#Wolf mother fic

[lemon-russ]

I lived, bitch. jk I am back and feeling much better after being run over by the metaphorical train of my failing body lol.

The poll has time but Wolf Mother is winning, it was good I asked because I thought it was one that people weren't super into, but I'm glad for it! It was a nice change of pace writing Leman again ❤️

Thanks @squishyowl for dividers! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @scriberye @undeaddream

Wolf Mother (Ch. 3)

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Ao3 || Taglist request ||

Leman Russ x Fem OC

CW: Trauma/ PTSD, Talk of missing limbs/ prosthetics/ bionics, General WH40k violence (playful fighting here), If I miss any let me know!!

Summary: Wren gets a tour of The Fang.

Word count: 2,932

Small note: previously I wrote Wren was in the Astra Millitarium. Obviously she can't be, we are in 30k. I corrected it in the first chapter to the Auxilia, which was my original intent, I just mixed up Imperial Guard and Imperial Army. Fixed now :)

Wren scrambles behind Leman as he makes his way through the tunnels of The Fang. ”So, Paper-thrall, what use will you be exactly?” Leman asks, inquisitive Space Wolves eyeing her as they pass.

Wren frowns a bit as she is leered at like a new chew toy, but the wolves seem to be curious and nothing more. “Well, for Lord Guilliman, I’ve been handling things like logistics paperwork, transfers, budget approval forms…” she says, trying to keep pace with his long strides.

Russ scoffs. “Busywork. Leave it to Roboute to have a form for every bolt round that changes hands.” He chuckles, leading her to a rickety lift. The platform never stops its slow movement, just suspended standing decks going up on one side and down on the other perpetually down a rock hewn shaft. She nervously hops on behind him and they are lowered down the dark hole down a few floors.

Russ disembarks the lift at one of the openings, and when he sees Wren not keeping up, he reaches back and picks her up by the scruff of her coat and plops her next to him. She blinks, a little confused, but just blushes as she returns to chasing after him.

“Having clear and concise forms and regulations keeps things moving,” she stammers as she catches up to him again. “Without it, how would we know when to order more supplies? Or who is where and who is available-”

“You just tell someone.” Russ chuckles. “My sons tell me we are almost out of rounds when they see we are low, and they tell me where they are going. All the paperwork causes is headaches for little thralls.” He says, smiling down at her in amusement.

Wren’s mouth twists down. “That sounds like anarchy.” She replies flatly.

“Hah!” The primarch barks a laugh, “Anarchy, or freedom from your tedium? We get things done just the same.” He gestures through an archway. “Come, I will show you around the main areas of the Aett. It is vast and complex for little baselines, so try not to get lost.”

Leman leads her through what feels like miles of caverns. Wren’s legs and lungs ache from having to jog after him. While she was a little out of shape since she’s been on desk duties, she still kept up on her fitness as any good ultramarine employee would. But Russ was tall, taller than Guilliman, his brisk walk and long legs outruns her jogging. He doesn’t slow for her, just expecting her to keep pace.

As he shows her various store rooms and barrack areas, she pulls out a notebook and starts noting things that she’ll need to start organizing. No inventory sign-outs in the storerooms, no regular counts on supplies, things tossed into mixed crates and shoved on shelves. She was going to need to commandeer a small army of serfs to get this place in working order. She stops and grimaces when they pass the bathing and laundry areas. Piles of dirty clothes lay haphazardly around washing pools where tired serfs scrub them by hand over stone with lye soaps. She notes to ask to import at least some rudimentary cleaning machines like wringers and wash tubs.

Everywhere they go she sees the same things, unorganized supplies with serfs working with incredibly low tech tools that make things take ages to finish. Which makes them not have time to organize and clean as much, so the mess piles and piles. Wren starts laying out the overhauls she would need to make to get things moving efficiently.

Leman peeks over her shoulder at her notes, making her jump with a start.

“Inventory lists? Washing Barrels? Rotating thrall schedules? Skíthof little paper-thrall, you worry about such minor things.” He chuckles, ruffling her hair.

She frowns and lets out a huff from her nose, pushing her hair back in place. “Minor things build up, My Lord. All the time wasted with having to search for supplies and wash clothes by hand make up hours and hours of wasted time, and more wasted time means more Serfs needed to run the place, which means more food and housing for them.” She says tiredly, closing her notebook with a snap.

He tilts his head, standing upright again. “So? We have plenty of food for the thralls, we are good hunters, and we have many miles of caves for them to live.” He shrugs. “Why not have many of them live here and not bother with the teeny details?”

Wren scrunched her brow and sighed. “Because it’s, well, inefficient. And messy…” But Russ was already walking ahead, ignoring her again.

He stops at a large archway, and she smells bread and meat wafting invitingly through the halls. Her stomach grumbles, she hasn’t eaten since getting on the thunderhawk this morning. Leman smirks at her, then nods at the archway. “Come, little paper-thrall. We don’t let let our pack go hungry.”

They head into the warm, bright hall, full of space wolves talking and laughing and eating. The sweet, acrid smell of Mjød mixes with the warm bread aroma, and a large crackling hearth serves as backdrop to an Astartes telling an animated story to a group of space wolves and baselines alike, who enthusiastically cheer and laugh at his tale.

Wren sighs and happily takes the seat next to Leman at a long table, her hand going to knead at her thigh above her bionic leg. Though her bionic moves it’s own weight, she still needed to use her real muscle to lift it. She hasn’t had to push it so much yet, and her quad thrums sorely.

Russ watches her hand massaging her leg thoughtfully, but is interrupted from whatever he was about to say when a couple of Space wolves sit across from them, grinning and giddily staring down Wren.

“See-” The blond one says and elbows his brother, “I told you, The Wolf King has a new pet.”

His redheaded brother tilts his head curiously at her, then leans over the table and sniffs at her, making her shrink back with a frown.

“She smells odd.” He huffs.

Wren furrowed her brow at that, sniffing her own shirt. Leman laughs though, “She is not my pet, she is my paper-thrall.” He proclaims. ”Assistant.” She adds with a sigh. “I’m his assistant.”

The wolves tilt their head at her again, then smile wide. They are young enough to not have fangs yet, and playfully move to sit next to her, making her pull back into herself as she’s suddenly dwarfed by the massive marines.

“You smell odd.” The blond one says happily. The red haired one who sniffed her first does so again.

“Yes, you smell like Ultramarines.” He adds. He gently tugs on the sleeve of her poofy coat. “And you wear their inferior clothes. Do you not have furs?”

“My coat is fine-” she starts, but the red haired blood claw interrupts.

“Ah, has no one killed for you yet? Is that why you have to wear silly clothes?” ”My clothes are not si-” she squeaks out, trying to crowbar her words between them uselessly.

“She must not!” The blond replies, “Would you like me to kill a Great Bear for you?” He asks excitedly. Wren could almost see his metaphorical tail wagging.

“No no- I will get you a much nicer pelt than Thorarr would, let me.” The Redhead interjects, grinning ear to ear.

The blond, Thorarr, scowls at his brother. “Myrnir, I would slay a far greater bear than you. You only attack small, weak bears that are easy kills.” He gruffs as he crosses his arms.

Myrnir scowls back. “How would you know! You have not seen me hunt-” his brother rebuked.

“I have see the sad pelt you presented that thrall girl who polishes your armor, it is no wonder she rejected you.” He retorted.

Suddenly they are on their feet, growling and snapping words at each other, Wren forgotten. She blinks a few times, disoriented for a moment at the sudden shift. The blood claws argue and shove at each other, Russ, however just chuckles. “The youngest of my sons have less restraint.” He tells her as he reaches across the table to a wooden tray of breads, handing her a large roll. “Their attention is fleet and their tempers hot. They will outgrow it after a few decades of battle.”

The blood claws start grappling at each other, and an older wolf throws a large mug at them, conking the redhead in the back of the head. “Take it to the fight grounds before you break another table!” He scolds the pair. Myrnir grumbles, rubbing his skull where the tankard hit him, and they both stalk out of the hall.

Wren chuckles to herself, “They are certainly spirited.” She says, taking a bite of the roll. It’s grainy and hearty, and she wonders when the last time she had anything that tasted so much like real food was. It feels like it’d been a decade at least since her meals didn’t come from a package.

Leman rumbles a low chuckle in his chest. “That’s why they go first in battle. To get them trained, to let out their energy, and so they don’t clip anyone else on the way in.” He says with a smile. He glances back at her hand, still kneading her thigh. “I’m sure you were similar in your new years as a soldier?” He asks a bit softer.

She smiles and chuckles softly. “I suppose I was. I had a bad habit of going after much bigger opponents.” She says nostalgically. Her early days in the Auxilia were full of feats of glory and adrenaline. She sometimes thinks back and wonders how she managed to make it so long without ending up paste under an Orks boot, but her ferocity was what helped her climb the ranks so fast.

Russ grins and nods to her leg. “That how you lost it? Bit off more than you could chew?” He asks curiously.

Her smile falters a bit. “No.” She says quickly, turning back to the table and picking at her roll. The primarch deflates a little, huffing softly. He watches her nibble at her bread, then smiles again, perking up. “I have somewhere good to show you next.” He says happily.

He leads her up a few more terrifying lifts and through more dank tunnels before they get to a large complex of wide rooms. She could hear growling and barking and big padded feet stomping before they got there, and the distinct but not entirely unpleasant smell of wolves gave her an idea where they were before they actually entered the kennels.

Massive Fenrisian wolves play, sleep in piles, and gnaw on bones the size of Wren, spread out across what was mostly left as natural cave formation rooms. One was coming in from a large tunnel that seemed to climb upwards outside, shaking off snow from its stark black coat. Another two roll in a play fight together, their white fur making them look like an avalanche. Dozens of them lounge and play, drinking water from a small natural stream through the rocks and napping on beds of dirt.

As they get closer, Wren’s steps start to falter. These weren’t just wolves. The smallest was, as she could begin to see, the size of two men. The larger black ones, some were the size of artillery vehicles.

“By the throne…” She mumbles in awe, feet refusing to bring her closer to the massive predators. Leman looks over his shoulder at her standing, jaw agape, and laughs. “Come, little paper-thrall, they will not harm you. Not these ones at least. These are our pack members, they fight beside us and lend us their speed and strength.”

As he speaks, the two largest wolves, one black and one white, perk up and thunder over to them, paws thudding against stone enough to feel the vibrations through the ground where she stood. Wren recoils back a few steps, but the wolves stop at Leman, licking his face and pawing at him as he laughs cheerfully.

He turns back to her and motions her forward. “Come! These are my kin, my brothers, I was raised with them by the same wolf mother. This is Freki, and this Geri. They my companions.” He introduces, rubbing their ears as they wag their tails and lick at him.

The two beasts are massive, taller than any space marine, coming up to Leman’s chest at their head. Wren swallows hard. “Uhm- h-hello, Lord Russ’s… brothers…” she says warily.

The black wolf, Freki, radars his ears toward her voice, staring her down with eyes that almost glow with reflection from the dim torch lights of the halls. He pads over to her, and she cringes down a little as his massive nose sniffs at her face.

He tilts his head and pads around her in a circle as Geri comes over and gives her a snuffles at her too. She grimaces at their warm breath assaulting her face, before Freki licks the side of her head in a long motion, making her squeak in surprise. Geri wags his tail and licks her too, making giggle as shes suddenly attacked by their affections, tails wagging happily as she devolved into breathless laughing.

“O-okay-! please-!” She gasps through her giggles, and Leman, grinning and laughing softly calls them off of her.

“Enough of that, give her a second to breathe.” He tells the wolves as they happily trot to him and nuzzle him with their snouts. He grins at the disheveled, slobbered Wren as she tries to still her laughter. “See? My wolf-kin are friends.”

She tried to wipe her face with her hands, making a soft blehch at the slobber. “They certainly are personable, sir.” She chuckles. She uses the clean stream water to rinse her face off and returns to Leman’s side when he motions for her to.

“I want you to see some of our pack.” He says, softer now. She follows his gaze to two playing wolves. They growl and play bite at each other's legs, tumbling and snarfing and wagging their tails. But one of the wolves has the advantage- a shiny, metallic limb replaces his back leg.

Wren raises her brow, looking up at Russ. “You… You give the wolves Bionics?” She asks quietly, looking around and spotting a bionic eye, a front leg, a missing ear….

“Of course.” He says, smiling down at her with a gentler expression. “They are our pack, and we care for them the same we would any who suffer an injury.”

Her gaze falls back to the playing canines. The wolf without bionics is playing just as roughly with its kin as the others are playing, snapping teeth and body checks and leg bites. The bionic using wolf returns it in full, even using the leg to it’s advantage - its friend doesn’t like to bite the metal, so it uses that one to kick at the other wolf.

Across the cavern, she sees another wolf with a bionic front leg. This one limps slightly, and still has stitches and shaved areas from whatever injury it had. It flops down, licking and chewing at the place where the metal limb meets flesh.

Habitually, Wren’s hand went to that spot where her own leg met her thigh, massaging the muscles there.

She has to swallow back some emotion, watching the juxtaposition of the hobbling, recovering animal licking its sore phantom limb, and the lively, playing wolf who is well accustomed to his own.

Leman glances down at her, seeing her a little misty eyed, and frowns. Following her gaze, then watching her knead at her leg, he smiles understandingly.

“They bounce back.” He says as he kneels on one knee to be more level with her. She glances to him at her side before returning to watching the canines.

“They have a period of readjustment.” He continues, nodding to the limping wolf. “They need time to heal, and relearn their senses. And I think also, to grieve.” He says in a low, careful voice, watching her face as she bit her lip. “It is not an easy thing, losing something so life altering.”

He points at the happy, playing wolf. “But they do come back, with encouragement. That one has had about a year with his new body, and now you could hardly tell. Sometimes he itches at it, or favors the leg a tad. But he is him again.” Leman says softly. “And the survivors, they come back even more driven. I think getting that second chance pushes them.”

It takes a lot of effort to swallow down her emotions this time, eyes wetting threateningly. She grips the knee of her pants on her bionic side. The primarch gives a small smile down at her. “How long have you had yours, little paper-thrall?”

She takes a steadying breath. “About… About a year. Year and a half.” She rasps quietly.

Leman gives her a firm pat on her back, making her have to stumble and balance herself. She looks up at him in surprised, brow knit in confusion.

“About time you get back to it then, right, little paper-thrall?” He says with a warm, fanged smile.

[demaparbat-hp]

He noticed the spears resting not too far away from the women. Zuko squinted his eyes and recoiled at the sight of blood painting the blades, in clear contrast to the whimsical whites and blues of the South. These women were hunters.

The Southern Water Tribe brings shades of white to Zuko's soul in For The Spirits Chapter IX: A Rider Alone.

Sharpened mothers and fatherless children resting on the back of tattered tents. A Ghost-Mother, a shapeless howl, and the blue eyes from his dream—everything comes together in the land of the Midnight Sun.

[barbswo]

THIAM prompt: “PDA”

They weren’t really big on PDA—public displays of affection, that was. Stiles knew that there was nothing wrong with that, after all, all couples were different, but.

They were Liam and Theo.

No, sorry, not like that.

They were LiamandTheo.

As in, together.

When Stiles first heard about it, he was still in Washington, and it happened during a group call they tried to put together at least twice a month, which was a real bitch to accomplish, counting different time zones and personal schedules. Stiles was peacefully organizing some documents, listening to Malia complain about weird french customs, when Mason let out a mocking whistle, and Stiles lifted his head.

Of course, he knew that Theo was hanging around Beacon Hills. He knew that Liam’s parents, being real-life saints, let Theo to stay with them, knew that the chimera got close to the Puppy pack (Liam still hated that nickname, but Stiles thought that it was hilarious and on point), but knowing and seeing were two very different things.

Theo never joined their calls, acted like he didn’t even exist, always silent, hovering on the periphery of everybody’s minds. Theo was the blurry picture one deleted before trying to focus their camera, a word in a dictionary with no definition attached. And now Theo was just there, shirtless, a towel wrapped around his hips, walking around Liam’s room like it was the most normal thing to do.

“There is a naked chimera of death behind you,” blurted out Stiles, and it was fascinating how fast Liam’s head whipped around. Laughter pulled the lines of his mouth when he turned back to the camera, shaking his head.

“You almost got me there.”

Stiles blinked. Frowned. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“Stiles, I swear, you don’t want to be around Liam when there is a naked Theo nearby,” grinned Mason from his square on Stiles’ laptop, Corey’s head on his shoulder. Even cut by the camera frame, they looked so disgustingly sweet Stiles wanted to lick their faces.

Liam flipped Mason off. Scott nervously chuckled on his end, looking away for a second, and Stiles felt like he had to fight for his life while putting two and two together. It was his thing—to know stuff. To see it before everyone else did.

And maybe it would’ve been more obvious had he been around more after Theo’s… resurrection?.. but instead, realization hit him in the middle of the pack call, and Stiles almost fell off his chair.

“For all that’s sweet and pure, Liam, are you two an item? And why is everybody acting like you knew, did I miss the announcement of Theo seducing our baby wolf, and why in hell—”

“You didn’t tell him?” Asked Corey, lifting his head. “Liam, you said you would weeks ago!”

“Weeks?” Squeaked Stiles.

Liam sighed like someone had deposited the weight of the world on his shoulders. “First,” he lifted his index finger, “not your baby wolf. I’m eighteen, thank you very much. Second,” there went the next finger, “us dating is our business, and there was no announcement, Stiles, for god’s sake…”

“You called me in the middle of the night and wouldn't calm down for two hours,” dryly reminded Mason, and somewhere behind Liam’s back, Theo scoffed.

“Two hours, really? That’s kind of pathetic.”

And hey, maybe it was a little bit pathetic, but Stiles still remembered how it felt when he realized that the girl he’d been crushing on for ten years liked him back, and he wasn’t the one to judge, not really. Even if the subject of Liam’s affections was a murderer raised in sewers. Tastes differ.

But, because the subject of Liam’s affections was a murderer raised in sewers, Stiles couldn’t help but take his sudden revelation with a grain of salt. After all, he’d watched the kid grow, and in some ways, felt protective not only of Liam overall, but of Liam’s heart, too.

And Theo was known for stealing those.

“Pathetic, huh?” Liam turned his head, presenting everyone with the view of his sharp jawline, “Says the guy who whimpered when I—”

A book that looked like it could’ve taken Liam’s head off if thrown at a slightly different angle hit him in the nose, and Liam yelled, waving his hands around to steady himself. That, unfortunately, resulted in him knocking off his own laptop, and the picture of his room circled around, blurred and went totally dark.

“Maybe they will kill each other and we won’t have to deal with their weird flirting anymore,” concluded Malia, and Stiles gaped at her.

“Flirting? You call that…” he struggled to get the rest of the sentence out by choking on his own tongue, “are you absolutely sure they are together-together, because that didn’t look—”

“Oh, we are sure,” Corey wrinkled his nose, “more sure than we’d like to be.”

“I second this,” chuckled Mason, and just like that, no matter how hard Stiles tried to circle back to the potential danger of Theo dating Liam, conversation shifted to the future summer break, plans, hang-outs and trips.

And honestly? Ever since that call Stiles couldn’t wait to be back home.

Not because of the summer break. Summer, of course, was good as a concept, and it highlighted Stiles’ freckles and made his skin strawberry pink while Scott paraded around with the most picture-perfect tan ever, and it smelled like ice-cream and all-night hangouts and freshly cut grass, and for some reason made Stiles’ dad smile more, as if all the warmth and sun brought him back to the good times with less monsters and cares.

However, Stiles had a talent for getting obsessed with things he didn’t understand. No, even better—he had a talent for investigating the things he didn’t understand until he could confidently say that if needed, he could write a whole book on the subject. It just happened so that currently, LiamandTheo made absolutely no sense.

Stiles recognized that his tendencies of going deep into the trenches of “observe, think, pin down, look, understand” weren’t… well, common. Normal kids didn’t spend their nights reading every article on hair follicles just because they were fascinated by how age turned black and red and gold into silver and wanted to know how and why it happened. In Stiles’ line of life and work, meticulousness never hurt anyone.

And it wasn’t that he thought Theo would go off the rails and slit all their throats one night. It was nothing like that. Stiles was stubborn, but he wasn’t an idiot, and neither was Theo. He had countless opportunities to turn his back on the pack, yet he stayed—as Stiles was well aware, to drive Liam around and help him to do his homework.

Homework didn’t have an evil ring to it. Stiles could’ve subscribed to the idea of Theo being a chauffeur and a tutor, but Liam’s boyfriend? Theo Raeken? The same nine-year-old kid who once looked Stiles dead in the eye and said that he believed love was nothing but a concept invented by desperate people? The teenager who grew up in the sewers of dozens of cities and was raised by three faceless psycos? Same Theo who killed his own packmates because he was hungry for power before recognition?

Granted, Theo had changed, and Stiles even admitted it once, but still. Theo didn’t do anything unless there was something he could gain from it. His ever-calculating, manipulative mind would never allow him to be just selfless. It had been injected into Theo’s veins to be a perfect weapon and to survive no matter what, so excuse Stiles for not buying the cute-caring-honest-boyfriend act.

Liam certainly had a thing for mean people, but Liam was a freaking golden retriever puppy. He would let Darth Vader pet him. Stiles was not trusting his judgment, because while Liam wasn’t exactly dumb, love did weird things to human brains. Stiles would know. He was friends with Scott McCall.

Thus, upon arriving at Beacon Hills, Stiles started doing what he did best. Investigating.

And that was how he ended up glaring in frustration at his current dilemma. Also known as the pack’s movie night.

You see, Stiles was an awkward person, and he sure as hell couldn’t keep it together around his crush, but even after he did a lot of thinking and grew up, there was still a part of him that wanted to reach out to Lydia and just touch. Make sure she was real. That he hadn’t imagined her by his side like he used to do before Scott got bitten and Stiles was fourteen and helplessly in love with the most popular girl in school.

And Stiles wasn’t even a werewolf, or chimera, or—anything freaky. But he knew how it was when a lupine creature found a mate (the term tasted like pure cringe in his mouth, but there was nothing Stiles could do about that): scenting became a primal instinct, a tradition to follow of sorts. He was fairly sure every member of the pack started smelling at least a little bit like Scott on the second day of their summer break, because Scott was the alpha and they belonged to him (there was that cringe again, but Stiles’ entire life had become cringe so... whatever), but it tended to be even more intense when romance was involved.

And Stiles was starting to question whether there was any romance between Liam and Theo, because really—they didn’t act like it.

At all.

“No, we are not doing Lord of the Rings marathon,” Mason rolled his eyes at Liam’s offended face, “each movie is like, three hours long, Li, nobody has that strength of will!”

“Those movies are classic,” argued Corey, and Mason’s gaze shifted to him.

“You will be the one to fall asleep on me in twenty minutes.”

Corey sent Liam an apologetic smile. “That’s true.”

Liam let out an irritated breath and pulled Theo’s sleeve to get his attention. “Help me convince these idiots that the best saga of all time should be savored whole—oh, and we can watch the director’s cut, too!”

Theo threw Liam the most unimpressed glance Stiled had seen in his entire life. “I don’t want to know what the director’s cut even is. You and your nerdy brain should’ve really stayed home.”

Liam scoffed. “It was you who wanted to stay home, Theo.”

“Hoped to get a break from you, really.”

Stiles immediately felt offended. He, of course, believed that the best saga of all time was Star Wars, but he wasn’t going to argue on the topic, because his mind was elsewhere.

Now, sarcasm might’ve been Stiles’ first line of defense, but there was a balance between being sarcastic and mean. He wasn’t sure Theo got the memo of the said balance.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was expecting to change, having given the idea of LiamandTheo quite a lot of thought, but he certainly didn’t expect to encounter… that. Theo behaved like he was forced to be in Liam’s presence. Reserved, cold, irritated nine times out of ten, Theo was willingly waving red flags in front of Liam’s very nose, Liam turning a blind eye on every single one of them.

It was the first time Stiles got to hang out with not just Liam and Theo, but with LiamandTheo, and he didn’t like it. They ended up watching the first Narnia movie, (which was Lydia’s favorite, so Stiles knew it by heart,) and instead of keeping his eyes on the screen, he found himself studying the new happy couple. Or, “happy” “couple”. Quotation on both words for the irony.

And that was how Stiles discovered they weren’t big on PDA in the first place.

And listen, it wasn’t like he yearned to see the chimera of death sucking on the beta’s tongue. Stiles was many things, but a creep wasn’t one of them, and in his head, Liam was still a freaking baby. He didn’t even expect to watch them make out like the world was ending—but he was starting to think that they barely did at all.

There was no peck on the lips when Liam grabbed a cherry coke not only for himself, but for Theo, too. No touch of gratitude, not even a glance, just a dry “thanks” that must’ve escaped Theo’s lips by some gruesome mistake. They sat next to each other, but didn’t even touch—not their shoulders, not their knees, not even their knuckles. Nothing.

If Mason had kept his mouth shut during that call, Stiles would’ve never guessed they were something more than enemies turned allies. And it was messing with his head.

“Something is wrong,” blurted out Stiles when the pack started migrating to their respective houses, leaving him, Scott, Malia and Lydia in the McCall kitchen.

Scott, who was stacking pizza boxes atop one another in a way that made them look like the Tower of Pisa, turned his head, his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Theo,” pressed Stiles, and Lydia sighed a small “here we go again” from where she was sitting at the kitchen island. Stiles passed by her, his hand involuntarily brushing over her shoulders, because it was the most normal thing to do and because Stiles was allowed, and nodded at the window. There, the Puppy Pack gathered around Theo’s truck, talking about… something.

Scott followed Stiles’ gaze and shook his head.

“I know you don’t trust him—”

“It’s hard to trust someone who did what he did,” snapped Stiles, “but it’s not his loyalty to the pack I’m worried about. It’s…” he paused, staring at the window. Mason and Corey, apparently, were giving Nolan a ride, their trio getting in Mason’s car and leaving Liam and Theo to their devices.

Technically alone, the couple didn’t try and move closer—if anything, they drifted further apart and, if gestures and body language were anything to go by, arguing. Liam’s side was pressed into the truck’s hood, and Theo was leaning onto the driver’s door, leniently responding to Liam’s remarks.

“I don’t think he is good to him,” he said at last, his gaze drifting back to Scott. “Liam.”

“Want me to punch him?” Malia lifted her head, and Scott shook his head.

“Nobody is punching Theo,” he looked at Stiles, “it’s their relationship. I don’t think we have a say in who Liam dates, Stiles.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “But you agree that if we had, Theo wouldn’t have made the list?”

“He changed,” spoke Lydia, snatching the last piece of brownie from the plate before Malia could swallow it whole, “I know you don’t like him, and nobody is forcing you to, but Theo is different now. More… real.”

“We thought he was real senior year, and look where it almost brought us,” mumbled Stiles, reaching out and grabbing the Tower of Pizza Pisa (ha-ha) before it could fall down, “look, I know he isn’t a psycho maniac anymore—but you can’t convince me that Theo has an inch in all 5’8 of him that actually cares for Liam. As in, wants to hold his hand and stare lovingly into his eyes and kiss him until the moon dies. You know, typical teenage romance shenanigans?”

Lydia chewed her brownie, looking thoughtful. “But do we think that Theo—and Liam too, actually—are typical teenagers?”

“Exactly,” sighed Scott, closing the dishwasher soap dispenser and pushing the door shut, “I can sense Liam in my head, remember? And he is happier than he ever was before, I promise. I don’t... really feel Theo, because he is an idiot and keeps pushing me away, but what I do feel doesn’t alert me—quite the opposite, actually.”

Stiles bit his lip, looking between his friends. He did trust Scott’s senses, but it was also true that Scott had been wrong before. Crucially wrong. And it was water under the bridge now, because they all found a way to move on, push past their offenses and differences and mistakes, but it didn’t change the fact that Scott trusted people easily and was as naive as a princess in a tower.

And Liam, obviously, turned out exactly the same.

Maybe Theo didn’t want to really hurt him. Maybe he had what he always wanted to—a pack, but he realized that he needed some sort of validation, admiration, actually, and twisted and turned Liam’s barriers until the boy fell in love with him. Liam always liked people who were mean to him. And had a tendency to fall for his anchors. Theo surely knew that and used it for his own advantage, like he always did.

Of course, there was no way Stiles could say his thoughts out loud without coming out as paranoid, and to be honest, he didn’t want to burden anyone with his raw theories. His dad always said that proof was steel that nothing could break, so Stiles would have to look for that before making further advances on the topic.

After all, it was summer break. They all deserved a little rest.

The problem was, Stiles was restless.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

(i love you, i love you (kill me in the morning) ; bonus part)

kenjaku rests on a tatami mat, admiring the ephemeral glow of the starry sky.

it’s a sight to behold, truly: the infinity within it, blooming endlessly across the milky way, before his very eyes. that swirling of indigo and pure white. endless possibilities, just out of reach — so close he can almost reach out and touch them, feel them glide across the skin of his fingertips.

slowly and sweetly, savouring the cold air, he ponders. legs crossed, hair swaying gently in the summer breeze; about this, and about that. about a plan that’s been resting in the back of his mind for thousands of years.

he wonders if there is any way you could be of use to him. 

without too much contemplation needed, he decides that there isn’t. that nothing about you could benefit his goal, that there’s nothing your presence could possibly accomplish. that you have no place, in the world he resides in, no place in the narrative of the story he is crafting. no place in the clash between curses and sorcerers and everything in between.

(and kenjaku understands, without needing to peek into his host’s memories, that perhaps that is exactly why suguru geto loved you.)

he goes to visit you, anyway. just for the fun of it, just to satisfy the ingrained urge his body has to do so. and it’s fascinating, it truly is — the fondness that sprouts in the confines of his chest when his eyes meet yours. a childhood muscle memory, one this body could never fully rid itself of. 

it is nothing short of horrified, the expression on your face; you look like you could pass out any second, and kenjaku finds it just a little bit amusing. 

but he bites back a laugh, and his lips curl up into a smile. not the smile of a people-pleaser, nor the smile of a liar, but the smile of something rather monstrous.

kenjaku does not think you will figure him out. he does not think it possible. how could you possibly? with such miniscule cursed energy, without any concept of the soul? 

and yet you do.

you tell him that he isn’t suguru geto, and you’re absolutely right. and now, kenjaku is maybe just the slightest bit intrigued.

(how strange. how amusing.

is there really no limit to what love can accomplish?)

eyes shining with barely contained, gleeful curiosity, he takes a step forward, and you call out for a dead man. a ghost. kenjaku does not expect anything to happen, because how could it?

— a hand comes up to squeeze at his throat.

it is a firm grip, with strangulation as its intended purpose. a lethal kind of ferocity. almost desperate, primal, like a mother wolf protecting her cub; the pads of his lithe fingers press into the sides of his own esophagus, and prevent any air from entering his lungs. those chipped nails dig into his pale skin, vicious and ruthless, hard enough to draw blood.

it is violent, it is gritty, it is devoted. an instinct of the body, as natural as the beating of a heart.

kenjaku can’t help it — he chokes on a laugh, as suguru’s hand curls around his throat. within the vice grip lies an old promise, molded into the very fabric of his being. a promise that transcends death.

he’ll protect you forever. 

kenjaku smiles, all teeth. drool dribbling down his chin, neck bruised and bloodied. pondering; about this, and about that. about two children by a dusty summer creek.

(no matter what, huh?

— such a fool.)

[takaraphoenix]

Please tell me to shut up if I start bothering you with all the asks 😅 I’m definitely gonna be asking about your WIPs now 💜

Mother Tongue. I am so curious. Is it about Stiles being Polish? I’m always feral about his partner understanding and knowing about his heritage.

I'll tell you a secret: I fucking love talking about my OTPs and talking about my stories so believe me you are not bothering ^-^

And YES Mother Tongue is about Stiles being Polish. The story's title was supposed to be in Polish but my bestie had to break the devastating news to me that in Polish, it's father tongue, not mother tongue. Absolutely broke my heart.

I just love the idea of Stiles being fluent in Polish, because his mom and her side of the family spoke it, but after she died, he had nobody to talk to anymore since his dad never learned.

This story is basically just going to be about Stiles learning that Peter speaks Polish and it does things to him. Yearning and desperate things that confuse him.

Additionally, sharing alone time as they have to research something that only they can and it brings them closer and only confuses Stiles more.

(Check out my WIP folder post if you too are curious to see what's coming up!)

[bagel-with-creamcheese]

Alright folks it’s November second you know what that means; Christmas-y ao3 recs send em my way!! Pretty pretty please

[cosmic-walkers]

Hmmm if Henry wasn't king and just some normal lord or Duke or whatever and he did some shit that required him needing a lawyer and that lawyer was Thomas...Thomas would drop him as a client expeditiously I fear.

[oldfangirl81]

Melissa: I went to the will reading for Grandma McCall. She left you her fetish collection.

Scott: *opens his mouth*

Stiles: *Remembered the bestiary debacle tackles Scott and slaps his hand over the boy's mouth* Neat. I'd love to see what stones are used in the jewelry.

[arsenicflame]

i didnt get as much wolf izzy fic OR cross-stitch done as id have wanted to but. its ok

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @keltii-tea

Chapter 28: Epilogue

"Hey. Boss."

Chris Redfield looked up, his mug of green tea half-raised to his mouth. Tundra- Emily- stood in his office doorway, her forearm braced against the frame. Her dark eyes flicked up and down, taking in Chris's hunched position over the desk, his tea, the thin laptop he'd been staring at with brow furrowed, the stacks of papers heaped all over the desk, and the shelves, and the floor.

"Am I interrupting something?" she said, after a beat.

"Someone's always interrupting something," Chris said.

"Something important, though?"

Chris's mouth quirked in a smile. "What have you got for me?"

"All business, Chris." She stepped into his office and immediately crossed to the window to pull open the blinds. Chris squinted in the wash of gray sunlight, weak and rain-filled though it was. "Jesus, boss, this plant is barely clinging to life."

She'd turned toward the struggling money tree set atop an overflowing filing cabinet in the corner of the room, giving its dry leaves a flick.

Chris groaned, finally tearing his eyes away from the laptop in front of him. "Take it if you want. There's not really room for it in here."

"Nor water?"

"No water. Only caffeinated beverages and protein shakes."

"You need a life."

"Find me the time, and I'll get one. Come on." He beckoned to her. "Show me what you brought."

Emily kicked the door shut with her boot heel, cutting the sounds of the BSAA European HQ down to a murmur. The huge glass-and-steel edifice was uncomfortably modern, and made Chris feel like he was in some kind of biohazard research facility, or, God forbid, an Umbrella lab. But he'd got used to it, like he'd got used to a lot of things. He had to.

The work wasn't over yet.

Six months had passed since the events of the village. The second events, specifically, and one had to be specific when dealing with the BSAA bureaucracy. Chris longed to get back out in the field, dispense with this endless paperwork, but it was necessary for this latest project, this latest mission. Its parameters were simple:

Locate Rosemary Winters, the second host of the Romanian megamycete.

Easier said than done. Once the dust settled and the sphere of impenetrable mold-roots Rose had summoned around herself and the other Lords collapsed, it was empty.

Not surprising. She had found her family. She probably wanted more than anything to be alone with them. Time would tell whether that was a good thing- or an apocalyptically terrible one. Still, Chris reasoned, she'd been able to keep Heisenberg in check, albeit by a thread. As for the others...well. At least she wasn't Miranda.

The BSAA was there within a few hours, called in by Hound Wolf Squad to evacuate the townsfolk from the neighboring valley. They swept the area, the destroyed village, the great pit his bomb had blasted into the landscape. Chris hadn't seen Mia Winters amongst the Lords. Most likely she was dead, murdered by Heisenberg or one of the others in retaliation for her crimes against them. Or, knowing them, just for fun.

That was probably the tidiest solution, but Chris sure as hell hoped it wasn't how it had gone down with her. Mia had done terrible things over the course of her involvement with bioterrorism, and not to mention withholding Ethan's death and resurrection from him, but she'd still been his friend. They'd shared experiences. They'd shared grief. And in the end, all she'd wanted was to get Ethan back and maybe-

Maybe-

Begin to make things right.

And had she? Chris commandeered Hound Wolf Squad as BSAA choppers circled overhead, had searched the village ruins and delved down into the pit, lycan activity at a low thanks to the oncoming day. Ethan's remains would be down there, if they were anywhere, and he searched the crater all day, through the evening, past moonrise, into the beginnings of another night.

Nothing was there.

If Ethan's body had somehow survived the blast, if it had somehow lingered in some extant form, it- and he- was now long gone.

***

Emily tugged a chair over and sank into it, leafing through the thick file in her hands. It was bursting at the seams with documents, smaller folders, photographs and faxes and print-outs. All the compiled evidence from their operatives also on the mission, as well as documents sent from other, smaller BSAA hubs.

"Where shall I start..." Emily's red brows shot skyward. "Aha. Here's a good one. Okay, get this. In the underground alternative and industrial music scene of Berlin, Germany, a woman reports having seen a band play with- and I quote- 'supernatural skill and mesmerizing sexuality'. She goes on to describe the lead singer, bassist, and drummer: a very tall woman, a young blonde, and a man covered in scars who reportedly made the entire sound system levitate, much to the delight of the audience. And here's the kicker: this band's name? Black God Death Cult."

"False lead."

"Huh? Really?"

"Claire's seen them. Multiple times. They're clear."

"Oh. Uh, okay, then, still on the subject of music-" She ruffled some papers. "How about this. A black metal band in Iceland called Gear Torture whose aesthetic revolves around rust, decay, horror imagery-"

"Nah."

"What about Iron Stallion Sixty-"

"Em, I don't think the Four Lords are going undercover as a metal band," Chris interrupted.

"Iron Stallion Sixty-Nine isn't metal, Chris," Tundra said dryly.

"Please move on."

"You sure you don't want to hear about-" Her voice dropped into crime-show-announcer tones. "-the Monster Catfish of Lake Baikal, Captured on Video? Could be the fish-man. There's a YouTube link."

"No."

"Right. So here's an interesting one. An entire convent of nuns in Samokov, Bulgaria described to one of our operatives their strange and entrancing visions of dead relatives that plagued them for hours before dissipating. Their water supply tested clear, as did their food, but a peculiar organic particulate lingering in the air raised questions with the investigation team whether young Lady Beneviento had come to call."

"A convent of nuns."

"That's what this says."

"Had a bunch of visions."

"Correct."

Chris leaned back in his too-small chair, rubbing his hand down his face. God, he was tired, and the green tea wasn't doing shit to change that. Maybe he should swap back to coffee. Maybe he should go have a cigarette. "Maybe they should call an exorcist."

"Boss, are you taking this seriously?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Em." He let out his breath and straightened up, reaching for his now-lukewarm tea. "Keep going."

She watched him through her lowered lashes, fox-like eyes sharp as ever. "Do you even want to find her?" she asked, quietly.

Chris met her gaze. The silence between them lingered. He could hear the rain beating against the window, the traffic twenty stories below, the hum of the building around them, the conversation in the hall that grew louder and faded as it passed his door. This place, this world. All the people in it, alive and breathing because so many like Emily and the rest of Hound Wolf Squad- like him- like Piers, and Ethan, and all the others who had given their lives- had sacrificed so much to keep the monsters back. To keep them from the door. To decide, sometimes in extremis, where the line must be drawn. How far he had to go to keep the darkness at bay.

And six months ago, whether he liked it or not, he'd crossed that line. Rose had become...he didn't know what. A new Miranda? He hoped not. A new host for the megamycete was his official take, but he knew it was more than that. The megamycete...the Black God...was more than that. Archival memory, spanning thousands of years. Power he could scarcely fathom. Power that organizations like Umbrella, like the Connections, like Ouroboros, for all their dreams of conquest and grandeur, could only scratch the surface of.

Sparrows, thinking because they felt the sunlight on their wings, they knew the true heat of the sun.

Rosemary had made her decision. She had stood with the other mutants, open to his fire. He should have taken her down. He could have. Cult leader or not, she was flesh and blood. But he hadn't. He'd lowered his rifle.

He'd let her go.

And even now, he couldn't be sorry about that. He thought of Heisenberg, of all people, and what must have transpired in the days after the village's original destruction to make him into what he had become. A far cry from the great Lord who'd served Miranda, that was for damn sure. When you can't bend, you break. And he couldn't deny Heisenberg and Rose were survivors.

And, maybe, though it chafed to admit it, though it went against everything he'd fought for all these years-

They were people, too.

Time would tell if they became decent ones.

So he looked at Emily and shrugged. "'Course I do," he told her. "Any more cryptids in that file of yours?"

"Nah. That's it for now. I'll come back when there's more."

"I'll take a look. Make sure Black God Death Cult isn't a front for Karl Heisenberg's newest cyborg army scheme after all."

"Sure thing, boss." She tossed the file onto his desk. It landed with a weighty smack. "Hey. Come to dinner this Friday? My wife's making that one stir fry thing you like."

"If I can get out-"

"Come on, Chris."

He smiled again. "Okay, Em. See you later."

She left with the money tree. The door clicked shut. Chris stared at the file for a couple seconds, then reached out for it.

Something was sticking from the papers within- a corner of stiff cardstock. Chris frowned and tugged it forth. A postcard. A little dented, a little battered. The front showed a generic seaside scene. The back-

He read it once, twice, without comprehension. Then it struck him. A rush of cold and hot, crackling through his nerves. He didn't move from his place at the desk, his fingers locked around the postcard with its single message, written in bubbly letters.

Wish you were here.

His head jerked up as the door to his office opened again and Emily stuck her head through. "Sorry, boss," she said, a little breathless. "You got a visitor."

"...Who is it?"

"You'd...you'd better come and see."

The tension radiating from the waiting room was thick in the air, even before Chris and Emily strode in, Em snapping effortlessly into Tundra-mode, her hand resting lightly on her holstered sidearm. They made it down the stairs and into the waiting room, as modern as the rest of the building, its glass exterior wall cutting out in sharp silhouette the half-dozen plainclothes operatives with pistols pointed at the solitary figure between them. The receptionist had her hand on a panic button; relief filled her eyes when Chris and Emily entered the room and stopped outside the circle of BSAA ops.

"What's going on here?" Chris said.

"Sir." One of the operatives nodded at the stranger, who wore a hooded jacket, a large, heavy-looking duffel bag open and on the floor at their feet. Their hands were raised, their head down. "She just came in. Asked to see you. Then showed what was in the bag."

Chris kept his eyes on the stranger. He couldn't see her face- just a glimpse of chin and a couple strands of gray-brown hair. His hands lifted, palms out, he stepped past the gun barrels. The stranger didn't move as he bent, as he moved aside the open zipper of the bag.

The light gleamed off milky crystal. A collection of broken limbs. And a familiar face.

A smile touched Chris's mouth.

"Thought you were dead, Mia," he said.

Mia Winters pulled back her hood. She looked about as tired as he felt, dark circles stamped under her eyes, her brows furrowed together. But he saw hope in her gaze, and in her voice when she spoke, vivid and undeniable.

"Not yet," she said. "And...I'm hoping...that's two of us." She glanced around at the other operatives, then back to Chris. "I heard you have access to something miraculous. You call it the MARS, right? A mold recombination system?"

She paused, and there was something brittle in the silence, a yearning so strong it seemed to shimmer from her, from every tense movement. Her lips fluttered; she licked them, then took a short breath to speak again.

"A means of resurrection?" she asked.

Chris should have ordered her immediate arrest. Should have ordered Ethan's remains whisked away, stored in containment somewhere until a thousand and a half tests could be run on the calcified biomatter.

Could have, should have, would have.

This time, for the first time in nearly sixteen years, his full smile felt real.

"I think," he told Mia, holding out his hand for hers, "we can talk."

***

Sunlight, fading.

A brush of warmth on her skin, just as fast stolen by the wind.

Another day, ending.

"Eyes on the road, kid."

"I know." Rose opened her eyes, focusing again on the long, curving single-track road ahead of the range rover wheels. The vehicle had once been painted green; now it was more rust than paint, the entire body rattling ominously each time she accelerated, but Heisenberg had souped up the engine to breathtaking levels. Now, it ran like a luxury automobile, albeit with more glowing exhaust ports and clouds of black smoke than most.

Rippling fields of grass spread to either side, golden in the fading, liquid light of afternoon. Cloud-shadows moved over the expanse of moorland like great beasts just beneath the surface of still water, the land itself flowing like the sea until it broke off, suddenly, and plunged to the waves themselves, the world ending in favor of the water.

Here and there, patches of purple heather or jutting rock formations broke the expanse of green-gray and blue-green and peat-brown, but the splendor of this place was in the sky, unbroken by tree or building or mountain, echoing on and on forever.

Rose had never visited the Highlands during her and Heisenberg's brief stint in Glasgow; neither had he, and, glancing sideways at him in the passenger seat, Rose could see the way he drank it in with his eyes, even behind his round shades. Every new place must still seem like a wonder to him; two decades wasn't so long to be out, not in comparison to the long life he'd led before. He did a pretty good job covering up his true feelings with brash remarks and cocky bravado, but in the end, he did have a heart.

Rose knew. She'd literally seen it.

He wasn't driving. He was forbidden to after they'd been pulled over eight times in England and southern Scotland for driving all over the center line and yelling threats at the other drivers that included suggestions he'd remove their limbs and sew them on backwards, a feat which, Rose also knew, Heisenberg was fully capable of. They'd had a drawn-out argument which ended in Rose stealing his glasses and hiding them until he one- bought her a coffee and two- gave her sole driving privileges. Though, Rose reasoned, if he really, really wanted to, nothing was stopping him from taking control of the entire metal body of the car and doing something, uh, uncool.

Now, silence had fallen, save for the sound of the tires on the road, the low, hazy music on the radio, and the wind whistling through the cracked window. A new place. Each hill, each dip in the land, each ancient stone tower standing sentinel against the sky, each meter of road racing beneath them, each was new.

They were out.

They were free.

All of them. Even Moreau. They had retreated from the carnage of the village after Rose's dramatic little declaration to Chris, and Moreau had insisted, with his newfound confidence, the Lords go and check on his followers down by the reservoir.

They were there, all right, the group of robed cultists shivering in the frigid dawn, bare feet blue in the snow. They were used to castle life, after all. But Moppet bounded toward him with a squeal of delight and threw herself into Moreau's arms, raining kisses down on his face and slimy lips while Moreau held her.

"Your holy relic saved us, Lord Moreau!" Moppet said, between kisses. "The phial you gave me so long ago? It spared all of us from the wolves!"

"Thank goodness," Moreau mumbled. "Thank goodness. If...if I had lost you...if I had lost you for good..."

His eyes were squeezed shut, the contentment on his face undeniable. Rose thought of the glimpse she'd seen of him before, the earnest love on his face as he'd spoken to Miranda and Eva. The face might look a little different, but the love was the same. Better, now. Moppet looked at him exactly the same way.

At last, Moppet stood back, flushed and giggling, and Moreau faced Rose and the Lords once more.

"Come with us," Rose urged. "Your followers, too. You're always a part of this family."

Moreau gave her a look of gentle melancholy. "No, Rosemary," he told her. "I...I will never...never be...welcome out there. Beyond. Once, maybe, I..." He paused for a moment, staring hard into the distance. "A long, long time ago, maybe, I would have...wanted. But now...no more. No longer. I have found something...something...better."

He glanced at Moppet. "And where...I belong."

"Okay," Rose said. She swooped forward and gave him a little peck on the cheek. "You know best."

He touched his cheek, then bobbed his head up and down in a firm nod. "I will see you..." he said, then seemed to ponder. "Again," he decided. "Perhaps."

"Good luck, Salvatore," Rose told him. "All of you."

"See ya, fishstick," Heisenberg said gruffly, elbowing Moreau in the side. "Take care of the dame, now, won't you?"

"Forever," Moreau said, taking Moppet's hand, holding it tight between his own.

And, later, Rose stood by as Moreau led his people to a cleft in a rocky cliff, a cave mouth leading down and down into darkness. One by one, they stepped through, Moppet holding aloft a lantern, her back laden with a pack full of supplies, each of the other cultists now outfitted for the journey- to where, Rose had no idea. A better place, perhaps, than Moreau had ever known. A kinder one. A crystal city, far beneath the earth.

A paradise, where they would be safe forever.

It wasn't her place to know. She simply watched as Moreau's followers vanished into the darkness, as Moppet's lantern bobbed, a ball of light, then a point, then a pinprick, then gone altogether.

Dimitrescu, too. Once Moreau and his followers set out, the rest of them, bruised and exhausted and starving, had trooped up to the castle to huddle in the dark, dank, dusty rooms and rest as best they could. The first floor, and the entry wing to the castle, was still crusted with Moreau's slime- pretty wrecked- not to mention the ominous pool of dried gore that covered the cracked floor of the main hall.

Dimitrescu merely smiled at this.

"My dinner," she said, "disagreed with me." and extended a single nail to pick at some invisible scrap between her clean white teeth.

Past the first floor, however, Rose couldn't help but gasp at the splendor. Glossy white walls covered with ornamental gilt, sconces molded in the shapes of flowers, gleaming mahogany and priceless artworks. The layer of dust and grime over it all couldn't disguise that this place totally freaking ruled. Rose decided to not ask to have a look at the basement. Preserve the illusion, and all that.

Dimitrescu vanished somewhere in the maze of corridors, leaving Rose, Donna, Angie, and Heisenberg to pass out on one of the gargantuan four-posters in one of the castle's many bedrooms, to hide from the sound of helicopters outside, to stuff down as much preserved meat and tinned goods and priceless wine as they could scavenge from the kitchens.

Eventually, days later, Dimitrescu re-emerged. Rose had looked up from her book, from which she'd been reading a story to Donna and Angie. Her eyes got big. If Lady Dimitrescu had been intimidating before, fixed up and dressed to the nines she was nothing short of breathtaking. Swathed in shimmering silver silk jersey, in smoke-gray furs soft as snowfall, rope of pearls at her throat, black hat perched on her fresh, gleaming curls, she set a long cigarette holder to her crimson lips and exhaled blue into the gloom.

"Fuck, Alci," Heisenberg said, as a wave of expensive amber-musk perfume rolled across them. "Something die in here?"

"Shut up, you disgusting little rat," she snapped, and took another drag on her cigarette. She seemed to gather herself, then turned with a smile to face Rose.

"Child," she said. "I wish to offer my most...sincere thanks for your involvement in the reclamation of my castle. And I wish to convey how deeply sorry I am that I must, now, say farewell."

"What?" Rose closed her book. "You're leaving, too?"

Heisenberg let out a bark of triumphant laughter.

"Indeed," Dimitrescu said, with a glare toward him and a slight edge to her voice. "I know you and your...caretaker...will be wanting to travel together, and that simply will not do for me. Besides. The events here...our brother's regeneration...my own...and yours," she added, nodding to Donna. "All of it has made me consider...mmm...future paths I thought had been closed to me."

A distant look filled her eyes, her self-satisfied smirk fading. "Future paths I thought were long gone," she went on.

"Your daughters?" Rose asked.

Dimitrescu looked down on her again. "Indeed."

"They...they might not have regenerated, like you did," Rose said, tentatively. "They weren't Lords."

"No," Dimitrescu agreed. "But consider this, child. When your father slaughtered them, and sold them, and smiled at my misfortune, all hope was lost. And I was lost with it. All things, shattered. All loyalties, tested. Now, there is hope again. And though it may end in blood and tears for me...for them- for my darling girls- I will risk it."

She took up an oxblood traveling-case- stamped, Rose noticed, with the House Dimitrescu crest.

"I will return," she said, casting her gaze about the heights of the room, about the castle beyond. "Rest assured. But for now..."

A feral glint entered her eyes.

"...I must have words with the Duke."

***

Donna, meanwhile, was fast asleep in the back of the range rover, impervious to the bumps and jostles in the uneven road. Rose glanced at her in the rearview mirror. She'd shed her usual eyepatch, her hair down around her shoulders, and though she still tended toward gothy shades and heeled lace-up boots, she'd begun to branch out a little from mourning clothes.

Now, for the special occasion, she'd worn a long embroidered skirt, a brooch at her throat she said had belonged to her mother, and a gray woolen coat she'd made herself. Her arms were curled loosely around Angie, and at her side, tucked for safekeeping under the other seat belt, was an intricately-wrapped box tied with a ribbon.

"Heh. Honk the horn," Heisenberg said.

"Oh my god. You are evil."

He made a wild lunge for the horn. Rose cracked her elbow right into his face. Donna slept on. The moors rolled past, and eventually Rose and Heisenberg quieted down again, and the silence came in, and the wind, and they caught their first glimpse of the sea.

It came up fast- one moment the land seemed endless, and then it broke away, and the ocean spread before them. Vast; endless. Heisenberg leaned forward a little, tipping his glasses up on his head. He'd never seen the ocean before leaving the village with her. What an impossible wonder it must have seemed. What sheer emptiness. Rose wondered if that first sight had been exhilarating to him, or terrifying. She didn't ask. She didn't want to break the silence.

She didn't ask, either, about Mia.

She'd vanished from the chaos. She'd never turned up at the castle. Maybe the BSAA had taken her. And maybe- after what Heisenberg had told her during their several days hiding out in the castle- she'd had her eye on a different goal. Even now, thinking of her, a boil of vindictive heat twisted in Rose's guts. After all she'd done, she'd get away without incident? With Ethan's body? Still. Rose couldn't exactly hold her crimes against her, not for long. How could she, when she'd done what she did for the Four Lords?

They were out, now, free in the world. She'd given them all the means to do what they'd done under Miranda, to be monsters anew. And what monsters they'd once been. A village, destroyed. Decades of pain and suffering, nightmares inflicted on the innocent. Nightmares the scope of which she couldn't truly understand, could only witness through the dreams of the dead. And there was no accounting for that. No true forgiveness. Not unless the dead returned. And that wasn't possible, not for everyone.

But it could end. And now, maybe, it had. And that was all she had. She could only hope it would prove enough.

The road ended in a small car park, empty of other vehicles. Rose parked and killed the engine, dropping down to the dusty pavement. Donna stirred as Rose rapped on the window, then followed Heisenberg out past the pavement, wading through the golden, knee-high grass, all the way to the place where the world ended.

Seagulls mewed and tilted, tossed on the high breeze. The waves crashed at the cliff foot, great sprays of freezing spume and swells of deep, dark blue. The color of the ocean wasn't constant; it shifted, one moment a vivid glass-green, the next a deep, pensive gray, fading to mist out at the point where sky met sea.

Even in early August, the chill of the sea wind was sharp, biting through Rose's jean jacket and into her skin. She shivered. Heisenberg shifted closer, knocking his warm shoulder to hers.

"Happy birthday, kid," he told her.

"Don't mention it."

"Why this place?"

"Ah." She lifted an eyebrow. "You are looking at what will soon be the most beautiful sunset in Britain. According to this one article I read online, anyway. I thought...y'know. Not to get mushy, but I thought it'd be a good place to...begin. Again. Formally. You know, since it's my birthday, a big marker, kind of a nice symbolic breaking-off point-"

"Yeah, I get it."

"Okay, okay." She shut up, watching the waves. "Thanks."

"...Yeah?"

"Without you, I wouldn't be here to turn seventeen and stare at the stupid water."

He smirked. "And don't you forget it."

Rose snorted and rolled her eyes, then looked back at Donna by the range rover, struggling with the hamper.

"Guess we should help her or something," Heisenberg muttered.

"Could just stand here and watch her."

"Careful, kid. You're starting to sound like me."

The three of them together set up near the cliff's edge, spreading a blanket over the grass, weighing it down with jars of honey, cheese and bread, Romanian dishes with pronunciations Donna coached her through. A thermos of tea, full of rich spices that melted on the tongue. And, inside the intricate box, jewel-like pastries so delicately-made they could have only come from Donna's hands. Angie tore at one like a starving raccoon, while Rose marveled at the chocolate tarts and honey-and-walnut mucenici, savoring each bite. She opened presents- a handmade blouse, jacket, and trousers from Donna, embroidered with black and gold roses, and from Heisenberg-

"Since you lost your sword, and all," he said as she lifted the knife from the grease-stained paper grocery bag he'd crumpled around it in place of wrappings. Its blade flared deep-blue in the dying sunlight, and when Rose took its hilt, it fit her hand like she'd been born with it there. She ran her thumb over the thorny vines worked into the crossguard.

"I..." she started. She had to cough and start over. "...I didn't know you were capable of making anything this pretty."

"Shut up and say thank you."

The sun began to set. It sank toward the sea; it melted, and set the wind afire, painting a river of gold over the tops of the waves. The bite of the wind sharpened, and Rose and Heisenberg and Donna and Angie ended up huddled together, like they had been in the castle.

Rose rested her chin on the tops of her knees, staring out toward the horizon. Ouroboros was still out there. She'd take it down, it and so many monstrous things like it. The BSAA, too, and Chris, and her mother. But that was all for another day. For now, she could sit and watch the sunset, taste the wind, the scent of endings bitter on her tongue.

The end of another day.

The beginnings of a new one.

She shifted. Heisenberg looped his arm over her shoulders. She tipped her head sideways against his shoulder, her fingers loosely interlaced with Donna's.

"Drat," Donna said, softly.

"What is it?"

"I think I may have left the stove on in that...strange little house we stayed in."

"Broke in," Heisenberg said.

"Hm. Well..." Her expression became sly. "...I hope they don't mind."

Rose snorted. "You're the coolest aunt ever."

Donna turned bright red, hugging Angie. The doll gibbered at her, and Donna turned up her sleeve, made a small nick in the dead-white flesh of her inner arm, and allowed the tendrils of the Cadou within Angie's head latch onto the cut and feed on the blood. Rose watched, fascinated. Coolest aunt ever, indeed.

"Aha," Heisenberg said, suddenly. "Almost forgot." He reached inside his coat and pulled forth a folder, thin and sepia-stained and tied with twine, stamped with the Ouroboros serpent. Rose lifted her eyebrows as he held it up.

"Did-" she started.

"Did Mia send me this via that weird airmail envelope that courier handed me last week? Yeah. Dunno how the fuck she got ahold of it, but, uh..."

A small black and white photograph was paperclipped to the front. A little boy, facing front, dressed in an old-fashioned collared shirt and V-neck sweater. His round face and bowl-cut hair were those of a stranger, but Rose knew his eyes all too well.

"It's your file," she murmured.

"Sure is. The real deal." His whole life. All the lost decades of it, pieced together by Ouroboros researchers in some distant facility. His past, there in his hands.

"Are you gonna open it?" Rose asked.

Heisenberg considered. Then, in one movement, he tossed it. It spun into the air and over the edge of the cliff, gone in an instant.

"Nah," he said.

He settled again by Rose's side. The three of them watched the sun, watched it sink beneath the horizon, watched the shadows creep long over the sea.

Rose felt a stirring of dread at the darkness, so like the depths of the Black God, the depths of Miranda's grief. She still didn't fully understand what she'd inherited, what it meant for the future. She'd probably never understand it, not unless she lived, as Miranda had said, a long, long life.

And as to who she was?

Maybe there were no real answers.

Heisenberg must have sensed her discomfit. He gave her cheek a light poke with his thumb. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah. Just..." She let out her breath. "You'll always have my back, right?"

"As demonstrated."

"Good."

"Good?"

She looked up at him, and Donna. And yeah, they were terrible. And yeah, they'd done some really, really bad shit. And yeah, they were all mutant monsters.

But so was she.

It filled her, then, with a pang so strong it was close to pain. That she was so she was who she was, in this place, in this body. That they were there with her.

She leaned into Heisenberg, squeezed Donna's hand. "Good that I found you again."

It didn't matter who she was. She'd figure out everything she needed to know herself. And she wouldn't be alone, not even if the night grew dark and the wolves began to howl. They would be with her every step of the path.

"Not gonna get sick of us monsters, kid?" Heisenberg said.

"You're not just monsters," Rose told him. "You're worse. You're family."

[sevensistersofsussex]

Chapter 24 - House of the Rising Sun

Elijah clears his throat and stands to join Klaus behind the couch. “Have you made much headway with your passion project?”

“Passion?” she questions with a mocking tone that both men either miss or choose to ignore.

“It would be foolish of me not to endeavor to find out more about this Wolf Mother given our similarities. She’s clearly a unique wolf as am I.” Klaus turns on her, grips the top of the couch and leans over it like he might leap out at her like the beast he is. “Would you mind leaving us? I’d like to speak with my brother alone. Without distraction.”

Read here or here

[lemon-russ]

More smutless (for now) Leman Russ fic. Whats important is that I'm having fun and subjecting you all to it lol.

(Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers. Idk if getting tagged every fic bothers you, lmk :,) )

Wolf Mother (Ch. 2)

<Prev. | Next>

Ao3

Leman Russ x Fem OC

CW (not necessarily this chapter but overall): Trauma, anxiety, PTSD, General WH40k violence, Sex, probably breeding kink stuff eventually, if there's something I miss and you want labeled let me know!!

Summary: Wren and Guilliman arrive at The Fang and meet The Wolf King.

Word count: 1,637

Wren Vaille walks down the corridors of the Macragge's Honour to the door of Guilliman's office. He smiles a greeting to her when she opens the door, and walks beisdes her down the hall.

“Thank you for giving this a chance, Captain.” He says with a smile.

She gives a small smile back, walking around him so he walked on her right side where she could see him. “Of course, sir. It would not be very honorable of me to not even attempt to help you.”

Guilliman raises a brow, then glances at her blinded left eye, scar running through it, and has a small look of understanding, moving aside to give her room. “Still it is a huge favor. But I wouldn't send you somewhere you're in danger. My brother may be rowdy, but I think he will like you.” He smiles at her. “You have the same indomitable spirit.”

She scrunches her brows together. “Uh-huh. Sometimes I fear you have a very inflated idea of me, my Lord.” She says with a small chuckle.

Guilliman chuckles back. “I think you have a very under-inflated view of yourself, Captain. You'll handle the space wolves well, I think.” He says with a pat on her shoulder.

She stumbles a little under the sudden weight of his ceramite gauntlet, bionic leg whirring a groaning noise as she tripped and caught herself before falling.”um- thank you, sir, I suppose.”

They reach the bay doors to the hangar, peppered with blue armored forms and uniforms scurrying around gunning ships and thunderhawks.

A thunderhawk near them was being loaded with what few material possesions she had, a few boxes and a large bag. She swallows hard, her mouth dry.

Guilliman waved to a serf, who brought over a folded coat. “Here, I had this brought for you.” He says, holding up a warm looking, fur lined coat in ultramarine blue. “Fenris is bitterly cold, especially for baseline humans. I worried you wouldn't have sufficent layers.” He smiles.

“Oh, thank you my Lord.” She says, taking the warm, insulated coat. She swallows back some emotion. This may be the last Ultramarine thing she'll own. The rest of her uniform would be packed away with her old Auxillia fatigues.

She gives him a tight smile, trying to not get sentimental. “I really appreciate this, it was very thoughtful.” She says as she pulls on the thick coat.

He smiles and pats her shoulder again. “It's ok to feel emotional, Captain. It is the human thing to feel sad at goodbyes.” He says in a softer tone.

She bites her lower lip. “This is probably only temporary, anyways, my Lord.” She says, walking with him toward the thunderhawk. “I doubt I'll be able to actually keep up with space wolves.” She says with a forced smile.

He smiles and offers her a hand to help her up the ramp of the ship. “Of course, Captain Vaille. It's hardly permanent.”

He helps her settle and buckle in, then tells the pilot to head off.

“I'll see you off to my Brother. It's been too long since I visited, anyway.” The primarch says, sitting next to her as much as the small seats allow.

The ride to the surface of Fenris is short enough, and soon they are landing on the landing bays of The Fang, the massive mountain fortress that serves as the seat of the Space Wolves.

An icy blast has Wren clutching her new coat tight around her shoulders and shivering as the doors to the ship open. Guilliman chuckles, patting her back.

“That's why I got you a coat. Come, Leman should be around and he is terrible at sitting still, so we should be quick so he doesn't run off on us.” He says as he helps her down the ramp.

Her bionic leg, junky as ever, immediately tries to seize as the cold air plays havoc on the metal gears and hydraulic pistons. She gives it a couple whacks with the side of her fist and hobbles off after Guilliman.

They enter the Valgard, the uppermost structure of the fortress and the only place with ship bays. The rest of the fortress is in underground tunnels through the mountain. Thankfully the interior of the mountain is a bit more hospitable.

They walk through corridors of metal, wood and cave tunnels, with busy lifts moving Space Wolves and serfs around. Guilliman leads her through a massive, ornate room of pure granite, down a concerning lift, and through more halls until he stops at a door and knocks.

“Skítja, Who knocks in the Aett?” Someone curses in a rough voice, stomping to the door and flinging it open.

“What- Oh!” The Primarch goes from annoyance to joy in a flash. “Ah, Roboute, I was wondering who would be so formal, I forgot you were coming today.” He laughs.

Leman Russ is a couple feet taller than his brother, and grins down at him with a fanged smile. “Come, come- I was just rehashing defense nonsense.” He says, waving Guilliman in to the defense overlook. Wren, seemingly forgotten, scurries after their long strides into a smaller room of cluttered papers, books, scrolls, and maps laying across a table.

Russ flops onto a large wooden high back chair, leg over the arm, grinning and motioning for Guilliman to sit in a similar one. “So, you sent word of some sort of paperwork thrall?” He asks.

Guilliman chuckled under his breath as he sat, and Wren awkwardly stood beside his chair. They call Serfs thralls? That isn’t very reassuring, she thought to herself.

“Not quite, but yes. This is my assistant, Wren Vaille.” Guilliman introduces, and she gives a polite salute. “I want to offer her to you to do what she does for me- Paperwork, scheduling, some logistics, communicating on my behalf with other Primarchs…” he says, patting her back. “Clerical type work that you seem to need.” He adds, eyeing the piles of strewn papers with a tight frown.

Leman looks at her for the first time, eyeing her up and down, then quirks his head to the side in a way that can only be compared to a curious dog. “Where’d the other half of you go, girl?” He asks curiously.

Guilliman’s eyes go wide, “Leman, have some tackt-” he snaps softly, but Wren chuckles a bit. No one every even acknowledges her differences, let alone so boldly. It is always your condition and because of, well, you know.

"Long gone, I’m afraid.” She says with a small smile. “But I assure you I can work just fine with one eye and a bionic leg.”

Guilliman looks embarrassed, but Leman grins his sharp toothed smile at her. “Hah, well I’ll get a story out of you yet girl. No one loses and eye and a leg and walks away without a tale to tell.”

He hops up from his chair and walks over to her, standing close enough it forces her to crane her neck up. He looks her over, walking in circles around her and making her purse her lips nervously at the inspection.

“Any more of you missing?” He asks, bending down to look at her closer.

She raises her brow. “Uh- a kidney? On the left side, but otherwise no just the eye and leg…” she replies, stepping back a step as he gets close to her face.

He hmphs, then sniffs her, making her blush a bit.

Guilliman sighs. “Leman, she’s only here on a trial, please pretend to be civil for 5 minutes…?” He says, gently pulling Wren back toward himself by her shoulders.

Russ huffed through his nose. “What? I can’t smell her? You can tell a lot by someone’s smell.” He grumbled. “My sons will sniff her too, she may as well get used to it…”

Guilliman and Wren made a mirrored uncomfortable look, and Russ rolled his eyes. ”Fine fine. Tell me, thrall, can you fight still?” He asks, quirking his head to the side again.

Guilliman frowns. “She is here to help you file paperwork and make meetings, Leman.” He says sternly.

Russ frowns, furrowing his brow. “Well she obviously fought at some point- it is important to me that this secretary thing can follow me in dangerous places.”

Wren purses her lips. “I can fight, if needed. Not so well with shooting anymore, what with the eye, but, I can defend myself with melee and I can flee.” She says nervously.

He seems satisfied with that, smiling and giving a nod. “Good. We will get you back up in proper fighting shape so you do not get killed the second something looks at you.”

Guilliman sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Remember, this is a trial, Leman. If you scare her off I’ll take her home.”

Russ scoffs, “If she is scared off, she would make a poor assistant to me.” He grins and claps her on the shoulder, making her leg whine mechanically as she stumbled a little from it. “You look sturdy, though, even for a female so small. Humans do not get that amount of scars from twiddling their thumbs.” He turns on his heel, heading for the door. “Come, paper-thrall, I have duties to attend.”

Guilliman lets out a tired sigh, then pats her back gently. “Thank you again, Wren. I’m always a messenger away, if anything happens and you want to return early, you need only ask.” He says gently. She smiles nervously, giving him a nod, before Leman calls again.

“Thrall! Come! I shall not wait for your tiny legs!”

She stiffens and scrambles out the door.

[the-weeping-dawn]

/////

[n--n]

Can’t sleep so I’m reading a really good pjo fanfic exploring an older Percy and his trauma in little vignettes and the author sprinkled in some explorations of the implications of Lupa eating the “failed” demigods and in the latest one it’s implied Percy had her kidnapped and is killing her slowly and now I’m like. Hold On Buddy you were doing so good until now.

I initially really liked the execution but having Percy torment/kill her is so so silly to me. Like idk maybe Lupa ate those kids bc 1.She has what, like a hundred others to take care of 2.is it not more merciful to just swiftly kill the demigod instead of letting it die randomly to a monster or of starvation /neglect bc she isn’t caring for it. Yeah the monster will eat the kid too but it’ll just as easily torment them for a long time before finally eating them. I can’t remember how old demigods are when they go to her but it’s really young iirc so she’s probably doing a lottt of work raising them even with magic god powers. I just think it’s a stretch to give her such a brutal fate bc she was doing her gods given job. Like if Zeus/Jupiter wanted to hire more caregivers he fucking could and Percy could have strong armed him into it but no let’s blame the literal animal mother for making an animal decision animals do. Ancient Roman mothers made that decision too in the myths do you know how many myths start with “x was abandoned in the woods/cliff/bears to die by their parents”?!? So if anything Lupa’s demigod kid murdering has more to do with her animal nature and enforcement of antiquated Roman rules in the modern age than it would with her being an evil baby eater.

Like yeah it sucks but I don’t see Percy taking in every single demigod no matter what personally like she has to. (It’s almost as if that’s impractical and a massive burden for one person!). In the fic series he has great mentorship/bonding with some demigods and literally adopted one but that’s //one//. He’s not the one doing all the chores and menial tasks to keep the camp demigods alive he just visits makes sure they’re treated well gives advice and leaves to be depressed in these fics.

And another thing! Like yeah she’s a god and can split her consciousness but how far can she go she only has so much energy as a minor god. Idk idk it just really rubbed me the wrong way, it’s not a deal breaker for me but I guess it just annoys me that the story seems to hate her for making a normal decision for wild animals to make that’s sanctioned by (and thus the blame should go to) Jupiter/Zeus anyways. That’s a law/culture/lack of extra caregiving support problem not a Lupa specific problem. Why is Chiron given a pass for his neglect and endangering of the demigods but Lupa isn’t?

Anyways I’m probably tired enough to sleep now moral of the story is Lupa Did Nothing Wrong

[madamechrissy]

Cursed Promises

Pairings: Sukuna x Fem reader

CW: This chap, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, Sukuna calls you little bunny lmao, soft Sukuna in places, reader is a lil innocent thing, gonna get A LOT freakier as we go, true form Sukuna

Summary: You have been promised to Ryomen Sukuna, King of curses, for as long as you've been alive, ostracized from your village, 'special'. Now you are to marry him, sight unseen. People everywhere fear him, but will you find yourself intrigued by him. Just who is the King of Curses to his new wife? Arranged marriage au

A/N: Finally writing Sukuna oof I'm nervous aha- SMUT with feelings. Gonna be like four parts to this, so a short fic! Monsterfking and fluff lol- Taglist open <3 Comments/ reblogs appreciated ❤️

Part Two>>>

Part One

Today, you are to marry King Ryomen Sukuna, the demon king of curses, you’ve known this your whole life, this is what you were chosen for. The special girl in your village raised to one day be his bride, however you did not feel special growing up, if anything you were just different. You could not even play with other children normally, you had to have special care taken, and others whispered of you.

You were now twenty years old, the wedding was supposed to be a couple of years ago, but was put off due to Sukuna being away during a war, battling and being gone for long. He was now back, and claiming what was his, though you had never even met him, you had heard the tales, the frightening ones of him, how he ransacked villages, ended lives.

Your village was protected and saved because of you, as if you’re a sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter, a thing to be whispered of, because you alone possess energy, energy you truly have no clue of, but it makes you special. You now are standing in the most beautiful and elegant robes, everyone was speaking of your beauty, smiling at you, but you saw it, the fear in their eyes.

The tears in your mother’s eyes, and the sullen look on your father’s face, even your terrified little siblings, and you have to wonder, is he so terrible and cruel? And is your life over already? You take several breaths, clutching the flowers in your hand so tightly a thorn pricks your finger, crimson blood dripping down.

You peer at the finger, sighing now, inside the high castle walls of the king, contemplating how everything had happened so quickly. Even knowing your life belonged to him, you still lived relatively normal, until that royal emissary had come, and told you now was the time, the great honor bestowed upon you.

The way they speak of him… Would you even survive?

Your steps feel heavy as you walk through the halls of the palace, your heels clicking on stone floors, decked out in royal, beautiful robes, guards on the other side of you, for if you choose to run you will be captured. You knew that, and had no intention of running, for you want your family and the village to be safe, even if they seemingly threw you to the wolves.

Or, wolf that is.

Your heart beating a frantic rhythm in your chest, you try to stop your heavy breaths, to slow them, as the guards open the ornate doors, revealing the enormous room before you, where many have gathered to see. You look down at the floor beneath you, trembling at the thought, feeling his immense presence before you even look upon him.

It was as if the entire room trembled in fear from him, and you could feel it, his gaze upon you, as you continued to step slowly, one foot in front of the other, now the eyes of everyone in the room were on you. You feel the weight of this arranged marriage heavy on your shoulders, the fate of so many depend on it.

You finally get closer and look up slowly, studying his form in his white robes, thick and muscled and so tall, so big he towers over everyone. You trail your gaze up his broad chest, to his four broad arms, the veins wrapping around each forearm, huge hands on each one with long black nails, like daggers. You nearly trip then, and one of his large hands grasps your waist, taking it over like you’re nothing.

You’re shaking now, eyes darting up to his face, an arrogant smirk on it, and ruby red eyes staring down at you. Four of those eyes, assessing you in that gown, his long fingers curling at the nip of your waist, burning you through the robes. His presence is so intimidating and intense, but…

You’re not scared?

His hand feels so… you cannot describe it, the burn of his touch, the insane feelings you’re having all at once, like you can’t breathe. He’s so huge everyone has to crank their necks, you feel so small in his grasp, next to him, barely reaching his chest, which you see somewhat from the opening of his robes, the strong muscles and taut skin, before darting back to his face.

“Tch, clumsy girl.” He huffs, setting you in front of him now, and you curtsey low in your robes, eyes down.

“Forgive me, my King.” You murmur, trying to be obedient, it’s what you were taught, right? He scoffs, crossing one set of his arms, tilting his head at you, he has shockingly light pink hair, a color you’ve never seen, raising a dark arrogant brow, the candles are flickering and casting shadows in the grand hall, making him look even more intimidating.

“Hmm.” Is all he responds, taking your hand in one of his, it absolutely swallows yours, and you both turn to look at the orator, who now will start the ceremony, and you stand and bow your head, as he locks you both together.

You are now Ryomen Sukuna’s bride.

You look up as he is supposed to kiss you, it would be your first kiss, he leans so low, bending at the waist, and you prepare for it, shutting your eyes, how would it be, to kiss the King of Curses? However he merely brushes his lips against yours for a brief moment, before stepping away, and announcing you as his bride.

The anticipation kills you every moment, as you watch his concubines dance for him, but his ruby eyes keep flickering back to you, constantly, even as he drinks from his golden goblet, and even as several women run their hands on his chest. You think that’s for the best, perhaps he will have no interest in you, for you’re a simple village girl, many speak of your beauty, but you’re not worldly or experienced like them.

Perhaps he will not do more than what is necessary, and spare you from supposed cruelty. You’ve heard so many tales of what he has done, however you did not feel any cruelty when he held you, when he brushed his lips upon yours, but maybe you’re a bit naive, so sheltered to be the perfect wife for him.

You’re taken to your new chambers now, they are luxurious and beautiful, regal and fit for a Queen. You are a Queen, aren’t you now? It’s insane to take in, while your lady’s maid begins undressing you, you take in the surroundings, the red and gold ornate decorations, the low bed that has a canopy above it, draped with the same white and gold Sukuna himself wears.

Your peer in the looking glass, draped in a thin red yukata, with nothing underneath, your breasts are apparent, the opening exposing the valley between them, making your cheeks heat up. You feel the silk against your bare skin, floating across your body, knowing you’re naked under it makes you so nervous, as you know your duty will be to give the King his heirs.

You have very little knowledge, your mother had said to lay there and endure it, and that you would love your children, so that would get you through. The thoughts about that are purely horrific, you do not know anything aside from that, that he would lay on top of you and give you babies. You also know men seek pleasure elsewhere, not with their wives.

You don’t know what to think, but your heart falters when the door to your chamber opens, and Sukuna’s standing in your doorway, so massive he takes it over entirely. His eyes glint as he studies your body slowly, his sharp tongue darting to lick a lower lip, you fiddle nervously with your hands as he shuts the door behind him with a resounding click.

“My king, I hope I please you.” You say, dipping obediently, and he laughs then, the sound booming, a snarky look on his face.

“You’re trained to say everything right, perfect little thing huh?” He walks to you, one of his hands tilting up your chin, the sharp black nail pressing under it.

“I am meant to bear your children. It’s my duty.”

He scoffs now. “Your duty, hmm? Tell me, are you afraid of me little bunny?” You glare then, earning his chuckle.

“Little bunny!”

“A lamb for slaughter, surely, but also a little bunny frozen, afraid of the big bad wolf hmm?” His hands trail down the edges of your wrapped kimono, you struggle to keep any composure.

“You need not tease me, I know how it’s done.”

He’s grinning now with his sharp teeth, his two bottom eyes squinting to almost lines, the top two crinkling at the corners. “Oh, show me then, wife.”

You stomp over to the bed now as he laughs, taking several breaths and laying on your back, staring up at the canopy. Now he’s laughing louder, and you peer your head down. “What, you’re supposed to… give me babies.”

“Holy fuck this is rich.” He snorts now, walking to you, hovering over you.

“Well I know I… here.” You slip the knot of your robe off, baring your body then, and watch his breath catch, desire flaring in his eyes. “I’m supposed to be naked for you… do I displease?” You ask, as he backs away then.

“Displease… foolish brat.” He looks away for a moment, before exhaling and sitting you up on the bed instead, eyes drinking in every bit of your body slowly, tantalizingly, you’re breathing even faster, knees knocking from your nerves. “You’re terrified.”

“I am not! You may… do it.” You spread your thighs, eyes shut now, and he sighs, two of his hands slipping up your thighs now, the other two cupping your face, surprising you.

“You think it will be so terrible, your duty?” He speaks through gritted teeth, you keep your eyes shut, staying still.

“My mother said I shall endure it.” He sighs now, tracing your jaw, his huge hands surprisingly delicate, then you gasp as his other hands sliding up your thighs grow tongues. “Ah! What!?”

Your eyes lock onto his, and he’s so close you can inhale him, this musky heady scent that makes your tummy clench. “You think I, King of curses, don’t please those who enter my bed?”

“I… you mean all those girls?”

He tilts his head, the tongues lapping at your skin again. “I’m in here, aren’t I?”

“But you’ll find pleasure with them, I am only your duty.” You murmur, looking down, he hums to himself.

“Tch, you are… your body…” He trails off then, sighing. “I will not sleep with you tonight.”

“So I do displease!” You blink back tears.

“God you’re quite annoying. Just… shut up.” You glare now, and he grins. “I like that angry look, little bunny.”

“I am not a bunny! I… ah!” Sukuna’s hands are slipping up your thighs further, his other two sliding to your breasts, exhaling as he squishes them, black nails pressing into tender flesh, but it feels so good. You’re getting wet between your thighs, confusing and embarrassing you, making you pull away.

“Ah-ah, brat. Where do you think you’re going?” He’s moaning now, kneeling between your thighs, the King is kneeling before you!? It seems like insanity, his hot breaths now between your thighs, his eyes drinking you in. “Fuck, look at you.”

“Y-you said you will not lay with me tonight? Please don’t look at me there like that, I’m all…”

“Soaking wet.” He slides his long tongue against your soppy wet cunt now, licking a stripe up your slit as he moans. “Fuck you taste good.”

“What are you doing! I… ah… mmm!” Sukuna has two hands shoving your thighs wide, as you go to pull his head off you, the sensations of his wicked tongue are so overwhelming, only for him to moan when your fingers entangle in his pastel locks, two eyes glaring up as his tongue flicks on your clit, making you gush. “My king… I…”

“I want you to cum all over my face, be good for me bunny, would you? If you do a good enough job, I’ll reward you tomorrow.”

“A good job!? This is wicked… it feels… s’good- ah!” Your head is thrown back now, and you’re shoving his face against your cunt, you gasp then, realizing your folly. “I’m so sorry-”

“Shut your mouth, I only want to hear your cries.” His head dips back between your thighs, tongue lavishing your velvety walls, you’re gushing honeyed arousal all over his handsome face, yes he is handsome to you. You’re not afraid of him right now, especially as he’s touching you everywhere.

You’re crying out and shaking, thighs struggling to close, but he holds them firm, his other hands squishing your breasts again, tongues on his palms lapping at the sensitive peaks of your nipples. His tongue is fucking into you, one of his rough fingers rolling your clit now, making you go fuzzy, your walls are pulsing around his wet muscle, clit twitching under his fingertip.

You feel tension pooling in your tummy, feel yourself getting hotter, on edge, like something is ready to explode, overwhelming you, you’re sobbing almost, tears flowing but they’re from the insane pleasure. How his big hands grip you so tight you’ll bruise, how his tongue’s devouring you, you can hear yourself, how wet you are, mixing with your hoarse moans.

You never knew your duty would feel like this, you never knew you could crave a demon king’s touch, and you certainly never knew his tongue could bring you to the brink of ecstasy, or that he would want to give you pleasure. His eyes glint up at you, as he flicks his tongue faster, his hands pinching your nipples, the pleasure making your eyes roll back in your skull.

Your toes curl, draped over his broad shoulders, as he works you more and more, everything is heightened, you can barely see, hearing the squelching wetness, hearing him drinking you. “Ngh- my King-”

“Cum, let me feel you. Drink you.” He whispers, and you have no clue what he means, he sees it clearly. “Release, now. An order.” There’s the military leader, the demanding king, but it just makes you wetter for him, makes your hips arch up for more of his caresses.

You nod weakly and he groans, his tongue lapping you up, his hands massaging your breasts, making your back arch, so filled with pleasure, and for the first time in your life you feel desired, you feel alive. Your first orgasm rocks through your body, your cunt clenching around his tongue, your body shaking, your heart racing, your eyes blurry with the intensity. 

“Oh my god… oh my!” You’re soaking his face, taut nipples lavished by his tongues, and he’s smiling against your cunt, you feel his lips curve, tongue sliding out to flick up to your sensitive clit, watching you shake violently, walls fluttering around nothing as you breathe in heavy pants. “I… we… you…”

Sukuna pulls back then, smiling smugly up at you, licking his lips clean, your juices glistening on his tongue, even the strong jut of his chin is coated in you. “Good girl, now how is your duty going?”

“I… I cannot think.” You whisper, he leans up over you, his heavy, tattooed chest weighing on your soft breasts. Your hand touches his chest tentatively, feeling the burning hot skin, the strong muscles, his steady heart beat.

“You taste so sweet, little prey.” He kisses you then, not a kiss like the wedding, no it was brutal, taking you over, and you embarrassingly taste yourself, surprised at how the flavor is. His tongue darts in your mouth, his four hands gripping your waist and hips as he presses you into the bed, you gasp as you pull back. “Ah, those eyes, already drunk off me.”

You look at his lips, tracing them with your finger tips, his quiet moan does not escape you. “Do I do it back? The…”

He’s chuckling at you, making you angry again, a sarcastic look on his face, a brow raised. “What a slutty virgin, you wish to suck my cocks?”

You blink. “Cocks!? Two!?”

He’s laughing now, kissing down your jaw, moaning against your ear as you tremble under him. “You’re so tiny, it would be so easy to break you. So fun to break your pretty little head.”

That only serves to make you wetter, and he notices, moaning as you feel hardness between your thighs, under his robes. You tentatively raise your hips, earning his hiss, him pinning your hips down, thumbs pressing into your pelvis. He looks down at you with four dilated eyes, tongue licking his lower lip, one of his other hands brushing back your hair.

“Mmm, you will go to sleep, and tomorrow, I shall show you how much more there is to your duty than just bearing my children.” He says, you nod carefully as he stands up, leaving you on the bed, breathless, overwhelmed.

“And will you… lay with those concubines?”

He raises a brow, eyes trailing down your body. “Will that anger you, little bunny? Should I be afraid of your little paws?”

“It would upset me.” You say, pouting now, and he glares, clearly irritated. He then rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“Tch, already annoying me. Fine then.”

“Really?” You sit up, hopeful, suddenly craving more of him, your hands slipping up his strong biceps, you watch his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“Yes, irritating creature. Now go to sleep.”

“Will you sleep with me?”

“Sleep in bed with you? No, I need to care for my precarious situation, caused by a bratty new bride.” You giggle and he glares, sobering you up. “You’re giggling at me, the king?”

“N-no. Sorry, my King. I shall see you in the morning.” You say softly now, he scoffs once more, eyeing your body lustfully as you slip back on your robe.

“Tsk.” Is all you get, as he leaves you alone in your chambers. You hesitantly touch yourself, seeing the sticky, glittering wetness still left, from your arousal and his tongue.

Lay there and endure? More like lay there and beg for more and more, blinding fucking pleasure from his tongues. Perhaps everything you think is completely wrong? What more is there to your duty, if you can call it that? You simply must know… and you’re very curious about his… cocks, fuck just the thought makes your pussy clench.

You’re snuggling up to a satin pillow in your new bed, lewd insane images flitting your mind, and for some reason you’re able to shut your eyes, and fall fast asleep, still feeling his touch on you.

Part Two

[tteokdoroki]

ᯓ★ ONCE UPON A FUCK ME !? — kinktober 2024 !

mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the filthiest fairytale of them all? your favourite storybook characters, reimagined.

✧ there’s a note from your fairy godmother - hello my angels !! welcome to another kinktober. i hope you guys are as excited as i am. wave your magic wand here ! to join the taglist. rb for a happy ending ₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡.

✧ read the blurb - each of the following fairytales contain nsfw and dark themes. fem!reader. each fic comes with its own warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL - satoru gojo.

[OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE] once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants.

additional kinks. orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, switching.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER EIGHT BEAUTY & THE BEAST - katsuki bakugou.

[OCT 8TH ★ MONSTER FUCKING] once upon a time, a village girl thinks to herself — fuck it! being trapped inside a castle with a monstrous sexy bloody beast isn’t so bad… she might as well make it worth her while.

additional kinks. bath sex, soft sex, blood play, size kink, praise kink, body worship, body modifications.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER FIFTEEN CINDERELLA - tobio kageyama.

[OCT 15TH ★ MUTUAL MASTURBATION] once upon a time, a soon-to-be crowned princess, once down on her luck, says fuck it and settles on consummating her marriage with the crown prince before they’re actually due to be married.

additional kinks. oral sex, clothed sex, cherry chasing, first time, corruption.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER SIXTEEN THE LITTLE MERMAID - eijirou kirishima.

[OCT 16TH ★ FUCK OR DIE] once upon a time, a princess decides — fuck it! fuck the engagement. who cares when a sexy half-man, half -fish…prince? whatever! needs to drown her in an ocean of pleasure in order to survive…

additional kinks. underwater sex, ritualistic sex, voice kink, pain kink, choking, quickie.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER TWENTY TWO SLEEPING BEAUTY - seishiro nagi.

[OCT 22ND ★ SOMNOPHILIA] once upon a time, a brave knight, destined to marry someone she’d never met, says fuck it and plans to reap the rewards of saving the prince from eternal slumber. without realising that he’s already awake…

additional kinks. hold the moan, overstimulation, cockwarming, dacryphilia, outer-course, free use, dub con, cumplay.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ CHAPTER TWENTY NINE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD - yuuji itadori.

[OCT 29TH ★ KNOTTING] once upon a time, a curious little girl says fuck it and disobeyes her mother’s only wish. stay on the path when you visit your granny, you don’t want to get snatched up by the big bad wolf.

additional kinks. wolf hybrids, mating season, oral fixation, sweat + scent kink, pregnancy kink, lactation, breeding, a/b/o.

✐ᝰ.ᐟ BONUS CHAPTER: GOLDILOCKS & THE THREE BEARS - bachira, isagi 'n nagi.

[OCT 31ST ★ CUCKING] once upon a time, a sweet little bear hybrid on her own in the woods decides... fuck it! she'll teach that pesky thief goldilocks what it really means to share. with the help of friends, of course.

additional kinks. bear hybrids, double penetration, mutual masturbation, deep throating, brat taming, exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, foursome, dub-con, coercion, marking, oral sex.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.