the man.

What a sight this must be for him.

You offer your rescuer a wide, somewhat awkward smile, “Thanks for telling me. I definitely have no clue where I am, if you can’t tell.”

The man tilts his head, brows furrowing, “How’d you end up all the way out here?”

“Well-” You shrug, shifting back and forth on your feet. “-it was just supposed to be a walk, but then I saw this little guy and he looked like he needed help.”

His eyes dart down to the small kitten in your arms, lips twitching in amusement. The fluff ball glares back at him without hesitation. You shuffle him in your arms a little, trying to get him to calm down, but he stubbornly clings to your sleeve so he can see the blond.

“I chased him out here,” you continue, settling for just clutching him against your chest, just in case he tries to be rude. “His leg looks pretty bad and I just couldn’t leave him, you know? I’m pretty sure he needs a vet, but I don’t know how to get back to town. Could you maybe um…”

You trail off. You shouldn’t hesitate to ask for help, you know it’s silly, but you don’t want to bother this guy. What if he was on his way somewhere? Maybe he could just point you in the right direction. But what if it gets dark before you get home? The thought of walking through the woods at night is not one you’d like to live through.

After a hard second of him looking at you, as if trying to figure out whether you’re a threat or not - which feels kind of backwards if you’re being honest - the man seems to soften. His posture loosens and a small, charming smile slants his lips. 

Your heart stutters.

In a very old-school, gentlemanly way, he offers you his hand, “It’d be a privilege to escort you back, miss-?”

You stare at his extended hand, completely oblivious to his question until you glance up and see him watching you expectantly, lips pursed, dark eyes dancing with amusement. 

Oh!

“(Y/n),” you blurt quickly, face going impossibly redder. “My name’s (Y/n) (L/n)! I just moved here.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/n).” The smile comes back, wider, brighter, and you want to melt. “Name’s Jasper Hale, I’ve lived here quite some time.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, too, Jasper Hale,” you chime, finally taking his hand (much to the kitten’s displeasure). “Especially now. I would've been wandering out here for a long time if you hadn’t showed up. Who knows what’s out here.”

Something flashes through Jasper’s eyes, but he merely smiles and agrees, “You can never be too careful.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you sigh, following him as he starts in the opposite direction you were going to go, “It’s my fault for thinking I didn’t need my phone. It’s just my luck to not have it the one time I need it.”

“Bad luck finds you at the worst times,” he hums wistfully.

“This is your fault,” you whisper down at the kitten, who has settled down a little bit, “You’re not even black, how are you so unlucky?”

He blinks up at you, looking unimpressed. You laugh, scratching his chest softly.

“I think he’s mocking me,” you murmur, “He probably doesn’t even need my help based on the fight he put up.”

“He just doesn’t know what’s good for him,” Jasper chuckles, something fond starting to grow in his chest.

He had been hunting when the scent of fresh blood had drawn him further into the woods. He didn’t even remember moving, hunting it down, nothing until he came to a dead stop there at the edge of the small clearing. That’s where he found you, watched as you slowly, patiently coaxed the angry kitten into your arms.

He doesn’t know what made him stop. What overcame the burning thirst in his throat. But when he laid eyes on you, listened to you talk to the kitten as if it would talk back, felt the gentle positivity coming off of you like pure warmth, it just disappeared.

Replaced with a burning curiosity and something fiercely protective.

Who was this girl he’d never seen before? Why was she all the way out in the woods, at least thirty minutes from the town? Alone? What if something happened to her?

The moment you started walking in the wrong direction, he couldn’t stop himself. Against his better judgment, of course. He couldn’t just let you wander off alone, though. The others will probably be angry with him once he gets back, but at least he can make sure you get home safely.

Which he does.

You stop at the edge of your yard, turning to him with the softest, most genuine smile, brimming with gratitude.

“Thank you, Jasper. Really. I hope this isn’t the last time we meet?” Your eyes glow with so much hope, and he can’t bring himself to deny it.

He should. He should stay far away from you, because something tells him that as much as this new feeling in his chest could be something good, it could also be something horribly dangerous. For you. He should stop it here and now, cut all ties.

But he saw how well that worked for Edward.

So he nods, dares to lift your hand to his lips and press a ghost of a kiss to your knuckles. Jasper can feel your life under his fingers, hear your pulse race, and he expects the thirst to come roaring back, to feel some kind of temptation, but the only thing he feels is your overflowing, bashful joy. And he loves it.

“Until next time, miss (L/n),” he murmurs, and you giggle, “Try not to run after any more injured animals, alright?”

“I’ll try,” you promise, feeling high as a kite.

“Good.” Jasper grins.

He watches you go inside, just to be safe, making eye contact one last time with the furry, little creature still in your arms, right before the door falls shut. It glares at him, tiny tail thrashing.

Unlucky, you said.

Maybe.

You’ll both have to wait and see.

---

Next

I'm pretty excited about this new little series! It'll be super simple, just a series about different "firsts" you have with Jasper, ie first kiss, first date, etc. If you want anything specific, let me know!

Also, I know it might be a little unrealistic, but I don't care! That's not what this is about lol

[tigergirltail]

TIGER HRT CHAPTER 6 - MONTH 6 - THE CAGED BIRD

CONTENT WARNING - This chapter contains mentions of medical injections, bigotry, child abuse, self-harm, and attempted suicide. Reader beware.

FIRST - PREV - NEXT

I had my six-month check-up with Dr. Erian, an online appointment just like last time. No particular medical issues this time around, bloodwork checks out, genetic reconfiguration is stable. We can't do a thorough physical exam over the internet, but according to him, I am "the very picture of health, by the standards of your species". I'm a bit curious what standards those are, given that I have yet to hear about any other tiger therians. Hopefully there ARE standards, and he's not just giving me empty reassurance.

We also spent some time going over dietary concerns - am I getting enough meat, am I reducing my fruit and grain intake appropriately, that sort of thing. I assured him that I'm eating real meat with every meal, just like the booklet said to, I've been limiting fruits and vegetables, and I don't even have an appetite for anything grain-based. I'll probably miss what fresh bread used to be like, but I just can't bring myself to want it anymore. Apparently not every therian is following the diet they're supposed to, but the doctor didn't have any concerns about me, "assuming your answers are honest, Miss Alexis". What, does he think I'm about to lie to the one person who knows how species transition works?

At one point during the discussion I thought I heard him mutter something about a "foolish undine", but I must have misheard. Undines are water spirits or elementals or something - a fictional creature. Then again, so are dragons and lamias, but the first well-known humanity remover was a dragon-girl, and I've been hanging out and playing online games with a lamia. At this point you could tell me there's someone out there transitioning to Sonic the Hedgehog, and I might actually believe you.

I've hit the point of full fur coverage, so no more awkward bald patches! Unfortunately, this does mean I need to start taking my estrogen in a form other than skin patches, because there's nowhere left to stick them. After a lot of agonizing over the pros and cons of potential liver damage from pills versus facing down my needle phobia, I opted to ask my endocrinologist to train me on injectable estrogen. She made a somewhat tone-deaf joke about not being trained in veterinary medicine, but she was otherwise very patient and reassuring, so I let it slide.

I do want to state for the record that I am a big scary tiger who's not afraid of anything and I only cried a little bit the first time I injected myself.

My ears are definitely becoming much more sensitive - I keep hearing really annoying high-pitch noises when I'm around heavy machinery, and that happens a lot more often than you might think. My office at work is right next to an elevator, and whenever someone uses it, the motor lets out this gods-awful whine and I have to plug my ears until it stops moving again. My local grocery also has a few freezer units that give off a similar sound, constantly, and I've had to start wearing earplugs to go on food runs.

As for visual changes, I can see in the dark reasonably well, but I've also started getting headaches and discomfort when I squint or try too hard to focus on something. I guess I should probably just… try to not do that. I have spent a significant portion of my life staring at a screen, so my eyes probably aren't in the best shape overall.

Now that my physical changes are pretty much done, most people just assume I'm wearing a very intricate costume - at least, until they get close. No costume has mouth movements or facial expressions this realistic, and believe me, our top furry scientists and engineers have tried.

At one point there's a conversation on the humanity removal chat server about the political climates in our respective areas towards therians. Obviously, a lot of the right-wing talking-head shows have been shitting themselves inside-out about the idea of people giving up their humanity, especially the ones with a more religious bent. "How dare these freaks forsake God's holy image", "Humanity is a divine blessing and must be cherished", "We call on the one true God to smite these worshippers of the Beast", and so on like that. Excuse you, but I've never worshipped your discriminatory god and I'm not beholden to their 'holy image'. My goddess is one of beauty, love, and artistic expression, and the entire reason I'm changing myself in the first place is as an expression of self-love.

Most of us agree, though, that the absolute worst of the 24-hour news cycle doesn't have anything to do with how regular everyday people see us. In fact, we're rare enough still that a decent proportion of people don't believe we exist - they think that tabloids made us up to sell more copies. I don't know if that's better in terms of acceptance, but I'll take it over a torch-and-pitchfork mob running me out of town.

The conversation shifts to us sharing our locations, those of us who are comfortable doing so at least. We generally keep it vague, but most of us are at least alright with saying which country we live in. I narrow it down to a province for myself, mainly because my province alone is larger than some countries, but also because once we start to get noticed by the media and the world, there'll probably be no stopping our locations becoming known.

It's also going to get interesting if anyone starts asking how most of us are going to the same medical provider when he requires that consultations be done in person, or why the location he operates out of - Hyper City - doesn't appear on any map. Truthfully, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it myself.

The next day, I get a private message from the girl with the corvid avatar:

"Hey I saw your post when everybody was talking about where they are! I live there too!! We should totally meet up sometime ^v^"

…This is a dilemma. Obviously, I'm worried about the optics of a teenager meeting up with a 39-year-old she met on the internet, there's all kinds of ways that could be taken the wrong way, but dammit, I still don't know anyone like me in this part of the world, who knows if I'll ever find anyone else who's local? …I really want to try, but I should at least give her a warning, and a judgement-free out.

"Uhh I get wanting to meet up, but I'm more than 20 years older than you, would your parents be anywhere near cool with that??"

There's a long pause. I see her start and stop typing multiple times. I'm worried I've upset her. Eventually, she sends another message:

"I don't give a fuck what they think"

I'm taken aback by the harshness of the reply, and don't manage to type anything before another series of messages pops up:

"and they don't care what I do anyway so it's whatever" "if anyone asks I'll just say you're my weird aunt" "you have no idea how bad I want to meet someone who GETS IT" "humanity is a curse and I want to be free"

'I want to be free'. Something about that phrase hits somewhere deep, in a source of pain that never fully healed. Freedom from pain, freedom from self-hatred, freedom at any cost, even if it meant my life. I remember how that desire for freedom feels.

The only thing I can think to do next is ask if she's okay. Her response is to ask if I can go on a voice call. I'm not sure if she wants some confirmation that I'm a real person or if she just doesn't want the next part of the conversation preserved in the text log.

"Hey…", I begin cautiously as the voice call starts. "Can you hear me okay?"

There's a suppressed sniffle on the other end. "Yeah… I hear you."

For a moment I entertain the thought of going all 'when I was your age' and explaining that I was always cautioned against talking to strangers on the internet, but it's probably not the time for that. Read the room, Alexis.

She's not saying anything. I'm going to have to start this off, I think. Something harmless, something value-neutral…

"So from your icon, I'm guessing you want crow HRT? Raven HRT, maybe?"

"Crow HRT.", she states simply. "Crows are everywhere here, and I've always loved them, always been jealous of them. They get to go anywhere they want, do anything they want…" She lets out a groaning sigh. "Augh, this is stupid. You probably think I'm stupid for wanting this."

I can't hold back from giving a little bit of a laugh. "Hah! Young lady, one year ago I went to a doctor and told him to his face that I wanted him to turn me into a recessive-gene variant of an endangered species that doesn't even live on this continent, and then I threatened to bite him if he wouldn't do it. Fantasizing about being a crow is just about the normalest thing I can imagine compared to that."

"…You said you'd BITE him?"

I grin, though without a camera set up she can't see it. "Every one of us who seeks out humanity removal therapy is already a little bit inhuman, even if we don't fully know it yet. After all, why would we remove something if we felt emotionally attached to it?"

Another audible sniffle. "Holy fuck, you DO get it…"

"I sure hope I get it, it's not like I can un-grow the fur and the tail."

She gives a laugh, then there's a long pause. "…Does it hurt? Is it scary?"

"Sometimes. My fingers were REALLY sore while my claws were developing, and having your entire facial structure rearrange is no joke. As for scary, well, I sure get stared at a lot more, but I think I scare people a lot more than they scare me."

"Heh, maybe I want to be scary."

I frown a little. "I don't. I just want to be true to myself."

There's an awkward silence. After a while, I decide to bring up something I was curious about:

"So I remember you asking if there was a way to get species HRT without your parents noticing. I'm guessing they're not exactly supportive?"

She lets out an uncomfortable groan. "Mmmngh… They watch a lot of those news shows, you know, the ones that only run angry sensationalist bullcrap? Dad gets furious at the idea of anyone changing themselves, something about the 'holy sanctity of the human body' or whatever. He even thinks tattoos are blasphemy. Mom says it's the most horrific thing she can imagine, she nearly fainted when she caught me watching a stream of this one dragon girl talking about her changes."

"And here you are, wanting to be a bird… I'm sorry, that sounds really rough."

"It… It is." I can hear her voice faltering. "Hearing nothing but how terrible a waste it is, and how awful and horrific they are, and the whole time knowing that I'd give ANYTHING for it to happen to me, I just… I'm sorry, I just…"

"Hey, you don't need to apologize… I'm not going anywhere."

"I just… don't know how much longer I can take it!"

"…Take what?" I'm afraid to ask my next question, but… I just have to. "…What are they doing to you??"

Somewhere deep inside her, the dam just… breaks. She starts sobbing as she tells me about how her parents yell at her over every single mistake, how she gets shoved or hit just for being in the way, how she hurts herself just so the pain gives her something to feel and to focus on, and how she… How she once climbed up to the roof of her building and took a flying leap off. She had every intention to end her own life, but in the moment her feet left the ground and she felt the air under her arms, she experienced a rush of euphoria, for the first time she can remember.

…And a moment later, she broke a leg and several ribs when she hit the ground.

She explains that she spent over a month in hospital, a captive audience for her parents to yell at more, when they even bothered to show up at all. I'm too stunned to even react.

She's spent the years since then chasing that high, climbing trees and jumping off, finding rooftops and hilltops to go stand in the wind, looking up online videos of parachuting and wingsuiting and hang gliding, and when she first heard rumours about medical treatments that can alter one's very species, she started frantically researching. That's how she started finding other therians to reach out to, how she got involved in the group chat.

"Have you… had an appointment with Dr. Erian yet?" I have a feeling I already know the answer - something something, 'letter from a physician, two psychologists, live as your preferred species for at least a year'. The same horseshit I had to listen to.

"No… I tried to get one, but he won't see anyone under 18 without parental consent, and fat chance of ever getting that."

Huh. I hadn't expected that, it feels surprisingly principled for him. Though at the end of the day, it's probably just another liability thing - ol' Teddy Erian covering his own ass as usual.

"I just…" She's started crying again. "I just want to turn into a beautiful black bird and fly away from all this, forever… I just want to live my life on the wind, going wherever I want, never having to see a single human again…"

I can feel my own tears welling up, and that's the moment I make my decision. I'm going to meet up with this girl, and I'm going to find a way to help her. Maybe she doesn't need humanity removal, maybe she just needs to know someone who understands.

We decide on a place and time to meet up. There's a little cafe I like nearby, run by a trio of neurodivergent queer women. It's a public place, and about as safe for weirdos like us as you can get. Corvid-girl tells me she'll be the one with a feathered headband and a crow-skull necklace. I tell her I'll be the one with white fur and a tail. That manages to get a laugh out of her. I choose to take that as a victory.

There's something about the way she laughs that sounds a bit like a crow's call. I wonder whether that's intentional on her part…

A few days later, I'm sitting in the cafe enjoying a hot chocolate and a roast beef sandwich - extra meat, naturally. Dr. Erian said I have to start cutting chocolate out of my diet because cocoa is going to become toxic to me, but… chocolate! I did ask for a lighter mix though, so what I'm drinking is actually mostly just hot milk. Maybe there's a cocoa-free substitute out there I can look into…

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by a squeal of delight emanating from the front door. There's a teenage girl standing there, staring directly at me with a look of amazement on her face. Dark clothes, pale skin, black hair, headband with feathers in it, and hanging from her neck, an amulet in the shape of a bird skull. I smile and wave a paw at her. She practically bounces as she walks up to my table and takes a seat.

"Holy SHIT, you're… And you even have the… Your face looks just like… Can I touch your paw??"

I laugh and hold out my paw. "Haha, sure, just watch out for the claws, they don't stay all the way inside just yet."

"Oh, it's okay, I'm used to sharp things!"

I wince as I think back to our voice chat from the other day. I REALLY hope she doesn't mean what I think she means, but I can't help noticing she's wearing long sleeves, even though the weather has been getting warmer.

She turns my paw over and squeals. "OHMYGOD you even have the BEEEEANS!" I can't resist smiling as she starts poking and prodding at my pawpads. "You look SO!! AMAZING!!"

Corvid-girl starts frantically complimenting all my animalistic features - "Your stripes are so pretty!" "I love your tail!" "Ohh, your fangs, they're so COOL!!" - and I start uncontrollably blushing. I never would have thought species affirmation would feel this euphoric… Naturally, being a teenager, she takes this as an excuse to push even harder, and I start covering my face with my paws, thoroughly embarrassed.

"You look just like the tigers they have on stage for those shows in Vegas!"

"H-hey, that's actually not okay…"

"You know, I bet you'd look good up on a stage too! Everyone would love to see you!!"

Instinctually, I let out a growl, louder than I actually want to. It has the intended effect, in that she stops dead and stares at me, but so do a few other cafe patrons. Oh gods, here comes the embarrassment again… "H-hey, look, it's just…"

"Sorry." She's gone completely deadpan, and stiff as a board.

I close my eyes tightly. Gods, why did I DO that?? First the waitress at that seafood place, and now an actual CHILD. I REALLY need to start getting a handle on these predator instincts. When I open my eyes again, she's still standing there, and she looks like she's on the verge of a panic attack.

I need to calm her down, need to bring her back. "No… I'M sorry. I shouldn't have done that, I just… The animals they use for those stage shows get abused all the time, and it's kind of a sore spot for me."

"…Really?"

Okay, she's talking, she's distracted, maybe I can still salvage this. "Yeah… Every species has baggage, it's one of the shitty parts of being therian, and tigers, white tigers especially, they're treated like show pieces, or worse."

"…Well shit, I knew they're endangered, but… fuck."

"Yeah, it's a whole thing, I try not to -"

Our conversation is interrupted by one of the staff tapping corvid-girl on the shoulder and asking to talk privately. She reluctantly agrees to go to the back of the store and talk. At first I think maybe she's being chastised for being a disturbance, but the barista who pulled her away is giving me some very pointed looks. Worried looks, I might even say.

If I angle my ears just right, I can almost hear them through the noise of the rest of the cafe.

"…other patrons were concerned… …young lady so close to a dangerous creature…"

I wonder if the barista notices the indignant look that crosses my face when they describe me as a 'creature'.

Corvid-girl lets out that bird-like laugh of hers. Her voice is a lot more distinct and easier to pick out:

"It's just my aunt! She's not a 'creature', she just takes meds to look like that!"

The barista doesn't protest as corvid-girl returns to our table, but they're still giving me a very 'You'd better not try anything' kind of look.

Corvid-girl sits down, seemingly a little more grounded, a little more sobered. "…I guess I never thought to ask, why a white tiger?"

I lean forward, head in one paw, and give a bit of a shrug. "I relate a lot to them."

"To… being treated like a show piece, or whatever you said?"

"…Yeah. When I was little, they called me 'gifted' and put me in a separate school. I remember being excited about it, but it turns out it just meant getting more homework."

"…Ew."

I smile a little bit. "That's what I thought too! They wanted me to be some brilliant prodigy, a genius in the making, but the reality is I was just more observant and better at math than most people, that's all. I actually had to take an extra year of school because I was so bad at it."

"EWW!!"

"I KNOW, RIGHT?? But, then I went to college and graduated at the top of my class, so the joke's on them in the end."

"I wasn't even planning on staying around long enough for college…" She still has a bit of a depressed air about her, but she's not going into a panic. Maybe I'm better with kids than I thought.

"Yeah, I remember, you were going to turn into a beautiful crow and fly away forever." I try to give her a reassuring look. "But hey, the human world isn't ALL bad."

"Says the woman who's turning herself into a wild animal."

I snort quietly as I hold back a laugh. "Okay, fair, but wild animals don't get the internet, or nice little cafes where weirdos like us can just sit and talk."

"Hah, yeah… Weirdos like us." She gives a smile. An actual, genuine smile. Suddenly all the awkwardness is worth it, to see someone so deeply unhappy smile. "That reminds me, I saw on the server you're into witchcraft, can you… teach me?"

Somehow I feel like I should have expected this. The goth-looking crow girl is into witchcraft, big surprise. "I… guess? Maybe? I'm not like an expert or anything, I've just read a few books and cast a few spells is all."

"Ooh, what kind of spells??" And now she's back to her enthusiastic self.

"Just some protective charms on people who needed them, a few card readings with a tarot deck, nothing much really…"

"Does it really work??"

"I mean, the people I cast those charms on ended up safe in the end, but who knows if what I did made a difference? Some of the card readings were scary-accurate though, I think I might have a talent for divination."

She laughs. "Gonna have to get you to read my future sometime."

We end up spending the next hour or so making small talk, getting to know each other, talking about the ins and outs of humanity removal, complaining about Dr. Erian, until…

"Hey, I gotta go catch the bus back home, but… this was nice." She gives a bit of a smirk. "Cool to meet another weirdo."

Before she leaves, I ask her name - I still don't know it, I've been internally calling her 'corvid-girl' this entire time.

She gives me a disgusted grimace. "Ugh, it's 'Margaret'. I'm named for my great-grandmother, it's SUCH an old-lady name."

"Margaret, like Maggie, as in magpie?" I smile a little. "Those are corvids too, you know."

Her expression softens a little. "…Never thought of that. Still don't like it, though…"

"Well, is there a name you'd like better? I can start calling you that if you like."

She freezes. Somewhere in her eyes I can see her mind working to process what I've just said. "…Nobody ever asked me that before. I'll… think about it." She turns to leave.

"Wait, hold on a sec."

"WHAT!?" She outright glares at me, then seems to soften. "Sorry, it's… never mind."

That… was an EXTREMELY sudden mood shift. Trauma response, maybe? "I… was just going to ask if you wanted a sandwich or something to take home."

"…Didn't bring any money…"

I shake my head a little. "That doesn't answer my question. Would you like me to BUY you a sandwich or something?"

"…Egg salad if they got it I guess…"

I go up to the counter and buy her an egg salad sandwich to go. She looks like she's going to cry when I hand it to her. I… probably shouldn't make a big deal about that, but somewhere deep inside, my heart breaks a little. Does she never have anyone just… offer her food?

I'm beginning to understand why she wants to leave behind the curse of humanity. I chose this path, I wanted to be a tiger, I'm running towards something. Corvid-girl, though? She's running away from something.

I walk her outside, and she starts to walk away, but suddenly stops, and turns back to me. She walks resolutely up to me, then grabs me in a hug.

"Soft…" Her voice is muffled against both my shirt and the fur underneath. "You're very soft…"

Once I get over my surprise at the sudden gesture, I hesitantly put one arm around her shoulders and pat her on the back. She pulls away after a few short moments, and walks away down the sidewalk without another word.

I touch my shirt where her head was leaning, and notice a small wet spot.

---

Time to play "Spot the References!" Intentional references below:

"something about a 'foolish undine'" - welldrawnfish (Fish HRT)

"the first well-known humanity remover was a dragon-girl" - ayviedoesthings (Dragon HRT)

"I've been hanging out and playing online games with a lamia" - ariathelamia (Lamia HRT)

"someone out there transitioning to Sonic the Hedgehog" - sonic-spirit (Sonic HRT)

"watching a stream of this one dragon girl talking about her changes" - Rain, by Jocelyn Samara D. (Dragon HRT)

[jackoshadows]

The problem with the constantly repeated false fanon that Jon did not accept Stannis' offer of Winterfell because of Sansa is that it changes Jon's entire character, his narrative arc and cheapens the entire third act of ADwD.

If the reason Jon did not accept Winterfell was because of Sansa then his sworn oaths didn't matter to him does it? His duty to the NW didn't matter, right? He would have burned down the Winterfell Godswood and the old heart tree? He would have burned down Weirwoods? None of that mattered to him?

Not to mention how utterly absurdly farcical it is to state that while Catelyn wanted Sansa removed from the line of inheritance to Winterfell, it was Jon Snow who refused Stannis' offer because he thought it rightly belonged to Sansa!!

Just think about this... CATELYN! The woman who was all about her children! Who dearly loved Sansa. Who loathed Jon Snow because she thought he was a danger to her children's inheritance. Who secretly released an important political prisoner to save Sansa and Arya.

I think we can ALL agree that no one loves Sansa more than Catelyn. That there is no one who would fight more for Sansa's rights than Catelyn. This is the lady who bypassed Sansa and traded in Arya to a 22nd Frey son for a bridge. That is how important Sansa is to her. This is indisputable. This is canon.

When CATELYN is saying that Sansa should not get Winterfell as long as she is married to Tyrion, there are actually people here saying that Jon Snow is more interested in Sansa getting Winterfell than Catelyn?!!

And yet every other day this fanfiction shows up on the Jon Snow tag and it's just so tiresome at this point.

There is an ENTIRE chapter (Because GRRM thought it important to explore this momentous decision!) in the book - Jon XII, ASoS - where Jon considers the pros and cons of accepting Stannis' offer.

A beautiful, sad, bitter, angry, emotional chapter ending on a triumphant note when Ghost - with his red eyes and white fur, a gift from the Old Gods - makes an appearance and reminds Jon of a Weirwood and the Old Gods and the oaths he swore before the Old Gods. Reminding him that there was no way he could burn down the Winterfell Godswood to accept Stannis' offer.

This is something that is glossed over and deliberately ignored - Stannis' offer was conditional on Jon having to BURN DOWN THE WINTERFELL GODSWOOD.

These are all important plot points and adds to the characterization of several characters. Stannis' fanatical and political devotion to the Lord of Light which fails to gain him an ally in Jon Snow as Lord of Winterfell, Jon's Snow's own devotion to the Old Gods and even someone like the Magnar of Thenn who is willing to convert to the Lord of Light to gain land and titles this side of the Wall with Stannis' support.

If Jon Snow didn't care about his oaths and his duty to the NW, then he wouldn't have waited till the end of the book to save his little sister married off to the sadistic Ramsay Bolton, right?

Then there is the fact that characters like Robb Stark and Catelyn Stark keep getting dragged down as not loving Sansa as much as Jon Snow!! Despite their anger at Sansa's forced marriage and both Robb and Catelyn wanting to kill Tyrion. A clear contrast to how in the books, Jon Snow is more concerned about his friend Tyrion's fate as a kinslayer than the sister forcefully married off to him.

There is also the fact that Robb and Cat's decision to remove Sansa from the line of inheritance was an entirely political decision. Catelyn loves Sansa so much and yet even she agrees that this is necessary. There is no way any Stark or Northerner would want Winterfell to fall into Lannister hands. It's the same argument Stannis uses.

So the fanon that Jon alone out of all them wants Sansa to get Winterfell renders him politically incompetent - when we know this is not so and that he is actually more attuned to Northern politics than Stannis and even Robb.

This is why he uses Sansa as an excuse for refusing Stannis' offer but when Stannis actually considers giving Winterfell to one of his lords or to another Northman, then Jon has an opinion and a suggestion and he proposes Crowfood Umber - because Umber is a Stark ally.

This is what is all lost - so much about Jon Snow as a character, his political side, the importance he gives to the Old Gods, his oaths, the NW, his duty to the realm of men instead of to Winterfell - in favor of making that decision of his ENTIRELY about Sansa.

Sigh. I just so desperately wish that GRRM gives us TWoW so that we can go back to discussing the actual characters instead of drowning in made up fanon that mutilates and mangles these characters in favor of propping up other characters.

[dangopango00]

Demonic Features HCS (2)

Om demons HCs + Om demons x gn reader

Pt. 1 (123) | Pt. 2 (Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie) | Pt. 3 (Royal trio) Coming soon (again)

CW: Teeny but suggestive I think. Mostly asmo’s part if anything

A/N: THIS IMAGE IS SO FUCKING KEWYWTTTTT 😭😭😭😭😭 i cant w them ue i am unhealthily attached to this family goodbye world also sryy these are so long, honestly after recharging for a couple days I js started going crazy on the hcs 😭😭

Hcs UTC

Satan: The Unicorn

- I think he should look more beastly overall like hes some wild creature that just emerged from the forest

- His pants should look like hooves like those bellbottom esque fuzzy ish pants like

Shout out to someone in 1545 ig. Unicornis

Also spots should look more like. Horselike like speckled or splotchy

- Has two black stars and one green in the middle on his forehead

1. As a reference to Lucifer who created him and

2. A reference to how biblically unicorns were out of control beasts that could only be tamed by a virgin maiden (honestly im a lil tempted to write a fic of satan x sweet innocent reader but gn. Goodbye even)

- HES A UNICORN HE SHOULD HAVE A UNI HORN PLEAADEEE 😭😭😭 they should be a similar shape to Lucifer’s but one short one and should be able to summon a longer one below where the star diamond is on his forehead is when he gets pissed enough and both should be black with green tips + it would actually make him look more vicious too

- I appreciate them making the little bow look like ribs but I think it would be much cooler if his ribs just were sticking out and wrapping around his body and they were black and green

- Ribs should also have patches of fur resembling flames where they start (near his back or at his sides)

- I also think his tail should have short rugged fur lining the outside and it should get longer at the tip; I’m going heavy on the beast agenda I fear. He may clean up pretty well in his human form but he can’t hide his sin in his demon form cmon now y’all

- Since we don’t see his markings I’m making shit up and I think his markings should be fur lining his back and arms

- Just wanna say I resemble the fur wrap thing because it kinda resembles a horse tail/mane and the gray shirt bc it resembles a rhino (What unicorns in the bible were based on I think)

- A bit insecure about you seeing his demon form tbh. Thinks he will scare you and a little afraid he might do sth he’ll regret if he loses himself; he sees himself as beastly in that form, anger is a hideous emotion and he doesn’t want to scare his loved ones away like he used to when he was first born and always lashed out with full force, scaring his brothers (Don’t get me wrong if he’s angry he’ll show it but he wont let all of his anger out at least not at once and if he has to do sth drastic he’ll first isolate himself)

- Very nearsighted but refuses to get glasses and only wears them when reading (glasses are weakness)

- Bulks up a bit and gains more strength in his demon form frs

- Snarls when hes angry and sometimes sneezes in the middle of his anger often (it would be funny)

- Pact mark is only visible on your temple but internally spans throughout your veins and is not very big but grows the angrier you get post activation; that shit is freaky it can even cover your whole face and put your body in autopilot (like how anger issues people black out) if you get angry enough

- It’s pretty wicked its first shaped like a small spade but bulges like flesh; is similar to tanjiro’s mark somewhat

- Pact mark allows him to enhance your rage by giving you some of his own (can be a pro or con depending on the situation but i mean u can just tell him to stop iykyk policy)

Asmodeus: The Scorpion

- I THINK HE SHOULD BE VAMPIRIC Feeds on sexual energy and life force yk incubus/succubus thingz but he should have the fangies too imo

- Tired of them having collars and looking prim and proper so I’ve arbitrarily decided that his shirt should conjoin with his skin and become kind of like calcharos ult for VERY loose reference; hes the avatar of lust he can be shirtless ish

- IK I SAID NTM ON THE CLOTHES BUT UGHHH Imagine if he was wearing like a robe similar to aphrodite bc its like a nod to his past as a high angel but also how he’s steeped in desire and lust. Like its being held up by the roses, sheer will and the fact that it is conjoined with his skin

- Hc that he is like cupid and can see connections between people SO I think his spine should be lined with like. Arrow-like spines

- Despite being like cupid, he finds it really hard to genuinely connect people and find someone who enjoys his presence beyond his looks and will typically avoid people on his recharge days (he likes partying and being around people but its also pretty draining keeping people entertained which is why he usually brings someone with him. I also imagine this is how he and Levi connect “I guess we aren’t so different after all” type shi)

- He should have a tail. I thought about it for a while and like. ???? Scorpions tails are like their whole thing I think he should either have a tail or towards the bottom of his spines one of them is long enough to resemble a tail (his wings are cool but like he should have a. Tail)

- Tail/spines should have venom

- I think his markings should be connected, like the hearts are good but they should be connected in like a segmented line and wrap around his arm; preferably 7 to represent the scorpions seven chamber heart

- He needs glasses too and he only wears them when they go with his outfit otherwise its contacts (which he also introduced satan to)

- He should have more eyes on his face smaller eyes below his main two that only appear when open (otherwise his face looks normal just with slight slits you’d only notice if u were REALLY staring)

- Very tolerant to weather changes. He still acts like he’s dying but he def doesn’t have it as bad as Levi who is literally dying over there

- Pact mark is a tramp stamp and he won’t stop asking to see it gn. Its shaped like a hollowed heart with a design inside and becomes a spade with a similar design when activated as well as spreads a bit (as all the others do) its very classy and pretty tbh

- Activation is almost like. Erotic? It feels good but its almost like it steals the air from your lungs and makes your chest tighten; its a mix of pleasure and panic (not quite pain because it gives you urgency but not so much that it makes you want to stop) Unfortunately this isn’t something that really wears off but rather wears down and just becomes leas intense as you get used to it/stronger

- Pact mark allows him to shapeshift into you and anyone who you have had a sexual or romantic encounter with

Beelzebub: The Fly

- MOUTHS ALL OVER: A mouth on his forhead where his horn comes out of and the markings spread across his body can open, revealing mouths (def gotta have some on his hands I fear. Can also change the locations of his markings and can consume things such as magical energy through his mouths

- Should be able to create a third horn in the middle of his forehead to make his horns appear like a crown (Lord of the flies had a teeny lil crown its a bit funny)

- Should have more fur aspects like his wings should have fur at the base and around the outline maybe

- His markings should be furry and the fur makes it look like they’re black flames 🔥

- Should have four wings that appear like two until he gets ready for takeoff, to which they spread out real wide

- Ik he’s a really simple guy so his design is simple too but I think he’s just missing some of that demonic flair. He should have insect arms that he can control (they might look like sticks but they’re actually very strong and useful)

- Always wants to be around you. Always. Even though he moves insanely fast he always loops back around to match your pace

- A bit colorblind and nearsighted but is fast enough to make up for it

- Almost never gets sick but he’s usually the one who brings sickness in the house so his brothers have to make sure he cleans off before coming in 😭 (I imagine demons don’t get sick in the traditional way but its typically some behavioral or magical illness like a common cold for suc/incubi causing like them to be less efficient in seducing humans; like how asmo has his power with his eyes maybe his vision gets blurry for a few months/years or it makes HIM fall for the person he was trying to seduce)

- Lucifer has had to ban him from the kitchen because he kept eating food that already went bad especially if he was sleepwalking

- Can make a protein shake/smoothie out of anything !!!! No matter how erm. Odd the combination

- Always rubs his hands together and licks his lips before eating a meal

- I would like to propose….. him being in charge of the Devildom air force like how Levi is in the navy…. Ik ik came outta nowhere but Flies having those big ass eyes gave me the idea to out goggles on him that look like Fly eyes and then I was like ok well what if that was for when he’s flying and here we are

- OK STAY WITH ME NOW. He used to do the equivalent of illegal drag racing but flying and Belphie would always bet on him and thats how they made food money for Beel sometimes until Lucifer shut the whole thing down after finding out bc its a bad look for Diavolo he also doesn’t want his baby brother getting hurt but he wont say that (Belphie thought he was a killjoy)

- To him. It feels like wherever he goes death and despair follow and has gotten stronger and stronger so that no one close to him will ever die again (“I should’ve been strong enough so that the safest place for her would be by my side” -Marius von Hagen [he makes me so emotional]) (If you’re wondering how this is related its because flies symbolize triumph over adversity as well as death and decay)

- Pact mark is right on top of your stomach (above the bellybutton) and it looks like two triskelions (three wheeled spiral) stacked over each other to create six wheels as a reference to his prior angelhood but as well as a nod to his transformation

- Activation costs you a lot of energy and it feels like you’re starving like you haven’t eaten all day even if you just ate a hearty meal (you go back to normal a bit after activation but its a little maddening while its taking place)

- He can possess your body for a limited amount of time (typically only accidentally triggers this power) during this time any damage that his body takes transfers to you and vice versa (tbh this is much more risky for him than you bc his body is extremely strong so he’ll only take minimal damage but it’s a gamble with you)

- He can also steal some of the nutrients from your body so um. I’d be careful of that (he won’t ever actually do it but now that your bodies are connected he can)

Belphegor: The Cattle

- STOP SHOWING HIS FUXKINH EYE BEHIND HIS EMO HAIR/ sorry had to get that off my chest. It coulddd be something that could make him more eerie and off putting like a demon but his whole thing is that he looks cute and sweet but is actually intelligent and dangerous so maybe just. It shows in his demon form only if anything

- He should have a bell on his tail. It would be kewt. Not something he inherently has but he wags his tail in his sleep often so the brothers put it on him so they don’t trip over him (he hates it but he’s too tired to gaf)

- He should be more fuzzy too like having his right arm have an arm warmer rather than that sleeve that doesn’t even look connected like. Also theres a mix of fuzz and thorns on his person. It’s a gamble. Proceed with caution.

- His boots should be more like hooves kinda like what I said for satan but boots and more comfy looking

- They were way too shy with his cow spots imo. I think it should almost look like he has vitiligo (but with more melanin rather than less yk)

- HE SHOULD HAVE A LITTLE EARRING THAT LOOKS LIKE THE CATTLE TAG

- Got a nose piercing (septum I think?) after learning about piercings in the human world but doesn’t use it much anymore

- Nitpicky but I think his horns should end while sticking forward rather than curling out all the way to resemble a bull thats ready to charge

- Appreciating the fact that he has four belts likely to represent the four chambers of cows’ stomachs

- Separation anxiety victim NUMBER ONE. Especially after Lilith died he’s gotten so anxious being without his loved ones and never really wants to leave their sides bc he never knows when they’ll be gone

- He is Beel’s eyes and probably has the best vision in the family tbh 25/20 vision fr

- A lil colorblind though; affects his drawings and when levi asks him to doodle with him he always uses a unique set of colors (hes grabbing at them randomly)

- Likes to just watch his brothers socialize and be with them. An observer in his own home. The only reason he gets out of bed everyday is to see the people he cares about most

- Likes silly little puzzles, games and toys like rubix cubes and bouncy balls n shi but gets annoyed if you just give it to him and expect him to play by himself like !!!!! Keep him company !!!!!!!!!

- When he was trapped in the attic Lucifer would sometimes bring him enrichment toys and fill him in on current news or just sit there in silence to keep him company while turned away from him (If he looks at him too long he might fold and let him out; he loves his brother but. He thinks this is what needs to be done)

- Pact mark is on your thigh probably snug on the inside and whenever he’s laying on your lap he looks at it and maybe traces it before drifting off

- It probably looks like a symbol of a moon or spiral inside of a sun representing the midnight sun and the neutrality of the sloth sin (a sun that never rises or sets)

- Can sap your energy and make you see hallucinations or make you want to sleep; can probably put you in hibernation as long as it doesn’t hurt you and can eat your nightmares # dreamcatcher

[musekicker]

A quick little Werewolf! Stan and Vampire! Fiddleford related drabble.

It was a slow afternoon for "Paws for Applause" pet supplies store. Then a figure from town stepped inside the store. A rarely seen figure. But even so, the sales woman recognized him enough to have a last name.

"Oh Mr. Pines. I've never seen you in here before. How may I help you?"

Stan startled just a bit. Still getting use to the fact that he was pretending to be his brother and that as much as Ford had been a shut in, folks here had met Ford. He moved on from that surprise and got right to what he needed.

"I'm looking for some dog shampoo." Stan said.

"And we have plenty of dog shampoos to choose from. The shelves to your left."

Stan found the shelves, a whole walls worth of shelves. Each of them with many bottles of products.

"Where on the shelf am I supposed to be looking-" Stan asked.

"That would be the entire wall sir." the sales woman said.

Stan's eyes went wide. He was feeling very much like a prey animal caught in a cars head lights in that moment. The sales women must had seen the look because she was quick to start helping him with questions.

She had always found that a few, easy questions were helpful in breaking customers out of their indecision and actually helping them find what they wanted.

"There are a lot of shampoo products I know. Is this your first dog?" the sale women asked.

As expected the question seemed to break Stan out of that shoppers panic.

"Um, yeah. Pretty much." Stan said.

"Aw, that's nice. What's their name?" the sales lady asked.

"It's um... Spot." Stan said.

The name had been made up right then and there but the sales woman bought it. She was too busy thinking of what questions she needed to ask next to help this customer.

"Here's good question. What would you not like from any shampoo you buy. Problems with specific companies, specific ingredients, fragrances-" the sales lady said.

Stan perked up slightly at the mention of fragrances. He knew what he did and didn't want in that department.

"No scents. I- my dog is very sensitive to scents." Stan said.

Last thing Stan needed was someone smell him in werewolf form and that scent sticking to him in human form. It could easily connect him with the wolf. Not to mention heavy scents were very annoying to a wolf's sense of smell.

The sales woman took this note and was looking elsewhere on the shelf.

"That does take out a good number of shampoos. So making progress already. What is your dogs fur like? Fluffy, curly, short-" she asked.

"Kind of course." Stan said. "And shorter."

"So no scent to the shampoo and needs to be good for course, shorter fur? I have a few different products in mind. Hold on."

It took less then five minutes for the sales woman to find what she was looking for. Explaining the pros and cons of each. Stan ended up going for the cheaper of the shampoos.

Now that a shampoo was picked out Stan was ready to cash out. As he handed over the cash for the shampoo he smelled a familiar scent. It took everything to not visibly sniff the air. He was able to track down where this scent was coming from quickly. A small jar of dog treats next to the register.

The sales woman must had noticed Stan looking at the treat jar.

"Why don't you take one?" the sales woman asked.

Stan looked startled again.

"What?"

"For your dog. All dogs love treats." the sales woman said.

"Oh! Oh right. Of course. Ol' Fido will love a treat." Stan said.

As Stan picked up his bagged purchase with one hand and grabbed a couple of the dog treats from the jar, the sales woman frowned slightly.

"Didn't you say before that your dogs name was Spot?" the sales woman asked.

Stan was already leaving.

"Doot doot doot, just walking away now." Stan said loudly as he left with his purchases.

Arriving back to the shack with the bag of purchases, Stan closed the front door to the shack with his foot. The floor looked much cleaner then it had this morning. His fault after a full moon run last night.

No one really thought about the fact that running through the woods at night and hunting deer would be a messy activity. But it was. And Fiddleford had put his foot down. Muddy giant paw prints were fine, easy enough to mop up. But wolf form Stan did not exactly smell the best.

Which is why Stan had been sent to buy the shampoo.

"Fidds, I bought the dog shampoo." Stan called out.

Fiddleford knew that Stan was back long before the werewolf had even entered the doorway. Vampire hearing was just that good. It was even to Stan's werewolf sense of smell.

"Good. That'll make cleaning animal blood and mud out of your fur after full moon runs much easier." Fiddleford said.

Fiddleford was leaning in for a kiss. Something that Stan was happily returning. But before their lips touched Fiddleford drew back.

"Whew! That smell on your breath! Why does your breath smell like you've eaten old jerky?" Fiddleford asked.

Stan might had been insulted if he had not remembered the treat he had had in the car.

"Umm.. well I might have had a dog treat." Stan admitted.

Fiddleford raised a eye brow.

"Stanley. We talked about this." Fiddleford said.

Stan huffed.

"She offered it to me. It was free! You want me to turn down free stuff?" Stan asked.

Fiddleford crossed his arms.

"And I'm starting to think that you just like dog treats."

"I can stop when I want to!" Stan cried.

Fiddleford was not convinced. And Stan knew it.

"I'm not kissing you until you brush the dog treats out of your teeth." Fiddleford insisted.

"Fineeee!"

[pets001]

🐾 Veken 95oz/2.8L Pet Fountain 🐾

🌊✨ "The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread (For Pets)" ✨🌊

Okay, listen up fellow pet parents! If you’ve ever caught your fur baby giving you the “What’s that gross bowl of water?” look while you sip your fancy coffee, it’s time to upgrade their hydration game. Enter the Veken 95oz Pet Fountain—the magic water dispenser that turns your pet’s drinking experience into a 5-star spa day!

🌟 Pros:

Hydration Royalty: With a whopping 95oz capacity, your four-legged overlord can quench their thirst while you sip your third cup of coffee. No more “Mom, I’m thirsty!” at 3 AM! 🙌

Water Features: This fountain has more style than your last vacation! It’s like having a mini waterfall in your kitchen. Who knew your cat needed a water feature to feel fancy? 🐱💦

Replaces Filters, Not Friends: Comes with replacement filters that keep the water fresher than my excuses for not going to the gym. Your pets will think they’re drinking from a mountain spring! 🏔️

😂 Cons:

Pets May Become Divas: Expect your dog to start demanding “only the finest spring water” and your cat to look down on regular bowls like they’re low-budget reality TV. 🐶👑

Occasional Splash Zone: If your pet thinks it’s a swimming pool instead of a drinking fountain, be prepared for a little water ballet on your kitchen floor! 🩰

In summary, the Veken Pet Fountain is a game changer—your pets will thank you (in their own weird ways), and you’ll finally have a fountain that’s not just for show. So, grab one before your pet starts a protest about their hydration needs! 🐾💧

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (5/5 - would recommend to my friends, my pets, and maybe even my plants!) ________ Check Here !

[alextydaisuda123]

And I said that @cutechan555 post inspired me so much that I wanted to draw a similar idea. But so far I've only come up with an idea with Pepperman, who has really big wings. Why? Because I wanted to 😂. And damn, I want those same wings 🥺.

They have their pros and cons.

Pros: he can warm himself up with them (he could even imitate something like a fluffy fur coat with their help); he flies great with them; if he needs to draw with a feather, he doesn't mind wasting his own feathers; he can hug anyone completely with them.

Cons: because of their size, he can knock over things or not fit through some passage; also because of their size, his folded wings slide along the ground, which makes them dirty and you can easily step on his feathers; it's uncomfortable to sleep with them (unless you straighten them out completely).

And yet, despite the fact that it was an absurd idea, drawing him with wings and fantasizing about their functionality was a good idea ÙwÚ✨️

[purplehanfu]

Rating the Husbandos: The Story of Kunning Palace

notes: Spoilers! You really have your pick of men in this drama- but are any of them husband material?

Thoughtfully considered ratings behind the cut:

Xie Wei

A mysterious, tragic past is not a personality.

pros: Sexy as he looms over you in his fur collared capes. Exhibits very progressive thinking on women's issues. Which is strange considering all of his cons (see below).

cons: Explosive temper; violent; acts like he owns you; keeps trying to choke you (and not in a sexy consensual way); expects you to be grateful when he doesn't kill you in service to his grand revenge plan. Tough guy demeanor which he can only back up with the judicious application of his lackeys. Backstory so complicated you kind of lose interest. Looks like he has conjunctivitis a lot of the time.

hobbies: Making qins and tracking the wood shavings all over the house. Being afraid of snow except when the plot requires him not to be.

sexxin: Endless stamina and exquisite anatomy. Too bad he has no idea what he's doing. Cries after sex and gets mad when you laugh about it (why would you do that you monster).

Grade: C-

Zhang Zhe

Sometimes being hot is enough.

pros: HANDSOME

cons: His devotion to truth and justice will probably get him killed in the course of some courtly intrigues but the real tragedy is that he will never lie to spare your feelings. He will, however, compare your cooking unfavorably to his mother's.

hobbies: Restoring antiques; doing his own laundry

sexxin: Pathetic but you have to pretend it's great or he will become obsessed with improvement. At least the view is nice.

Grade: C

Yan Lin

A cheerful sweet ray of murderous sunshine.

pros: Smart, handsome, thoughtful, loyal, excellent martial arts, terrifying military skillset. You're his one and only, his ride-or-die, his day one.

cons: Related to Xie Wei

hobbies: Swordplay (see below)

sexxin: Complete freak in the sheets. Hope you have a strong bed and a soundproof bedroom, you're going to need both.

Grade: A+

Yan Lin's Dad

Reporting for duty.

pros: Has his own army but doesn't make a big thing about it (the Emperor and Xue family do, however).

cons: Frequently has the intensity dialed up to 11 when the situation clearly calls for a 6.

hobbies: Carving figurines for his 3-D map sandbox thing

sexxin: As expected of a military man he is good at taking orders and completing missions. His courage tongue should be awarded for its service to the nation you

grade: B+

Emperor

Heaven must have a sense of humor because it mandated this guy.

pros: Easily seduced by you.

cons: Easily seduced by people other than you. Married. Paranoid. Sickly but that might just be poison (if so add "unable to poison him" to the con list).

hobbies: Marveling at how good he is at seducing people.

sexxin: His game is as weak as his constitution.

grade: a solid F unless you want to murder your way to Empress, then he's a D

Fake Xie Wei

Ain't nothing like the real thing.

pros: social butterfly at parties, everyone knows him, can give you a wild night out on the town even if it's Tuesday and you're in some backwater village.

cons: is an actual con artist

hobbies: Collecting STDs

sexxin: so good you might be tempted to forgive him for his wandering eye. Don't. Just enjoy him if you must and move on.

Grade: D-

Gu Chun Fang

Hear me out.

You've been married more than 40 years. When your parents first arranged your marriage he snuck into your rooms that night to make sure you were ok with it. You fell in love at first sight. You never had children despite years of trying but he has never so much as looked at another woman. You come from a huge family and he has many young subordinates so your mansion is always very lively. Your New Year's parties are the stuff of legend.

pros: In all his years as an official he has never once made you get up early to help him get ready for court sessions.

cons: Would have no clothes if you did not buy them for him, would never eat if you did not arrange his meals, would fall asleep at his desk if you did not force him to come to bed.

hobbies: Collecting weird ugly giant rocks which he deposits in the various courtyard gardens of your mansion. Pretending to fish but really just taking a nap.

sexxin: After all these years you can still make him blush with a whispered invitation. Adorable.

Grade: A+ but he's not available and never will be

Dao Qin

It's always the quiet ones.

pros: Loyal; physique that was created as though by the gods themselves; surprisingly high EQ

cons: Kinda sad life made this guy an NPC when he has such strong main character energy.

hobbies: designing and crafting hidden weapons and/or cat toys

sexxin: You have seen the top of the mountain, and it is good.

Grade: B+

Master list of all show recaps etc.

[stargazer-entertainment]

The Other Eevee Evolutions

I'm sure someone somewhere has already done this lol, but here's my take on what the other evolutions of Eevee would look like. Also here are their excerpts.

Fighting- Don't be fooled by this Pokémon's slim physique and small size; They can take on other Pokémon 5x their size with their quick moves and high stamina.

Dragon- This Pokémon loves to hoard shiny things and gets very protective of them. This makes them very aggressive and difficult to catch, but trainers who are successful are rewarded with a very loyal Pokémon.

Bug- Despite not being able to use it's wings to fly this Pokémon utilizes them by intimidating other Pokémon. Scaring them away with its size and many "eyes".

Poison- This Pokémon produces so much poison that even it's trainers have to wear gloves when petting it. Any Pokémon that even just thinks about biting this one, is in for a sorry surprise.

Ghost- This Pokémon has difficulty keeping it's physical form so it fuses with an object to maintain it's form. This has inspired merchants to sell personalized masks that trainers can accessorize their Pokémon with.

Flying- This Pokémon's fur not only reflects both the current sky and weather visually, but also physically. Making them soft, cuddly, and warm on summer nights, and a little more zappy when it storms.

Ground- This Pokémon loves rolling around in the mud so much, it's trainer has to double check between dirt spots and natural markings before picking it up, or letting it into buildings.

Rock- The stones and rocks on this Pokémon's ears and tail are so heavy that they are constantly dragging, but the pros more than make up for the cons as this Pokémon can split boulders in one strong spin using it's tail.

Steel- Trainers who keep this Pokémon tend to carry around band-aids as this Pokémon's armor is so sharp that even just sliding your finger on the edge of it can give you a small cut.