#and WOLF is there from the beginning too ??? how strange is that ???

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Why Not Us?

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six |

CW: Memories of mass murder, some internalized dehumanization, survivor’s guilt

-

Misae made it to the little bedroom before the moon rose, thankfully. He nearly tripped over the strange mattress on the floor, the one they’d blown up with air and then thrown blankets and pillows on. It was meant to be his bed, he thought, which made sense.

Anaya might let him on the real bed, but not to sleep. Wolves, like dogs, slept on the floor. It would be lonely, but it would make sense. Almost nothing did, now. Sitting in chairs, eating pizza instead of having to shift to eat the raw meat thrown into the kennels, wearing clothes and being asked if he would like something to drink… they didn’t seem to know what he was, to understand. 

He could hear them now, Eden, Anaya, and Vanessa, from down the hall. They talked and laughed, and Misae felt hollowed out at the sound, wishing he could be there with them.

Maybe there would be more pizza.

He laid one hand on his stomach. It felt… almost rounded. He’d never eaten so much or so well, not in all the life he had lived. He hadn’t had to fight over any of it, either. There hadn’t been the need to snarl and posture, or crawl on his belly and lick at an older wolf’s mouth, hoping they’d give him a few scraps out of pity or some dim affection.

The moon’s slow rise made him restless, bouncing on his toes as he tried to decide where he could safely change. The room was small, but he could fit under the big bed if he was smart about it. 

But then the humans would get into the bed, and if the mattress dipped low it might force him back out.

The call to shift prickled under his skin, and Misae stripped his shirt and pants off before it could take hold and leave him confused and trapped in the cloth. He tossed the sweatpants and shirt onto the bed just as he felt his spine begin to bend.

It always felt so good, when the shift started. Like waking up after a good sleep, coming back to where you belonged. He had always been meant to walk on four legs, and the human side was only what he was allowed for good behavior.

He leaned over, a sensation like goosebumps running up and down his arms and legs, setting his hair on end. The healing wound in his leg throbbed but some of the pain felt more distant as he changed.

It wasn’t that the wound disappeared, it was only that his wolf body knew how it felt to be injured with silver far better than his human body did. It knew how to ignore the pain, how to keep moving, because to let the pain take you was to be singled out to die. Wolves who were too hurt to keep going were wolves that starved, his instincts knew it. Wolves who starved died.

Everyone died anyway. It hadn't mattered how good they were when Bill didn't want them any longer.

He shuddered and shoved that thought aside. He couldn’t think about his family, not now. It would overtake him and he’d just be trapped in the grave in his mind, even if his body was here still breathing.

He couldn’t think about dozens of flat blank eyes, frozen in mute horror. He couldn’t think about the warmth still lingering in the stiffening bodies pressed all around him, about how Nina had tried to cover him and hide him from the shots even as she had been bleeding to death herself. 

Had Nina been his real mother?

It was possible. Their fur was the same, their eyes were the same. But some of the other wolves had fur and eyes like his, too. But... maybe Nina had been his mother.

Maybe she had known it, if only at the end, and tried to save the one pup she could.

The humans had tried to ruin them to each other, make them hurtful and hateful, but the wolves had found a way to love, anyway. In secret, when it was safe, and at the end when nothing was safe and it didn’t matter any longer there was one more way to love that Bill couldn't take from them.

It made no difference if you loved when you would lose each other anyway. In the end, the werewolves had loved each other, and it hadn’t saved any of them.

Except him.

Misae closed his eyes, stretching his shifting muscles and forcing himself to leave the dead behind, for now anyway. For as long as he could. 

Bones cracked and broke beneath his skin, painlessly reforming. Misae dropped to a crouch and leaned his weight forward on his hands, feeling bare, vulnerable fingers change to rougher paw pads and clicking nails. He stretched his front legs until the muscles stretched and burned and sighed, contented by the feeling.

Canine teeth lengthened and his ears grew. He twitched one just to feel it, exhaling a rough sigh as his tongue briefly lolled out. Fur spread over skin like a blanket, a little patchy but still warming his chilly body, and the bed on the floor called to him. He was tired, and the killing back at Bill’s house kept trying to worm its way past his moments of comfort and warmth in this new place, with these new people.

If he laid still, it would catch up with him, and he didn’t want Anaya or Eden to hear how wolves mourned, how they cried. He didn’t know if they would still comfort him then, or if they would turn angry at the sounds, or learn to hate him. Bill’s family hated the sound of the mourning wolves, beat them for their weeping in human form or for their howls as wolves. 

Who knew what regular humans would do? 

Misae only knew that Anaya and Eden had been kind, so far. But so had Aaron, sometimes - Bill’s youngest son had been known to scratch behind a wolf’s ears when none of the other humans were looking. Even Austin had once bandaged Misae’s leg after he’d gotten it caught in a fence and bled.

That didn’t make them any kinder when the werewolves broke the rules, rules no one ever said out loud but simply expected the wolves to learn by being beaten when they were broken until they figured them out. It had never stopped Austin from calling them all names, or laughing when they fought.

Human kindness always had limits. 

Always.

Even as he became the first form he ever knew, the stalking werewolf that Bill had never been able to separate from the boy whose body the wolf shared, Misae knew he had to hide. Not from Anaya or Eden, who had already seen him as a wolf. Not because he feared them.

He had to hide because they didn’t know to fear him.

Misae’s nose turned black and scents exploded into the world around him. What had before been just the light smell of cleaning products and maybe a pumpkin-scented candle was now a collection of stories he could read in the air and along the ground. Vanessa had walked in here to set up the mattress, having forgotten to take her shoes off after getting the mail. Misae could smell the grass she had stepped on, scent the slight shift in her smell of frustration when it took a long time to get the air pump working to set up the mattress. He could smell, on the mattress, long months spent idle with no need to be used. The faintest smell of a camping trip, some time in the past - the last time the air mattress had been needed.

The way his sense of smell changed was always what gave away when it was time to find somewhere to hide, before the silver light could touch his fur and call to him. It would make him want to run, to howl and see if any other wolves were nearby to answer.

What would he do if they were?

He had known only his own family. He’d never seen any werewolves that didn’t huddle together in the kennels, fighting over the barest hints of kindness shown to them by Bill and his family. If he met a free wolf, he might simply lay down, show his belly, and wait for them to tear out his throat when they smelled the kennels on him. 

Misae paced restlessly around the small room, limping and trying to keep weight off his injured leg, snuffling against the ground, tracing the hints of Eden and Anaya in here and then following the softer smell of Vanessa until he found the closet door was cracked open.

Perfect. Like a den.

He had to paw at it, whining softly with his ears flat against his head, looking nervously at the patch of moonlight that seemed to head inexorably in his direction. His heart raced beneath his fur at the sight. 

Bill had always said, over and over again, never let the moonlight touch you. It was the only rule the humans told the werewolves, and taught to the pups before they were put into the main kennels. During the full moon, for three nights, they would huddle together inside big wooden boxes that formed a kind of den. Anyone caught outside the den, by Bill or by the cameras, would be punished.

It was the first thing Misae remembered learning, while still toddling around on four short legs, a few weeks after birth. Never let the moonlight touch you. He'd broken the rule running from the guns, from the grave of his family. He'd broken the rule running from Austin. But… that had been different, hadn’t it?

Hadn’t it?

Misae clambered clumsily over a pile of cardboard boxes, blowing harshly through his nose as things packed inside clattered around. He pushed at them with his snout until he had made for himself a sort of barrier, protecting him from the world outside this tiny space. He turned in a circle and then laid down, ears flat, shimmering amber-brown eyes watching the silvery light that cut across the bed through the open doorway.

Beneath his nose, soaked into the floorboards years ago, he could smell a hint of a rose perfume. Left by some other person, long before any of the familiar smells of Vanessa's life had entered this place.  

The scent made him shudder, heart going cold.

Bill's wife Ada wore rose perfume. 

The smell of roses, for the children in the puppy kennels, meant one of you might vanish that day. Ada sometimes took them, luring them out with treats and soft words until she could get the loop around their necks to pull tight, leading them on the leash inside.

She mostly brought them back, after sticking needles to take blood or give what she called 'medicine' that put the puppies to deep sleep and left them groggy and confused upon waking. She mostly brought them back.

But not always.

Rose perfume drifting on the air was sometimes all the warning they got before a pup disappeared. 

The memories made him tremble and he whined softly, but quieted the sound as fast as he could. It was something all of them learned, not just how to hide from the moonlight but also how to be so quiet that none of the men and women inside the house could hear and think of them.

They all learned how to be, if only temporarily, forgotten.

Now Misae was the only left for Bill and his family to remember. He wondered if Bill would come for him, still. Try to find him. Or if, now that he'd outrun Austin, he'd let Misae go into a world where nobody was left to even love him in secret any longer.

It was Eden and Anaya he needed to hide from now. Not because they might hurt him, but because he might hurt them. Wolves were most dangerous when the moon was full, calling on their nonhuman blood. 

It made them monsters - hungry, mindless killers. 

Everyone knew that.

Bill made sure everyone knew that. 

He watched the moonlight’s slow crawl along the small room until his eyes drifted shut and he dozed off, his tail flicking occasionally. Once the moon began to set in the morning, just as the sun rose, he’d be able to be a boy again. Until then, he could relax into the form he was far more comfortable in even if he had been painstakingly taught to fear what it was capable of.

He slept deeply enough to have fuzzy, formless dreams. He was beneath all of his family, trying to crawl out from under them. They called for him, cried for help, whined and whimpered and shouted and cursed. 

The air was being slowly crushed out of him, and he desperately tried to get out from beneath the weight of their deaths, their memories.

He looked up to see straight down the barrel of Austin’s shotgun, the black within the metal circle, holding his death.

Found you, Austin said, softly. Time to go, Rusty.

Fingers touched the top of his head.

Misae?

He jolted awake and snapped out of sheer instinct, ears flat in a flash and teeth clicking together. He didn’t quite catch anything, but as his eyes opened, he saw Anaya looking down at him, eyes wide, her hand jerked back against her chest. 

“Misae?” She repeated, voice a little shakier this time. She was wearing sleeping clothes, and Eden was just behind her, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that had Misae looking in jealousy at skin only scarred along the underside of his chest, two odd half-circle shapes that didn’t mean anything to Misae’s mind. “Holy shit.”

“DId he bite you?” Eden asked, an edge to his voice. “Anaya, if he bit you-... isn’t that how it-... it spreads?”

Misae curled up tighter, whimpering, his heart picking back up into a pounding race that made him dizzy. He tucked his tail as tightly as he could and looked up with his chin pressed against the floor, licking at his chops nervously.

 “Naya? Did he-”

“No, he didn’t,” Anaya replied, frowning back at Eden, before dropping into a crouch. “And we don’t know that that's how it spreads, or whatever. Or even if it does spread. Who even knows what’s real and what isn’t about werewolves?”

“Before yesterday, I would have told you nothing is real about werewolves,” Eden said, hovering behind her. 

“And you would have been wrong, wouldn't you. Besides, he was asleep. I woke him up, that’s on me, not him. Hey, Misae. Hey there, honey.” Her voice softened, and she shoved some of Misae’s barrier of boxes aside, until she could hold out her hand and lay it down with knuckles on floor and palm facing up, between them. “It’s okay, honey. It’s just me. Are you good? We were worried when we didn’t see where you’d gone. You were making some noise in here, I thought maybe something was wrong.”

Misae’s nose twitched. He eased forward, belly to the ground, until he could slowly lay his chin in her palm. She let one finger gently scratch at the soft fur there and he whined. 

“He’s okay,” Anaya whispered. “I scared you, huh? You were having bad dreams, I bet. Don't blame you, this has been a really weird day. Just... the weirdest. Can I ask why you're here in the closet?”

“There’s a joke about being a closeted werewolf in there somewhere, but I’m honestly not awake enough to make it,” Eden said, but he moved back until he could sit on the bed. He didn’t quite relax, not yet, but the space helped Misae to feel a little safer. Eden didn’t look - or smell - angry. 

“Oh, shut up,” Anaya said, rolling her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched into a smile. She wasn’t angry, either. “And don’t spend all night coming up with it, either. I don’t want to hear it when we wake up.”

“Well, now I have to come up with something. I have to come up with something and have it be the literal first thing I say to you when we wake up,” Eden teased, flopping himself backwards onto the bed and wriggling under the blankets, sighing happily when he was covered up. “Oh, this comforter weighs a ton. Perfect.”

“For someone who likes to sleep in the absolute wilderness like a caveman, you sure love a weighted blanket.” Anaya snorted.

"If I'm a caveman, that means you like a caveman." Eden grinned. "Ha ha, you're in love with a Neanderthal," He sing-songed. Anaya threw up a middle finger over her shoulder in his general direction, and Eden's smile only widened.

Misae wondered what a Nee-ander-tal was as his eyes flicked to the side, taking in the window, looking for the moonlight. To his relief, the curtains were closed.

The room was dark, now, except for a small lamp they’d turned on by the bed. There was no chance of the moon catching at his fur, calling him to hunt, to rip and tear and rend. 

Misae pushed himself slowly onto his feet, ignoring his throbbing back leg. Anaya smiled at him, and it felt like a reward. His heart beat faster for new reasons, and he followed her as she eased back and away from the closet, pushing past the boxes. 

When Anaya sat on the air mattress on the floor, Misae moved slowly onto it as well until he could lick at the corners of her mouth with his tail tucked underneath him. She laughed and pushed lightly at him, and he moved to lay on his side, paws curled to show her his stomach, baring his vulnerable throat.

“He likes you,” Eden commented idly from up on the bed. “Pretty sure that’s wolf for ‘you’re cool, let’s be buds.’ Also I think it means he thinks you're in charge."

"I am in charge," Anaya said, voice haughty, but there was laughter lining every word. "It's good that both you boys know it."

Misae shifted back onto his stomach and curled back up until his tail covered his nose. Anaya smiled at the sight, reaching out to scratch the top of his head. Misae sighed, eyes drifting closed again. He relaxed under the gentle affection. “There you go. All right, what matters is that you're okay. Let’s try to get some sleep, yeah? All three of us.”

He watched her stand up, ears drooping as she climbed into the real bed, next to Eden. He watched her get under the blanket, laying next to Eden. He laid on the floor where wolves belonged, missing the warmth of his family. Missing the den. Alone, here, on the ground. Werewolves weren't meant to be alone - he knew that, not from Bill or Austin but from how perfect it had felt in the den, in the kennels, when they were all together.

Anaya turned off the lamp, and darkness overtook the room.

The humans, he thought, would be blind in the dark. Misae could see everything, though. He could see the silvery moonlight held back by the curtains, could see Eden’s chest rise and fall, slowing as he slipped into sleep. He could see that Anaya stayed awake a while longer.

He listened to her breathing, holding back his whimpers until it slowed and deepened and he knew he wouldn't wake her. He could lay here, alone.

Well.

Not entirely alone. 

His family was here, even if they weren’t. They would never leave him, not fully, not all the way. Even now he could feel them nosing around him trying to find a comfortable spot. He knew the pressure of their bodies around him like he knew his own paws. He could feel their chill breath on his neck, the soft nuzzle of affection that he would never really feel again. He could sense snuffles and whines, jostles for position that sometimes ended with playful snarling and rumbling growls. He could feel Nina’s weight on top of him. Feel her body jerk with the shots she had taken that he hadn’t. He could hear them, in his heart, howling just outside the little house.

He could hear their cries, begging him to join them. He should have slept for the last time in the big grave with the rest of them. He had been meant to die with his family. He wasn't the fastest in his family, the smartest, the best hunter. He wasn't anything better than anyone else.

There was no reason for him to survive, no special ability or way of being he had that made him deserve this bed with its soft blankets when everyone he loved was quiet and cold in the ground, covered in dirt and decomposing now.

He hadn’t deserved to meet kind humans. He didn’t deserve to eat pizza until his stomach ached and sit in chairs. He didn't deserve hot water to clean the dirt and blood from his skin. Others in his pack had deserved it so much more, and they had been given silver bullets instead, and now...

Now Misae was the only one left who remembered them.

He closed his eyes against the way the darkness wanted to change shape, to make him see his dead family with all the blood and bullets. He listened to their wistful, spectral howls, just outside the window. Calling and calling and calling, crying to him and to each other.

Why you? Why not us, instead? Why not the little pups, why not the mothers, why not the older wolves who had been good for so long? You were never all that good. What about you deserved to live? Why not us?

Why was it you?

Anaya and Eden slept together.

Misae slept with ghosts.

-

@finder-of-rings  @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings 

@yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger

@dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood @fangedcinnamonroll @pigeonwhumps @yassifiedinformation

[samarecharm]

Oh man. Now i gotta figure out what actually carries over. My persona stats?? My PERSONAS?? Recipes ????? Weapons ???

[silken-moonlight]

Part 4 of your werwolf best friend (Final Part)

A/N: This will be the last part of this short story! I am so glad for everyone who has loved it so far. I hope you enjoy the ending as well! (I am not used to writing happy endings, so I hope this is good.)

Also, a quick question for my next WIP... Do you guys enjoy the "You" in a story more, or would you prefer both characters to be named?

But now, back to the story!

Moon/Swan

______________

The two of you stayed connected because of the knot for a while. From time to time he moved his hips as you tried to catch your breath. Your heart was racing. Suddenly realizing that your best friend just had cum inside of you. While the panic began to settle inside of you, he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Holding you as close as he could anbd placing lazy but tender kisses on your shoulder.

Your mind was racing, what if you'd become pregnant? What if you caught feelings…? Well too late for that, you already felt something much different than friendship for him. Damn that wolf… The fear of him leaving you, he told you werewolves do this casually…does that mean he will ‘just’ continue to be your friend after fucking you out of your own mind?

Suddenly his hand began wandering again and you could feel his cock getting harder again. You moaned, unable to form a sentence as he lazliy contionued to fuck you from behind. You both laid on your side, spooning with cock and knot buried as deep into your hot cunt as it could go. Your breathing got harder when he pinched your nipples while nibbling on your neck.

“You're so silent…” He rasped into your ear. “Do I need to fuck my pretty girl out of her mind?” He asked while licking along your neck. “My mate…” You whimpered when he bit down on your neck, his hips picked up on the pace and he began to fuck his knot deeper into you. You were unable to answer, you felt like on the verge of bursting. There was such pressure on your cervix, but it felt weirdly good and you wanted to feel more. You wanted him to go deeper and to be rougher. When his teeth set your neck free he whispered softly: “I love you, I always did, and now you're all mine…” He was in a haze, your pussy drove him mad, your scent drove him mad….and he just came so deep inside you. He bred you, surely you know must have realized how perfect he is for you..

“You love me?” You asked and a tear escaped your eye. “Always, my knot does not swell for everybody…” He whispered and fucked you faster. “I…i thought you'd leave me after your rut is over…” His laugh was raspy: “I never let you go. I bred you, my mate. I want you, more than physical. I love you "I always did.” It was such a strange situation, you cried of happyness and out of pleasure while he fucked you to your next high. “I love you too..” You answered softly. He cursed and flipped you both over so that you sat on him in reverse cowboy. “Ride me then baby, make us cum.” You whined, leaning forward and arching your back, holding onto his thighs before carefully beginning to ride his cock. You never were on top before, but by all that was holy did it feel good…

“I'm going to breed you baby, you're all mine…” He moaned as he held onto your hips, helping you fuck him better. It took only a few more moments of your hips and both of you trembled under the immense pleasure. Once again the two of you collapsed and this time you were done for. Properly fucked out of your mind and so tired. Your bestfriend, no, lover, held you close and calmed. Both of you fell asleep right then and there….

______________________________

The following six months were very wholesome but incredibly stressful. You lost your job after you both forgot to call in your work. Since the two of you stayed his whole rut together fucking, which was over a week, and you didn't showed up your boss was livid. So you had to get a new job. You moved in with your best friend, quickly falling more in love with him than you thought you could. He was even sweeter now that you were his, endless evenings cuddling, hiking together…,the two of you were inseparable. You talked about the possibility of you getting pregnant…both of you wanted children…so you continued like that, taking the chances. And while he was a werewolf and maybe could smell his period, you told him you were late and that it was normal, it had not been. He had impregnated you.

So one evening you had just put the pregnancy test on his desk, unceremoniously. Just giving it to him while shifting around nervously. He stared at you, then at the test, back at you. Then he began to cry out of happyness, you cried as well. It had been a wonderful moment for the both of you.

And since then your boyfriend has treated you like royalty. Especially since you started showing. You loved being pregnant, despite all the issues coming with it. Often holding your belly.

When his next rut came around he firstly refused to sleep with you, afraid to hurt you. But when the need got too great, he built a nest. A proper nest out of pillows and blankets on your bed and basically worshiped you. He made love to you, placing his hand on your belly, being proud about having bred you. He was obsessed with it, the thought that he did that. That he made you look all this cute. He loved that he had made you glow like that.

Not even speaking about his family and pack who were more than happy. For the last part of your pregnancy you lived with him on pack territory, his pack was loveley.

Honestly you would have never thought this would happen, but you could never have been happier than with your loving -now- husband.

[charliemwrites]

As promised some time ago: Gaz!

The new house is… well, you don’t dislike it. It’s beautiful, already renovated while you were busy selling the old house. Just new, unfamiliar. You’re unaccustomed to the noises it makes, the shadows it casts, the echoes off the walls.

You’re not too proud to admit (to yourself and your dogs) that you’re a bit of a chicken the first couple weeks. Too many nights watching spooky media about people living in walls or stalking new tenants — despite Skipper’s best efforts. So you keep one or more of the dogs with you at all times, fingers in their fur and lights on as you go. Ghost has been especially tolerant, leaning against your leg when the sun goes down and the house feels too strange.

You’ve always been grateful for the peace of mind that four huge wolf-dogs brings, but never more than now. With several sets of teeth surrounding your bed and guarding your locked doors, they’ve made the transition so much easier on your nerves.

The new forest behind the house is also some cause for concern. The first day you brought them home, you went out by yourself for quick inspection of the yard and immediate area. Sharp-eyed looking for glass, metal, or anything else dubious.

You came back to four extremely grumpy pups and were basically bullied out of leaving them alone again. Skipper was especially huffy that night.

But things feel like they’re beginning to settle. You’ve gotten a bigger couch, bigger floor cushions. There’s a second story to this new house — or more of a half-floor really. A loft? It consists of the master bedroom, master bathroom, and a sort of open-spaced landing that you’re using as a satellite collection zone for toys.

Sometimes, when you’re on the couch, you’ll catch a bit of movement and get spooked by one of the boys staring from the railing that overlooks the den. Have fussed at wagging Johnny twice now for it.

Still, the transition to your new home has been as smooth as you could ask for with four giant, protective dogs. You miss the old place a bit; have the irrational fear that you’re going to miss another displaced dog in need of a home, but you try not to think about it.

Maybe you should have thought about it a little more.

One evening, you let the boys out for their pre-bed potty. There’s a cup of chamomile tea in your hand, a blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders. Winter will be setting in soon. It’s already cold enough to set your teeth on edge. Never mind that it’s been raining all day, only just letting up to light patter at sunset.

Commotion at the edge of the (much larger) yard catches your attention. All of your boys seem to be gathered around something. They’re not barking or growling, and from the dim porch light, you don’t see hackles raised but still. Anything that catches their attention is worth investigating.

Cursing under your breath, you set your mug aside, slip into some shoes, and snatch up your phone for the flashlight. It’s only when you’re halfway there that you remember to pray that it’s not something dead. Or dying. Or creepy.

“Please don’t let this be a spooky doll or something,” you whisper to yourself.

Skipper must hear you, because his head pops up. He doesn’t… look concerned. But he’s a dog, how would he know that something in the yard is of human concern?

He trots away from their little congregation to meet you, almost like he’s escorting you to whatever they’re gathered around. You realize why when the flashlight illuminates a ball of soaked fur.

“Oh,” you breathe, “oh no…”

You gently nudge Konig aside to kneel down, a dry sob bubbling up in the back of your throat when you hear a quiet, miserable mew. A pair of brilliant green eyes squint and shy from the light, wide and sad.

“Oh, baby,” you coo. “Please come here. C’mon.”

You slowly, carefully extend a hand. Palm up, just a couple fingers. You’re not as familiar with cats anymore, but you remember enough to know that there‘ll be no scooping it up, even if it needs help. It’ll have to come to you of its own accord.

Relief floods you when you get the briefest cursory sniffle, and then the kitty is bumping its head against your hand for a scritch. You take a moment to pet what you can, heart breaking a bit with each shiver in the cold.

You keep coaxing it closer, gentle words and patient petting, getting bolder with your touch. When it’s finally close enough, the faintest purr rattling in its chest, you decide to try.

Apart from a nervous glance, the cat remarkably tolerant about letting you wrap your now-wet blanket around it, then scooping it up.

“Oof, you’re a big kid, huh?” You mutter, pausing to get a better hold. The darkness and hunkering down to preserve body heat was deceptive. This cat feels huge. “That’s alright, I’m used to it.”

You breathe a huge sigh when you enter the house again. It’s toasty inside — or at least it feels that way after sitting in the cold rain for fifteen minutes.

The boys files in after you, politely shaking off at the door before stepping into the mudroom. (Another upgrade you’ve been extremely grateful for.

You pause, try to get your bearings. You’ve got four soaked dogs, one possibly hypothermic cat, and you.

Christ, sometimes you wish you had an extra pair of hands.

“Okay. Let’s get the heater first.”

It’s already going, so you just turn it up a bit more, warm enough to start drying everyone. Then you go to the cupboard, sparing an arm from your oversized bundle to extract a towel.

You cross back to the heater and sit down, gently nestling your cat-burrito into the well of your legs.

The same big green eyes blink up at you, another mewl comes from it.

“Hi,” you croon, “isn’t that better already? Much warmer in here.”

You present the towel for inspection, let it sniff and decide it’s non-threatening before gently wiping it along the clumped fur. The dogs, to your surprise, don’t crowd to investigate. Skipper stops by to give the cat a sniff, before ultimately flopping down against your hip. But the other three arrange themselves around you, watching, but giving you and the kitty some space.

Remarkably thoughtful of them, and you tell them as much, praising their good behavior. The kitty, in the meantime, just… stares. It’s been a long time since you interacted with one, but you don’t remember your grandma’s tabby being so…

“Can I help you, little one?” You ask, grinning when it blinks at you slowly. You brush a finger under its chin, grinning when its eyes go half-lidded and nearly cross. “You’re worse than my Johnny boy with the staring.”

You receive a huff for that and laugh softly, making kissy noises at him until his tail thumps against the absorbent floor mat.

The cat is back to staring, though, ears up. You hum and keep up the half-scratching, half-drying technique until its fur starts to fluff up and you can take proper stock of the animal you’ve just rescued.

You weren’t kidding about it being big. Biggest cat you’ve ever seen — you’d almost think it was wild if not for the sweet face. You’re sure you might have seen the breed somewhere before…

Maine coon, maybe? Or… Siberian something or other? It’s fluffy, that’s for sure. But even without all the fluff that’s beginning to poof out like a dirty cotton ball, it’s a big cat. Big enough to be an average dog.

You huff in amusement that more it dries out.

“You look like a little storm cloud,” you giggle. “Well, little being relative.”

You receive a more normal-sounding meow for that. It thrills you that it’s already sounding better. Less sad, for sure.

The purring even start up again, developing into a deep hum like a running motor. It’s instantly soothing, the same way listening to the dogs’ breathing is. It lulls you until you’re nearly dozing sitting up. Only the wet nose of Skipper against your cheek rousing you.

“Jesus, right,” you say, jolting. Take a drowsy look around. All the boys seem dry or mostly dry. The only damp spot left on your new feline friend seems to be the feet, which won’t take much longer. “Let’s get inside proper.”

You lock up the mudroom and turn the heater low again, then urge everyone into the den. The cat doesn’t even hesitate, threading cleverly between your moving legs as you shuffle to the kitchen.

You prep an extra bowl of food and leave it up for the cat where the dogs can’t get it. Give it one last stroke from head to tail before trudging for the bathroom.

Normally, you’d be more concerned about leaving a cat in a house full of dogs. But the boys proved already that they have no interest in hurting the cat, despite the earlier crowding. Figure there are plenty of places to hide if they do make the kitty uncomfortable regardless.

The hot shower only serves to thicken the drowsiness blanketing you, leaving you heavy-lidded and sluggish. You pull the curtain aside to the usual audience of huge eyes, a new pair among them — the cat perched on the bathroom sink.

When you lean to grab your towel, they stick their face close for a sniff and you pause, always patient for curious creatures. When the little nose gets too close to your mouth, you twist and drop a quick peck to its snout before leaning back. The flabbergasted look makes you laugh as you begin toweling off.

“What a funny little thing you are,” you coo. “Would you like to be mind.”

“Mrrrow!”

“Yeah, I made a good first showing, huh?”

You have absolutely zero supplies for a cat, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, you just want to climb into bed and conk out. Home-making and animal-saving takes a lot out of you.

As always, the furry procession to your room leaves you warm and happy. Johnny always the first to hop into bed, licking your shoulder when you climb in beside him. Konig takes your other side, much more willing to snuggle now that you have the California King mattress to accommodate your pack. Ghost licks at Skipper’s chin in the doorway, then jumps up to lie by your hip, cuddling Johnny.

Skipper comes up last, padding over to receive one last kiss from you before lying by your feet, on the side closest to the door. You’re less concerned about kicking him now with the extra room, and enjoy the heat for your toes.

You almost startle at the soft thump next to your head. Turn and blink to see big green eyes blinking down at you, a purr nearly rattling your brain.

“Oh, hi,” you murmur, “make yourself at home.”

The cat does just that, curling himself onto a pillow and pressing his forehead into your neck. You nearly melt as you flick off the light. It’s warm and quiet and dark, just the breathing of warm bodies and soft tap of rain.

“I love you all so much,” you whisper, fingers threading into Konig’s coat. “My loves.”

The house’s new echoes are still unfamiliar, so it’s just a product of being half-asleep that makes you think you hear voices in the middle of the night.

Main Story | Price pt. 2

Masterlist

[hayw1res]

𖦹 ` 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧

𝅄 ; synopsis : von lycaon is a true gentleman, he would never act on his selfish desires on his master. that is until mating season rolls around…

𝅄 ; warnings : 18+ , knotting , mating press , mentions of breeding “pregnancy and pups” , p in v , unprotected sex , light predator x prey , slight dubcon but everything is consensual , animalistic urges , slight fluff at the end

𝅄 ; a/n : my first fic on this account, i do hope you enjoy! my requests are open of course. not proofread ; sorry for any errors!

NEW ERIDU, is home to many individuals and home to many different factions. One of those being Victoria Housekeeping . You found yourself at the mercy of those individuals from time to time, especially the ever so proper Von Lycaon. A gentleman through and through , who isn’t afraid of protecting his dear master from the depths of the hollows where you often find yourself after conducting research.

Now, you knew better not to get too involved in any of his personal business, but when he sent a sudden notice of absence it worried you. Why on earth would he need to leave? For how long? What was wrong with him? You had to know, as his close friend and well.. esteemed patron. That’s what lead you to meet at the place you knew would have your answers. Strangely enough, none of the girls were home either, not even Ms Alexandrina.

It sent a shiver down your spine as you crept through the empty halls, it was silent..eerie. It was almost perfect for their faction at least but even for them this seemed a little far fetched. A little too silent for your liking. You could hear the way your heel clicked and clacked against the concrete floor beneath you. It was dark, the sun set a while ago..the moon shined bright through one of the cracked windows, the cold hair caused your hairs to raise and goosebumps to form. Why was everything suddenly so much scarier?

You just needed to find Lycaon and deliver the basket of treats you made for him , to hopefully quell whatever illness he described in his latest message as to why he had to be distant for a while. You turned the corner, only a few feet away from the room of the wolf thiren when you heard a growling. It pierced through your ears as the only thing breaking the eerie silence, that and now your increased heartbeat. You gasp, It sounded like he was in pain.. you didnt want him to feel pain anymore! You were just here to help.

You pick up the pace almost speed walking to his door, it was locked. You turn the handle again and again, calling out to him to let you in! To let you cure his sickness. Oh how naive and ignorant you are. The wolf was no longer the pristine and well groomed man you usually met , but more an untamed beast of pure and undeniable lust. The door swung open, almost off its hinges as he towered above you. Did he get taller? His chest was exposed, his once clean attire was discarded in rags behind him. He panted , his fangs almost dripping in saliva as he looked at you like you were his meal.

You didnt know why your legs burned as you ran away from the beast, you didn’t even know why you were running to begin with. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you heard his heavy footsteps behind you, no less giving you a lead. You knew Lycaon could catch up to you if he truly wanted to. But this wasn’t Lycaon this was someone—something else. You blanked, which way did you come from? Where were you? You made the mistake of standing idle while an animal hunted you. His breathing was ragged in your ear as his clawed hand tightened around you waist yet he didnt hurt you, in fact it was the opposite.

“Stay.” He finally spoke, his voice was almost unrecognizable as the rest of his appearance. His fur was unkept, his eyes were almost completely black as he stared down at you..but the small part of him was still there- that still wanted to protect you, his master. He knew exactly how to, he knew how to protect you from everyone else, everyone who wasn’t him—every other thiren or human out there who dared to claim you. No. He would do it first before them all.

Completely compromised, you’re almost forced in position with your face touching the hard cold floor and his hands forcibly tearing apart your garments. You squeal, you try and break free and tell Lycaon to calm down! Your pleads fall deaf to his ears, the only sense he can make out is your scent. Arousal, fear.. it was a deadly mix for a wolf, it made him crave you more. His hands were somehow soft against your plush skin, playing with the fat of your thighs as he forced your body in every position he could until he was satisfied. You couldn’t help but feel your core leak at the sight of him when you’re finally on your back. His cock was large and swelling, pulsing over your entrance as he tried to hold back every urge he could until he knew you were ready.

His long digits found way into your core, it stun as he dragged them in and out, you knew you needed more than this you needed him. “Ly—Lycaon” You’d call, forcing him to throw out every thought telling him to take his time. You needed him as he needed you, and who was he to deny his master their desire? He almost couldn’t resist when your walls clamped around his thick member, his saliva dripped down onto your exposed chest- coating your mounds with the liquid as his hand came up to massage it in. His pace began slowly, he still cared of course. You could feel everything, every thrust, every twitch—you could feel it all.

Gradually he sped up, he started to thrust at an unforgiving pace, his moans breathless and mixing with your downright pornographic voice, he never felt so much pleasure in his life—all that buildup truly meant something now that he can unload everything he had into you, yes, yes hed give you his all. He would fill you to the brim and get you nice and pregnant with his kin—with his pups. You could do that right?

“you-you will mother..mother my kin—wont you master?” He purred, his tongue lapping at your neck as he started to fuck you like an animal- like the beast he truly was. You could barely speak back, your brain was practically mush at this point. You could only cling to the little you could as your poor cunt got abused by his unforgiving pace. His knot began to swell against the base of his cock, you could feel it prodding at your entrance— no, you couldn’t take this! Not when you could barely take his cock. That didn’t matter to Lycaon though, you would take it whether you liked it or not. His hands came to your thighs yet again but this time to force them beside your head, your teary eyed fucked out face only urged him on.

“yes—yes! take my knot.. my beloved-! my master—please, please let me in..” He’d growl before biting down on your neck , you scream as you feel that familiar burst of energy shock through you- the slick from your cum and arousal created the perfect substance for his knot to slide inside of you..filing you to the brim with his cum. He licked at your neck as his tail wagged behind him furiously.. he finally found someone suitable for his kin.. for his love..for his desires to be fulfilled.

He couldn’t let you go now, not even long after he calmed down. In reality, he was terrified on seeing you now that he was in the right state of mind..what an idiot he was. “Master—I deeply apologize for my behavior. This is why I notified everyone about the full moon” His voice made you chuckle, of course.. the damn moon. “Master-?” He called again, afraid he may have broken you. You surely were “broken” at least that’s how your body felt.

“Lycaon”

“Yes Master-?”

“Carry me to bed”

“Of course..I am at your service”

[theminecraftbee]

"Well hello there Secret Keeper!" Scar says, chipper. "It's a bea-ut-i-ful day today here on the Secret Life server, and I'm here for my daily hearts for winning! I have to say, it is gorgeous today. Really a lot easier to keep the rain away without other players, what with sleeping through the night not being a problem at all! Did you know, by the way, that sleeping and rain are connected? I didn't until recently, but by golly, they sure are! Can you imagine? The world is full of so many strange things."

The Secret Keeper, being a big dumb stone statue, doesn't reply. Scar's beginning to think it's just rude. It sure replies whenever he hits the button, which is the first step in his morning routine these days. He's gotten better at dodging damage, really, even with the nearly infinite hearts! He's just not so good at dodging skeletons and creepers and such that he shouldn't top off every day.

He hits the button. He feels his health return to him. He gets a new task: Win Secret Life.

He snorts, a little bitter, to himself as he reads it and folds it into his pocket. "You know, I don't know if I'm lucky or unlucky that you're such a moron that you don't know what winning means. Your machine is broken."

No response, again, because the Secret Keeper is, as established, a big old dumb rock. Well, whatever. Besides, if he lingers on resentment and upset for too long, it might catch up with him! He's certainly let it catch up with him before. Why, a few days after he'd won, when he really had it sink in that he was for-real alone on a server covered in lightning burn marks and blood, he had a bit of a breakdown! There was sobbing, screaming, yelling at the world, the whole works! And when no one responded then, well--

"Did I just call you a moron? I'm sorry, I didn't mean that!" Scar says. "You know how I get sometimes. The world is beautiful and warm, but sometimes it gets a little hard to breathe around here! Now, where were we... oh, right! The trading post terraforming project! Now, we hit a bit of a snag the other day, what with the wandering traders I'd caught all sort of--dying--and all that, but luckily, more of them might show up any moment, and they really are vital to making the place feel alive and breathing. So today we're taking a break from that to build up some trees!"

He waves his arms like someone is listening. He'd like to imagine someone is. Grian told him he won--just because all the ghosts are quiet now doesn't mean they aren't there! And if that was a moment of temporary insanity, well, he probably--he needs to think it's not, is the thing! He absolutely needs to think it's not.

He hums and gathers more logs. His makeshift tree farms are pretty nice, if he does say so himself. He pauses as he hears distant howling and sighs. "I guess we will also be spending today cleaning up the wolf population! I swear, I have no idea what those people were thinking making a wolf spawner. A man takes a nap for a day and then the entire server is overrun with stupid white animals! And you know, I do hate having to cull the things, but, well, you know me. I've learned how to kill pretty well, I think, and really, dogs are easier to kill than people."

He grabs a sword from his chest and sharpens it. He keeps it perfectly clean so that there isn't too much blood on it. Good thing, too; most of the blood would probably be his. He's a bit clumsy, after all. He cuts his fingers on it all the time. No matter how well he bandages up his hands, he just keeps making them bleed, drip, drip, dripping blood on every path he walks down. No matter how hard he works to clean up his massive building projects, the little splatters of blood follow him, so he's sticking to dark colors where he can.

The flowers will probably show the blood, he thinks. The flowers and trees he's building. Hopefully, the blood doesn't stand out too much. It feels wrong, in a world where there are no bodies.

He stands up. He heads in the direction of today's pack of unwanted pests. He sighs. "You know, I know your question is, well gosh, Scar! All the previous winners died. When are you going to finish it off and kill yourself? And wow, that's a pretty dark question. You should be ashamed of yourself for asking, really." He laughs. It's not funny. Who cares.

Instead, he shakes his head.

"And, well, you have to understand. I'm not done building yet! I can make my base so much nicer looking! And besides, you're still handing me hearts. If I get hurt, I can just come back and get more from you! If you want to die, you have to kill me yourself. You fucking cowards!"

No response.

He sighs. "Well, that's enough of that for today. Sorry, I'm feeling kind of morose. It's all this sunshine! Can't be good for a man. Did you know populated servers rain more often than unpopulated ones? It's true! It's because people don't sleep enough. But here I am, getting all the sleep I need. Now, time to go kill some dogs and build some trees! I can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon, can you?"

His hands hurt. He ignores it. He ignores a lot of hurt, these days. It's not like it's hard.

[woodland-gremlin]

Lemons? Pt. 2 (Adoption AU)

Here's the first part:

Dick took another deep breath while leaning against the cool metal that made up most of the watchtower. As much as he appreciates puns and how much easier it will be to track down these kids' villain relatives with a last name he still feels a bit weak in the knees with these revelations being thrown out one after another. They talk about it so casually and that makes him sick to his stomach. Potential villain grandparents, their terrifying weapons that disregard ethics, and apparently weapons that make the one they mentioned seem tame in their eyes. All of that speaks of those kids going through something they shouldn’t have had to.

“Is that how Dad got his terrible naming sense?” the first voice asked, dragging Dick out of his depressing thoughts.

“Huh,” Ellie huffed out, “Never thought of that.”

“Tt. It is likely that it is a biological disposition if you consider the naming sense of those that share his species alongside the Fenton genes. Now cease this needless drivel and assist me with returning home.”

The more words that come out of these kids' mouths, the more Dick just wants to disregard any stealth and poke his head through the door’s opening so he can bundle them up in a bunch of blankets. Maybe ask a few questions about their dad and ask them how they would feel about being adopted by a billionaire. He is sure Bruce wouldn’t mind, even if they, or even just their dad, weren’t fully human from what they have said.

“Alright Dami,” said the first voice with the sound of something being shuffled in the background. “Though-” before they could continue the sound of something tearing cut them off.

“Wulf!” one of the kids cried with joy.

Before Dick could begin to panic and do something about a wolf of all things somehow getting into the watchtower the kids began to speak again.

“Wulf, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Dami said softly as if he was looking at a cute puppy.

“Yeah, and you have perfect timing too!” The first voice cheered.

“Just don’t tell Dad, okay?” Ellie asked.

A gruff voice replied in a language Dick has neither understood nor ever heard before.

“Oh come on,” Ellie groused, “It’s no big deal. No one even saw us.”

The new person just replied in the same strange language.

“All right, all right.” Dick could practically hear Elle roll her eyes while she continued to grumble, something about causing a prison riot and breaking out?!?

The sound of feet shuffling and zipping was all he heard before it became silent.

After a minute of silence Dick peeked into the meeting room which he previously heard the kids in only to find it devoid of anyone. A lemon lying on the floor being the only evidence that he didn’t hallucinate the whole thing.

Note: Dick later checks out the security footage of where the kids were only for the footage to be full of static for the whole encounter.

[aemondwhoresworld]

SYRENA — PROLOGUE

pairing: gwayne hightower x targaryen!reader

summary: on her ten-and-eight name day, her father, the king viserys i targaryen promise y/n she can have whatever she wish for since it’s her name day, even a man that she always been dreamed about. ser gwayne hightower

part of series: SYRENA | word-count: 3,3k

inspo: syrena by kiki rockwell

warning: angst to fluff, arrange marriage, infidelity, mention of cheating, use of y/n, aemma arryn still alive in this, etc.

au: i am a long time reader but this is my 3rd time to write, so there will might be a mistake here and there, english is not my first language, i did use google translate for some part, also use an online high valyrian translator. any feedback, comment, like and reblog are the motivation for me to wrote next part of this series (if you wanted to), and also please if you have any idea to add into to this, that’s would be lovely too!! anyways i hope you enjoy my first ever series

DIVIDER by targaryen-dynasty

There was a calmness that filled the room, with only the gentle sound of breathing and the feeling of anticipation in the air. "The hour of the wolf" — that period when the night has not yet fully faded, but dawn has yet to arrive — is a time you rarely experience. Though there is a hint of fatigue, something within you waits for those first rays of light.

You sense the silence of the space around you, yet within, there is a strange liveliness, as though you are grasping a precious and fragile moment between the vague and the real. Gradually, you begin to notice the gentle light from outside creeping in, stirring you from the initial stillness.

Could today be a special day? Yes, it is indeed, King Viserys I Targaryen, the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms name day

The hurried footsteps and the clatter of armor outside blend with the room’s tranquility, creating an interesting contrast. It seems the world outside is bustling and hurried with its tasks, while you remain in the calm and peaceful atmosphere of your bedchamber.

The soft fragrance of flowers and scented candles from the previous night still lingered, creating a soothing and comforting atmosphere. These scents seemed to evoke memories of a peaceful, long night, where you could let yourself sink into a deep sleep without the worries of the outside world other duties that come with being a Princess.

The bedroom retained its warmth and familiarity, like a small haven shielding you from the chaos and stress of life outside. In this moment, you felt a sense of safety and tranquility within your private space, before stepping out to face the world.

The gentle footsteps of Elin, your handmaiden, echoed faintly from outside the door — a sound you had grown so familiar with that you recognized it without needing to look. No matter what state you were in, her footsteps always brought a sense of reassurance and comfort. In this Keep, respect was expressed through small gestures, such as how Elin patiently knocked before entering, even knowing you might still be asleep. She understood every small detail of your life, from daily habits to personal preferences, ensuring that you always felt respected and properly cared for.

The sound of her footsteps and knocking served as the beginning of a new day, carrying with them the peace and care that Elin always provided. Your only true friend.

Elin entered with a concerned expression, her eyes showing a hint of confusion when she saw you were already awake. Her voice was gentle but filled with sincere care, “Princess, did I make too much noise and wake you?” Elin knew you were usually a deep sleeper, nearly impossible to rouse, but today was an exception.

She stood there holding the items for your morning routine — a soft towel, a bottle of scented water, and a few delicate vials of essential oils. Elin's face showed slight unease as she realized you had risen before dawn, something she had never witnessed. Nevertheless, her eyes still reflected the caution and readiness to serve.

You smiled gently at her, your gaze softening to ease her worries. “It’s fine, Elin, I simply wanted to wake up early today,” you replied with a calm yet authoritative tone. Slowly, you sat up, feeling each muscle stretch as you raised your arms to loosen your body. The gentle sensation spread through your limbs, bringing full alertness to your mind.

You stood, letting the faint morning light filter through the curtains and touch your skin. The sounds from outside continued, but now, you no longer paid them any mind. You stepped into a small private chamber separated by a wooden door, a space where you often found peace and privacy.

This room, though simple, was where you felt most at ease — a sanctuary for personal moments amidst the rush of palace life. Elin remained still behind you, patiently waiting, as always, ready to assist you with your morning preparations with unwavering dedication and loyalty.

Elin carefully helped you into a deep crimson gown, a garment of refined craftsmanship and elegance. Every stitch was made with meticulous attention, reflecting the dignity of House Targaryen. The gown was gently cinched at the waist, accentuating your figure, and the intricate patterns on the collar, bearing the Targaryen sigil, served as a reminder of the thick dragon's blood running through your veins.

Elin continued her familiar, deliberate movements, fastening a pair of ruby earrings to your ears — the deep red stones matching your gown perfectly. These earrings were more than just accessories; they were a meaningful gift from Rhaenyra, the sister you admired and loved dearly. You raised a hand to adjust the earrings, ensuring they sat perfectly in place.

This piece of jewelry had become an inseparable part of you, a symbol of loyalty and attachment. When you wore them, you not only felt protected by your family’s love but also imbued with strength, confidence, and the determination to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Elin finished her task, stepping back to admire her work. You stood there in the crimson gown, the ruby earrings sparkling like symbols of power and eternity.

You paused briefly, gazing at your reflection in the mirror, then called out, “Come in,” your voice just loud enough to carry through the door, summoning the person outside.

The door opened slowly and carefully. Someone entered with respect, creating no loud noises or disturbances in your peaceful space. The light from the hallway trickled into the room, but it could not overpower the serenity within.

Rhaenyra entered, her eyes lighting up with mild surprise at the sight of you already dressed. 

“Sister” she called, her voice carrying its familiar warmth, though she couldn’t hide her surprise.

“Nyra,” you responded with a soft smile, meeting her gaze directly. Both of you were well-acquainted with each other’s small jokes, and immediately, Rhaenyra burst into laughter, teasing you, 

“Oh, right on time! I thought you would still be struggling to get out of bed.” Her voice carried a hint of humor, as if she was intentionally trying to provoke a reaction from you.

You smiled, your eyes sparkling. "It's Father's birthday today, so I have to do something to surprise him… to make him proud," you replied with a tone that was both slightly excited and mature. Both of you understood that this wasn’t just any day; it was an occasion to honor and reinforce the bonds of your family.

In the early morning light, which now allowed you to clearly see Rhaenyra, you and your sister shared this intimate moment, filled with love and a deep connection between the two of you. The morning had not fully dawned yet, but you could sense that this day would be memorable, full of unexpected events, and, most importantly, marked by the presence of family love in every moment.

“Come, father and mother and others are waiting for us to break our fast together”

Rhaenyra smiled and extended her hand towards you, a familiar gesture since you were both children. You took her hand, feeling the warmth and comfort that she always brought. Despite your age, this vast Red Keep still felt like a labyrinth at times, and Rhaenyra’s presence always made you feel less lost.

The two of you walked together through the long, cold corridors of the Red Keep, where the early morning light had only just begun to filter through. As you approached the breakfast room of House Targaryen, you saw your father, King Viserys, seated regally at the head of the table. To his right was your mother, Aemma Arryn, her face gentle yet carrying the characteristic contemplative expression she always wore. Rhaenyra took her seat to his left, and you sat beside your mother, feeling the bond and tranquility of family in the air.

Alicent Hightower, daughter of Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, sat beside Rhaenyra. Alicent always maintained a polite and reserved demeanor, though her presence within the Targaryen family created an unspoken distance that you could never quite overlook.

You approached King Viserys, looking into his kind eyes. “Good morrow, and Happy name day, father” you said softly, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his weathered cheek, marked by age and the heavy burdens of kingship. His face brightened with a warm smile as he responded, 

“Thank you, my dear daughter.”

As you and Rhaenyra approached the table, Otto Hightower looked up, nodding in greeting with a deep, courteous tone, "Good morrow, Princesses." You returned the nod, maintaining your poised demeanor as a princess, “Morrow, Otto.” Your gaze quickly shifted to Alicent, who always wore a calm and pleasant expression.

Alicent offered you a soft smile, her face friendly but composed, a subtle gesture of polite acknowledgment. You responded with a gentle smile of your own, one that was both delicate yet sincere, showing respect and a sense of connection between the two of you. In this royal space, every gesture and glance carried layers of meaning far deeper than words, and you recognized that despite the complexities surrounding you, moments like this still managed to create a brief sense of peace.

The morning light gradually filled the room, and you could feel the harmony among the family members, at least during this breakfast. The exchanged smiles, though subtle, brought a warmth that momentarily alleviated the heavy responsibilities and power that came with being part of the Targaryen bloodline.

You smiled softly at your mother before taking your seat beside her. The breakfast proceeded in a warm, cozy atmosphere, the gentle clink of cutlery mingling with the light yet meaningful conversations. King Viserys and Otto Hightower discussed tonight’s grand feast — a significant event where all the Lords and Ladies from across the realm were invited to celebrate.

You quietly enjoyed your meal, listening to the conversation and savoring the rare moment of calm, even though you knew that for kings and nobles, such peace could vanish at any moment. Yet, for this morning, everything seemed to be in its rightful place.

After breaking your fast, you retreated to your favorite place: the library. This was the space you always sought whenever you wanted to escape the pressures of royal life, or simply when you desired solitude. Surrounding you were towering bookshelves, filled with countless precious volumes. You immersed yourself in the world of stories and knowledge, a sense of peace washing over you as you turned the pages.

You were halfway through reading one of your favorite books, allowing yourself to get lost in its captivating words. But then, the sound of commotion from the carriages outside reached your ears, breaking the quiet of the library. Cheers of excitement, particularly the enthusiastic voice of Alicent, echoed through the thick walls. Clearly, something exciting had just happened outside, but you found yourself uninterested.

Ignoring the noise, you tried to refocus on the book in your hands. The letters on the pages filled your mind, drawing you back into the story, as if offering you an escape from the stirrings of palace life. You were aware that there were many important matters happening outside, but in this moment, the world within the pages was all you needed.

The outdoor luncheon had been in full swing for some time, the air lively with laughter, conversation, and the pleasant clatter of utensils creating a cheerful and relaxed atmosphere. You stood with Rhaenyra, nibbling on a few delightful dishes and chatting, occasionally breaking into laughter that mingled with the festive ambiance. But in a brief moment, you noticed that Alicent was nowhere to be seen, which caused you a flicker of surprise.

Just as you began to wonder about her, Alicent appeared in the distance, approaching with a radiant smile on her face.

"Princess, allow me to introduce Ser Gwayne Hightower, my brother from Oldtown," Alicent said with pride evident in her voice. You looked beyond her and saw a tall young man with auburn hair and striking blue eyes. Ser Gwayne was clad in gleaming armor, the collar of his cloak bearing the sigil of House Hightower, a clear symbol of his family’s status.

"It is an honor to meet you, Princess," Ser Gwayne said with formal grace. He bowed slightly, lifting your hand and placing a gentle kiss upon it, a sign of his respect.

You smiled faintly, your voice soft yet firm, a clear reflection of your station, "The honor is mine." Without another word, you turned and walked away, your steps deliberately slow as you made your way towards the royal gardens — a place where you always found peace on bright, sunny days.

As you reached a quieter part of the garden, you suddenly heard your name called from behind. You paused, a hint of surprise in your eyes. Ser Gwayne's voice reached you, 

"Might I escort you for a while, or perhaps join you for a walk through the gardens?"

You turned back to find Ser Gwayne standing there, his eyes expectant. Patience was etched on his face, as though he would wait for as long as necessary for your response, fully respectful of your every move.

"If that is your wish, Ser," you replied, your tone distant yet polite. You resumed your walk, hearing the hurried steps of Ser Gwayne behind you as he tried to match your pace. In the stillness of the garden, you wondered what this knight from Oldtown might bring into the already intricate web of your life.

Ser Gwayne walked beside you in the garden, a slightly improper gesture since a knight is typically expected to follow a few steps behind a princess. However, you did not mind, as he posed no apparent threat to you. After a lengthy stroll, the two of you arrived at the area with the stone benches where you often rested. You sat down on the intricately carved bench, while Ser Gwayne stood nearby, his demeanor somewhat reserved.

Noticing this, you broke the silence 

"Ser Gwayne, you may sit with me," you said, lightly patting the empty space beside you, signaling for him to sit.

"Is that appropriate, Princess?" he asked, his tone tinged with concern. As a knight, Ser Gwayne was fully aware of the consequences of any misstep regarding you—it would be considered treason, a fate no one, especially he, wished to face.

"Of course," you replied, looking at him with a playful glint in your eye, "Your princess permits it." You smiled mischievously, as if to test his nervousness. Ser Gwayne responded with a slight smile before sitting down beside you.

The two of you gazed at the garden together, watching the flowers gently sway in the breeze. You shared with each other your personal interests, hobbies, small yet captivating stories. Time seemed to pass quickly, and by now, the sun had begun to set, signaling that the evening feast was near.

"I think it's time I return to my chambers to prepare for the feast," you said softly, smiling as you stood up. You bowed gracefully before turning to leave.

But before you could take a step, Ser Gwayne offered, "Then let me escort you," his voice still warm and courteous.

You gently shook your head in refusal, your tone light but firm “There is no need, Ser Gwayne”. You wished to avoid any rumors that might disturb your life or tarnish both your reputations. Smiling, you bid him farewell and turned to walk towards the stairs leading into the Red Keep, heading to your chambers to prepare for the grand feast tonight.

The friendship between you and Ser Gwayne began to blossom through the intimate and profound conversations you shared during his stay in King's Landing. Before meeting him, your life seemed to revolve around books and solitary strolls in the garden. But since Ser Gwayne’s arrival, he has filled those lonely voids, bringing new joy and happiness into your life.

Despite the age difference, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling deeper into your feelings for Ser Gwayne. The meetings and conversations with him made you realize that your heart had begun to stir, and that love was growing increasingly intense. Just at the age of ten and six

Ser Gwayne’s presence had transformed your life, bringing emotions you had never experienced before. Are you ready to face the challenges and difficulties that this relationship may bring, especially when Ser Gwayne must leave?

You had just dismounted your dragon, feeling the cool breeze as you touched the ground. After handing Matarys to the dragonkeeper, you began to walk inside the Red Keep. Not far in, you encountered Rhaenyra, the sister you always trusted. She approached you, her eyes showing a mix of concern and sadness.

“Since Ser Gwayne arrived, I’ve seen you much happier, dear sister” Rhaenyra began, her voice filled with genuine concern. It was clear she was worried that what she was about to say would bring you sadness.

You looked at her anxiously, your heart filled with emotion, and urged her, “Oh Nyra, just tell me already.”

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and then slowly said, “Ser Gwayne is preparing to return to Oldtown.”

Before your sister could say anything more, you felt your heart clench. You brushed past Rhaenyra, quickly making your way towards the door leading to the front courtyard. It didn’t take long to find him; with just a glance, you recognized the familiar figure of Ser Gwayne, who was preparing to depart.

You approached Ser Gwayne, gently placing your hand on his shoulder, feeling the firmness through his armor. Ser Gwayne turned his head, his eyes briefly showing surprise upon seeing you. But soon after, you could see a sadness in his eyes. Those eyes seemed to reflect his inner turmoil — not just about leaving his loved ones in Kings Landing, but also about parting from you, someone he had grown attached to.

The two of you stood there, your eyes meeting in a moment of silence. In his eyes, you recognized a deep sorrow, perhaps similar to what you were feeling in your heart. No one knew when you might meet again, and that only made this moment all the more difficult.

Ser Gwayne softly broke the silence, as if to lighten the heavy atmosphere, 

“Princess Y/n,” he addressed you, acknowledging your presence, before continuing, “Is there something I can do for you, Princess?”

You ignored his question, your emotions welling up, allowing you only to say, “Ser Gwayne… I did not expect you to leave so soon.” Your words were filled with uncertainty, but also a hint of shyness and hesitation.

Ser Gwayne looked directly at you, his expression softening. “I apologize, Princess, but I didn’t expect me to leave so soon either,” he said, his tone tinged with regret. He had turned fully towards you, facing you so he could see your face more clearly. Before you could respond, he continued, “But I promise you, Princess, that once I’m in Oldtown, I will write to you often.”

Ser Gwayne’s promise offered some comfort, but it couldn’t dispel the sadness in your heart. You could only nod and reply in a soft voice, “I will wait for your letters, Gwayne.”

Not wanting to prolong the farewell, you quickly turned and walked back inside the Red Keep. You knew that if you stayed longer, watching Ser Gwayne leave on horseback, you might not be able to bear the pain.

As you entered, Rhaenyra was waiting, wrapping you in her warm embrace. She gently stroked your silver-blonde hair and, with a soothing voice, reassured you, “Ziry jāhor māzigon arlī.” But at that moment, those comforting words couldn’t stop you from breaking down into tears. The sobs wracked your body, leaving you unable to speak, as you leaned into your sister’s arms, letting the pain slowly subside.

“He will come back” You whispers in your thought

[to be continue...]

please let me know what you think about this first chapter of my first series!!! please be nice and thank you so much for reading til the very end

add yourself into this series taglist HERE

taglist: @allyly ; @moonfl3uur ; @secretf1lms ; @anpacax0 ; @beebeechaos ; @tatolover0821 ; @sachaa-ff ; @coubalts ; @scarlettsft ; @lunaloomer ; @scarlettsft ; @liafiction ; @dunevitani ; @mimivtaem

[glacierclear]

Disorganized rambling lore dump for Eden (sorta for my own reference, for the purpose of categorizing thoughts!)

Exploring the concept of a werewolf who doesn't know they're a werewolf and lives in constant denial, despite all the warning signs.

D&D lore seems to revolve a lot around "rejecting" or "embracing" your lycanthropy and I thought it would be interesting to conceptualize a character that rejects it so thoroughly they don't even know they have it.

Eden Glee was the youngest sibling of a strong and resourceful family. They didn't have a lot. They lived within their means, and relied on one another. Eden was playful. Mischievous. Ventured too far, took miscalculated risks, and frequently caused trouble for their family. Eden was always an unlucky child.

They met the wolf alone one night. In an attempt to free the poor creature's leg from a trap, it attacked them, marring their face and inflicting them with lycanthropy. They managed to run home, crying and telling their family that a strange dog had bit them in the woods, unaware of its true nature.

On the night of their first transformation, their family was killed.

To them, they were the sole survivor of a vicious attack, not realizing they were the true culprit.

Wherever they went, death followed. They fled to towns. Villages. Remote settlements. Every month brought new corpses. Of course, they came to the most obvious conclusion.

With motivations unknown, the beast must have followed them, bonding on the night they had met.

So, Eden chose isolation. They ventured east, building a home for themselves in the deep forests of Cormanthor. They became self-sufficient. The further they were from people, the safer everyone would be.

Time lost structure. In the years spent hiding, months intermingled, and gaps in their cognition blurred. It no longer felt odd to lose days' worth of memories. That's just how the cycle worked when you lived alone. Surely, this is just that "cabin fever" people would talk about.

Every so often, they'd stumble upon new carnage. A desecrated animal corpse. A ripped up tree trunk. The remains of unfortunate wanderers passing through the woods. All reminders that the beast still lurked. It still followed.

And it was easy to take things as they came. To dismiss changes in their body as explainable phenomena.

Staring at the moon made them uncomfortable now. The light almost itched the blood beneath their skin. But they had always preferred the daytime, anyways. The only reason they were in this mess to begin with was because they were out past dark. It made sense to grow wary. Silver burned and stung their flesh. Mama's necklace had to be sealed away in a box. But their big brother once developed a strawberry allergy when they were young. It wasn't outside of the realm of possibility that this was a similar case. They had always preferred the look of bronze, anyways. Their family would grow wolfsbane. It made excellent poisons, and they'd pick the flowers to decorate their hair, even if it numbed their hands and tingled their scalp. But now, just the sight of it horrified them, triggering an almost guttural, vicious reaction. But...grief manifested in strange places. Perhaps the reminder was too painful, even after so long.

But, worse than anything else, they just missed the world. They missed friends and laughter and warm fires shared with those they loved. The weight they shouldered was heavy, but as long as the beast still lived, they would not risk another. God, they could not lose another.

They were beyond seeking answers. The best they could do was manage the circumstance. Ward away as many as they could. Keep people out.

Maybe there was no explanation. No reason for why this happened each and every month. That was just the nature of bad luck.

And throughout the years, that had never changed.

Eden was always an unlucky child.

[coryosbaby]

𝑀𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑀𝓎 𝐻𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹

Ramsay Bolton x fem! Reader

Content warning . Acts of manipulation, arranged marriage, Stockholme syndrome, nsfw. Reader is implied to be plus sized but perceive her however you want. 18+, MDNI !!

*. ੈ♡*ੈ⸝⋆

Ramsay Bolton was never someone you intended to love, but it wasn’t long after your arranged marriage that you started to fall for him.

As much as you hated to say it, the man had a specific… softness for you. You knew deep down that it was probably a manipulation tactic to make you more vulnerable towards him, but it was working like a charm, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. When you were both asleep in your chambers— see, he had had a room specifically designed for you to both sleep in the same bed— you would curl up onto his chest, sleepily smacking your lips and muttering a “g’night, Ramsay,” as you drifted off into slumber.

A slumber that you always felt safe in, for some strange reason.

Ramsay would only hum, his grip around your waist almost possessive even as you both slept. If you got too uncomfortable when staying in that position for too long, you would flip over. Ramsay would soon follow suit, his arm slinging itself over your waist, mumbling something like, “keep still, pup,” as he pulled you close against his chest. That was your routine every night after the first month, curled up in each other’s embrace.

During the day he would go hunting. You didn’t dare ask what he hunted for, though you had a vague suspicion. You didn’t mind the handmaidens gossiping around you so you could learn more about your husband, and so far, it wasn’t anything good. Not that there was anything good that you heard to begin with—It was no secret what Ramsay Bolton did behind closed doors. When he would come back from a hunt, he would be giddy, proud, caked in blood and gore, an almost violent smile on his face. You would smile back at him, glancing up with sweet eyes as he pulled you into his arms. He would kiss you hard on the mouth, hands traveling down to the hem of your dress— “Shouldn’t I get a reward for my hard work, lady wife?”— and then he would bend you over the nearest surface and make you cum on his cock for hours, ridding you of any apprehension or thought.

You didn’t mind these things. You were married, after all, and Ramsay Bolton was definitely skilled in a lot of aspects. This included playing your body like a violin, rubbing and licking and pushing in ways that made you squirm. He loved to be in between your thighs and eat your cunt like a man starved, or thrust his fingers into your needy hole until you were releasing messily all over his mouth. He’d bend you in half instead of over on a lot of nights, putting all his weight on top of you so you couldn’t move away from him.

So you couldn’t escape him.

There were hardships sometimes. Ramsay would be in a very angry mood, and you would do something very minor and it would upset him— he’d yell at you, call you names and laugh in your face when you began to cry, or he’d scream some more if you decided to snap back at him. But it was all because he was a blind person when he was angry; you didn’t try and judge him too harshly for that. He had a long fuse when it came to you, compared to the others.

Regardless, he would always return to you the night of the argument, covered in blood once again, with apologies on his tongue and a gift on occasion. Like the wolf pup he had gifted you on your twentieth name day— “A protector for when I’m not around. You look so perfect when you smile, my beautiful girl.”— or his head between your thighs. Whichever worked, really.

When he asked you to accompany him on a hunt one day, your eyebrows had raised in surprise. What could he have awaiting in those woods for you to shoot down with a bow and arrow? You wondered about it, and honestly dreamed of the day when you as a lady would have the freedom to learn the ways of hunting. But when you got there, there was no prey to be found.

None except you, of course.

It wasn’t as scary as it sounds. Ramsay had left his weapons behind, which you noticed once you got a decent way into the woods. Such a ditzy little thing you were, always in your own world and too far gone to even notice. Ramsay had told you to run, that you were both playing tag. When you were It, he had shoved you down onto the forest floor and lifted up your skirts, a growl evident in his throat as he claimed you.

“Mine.”

You had came back to the castle, shy, your dress’ bodice ripped from Ramsay’s rough manhandling. No one said a thing, and Ramsay gave you the reward of keeping his cock warm while you slept.

When you bathed, he loved to watch you. You never understood why, but you assumed it may have been some weird sort of intimacy that only Ramsay Bolton would want with his partner. He would sit in a seat reserved just for him, and he would watch your body sink into the water, bare breasts supple and soaped. He would watch the curve of your ear as you pushed your wet hair out of your eyes and the Cupid’s bow above your lip. Sometimes he loved to admire the thatch of hair between your legs, covering the place he loved most, or the soft tummy you had grown to have because he fed you good, hearty food.

Other times, he would listen to the tinkling of your laugh as he told you something that was funny. He would pass on his information of Philosophy and the fine arts which Roose had forced him to learn, and he would adore how excited you got when he taught you these things. It seemed like everytime, eyes wide with fascination, you would bloom, like a pretty orchid or a wild rose.

Ramsay swooned when you presented your psyche to him this way, but you never knew that unless he told you such.

One night he had even helped you bathe. He had gathered a sponge and a bar of soap, had asked quietly if he could do the work for you. You had been exhausted from the previous day and had nodded your head, sighing in content when he begun to gently rub the sponge over your back. He had ran it over your shoulders, arms, thighs, every nook and cranny just to watch the contortions of your form. He had washed you off, and with a soft voice as sweet as honey, began to speak.

“Do you trust me?”

You didn’t know how to reply to him, though you knew answer already.

“Yes.”

He had tilted his head, something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. He resumed his tasks, now moving on to massage your scalp with soft fingers. He had gently pushed your head under the water so he could rinse your hair, and his hands had held you under. Not forcefully, it seemed, but he wanted to.. keep you there. And you let him. Your body relaxed against the warmth of his hands and the waves, and it was then that you realized he could hurt you at any moment. Drown you, hold you under and water board you, beat your head against the tub until your brain splattered to mush.

But he didn’t. And as you stared at him, eyes wide through the water, watching his blue eyes staring back at you, you knew then that you were completely and utterly fucked.

You hated yourself for it, for this revelation that overcame you in that moment: You were basking in this man, in the complete darkness that was Ramsay Bolton. You didn’t know how or why it became this way, but you liked your husband, big and strong, there to keep you and hold you and gift you small trinkets and whisper sweet nothings. It was almost too much.

But that night, you curled up onto his chest anyway, like a kitten, purring in a soft lilt, “I love you, Ramsay.”

He had squeezed your hand tight, a small smile on his face. This is exactly what he wanted.

“I know you do, little dove.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

[misskingshit]

𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 summary: You had no idea who you were talking to wasn't who you thought they were. Note: Another one bc i’m free and bored. This is like a mix of my two favorite Teen Wolf things, Stiles and Void Stiles😩.xoxo

"I'm here! I'm sorry I'm late I fell asleep" you said trying to catch your breath.

Scott's house was completely empty, you would have left if it hadn't been for a noise that was heard from the kitchen, like a glass I feel leaning against the counter.

"Guys? Is there anyone?" After quickly analyzing the situation for a few seconds, it's strange that Scott sent you a text message asking you to go home if he wasn't going to be there later, but the message said that the whole group was there... and here all the lights are off.

"Scott?" you asked again, slightly poking your head around the kitchen.

"You arrived" a familiar voice made you jump in place, behind you the figure of your pale friend appeared.

"Shit Stiles, don't do that again" you put a hand on your chest.

"I'm sorry" he said with his typical mocking tone.

Wait...Stiles shouldn't...?

"Stiles? where are the boys?" you asked frowning a little.

"Oh, don't worry, they went out to buy some things, they won't be long back."

He seemed perfect, the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he looked at you, his tone of voice and even the way he looked, it seemed to be Stiles, but…

"You feel good?" you couldn't help but ask.

"I feel great, why do you ask?" He frowned a little at him.

"It's just that, with everything that's happening, with everything that's happening to you, you know, it seems strange to me that they leave you alone and without being tied up and that, without anyone to watch you" you stared at his eyes for a few seconds "whatever, I brought pizza, I didn't get to eat at home and..."

"Maybe that's why you're here" he says, interrupting you.

You just look at him strangely, you want to believe that he's Stiles, but you feel something strange, it's hard to explain "because of the pizza?" you tried to joke.

He just smiled sideways, without breaking the exchange of glances "no, you know that, no" he begins to get closer to you "you are here to watch him" he finally lets go.

"Watch him?"

"To Stiles."

Shit.

"You…Stiles are…" he cups your cheek and strokes it lightly, his thumb pressing against your lips to silence you.

"He thinks you're cute, very beautiful, I honestly think so too" being so close now it seems that dark circles have appeared out of nowhere under his eyes, you hadn't noticed them before.

"How come you…what do you want?" There were so many doubts you had, the confusion you had and, although you don't want to admit it, the fear, that your brain didn't know very well where to start questioning.

"I want a lot of things, that includes absolutely all your friends dead, but, Stiles wants you and somehow that makes me want you even more" he leans closer to you, sticking your bodies together "you could be my exception".

———

OK, for some reason I don't like anything I'm writing, but it is what it is, so I leave it in your hands, I hope you enjoy it.

(Remember that English is not my native language, so sorry for any mistakes.

[bikananjarrus]

i have a few thoughts about how the lost hero actually sets up the darker tone for HoO really well and then. well. there was never any follow through.

now some of my hindsight about TLH is probably fueled by nostalgia (i actually am really fond of tlh and also i was 14 when i read. impressionable on my teen brain). i’ve reread it several times, but i have really strong memories of the first time i read the book too, and i just remember it having a very gloomy, dark vibe to it. (the way that TTC is set in winter and definitely feels like a winter book, this is the HoO equivalent for me.)

looking at the actual contents of the book, the book starting off with jason's pov, who has no idea who he is, so immediately the feeling is 'oh shit. something happened to this guy. and it's not good.' and then almost immediately after that, getting sucker punched with the “she's been looking for one of our campers, who’s been missing three days…her boyfriend. A guy named percy jackson.” percy??? thee percy jackson. MISSING???? (look, that put 14 year old me flat on the floor. it still hits. but in 2010 when we had no idea percy was going to even be in these books….you kinda just had to be there okay.)

alongside jason, we have piper, whose dad got kidnapped by a giant and she'd being blackmailed! all before she finds out she's a demigod!! like she's already having a ROUGH time. we find out leo was manipulated by gaea to use his flame powers, which resulted in the fire that killed his mom (genuinely wtf).

their quest starting the lead up to the second great prophecy, which is happening so soon after percy's great prophecy (like they JUST finished fighting a war. give them a chance to breathe dammit. but also implying that some major things stirred with the defeat of kronos. But how could there be something more horrifying than kronos?).

their quest taking them to all these abandoned and/or cold places (the run down wolf house, they're hiding in the sewers at one point, the cyclops lair in that abandoned warehouse, the cave where they shelter from the cold and where the hunters of artemis find them, boreas’s house being in canada, even the mall where they meet medea being empty iirc). jason being abandoned by his mother. piper feeling abandoned by a father who doesn't have enough time for her. leo being alone too (not his mom's fault she died; not his fault for the fire; but he's alone nonetheless). even their primary mode of transportation being flying on festus feels strange and out of the place, bc for so long, we were seeing through percy's eyes and he had to stay on the ground.

and then to end the book with jason dying, however briefly. literally a dead man walking from the very beginning.

the tone was something different and darker, and combined with percy, hazel, and frank going to alaska, the land beyond the gods, in SoN, we were really venturing into unknown territory. it felt like our heroes would be tested. that gaea truly was something to be feared, even more so than kronos, and that it would take the generation's seven greatest demigods to defeat her.

and then it never followed through with that set up.

[fan-goddess]

could you write something with dom!aegon idk why i get the feeling that he’d be downright mean when he’s jealous 😵‍💫

Authors Note: Of course I can! I definitely see what you mean so I made him mean especially for you 😉 (also just realised this is my first Aegon request 😅)

Summary: Aegon doesn’t like it when you talk to his brother

Warnings: jealousy, spanking, dirty talk, P in v sex, orgasm denial, ass play if you squint, breeding kink (if I miss any let me know)

Taglist: @lovelykhaleesiii,

The ball has been the hands idea of uniting whatever support they had. A joyful occasion he had claimed. Yet when everyone turned up and the music tuned for people to dance to, no one did. It turned into a political evening where men would show there wives off and drink till there hearts content.

Your own husband was more leaning towards the second part. He’d left you early in the evening when a tray of a dornish red passed him and he chased after it eagerly like a wolf in the north would chase its prey, and as annoyed as you should be by his departure you cannot help but find it strangely endearing.

“I’m surprised my brother has left you alone, given his habits.” A voice breaks you from your thoughts, and when you turn around you are greeted by the face of Aemond.

“A certain Dornish Red took his priorities. Is Helaena not with you?”

“The noise and chatter, aswell as the stress of the babe became too much for her, so she’s gone to enjoy the company of the twins.” A rare small smile makes its way on Aemonds face at the mention of his dear wife and the children. It’s adorable to see the usual stoic and emotionless Aemond find such utter joy in the small family he has made for himself.

“Ahh. Give her my best when you see her next please dear brother.” You yourself cannot help but smile too. Helaena always seemed to have that effect on people. Making them adore her with no real intention.

Aemond and yourself talk like this for a while, with the only interruption being the refill of each others cups. You make sure to inquire on how Helaena’s doing as of late. The babe it seems is making her latest pregnancy more challenging than her time with the twins. Aemond reassures you though he is making her rest, as much as she protests to both his and your amusement.

Eventually though, the night begins to turn dark, and Aemonds eye seems to drift to something behind your figure.

“It appears my brother is done with that Dornish red…” He trails with a smirk. Your head turns with a smile, expecting to find Aegon with a kind smile. Only instead, Aegons face is practically thundering. His eyebrows are furrowed with a matching glare, but it’s not aimed at you. It’s aimed at Aemond.

The music that once loudly played throughout the hall, aswell as the overwhelming murmur of politics goes silent as Aegons eyes meet yours. He begins to make to make his way over to you both from the other side of the hall, and you can practically hear the thundering footsteps echo in your mind.

His eyes which whilst he walked were on you, now look to his brother with a thunderous look in them.

“Hello Aemond. You seem to be enjoying my wife’s attention an awful lot.”

“Yes brother. Me and her were just discussing how Helaena has been recently. You do remember her yes? My own wife?” Aemonds tone is one of a condescending nature. It almost makes you laugh. Yet only a hint of a smile appears. Both you and Aemond are well aware of Aegons possessive side. Sometimes the two of you would joke on how Aegon would sometimes wish to lock you in a tower and only he would have the key. Not that he’d ever dare do that of course.

Aegon eyes flicker to your lips as you quirk them, and with the rage you can slowly see festering in his eyes you know Aegon will most likely not forget it any time soon.

“It appears I have grown too much into my cups,” Aegon begins to say. His hand, which once clutched heavily on his goblet, now interlaces your fingers together tightly. “My wife I believe needs to fulfil her duties and escort me to our chambers.”

The look Aegon gives you, as well as the current grip that he holds, leaves no room for debate. He practically drags you by your arm from Aemond, with the latter laughing slightly whilst his brother does this.

When you arrive at your marriage chambers, one of the Cargyll twins is guarding the entrance, and turns to the both of you when he hears the thundering footsteps belonging to your husband.

“No one is to disturb us tonight Cargyll. No one to enter me and my wife’s chambers under any circumstance.” It’s not a suggestion, nor an ask. It’s a command with no room for disagreement. The guard nods his head with a murmured agreement, and steps aside to let you two in.

When you do both enter though, Aegon practically throws you in the direction of your shared bed. The thunderous look, whilst softened in your presence, still holds the same look of anger. “Get on the bed wife” He demands. While his eyes are soft, the tone he uses and the way his pants seem to tighten are not soft in anyway.

You follow his instructions obediently, sitting on the bed looking at him. He makes his way towards you, now towering over you while his fingers pinch your chin and lift your head to look him in the eyes.

“You weren’t acting very much like my wife at the ball today. You were acting like his wife…” By the way he hisses the word you know he’s talking about Aemond. Aegons always felt inferior to Aemond, and the sight of him making his wife laugh and be happy must’ve pushed him over the edge.

“I think I should punish you” he muses. His grip almost seems to tighten when he’s in thought. Though the mixture of the faint pain the grip gives and the atmosphere of the room makes a small whimper echo in the chamber.

Aegon focuses his gaze back to you at the sound. His mouth curving to a dark smile. “Flip you dress, hand me your smallclothes and bend over the fucking bed.” Again, there is no sympathy. Only a fake kindness and a dark intention.

When you take of your smallclothes, they’re already damp with how wet you are. Now they’re off, you can only run your thighs together to stop the slick from pooling on the part of the bed you lay on.

It’s only worse when you turn around to watch Aegon, and find him slightly sniffing your smallclothes before placing them in a pants pocket. “I think ten is a good number. Ten spanks for laughing and flirting with my brother?”

“I wasn’t flirting with him!” You snarl. A sudden burst of confidence hit you. It goes away though as quickly as it came though, as a sudden harsh slap is directed to your ass cheek.

“That one was for talking back to your husband. These ones I want you to count. If you can’t, we’ll start again.”

The first slap comes down hard and fast. You barely manage to utter the first number before his hand comes down on you again. He does this a few more times, giving various pauses both for you to moan a number and for him to get the element of surprise.

“What number are we on now little whore?” Your head feels like it’s working. So much so you’re barely able to utter the number. “Say it louder for me princess. Be a good wife for me…”

“It’s seven husband…” You whimper.

He praises you before making quick work of getting the slaps over and done with. Each time you whimper the remaining words louder with a whine. “Well don’t I have such a little whore for a wife…” His hand caresses the deep red skin that’s taken the slight shape of his hand, and laughs when you slightly edge away from him. “Oh no dear wife you stay right there. Besides…” The same hand travels from your ass to your soaking cunt. There’s no barrier between you two, so when his fingers swipe at your soaking cunt you cannot help but moan in denied pleasure. “It appears you fucking loved it either way…”

When you turn around, you practically feel yourself salivating at the sight of your husband slurping at the wetness he picked up with his fingertips. It only gets worse when you turn back around, and hear the sound of Aegon undoing his belt and the rustling of his clothes. You can’t help yourself from turning around again, and feel a whole new patch of wetness forming at the sight of his nude form. The stretch marks from his recent weight increase aswell as the marks and scars he received from battle were nothing but glorious to admire.

“I thought I told you to turn around?” He teasingly asks, slighting pinching the red skin he’d slapped raw earlier. You whimper slightly, but it’s quickly replaced with a sharp moan when you feel Aegon slide into you harshly, with no regards for your comfort.

He lifts your ass, so now he’s positioned you so it’s in the air while your upper half is slumped on to it bed. When he begins to thrust quicker and harsher, you can already feel your knees buckle under the weight and fierceness. Yet you can’t, as his hands grip your thighs tightly.

You don’t even realise your practically screaming his name at this point. It comes out in small bursts whenever his cock seems to magically brush against that spot inside you yourself can never reach.

That coil that’s been tightening ever since Aegon first spanked you is almost at its limit. Your almost there, about to feel utter euphoria… before the complete full feeling of Aegons cock is taken away and the coil inside you is quickly loosened.

Your head feels a strange sort of funny, and is unable to process what has exactly happened. Yet when you turn around to look accusingly at Aegon, his dark eyes are already tuned to looking at your unkempt and body.

“You will take what I give you wife.” Is all he says before he is back at it again, heavily thrusting inside you with no mercy. His hand reaches out and takes ahold of your bare throat, squeezing slightly so whilst you can still breath, there’s still some breathlessness.

“Do you think my worthless brother could make you feel as good as this?”he hisses. You can already feel your peak coming once more with the lack of breath Aegon provides you with. However, once again when you feel yourself about to reach a wondrous high, Aegon all of a sudden pulls himself out and smiles.

“Please husband! Don’t be so cruel!” You whine. Your cunt now feels sore, yet it still aches for more. When Aegon lightly hits you right on your pearl, you can feel yourself subconsciously clench on nothing and moan lightly in the sheets.

“As I said before wife… you take what I give you. Though maybe I have been cruel…” His tone is misleading. You have been married to Aegon long enough to know what that sounds like. Yet your mind cannot seem to pick up on that, only thinking of a possible peak you may or may not receive.

While you head is slowly surrounded by a faint cloudiness, you can feel Aegon slowly insert himself into you and pick up to a rigorous pace. You can’t even hear you see moaning and whining anymore from the buzz that only seems to grow more prominent.

What brings you back though, is the slight intrusion you feel on you puckered hole. You can’t even turn your head to ask Aegon what he is doing due to his hand still holding a firm grip on your neck. You can only find it within yourself to mumble some illegible words as your peak soon comes for the third time that evening. You do fear Aegon will deny you once more, but it seems your peaks arrival only seems to entice Aegon to be faster, to be harder in his movements. His weight is already practically holding you down, making it so only your wrists and head can really move.

It feels worth it, when the feeling of utter euphoria hits you. You clench harshly on Aegons cock, faintly feeling the wet patch that’s formed on the bed. Only it’s not over, Aegon is still pounding inside of you holding onto you firmly.

“A-Aegon w-what…” You mumble within a moan as the coil which only just unraveled is already tightening once more.

“You claimed I was being cruel?” His voice held innocence, yet even with your head clouded with an impending peak, you could tell his bullshit a mile away. Though the more he speaks the more the once innocent tone darkens to a more possessive one. “Now… I’m going to give you my cum. You’ll take it like the good and obedient wife of mine I know you can be, and who knows… maybe if I fuck a child into your tight cunt, they’ll know exactly whose wife you are…”

With the combined sound of his voice, the nudges Aegons cock is providing to your special spot, and Aegons single finger teasing and dipping slightly into your puckered hole, you’re not surprised at how quickly you are able to finish once more. You could feel your own juices flow out of you and drip down your legs. Your strength is long gone, so now the only thing that holds you up is Aegons thick arms.

Within the spasming of your cunt, you can hear Aegons loud groans echo in the room, indicating he’s close to his own release. His mumbles soon turn to rambles, which soon turn to near shouts. “You’ll take my cum, without spilling a drop, because you’re a good wife. I’ll breed you so all of this realm knows your mine by the seed that grows deep in your belly… yeah they’ll all see…” All near the same as his eyebrows furrow in a strangely beautiful way.

You moan slightly as you feel your inner walls get painted with Aegon cum. Though you quickly whimper in slight pain as the previous actions catch up to you.

Aegon grabs one of the many pillows that uselessly lie in your chambers and uses it to prop your lower half upwards slightly. When you turn to him with a lazy raised brow, he can only respond with, “Maester said it increased chance of you being pregnant. No idea how.” While he makes sure to find a comfortable position for you to sleep in, insisting on your lower half being up still to your annoyance. “It’s for the baby!” He just kept insisting.

It’s almost annoying when Aegon finds you a good position, and the exhaustion from the previous activities hits you quicker than you’d expect. It’s a wonderful moment, listening to the sound of your husbands heartbeat, and relishing in that Targaryen heat they all seem to possess.

You even find yourself lazily tracing a hand on your stomach, imaging it swelling in a few months, and making Aegon a father. That night while you slept, you had dreams of a little girl playing and giggling with Aegon, while she called him her kepa. You’d already decided on a name for her. Her name was to be Aelora. Aelora Targaryen, first of her name.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Six

TW: choking, noncon, dark shit, Julian

You’d be a liar, if you said you weren’t floating on a little cloud, as you go about your duties at the hospital. You’re smiling stupidly to yourself for no reason at all–and it’s all Tom Ludlow’s fault, of course. 

Later, when you’re sort of able to think clearly, you marvel at the way that man let you have your way without actually getting mad about it. You weren’t really sure what you were getting into, as you snapped the cuff into place. And maybe you’re still not sure who actually manipulated who. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter. 

All’s well that ends well…and that ended very fucking well, if you don’t say so yourself. 

You’d actually almost managed to forget about Doctor Julian for a little while. That is, until you hear a crisp click click outside the door when you’re getting something out of a supply closet and you jump three vertical feet in the air.

Ok, maybe not that high, but your soul certainly attempts to leave your fucking body. 

When you whirl to confront him–he’s gone. 

Bastard. 

Then several cases come in one after the other. Two gunshot wounds, a stabbing, a car accident, a gnarly burn. You are too busy to think about anything else but saving lives. 

Looking back, Julian undoubtedly banked on that, near the end of your shift. You are exhausted, and covered in grime, and hungry too because you missed out on your sandwich. It turns out that man can move stealthily as a cat, sneaking up without a sound behind you, until it’s too late and he’s bundled you into the lab, which sadly is rarely if ever occupied. 

You struggle, of course, to little avail. The way he bares his teeth as he pins your arms behind you betrays his enjoyment of this little ambush–too fucking much. His mouth crashes over yours, a punishing kiss that clashes teeth and bruises lips. He draws away just as you try to bite down on his wicked tongue. 

“Get off of me,” you snarl, though even now you're conscious of drawing attention, keeping your voice down. 

“Just wanted a little preview of our weekend festivities. Are you looking forward to it as much as I am?”

“No.”

Too late, you realize that’s exactly the answer he wanted. You can tell by his pleased smirk. He doesn’t want you to enjoy this at all. It would absolutely take the fun out of it for him. He makes it seem easy, to hold both of your wrists together in one of his large hands, his other lifting to brush away a stray lock of hair from your face. In any other circumstance the touch could have almost seemed tender–but you are a lamb in the jaws of a wolf, and you begin to tremble in his grasp. 

They do this–abusers. They lull you with some nugget of sweetness, put you off guard so that the violence is even more satisfying when they strike. It’s strange in a way, to compare this outwardly dignified man to the handsome redneck who used to knock you around back in Kansas. But really they are just two sides of the same fucking coin. 

You should fight back. Knee him in the groin, or maybe try out a headbutt. But your limbs seem to have forgotten how to function–and Julian has that little piece of damning lead in a baggie that could completely upend Tom Ludlow’s world. 

He feels it, as you remember that, the fight leaking from your bones.  “I’m proud of you, y/n. Someday, you won’t fight me at all.” 

You’re smart enough not to tell him this will not be an ongoing thing. Once you have that piece of evidence in your hands…you are gone. Maybe you’ll have to switch to a different hospital. Anything, not to have to deal with this asshole on a daily basis. 

Or, you could tell Tom, and this motherfucker will be unalived faster than you can say workplace harassment. Ok, maybe that’s not a good option, but it feels good to think about at this moment, when you are helpless in this monster’s clutches.

His touch migrates to your jaw, squeezing just this side of too hard. “I’m feeling…peckish, y/n. I think I’d like a little amuse bouche to tide me over until Saturday.”

Your heart drops to your feet.

“Amuse bouche? Who do you think you are, the Marquis de Sade?”

“Funny you should mention him. I think he had some very interesting ideas.”

“Julian…we’re at work.”

He just smirks, that cold glint in his eyes like a bared blade. 

“I think you mean to say, ‘Yes, Doctor.’”

You glare at him, and he waits, squeezing your wrists in his vice of a grip uncomfortably. 

“If you break my hands you will be in so much fucking trouble.”

He only finds your threat amusing at best. “Useful thing about being a doctor. I am well versed in the limits of the human body.” He squeezes harder, and you gasp. It makes his eyes shine like a kid outside the gates of Disneyland.

“How’s this for a limit? If you mark me up, Tom will come after you. He sees me naked every day.” You’re not sure if it's a good thing you mention this, but in the heat of the moment your protector’s name spills from your lips, invoked like your household saint. And you will admit, it feels good, to see Julian’s eyes darken at the mention of your intimacy with Tom.

“I think you're forgetting who holds the cards here to your boyfriend’s future. You had better come up with some good lies for Saturday, because I intend to leave my marks all over this beautiful skin.” He lets go of your wrists, but only to run his hands over your forearms, raising gooseflesh as he goes.

“How’s it feel to be a fucking creep?” You ask, genuinely, actually curious about the answer, trying not to give any reaction to his fingers teasing higher up your arms, putting every single nerve on high alert. 

His hand envelops your throat, fingers pressing against the sides and closing just enough to make it hard to breathe. “Please, go on,” he nods, looking down at you with a snarling grin. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction. You let him choke you in varying degrees and intensities and angles, saying nothing while he works at your throat like a he’s learning an instrument; what makes you cry, what makes your eyes roll back in your head, what makes you sputter and cough and gasp for the sweet air he’s depriving you of. 

Maybe you wish he would just strangle you to completion, instead of torturing you like this. Every time he lets you breathe it just makes the next instance of his huge hand around your throat that much worse. 

“Beg me to stop,” he hums against your ear, snaking tongue flicking at your soft dangling skin. 

You do. You beg, sweetly even. You beg for breath, which is something you never thought you’d have to do again after the freeing age of 18…and then after the horribly abusive first ex. 

But here you are. 

[metranart]

Hello! Hope you have a nice day~ If you are accepting req, could you please do a prompt where Mitsuya s/o's wanting him to choke her for her new kink. Like, legit choking hurting her. I wanna know how would his reaction be since he is truly a gentleman but a wolf in a sheep's clothing KYAAAH gosh. Thank you for your time! <3

Hello Darlin', I usual don't do requests since I lack time :( ... but I really liked your prompt, so..... here's a little something...

Just as an honorable mention, is on my Patreon where I put up a monthly poll for members to vote for the anime and what they want the story to be about, I do art of scenes from the story as well. It's an extra in addition to the artwork that I put in general.

"I DON'T KNOW HOW, PRINCESS" - MITSUYA TAKASHI X READER

"Do you think I have a pretty neck, Mitsuya?"

You asked your boyfriend, a lilac eyebrow raising on his forehead quizzically before he smiled in amusement.

"Everything about you is pretty, love." He responded absentmindedly, with the ghost of a smile on his lips, as he saw out of the corner of his eye that you were pouting your lips.

"-Mmmm I didn't say what you wanted to hear, uh." He wondered more to himself, putting the thread into a needle and beginning to sew his little sisters' sweaters. The intelligible sound that came out of your mouth made him snicker.

"It's not that." You admitted with a certain hint of embarrassment. Your cheeks turning red as you played with your fingers for something to do.

"….Are you going to tell me what it is or am I going to have to force it out of you?" Mitsuya teased, and your bottom lip was chewed between your teeth, steeling yourself to interrupt him.

"Sure! Forcibly take it out of me." You rushed out to say with too much determination that Mitsuya Takashi almost lost the needle he was sewing with. A strange look on his face, with the question any boyfriend would ask… Surely, she's joking, right?…

His lips twitched dubiously, still unable to know whether he should laugh or…

"I'm serious, Mitsuya," You stressed, pulling at his fingers anxiously, "…you're going to have to choke me for me to tell you."

There was a strong redundancy in your words, if he choked you, you would certainly not be able to speak. But something inside Mitsuya told him that you were already moving into subtext.

"-Is this your way of telling me that you want me to choke you, little one?"

You shrugged, looking away.

"Only if you want." You conceded, almost as if this was his fetish and not yours.

Mitsuya snickered low in his chest, he already knew you too well and he wasn't going to lie, he loved these little games that you insisted on playing before asking him to do anything to you.

Abandoning the needle, in the most delicate but equally effective way, he dragged you until your thigh was flush against his on the chair.

"….Hop on, princess."

Your reluctance enticed him to no end. "If I'm sitting on your legs, you can't choke me properly-"

"Climb in and find out." He told you with that mischievous smile that you loved, and soon, your butt settled comfortably on his lap.

As in on reflect, his lips, envious and ferocious, pressed against your neck until he saw goosebumps erupt on your skin.

"So sensitive, are you sure you want me to choke you?" His question sounded muffled against your neck, and his tongue distracted you so much that your mouth admitted.

"Not only do I want you to choke me, I want it to hurt."

Mitsuya's lips snapped to a stop against your neck, hesitant as he let your words sink into his brain. But it didn't help much, because there was nothing to ponder.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, bluntly.

The tantrum did not wait long. "I just want you to choke me harder than you usually do-"

"I have never choked you-"

"I-I know," you admitted sheepishly, "….well, in my mind, you have." Your cheeks turned crimson.

Mitsuya sighed, heavily. "Let's try something else, how about-" "No!" The timbre of your voice rose a little, the push in your features a little more.

"I want to do this, we can have a safe word." You offered hopefully and he snickered perplexed, "….how would you say it if I'm choking you?"

Your mouth opened but no sound came out.

"Then no?" you said, with the pitiful and trembling lip on your mouth and Mitsuya felt that he was arguing with his little sisters when they didn't want to eat the vegetables.

"I don't know how to hurt-"

"I've seen you pulverize gang members into the pavement, don't tell me you don't know how to-" This time, he interrupted you.

"…YOU…I don't know how to hurt YOU, I can't…" he admitted, settling you better on his lap, "I don't want to."

Your eyes met and you swore you saw what gentleness would look like if it had physical form. But you were stubborn… Your hand took his and in a slow, almost imperceptible movement you wrapped Mitsuya's fingers around your neck.

Your eyes never stop staring at each other, but you felt how his hand didn't close, so you helped him with yours.

Mitsuya pursed his lips, and suddenly, you stopped applying pressure and realized that his fist was still closed around your throat. Your heart beated with unbridled emotion… did you convince him?

"Harder." You asked him and you could count ten seconds, and his hand tightened, it didn't hurt, you could barely feel it, it was more like a necklace than anything else.

"Harder," you whispered against his lips and he hesitated, but his hand tightened.

Finally there was more pressure, and not only in his fist, but also in his pants. Because you could swear that what you felt nested beneath your ass, wasn't there before.

[stoneagedevil]

Reunion (I’m Not in Love Pt. 2) | Alastor x f!Reader

CW/TW: suicide, gore, death, murder, predatory behavior, blood, initial unrequited feelings, insecurities involving looks.

-♥️-

It is only when you lose everything, that you have the power to do anything. After all, what are the consequences?

There is nothing left.

There is only you. Head throbbing after a bullet went through it and a subsequent smack to…pavement?

There is only you filled with grief from an unrequited love you’d sunk over half of your lifespan into and a world you can’t quite understand.

There is only…

You.

Until you heard the screams. Cautiously peeking around the corner of the alleyway you landed in, you witnessed the abhorrent atrocities committed by beings you couldn’t quite comprehend. They were inhuman and inhumane.

You were inhuman and inhumane, taking notice finally of just how sensitive and high up your ears suddenly were. Perhaps your face was thoroughly scrambled by the bullet and you didn’t die? Impossible. But it would just be your luck wouldn’t it? Surviving a point blank shot to the face with a large caliber. You reached your hands- claws- claws?!

Sidetracked, your eyes gaped at the change in your hands. They were pitch black, fading into your skin tone that had lost its vibrancy the farther you trailed up your arms. Surely it was a malfunction or flaw within the rifle that caused an abundance of gun powder to color your limbs black? But…that didn’t explain the claws in place of your dull fingernails. You continued to reach towards the top of your head, startled by your new fuzzy appendages.

They were your ears.

Quickly darting out of the alleyway, you faced yourself in the reflection of a nearby storefront window. Only, this wasn’t the Y/N you talked to before ending your life.

This was…this was something entirely different. Someone entirely different.

But sure as the days are long, it was you. Your ears reminiscent of a deer, and twisting your spine and neck to look behind you, you were adorned with the tail of one too.

“What on Earth-“ You cut yourself off. Earth? No. This couldn’t be. You most certainly died. And if you were dead, and yet alive, that had to mean one thing.

You were in the beginning stages of your afterlife, which in turn meant one thing or another: you were either in Heaven or Hell. Taking into account the potential love rivals you murdered and your demonic appearance, you could only assume the latter option were true.

Hell. You were in Hell.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out all by yourself? It’s a dangerous world out here, little girl.” A gravelly voice brought you out of your daze. You whipped your head around to face the source of the slimy words. It was another demon, wolf-like in appearance with a smile that looked as if he would eat a grandmother.

“I would stay away.” Is all you said. Truly, you were a deer in the headlights. What did he mean by turf war? And how were you going to prevent yourself from becoming Little Red?

“And if I don’t stay away?” He challenged, slimy tongue running over rows of sharp teeth, inching closer as if to tease you. As if he preferred to play with his food.

“Then I’ll have no choice but to kill you. I’d rather not, if I can help it.” You replied. Maybe you could trick him into thinking you were dangerous, but given your new form, you doubted it. A prey animal. How unfortunate when your newest enemy was a wolf.

He barked out a hearty laugh, thoroughly amused by your polite warning, but continued to close in on you.

You felt something underneath the surface of your soft flesh. A mix of anger, of the warmth of a light, of the cold of a shadow, of the bubbling of champagne, all fueled by the sheer audacity of a man who couldn’t let you get your bearings in such a strange place. Couldn’t you ever get a fucking break?!

It happened suddenly, the cracking of pavement sounding beneath your hooves, vines dressed in thorns sharper than knives rose up from the crevices, almost shielding you from the perpetrator. Following suit, poison ivy twisted around, blocking any means of escape for the offending wolf demon. Your lack of fear and something else you couldn’t place told you these earthly vines of torture were yours.

You looked back up at the mangy mutt, a soft but dangerous smile stretching across you face, “Congratulations, my friend. You’ll be the first of many.” You flicked your pointer finger at him, and the vines shot out, tightening around his torso like snakes to mice. He yelped and whined, fighting against them. You were annoyed by the sounds he made, another set of vines wrapping around his unfortunate looking face, clamping down on his long snout like a muzzle.

“Good dogs are quiet.” You said.

It was like life on the surface. Smothering and strangling the life out of the women who had romantic intentions for Alastor. Women who told you that you’d never be right for him. That no one could ever love someone so poor as you. Your heart swelled at the thought of him. He would be so disappointed in you, surely.

But…

He’s not here.

There is only you.

The mutt of a man’s struggling subsided, his body falling limp from the hold of your vines and landing with an audible thud to the ground.

You were a firm believer that life was what you made it. You couldn’t make your life better, especially without your Alastor, so you ended it. But now, maybe the afterlife could be what you made it. He wasn’t here, you both separated by different plains of existence, and surely when he died, he’d go to Heaven.

Far, far away from you where he belonged. Where he surely wanted to be.

You’d been too pliant for too long. Holding in an anger that felt released ever so slightly when you killed so freely. Here in Hell, you didn’t have to hide your victims, and in their second deaths, they could be used as tools to earn respect around here.

Perhaps it was far better to be feared than loved.

Yes. The afterlife could be what you make it too. And you were going to make your afterlife everyone else’s problem.

——

You were deemed “Smother Nature.” One of the only clever names given to an Overlord in Hell. You strangled, smothered, and swindled your way to the top, becoming a feared but not unfair Overlord in just a few short years.

Within that span of time, you became more accustomed to your new body and its capabilities.

You were a deer demon, specifically a doe when in your regular form, but when in your more powerful demonic form, your skull would sprout wide black antlers with vines snaking around each one like a crown of thorns. From the tearing of skin atop your head at the site where these new extensions of you sprouted, blood would trickle down your face. Initially it was painful, but now? It only added to how absolutely terrifying you could be. Here, fear meant power, and you basked in it.

This was the only time you loved yourself. You were someone to answer to. Someone powerful and dangerous, who didn’t take anything laying down. You’d killed several Overlords in order to gain this title, and you were proud of it.

Every death at your hands or vines was a surge of adrenaline coursing throughout your body, and you couldn’t have been more thrilled with your decision in looking down the barrel of that rifle.

However, someone else had felt entirely different about their demise at first.

——

Distraught was an understatement. How was he supposed to visit you and his mother? Who else would get you your favorite flowers? Not just any random bouquet, but one composed of your most favorites?

How would he ever see you again?

Seeing as he was in Hell, that confirmed the existence of a Heaven, and surely you’d be up there.

He let out a growl of frustration, a long arm striking the side of a building, a spiderweb of cracks forming from the force. What a surprise, Alastor had committed atrocities during life so selfishly, and now they’d barred him from seeing you ever again.

He should’ve been more careful when burying that man in the swamp. He knew it was hunting season, and yet he couldn’t help himself. Even if it wasn’t, the police that were initially closing in on that woman-strangler shifted their focus onto him since the other killer’s disappearance. He always warned you about walking home alone at night because of that strangler. You’d always brush it off.

A snap from a twig and his head snapped towards the sound, and that blasted hunter shot well before he could ever think about what he was shooting at.

The shot connected at Alastor’s forehead, perfectly centered between his eyes. One of the best shots he’d seen since he took you on hunting excursions when you both were alive.

His heart tightened at the thought of you. You were all he ever seemed to think about.

He hated himself. He hated this body. A prey animal. A buck. Pathetic little antlers akin to toothpicks until he was in his more powerful form.

Nothing down here mattered. If you weren’t here, then nothing mattered. Down here, it was survival of the fittest, and it seemed he needed to make more of a statement in order to curb any ideas that he was weak, and considering his affinity for all things radio-related, he had just the idea to make it a reality.

It didn’t take him long at all to unlock his full demonic potential, hijacking the sound waves and crackling onto every radio in Hell, he made his debut appearance.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I interrupt this regularly scheduled programming to bring you the worst thing to ever happen to you sorry sinners since the day of your demise!” Screams of terror and agony rang out from all devices in Hell, reflecting the sheer agony he’s felt ever since he lost you. How therapeutic it was to inflict pain on others, and yet how simultaneously unsatisfying that they’d never feel a fraction of the pain he felt.

If only he knew that your little doe ears flicked to your radio in pure shock.

——

It had to be him. No one else sounded like that. Talked like that. Made your heart race like that.

Ever since being here, the only thing that terrified you was that initial run-in with that wolfish sorry excuse of a man, but now that was topped by the sound of Alastor’s voice filtering through your radio, accompanied by the screams of his victims.

It wasn’t that you were afraid of Alastor, just of facing the unrequited feelings you initially shot yourself to get away from.

Why was he here? He was such a gentleman in his life on the surface, how could it be that he’s here? More screams cut your thoughts short.

He’s so…used to this. So used to torture that he welcomes it with open arms.

He…he had to be like you, no? Living a double life, teetering on the edges of a socially acceptable, functioning member of society, and a cold-blooded killer?

A part of you salivated at the thought that maybe he killed for you at least once, like you’d done for him so many times.

No. No he wouldn’t do that for you.

Your tail wagged and your legs craved to bolt out towards wherever Alastor was. But who knew if he even wanted to see you again? You looked into the mirror of your vanity where the radio rested.

Were you ugly? Would he find this form hideous?

Your fist collided with the mirror, shattering into hundreds of tiny images of you.

You rested your face in your palms, a took a deep breath.

…what did he look like?

The temptation to see him was so strong, it was as if you were caught in a trance that forced you out of your luxurious penthouse, a testament to the many lives you ended and souls you puppeteer. The over abundance of hope held in your body leaked out in the form of green grass and clover that sprouted from each footstep you took.

“Please let it be him.” You whispered to no one in particular. “Please let it be him.”

——

It felt like no amount of bloodshed was enough. He wanted others to feel the hurt he felt internally, and yet, despite the fact that the streets were painted with the lives of the sinners caught in his clutches, it simply wasn’t enough.

The void in his heart and soul was gaping, and he attempted to fill it with the viscera and gore of those he slaughtered, the taste of bitterness and iron filling his maw.

“Y/N if you’re looking down on me, look away.” He whispered to himself, hoping you’d hear his plea and turn away from the carnage he created in your name.

“Alastor?”

This truly was Hell. He was hearing your angelic voice calling his name.

“Alastor?!”

What hurt most was that every part of this eternal punishment was deserved, he just didn’t know if he could accept it.

“Alastor!”

No. He couldn’t accept this infernal reality. If he had to hear your voice but never see you again, he was sure he wouldn’t make it in this afterlife.

His train of thought was cut clean off by a harsh yanking around his throat that sent him flying backwards into the ground.

In shock, he bolted upright, fingers moving towards his throat to cup it gently, as if to assess the damage. Instead of being met with the warmth of his demonic flesh, his fingertips met something cold, and metal-like.

There were no words for how you felt about this situation. How did you…how…?

How did you have a chain around his soul if you never initiated a deal with him? This was unheard of. Absolutely unorthodox.

While you were staring in shock at the glimmering white chain that you held in your hand, his red eyes drifted from the chain up towards the culprit who yanked it, forcing him to the ground.

His eyes widened when he saw who was at the other end of it. He lost his breath for the third time that day.

The first being the impact of his fall.

The second being the chain pulling on his neck.

The third being the vision of you, which could absolutely not be real.

“Y/N?” He whispered, wishing he could take it back. He hadn’t said your name in so long, it was like a button that made his tear ducts malfunction. His vision was blurry, his breathing shaky.

“I-“ you opened your mouth then immediately closed it. It truly was him. He looked different, hair longer, skin grey, teeth sharp. And he was red. So, so red. But it was him.

Your Alastor.

He slowly got up from the ground, feeling as though if he moved too quickly, you’d dissipate like a mist. He couldn’t handle that.

The chain you held in your claws slacked because of his inching towards you. You debated backing away, but his eyes, despite being the color of blood, of warnings, of danger, you were sure they’d never looked to soft.

And they were looking right at you.

You. The object of all of his wants, desires, and affections. Too stupid to realize it in your lifetime, yet brought together by the very thing that made him realize the depth of his love for you; death.

You weren’t sure when, but you started to cry.

His heart felt so heavy. Heavy with love, with grief, with a hatred for the way he made you cry.

His claws reached out, cradling your wet face, the most gentle action he performed with them that day.

Your body betrayed your mind, your head leaning into the warmth of his large hands. You thought he certainly wouldn’t want you to, but your heart couldn’t help it.

His thumbs carefully wiped away the tears on your cheeks, being mindful of the sharpness of his claws. “Is it really you?” He asked.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you looked as though you were in pain. Your ears drooped. This isn’t the way you wanted him to see you. You looked-

“You’re as stunning as the day I lost you.”

You sucked your lips in, trying to hold in the sob that was fighting its way out of your body, and you closed the distance between the two of you in the tightest embrace you could possibly muster, buried your face in the lapels of his overcoat.

He held onto you like you’d disappear for a second time, finger carding through your hair, nose intaking your scent. You smelled just like you did on Earth, only, with more floral notes.

For the first time since you got to Hell, you sobbed. “I’m so sorry Alastor.” You wailed.

He was sure you could both hear his heart audibly crack, “You’ve nothing to be sorry about, my darling.” He tightened his hold onto you. He was terrified he’d say something wrong, to have you take your life a second time in order to run away from him. “I’m the one who will forever be sorry. I-I was such a fool.”

You looked up at him, and shook your head. “I- I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me again.” You admitted.

“Darling, every waking moment of my life after you’d gone was spent wishing you were by my side once again. What I did to deserve my wish coming true, I’ll never know, but I’d do it over again if it meant I could have you.” Your foreheads pressed together, entry wounds kissing. “Y/N, no words could ever convey how sorry I am for treating you the way I did. I was so blinded by my own ignorance and arrogance that I couldn’t see just how madly, deeply, and quickly I’d fallen in love with you.”

You searched his eyes for a hint of an untruth, but found none. You laughed wetly, sniffling. “I love you too. More than anything. To live without you wasn’t an option, Alastor.”

His smile tightened at your last sentence. “I feel the very same way.”

You were counting in your head when to act on your emotions, trying to build up the courage.

One.

Two.

You never got to three. You didn’t like landing on three because that’s when everyone expected something to happen, and you just couldn’t wait any longer.

You took Alastor’s face in your hands, leaning into him while bringing him closer with your arms. Your kiss wasn’t how you always dreamed it to be, and yet, it was somehow better. It tasted of bitterness, of sweetness, of blood and death, and of life. He smelled of iron, of rot, of cinnamon and a fireplace.

And then it overwhelmingly smelt of roses.

You parted, both looking around in shock at the garden of rose bushes your powers created. You were initially bashful, but Alastor’s smile never looked brighter, laughing as he took your face in his hands and kissed you again, looking around as the rose bushes grew even larger.

“It seems the best way to get you flowers is to kiss you, hmm?” He teased. “We’ll have our very own Garden of Eden by the end of the day.” He teased softly.

“Not before you tell me why you’re down here.” You lightly scolded him, no real anger of malice behind the question.

He froze for a second, wondering if he’d scare you away if you knew what he’d done. “My dear, I-“ you placed a finger over his lips.

“Alastor, nothing you could say would ever make me stop loving you.” You removed your finger from his face and gesturing for him to keep going.

“I murdered many men who preyed on women…” he admitted, looking off to the side.

“You’re leaving something out.” Your neck craning to follow his line of sight.

“I also murdered men who meant to court you…” his claws reached up behind his neck to scratch at it, but he was reminded of the chain around his throat.

“You killed for me?” You said, astonished. Alastor mistook it for silent horror, until he saw clover sprouting out from around your hooves. He looked into your eyes, and saw nothing but an unbridled passion for him and his actions, leading to his cheeks to burn red as the rest of him. “I have something to confess myself.” You said at this revelation. “I strangled multiple women because they sought your heart. I couldn’t allow any competition whatsoever.” You played with your fingers nervously, afraid of what his reaction would be.

He was sure that you were made for him, and he for you. No other woman could compare to the lovely creature that was you; homicidal tendencies and all. He kissed you again, having to put this surge of love somewhere.

You looked at his throat then, at the glowing white collar around it. He shivered when your hands traced the metal, the very hands that had wrapped around so many necks before. The softest and most delicate hands he’d ever known that had snuffed out so many lives in the name of your love for him.

“I don’t understand how this happened, Alastor. We never made a deal. I shouldn’t own your soul.”

He thought back to a human version of himself, a broken man who pledged his afterlife to you. A decision he wouldn’t ever regret.

He took your hands in his larger ones. “Darling, you have all of me, heart and soul. I know you’ll take wonderful care of it.” He kissed the inside of one of your palms. “However, if you are going to pull on the leash so harshly, next time I’d prefer a warning.”

-♥️-

I would say I apologize for the wait, but patience is a virtue! I hope you all enjoyed this part 2, and I appreciate the support my last fic got. Please know I appreciated all comments, reblogs, and hearts you all so generously gave. ♥️

TAGLIST: @diffidentphantom @xalygatorx @whitewolfsoldat @littledolly2345 @purple-umbrella-girl @milkissesx @cinnamon-galaxies @michi-keinz

And apologies to @psychoaxo and @ari42 I wasn’t able to tag you for some reason.