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bonefall · 2 years ago

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Better Bones Profile: Houndleap

"The horrifying eldritch fallen angel likes ME best because I'm hot"

[ID: The Better Bones AU version of Houndleap from Warrior Cats. He is a black-and-white tom with ginger flecks in his black parts, and a fluffy white tail tuft. His ears are burned away, and he has orange, swirly keloid scars. He also has a heart-shaped paw pad.]

Here by popular request! Holy MOLY you all jumped on the offhanded manwhore comment lmao.

Houndleap's a great example of cats who are in the Dark Forest for breaking non-violent commandments. The only thing he's killing is the gene pool, with his 6 known mates and the 16 kittens between them all. No, he wasn't in love with them all either, he just liked to play the game.

He is as close to the ideal Clan cat as one can get, and he knows it, and flaunts it. Tri-colored with beautiful ginger flecks, he fell victim to a terrible moor fire and came out with severe burns. His surviving was already a great mark of strength, but then he became even luckier when his shiny scars raised, and slightly spread from the initial injury.

Clan cats didn't have a word for keloids, they only knew it was gorgeous. As if StarClan had given him a scar that dances and shimmers.

Houndleap "abused" this gift, seeing as many cats as possible and cheating on his 'official' mate back home. In the modern era, he might have just been a very popular Honor Sire, but this was before the Queen's Rights and the Aftergathering. He was eventually caught, and after his death, he was banished to the Dark Forest for violating the Law of Loyalty on more than 5 counts.

Yes. More than 5 counts. StarClan was able to see that he had even more than 5 halfclan mates (and they're not even counting the wife he cheated on) but only 5 got pregnant.

Alignment: Dark Forest, ex-WindClan

Time Period: Skyfall Era

Relations: Too fucking many

Houndleap's addition to the Dark Forest is Lover's Beck, a twisted, romantic version of a spot in the Gorge where he used to meet with his secret lovers. It's his worst memory because he planned poorly and two of them showed up at the same time and that's how he got caught.

More trivia below!

Canon said he's solid-colored and I said no. Pretty boy.

There are several minor features in his design that will be seen in modern family lines. I won't point them out but there's 3 total (so far.)

I decided to use him as an example of nearly ideal beauty standards in BB, since I famously overhauled them from canon. He is brightly colored with complicated patterns, slightly chunky, and has a HUGE scar on the face.

Personality is slut. He just wants to flirt, man. Theme song is Mambo #5 he's just like that.

He works with Tigerstar in OotS mostly because it's not like there's anything better to do. Plus some of the trainees are hot, "hellooooo Ratscar"

When Antpelt dies, Houndleap is one of the cats who needs the most convincing to come back into the alliance. It's one thing when it's funny haha Attack And Dethrone God or whatever, but PERMAdeath??

Thankfully, Hawkfrost is a fantastic diplomat.

Generally, Houndleap is motivated by whatever's fun. He was one of the first to fall in line under Ashfur and will do basically anything if he's bored.

"We're teaching people how to kill? sure lmao. Oh we're attacking the living? Ok cool. Guard the prisoners? Not like I had plans anyway. Anyway wanna get evil dinner later, handsome <3 ?"

Likes drama, tea, stories, games, anything that brings him a little excitement really.

He can usually be counted on to join whatever silly project the group's up to this time, like catching Shrewpaw's Pheasant.

I cannot stress enough how much of a normal Crummy Dude he is. He's just some standard jerkwad guy. The Dark Forest in Better Bones contains several people like him, who might be sleazeballs or jackasses, but we would generally agree don't deserve Hell.

When canon comes up with a Houndleap backstory, I'll consider what to do with it. But for now we only know that Hound came from WindClan, which I've included.

#Better Bones AU #Better Bones character profile #BB!Houndleap #BB!Dark Forest

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know-it-all-freak · 1 year ago

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Paul McGann's (perfect) profile, Part 2

#Paul McGann #and his perfect profile #part 2 #dark eyes #hornblower #night of the doctor #holby city #the forest #petrol age #waking the dead: waterloo #b&b #luther #doctor who the tv movie #streets of yesterday #fish #McGann Monday

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girl-hobbit · 1 year ago

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🌿🍄My bedroom wall decor🕯️🍁🌿

#decor #interior #goblincore #dark cottagecore #mosscore #forestcore #forest aesthetic #yes i have my profile picture of my hobbit girl picrew printed out on my wall #what of it #you can't judge me it's Goblincore #unintelligible goblin noises

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suskindkore · 2 years ago

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Acid Witch (dump)

credit: suskind

En postant le set de bannières, je me suis dit qu’avant de continuer les nouveaux autant faire un dump de ce qui traîne sur mon pc (essentiellement des trucs pour mes anciens personnages). Plutôt que ça reste dans un dossier, pourquoi pas les partager ✨ Ce sera plus ou moins récent, mais si ça peut rendre service !

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marmotclaw · 2 years ago

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Ashfur

Name meaning: Grey furred

Short furred blue spotted tabby tom (he/him) with dark blue eyes, he has short, thick fur and a torn ear

Cause of death: Killed by Hollyleaf

Cause of Spirit death: drowned

Family and Education

Mother: Brindleface

Father: Darkstripe

Brother: Tulipkit

Adopted Brother: Cloudtail

Sisters: Ferncloud, Moorkit

Mentor: Dustpelt

Apprentices: Birchfall, Lionblaze

Personality

INFP

Rebel Evil

Social

Platonic Love: Birchfall, Brindleface, Cloudtail, Ferncloud, Moorkit, Tulipkit

Romantic Love: Bristlefrost, Squirrelflight

Best Friend(s): Thornclaw

Friend(s): Bramblestar, Dustpelt, Hawkfrost

Mixed feelings: Berrynose

Enemies: Alderheart, Bristlefrost, Firestar, Greystripe, Hollyleaf, Jayflight, Lionblaze, Shadowsight, Sparkpelt, Spotfur, Squirrelflight, Stemleaf, Tigerstar

Favourite food: Pheasant

#warrior cats #warriors #ThunderClan #LionClan #Deceased #StarClan #dark Forest #ashfur #ash-#-fur #character profile #INFP #rebel evil #killed #drowned #faded #tpb #tnp #po3 #voice claim

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thejaymo · 1 year ago

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A Machine-Made Mirror | Weeknotes

The notion that the internet will become flooded with machine-generated sludge is something I’ve written about before. It’s always felt like a distant storm on the horizon. But nothing prepared me for how soon I’d see my own reflection in the sludgy waters of the machine web. A Machine-Made Mirror Until the other day I hadn't come across any obvious LLM written media. To have the first one I encounter BE ABOUT ME is surreal and weird.

View On WordPress

#ai #amish #andre 3000 #art #bandcamp #Board Game #dark forest #feelings #future #holly herndon #LLM #machine learning #marshall mcluhan #mmo #orcs #profile #sludge #social media #web2

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hairyjocktf · 6 months ago

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Fire in the Forest

Adam sighed deeply as he unlocked the door to his apartment. The familiar scent of old laundry and takeout boxes washed over him as the door swung open. He slid his bag off his shoulder onto the floor and slumped onto the couch. Today had been one of the worst days of his life, to put it mildly. The company he’d slaved away for since graduating a few years ago had unexpectedly let him go as part of cost cutting measures. Every late night he’d spent at the office suddenly hit him as a waste, his hard work had never mattered to those up top. Adding insult to injury was his paltry severance package; with his rent it’d barely last two weeks. He wouldn’t even have time to breathe before having to find a new job.

Before he knew it he’d passed out sitting on the couch, waking up hours later to a dark sky out the window. Shit, he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes before forcing his body up and off the couch. He tossed a frozen meal into the microwave before setting his laptop up on the table. With the microwave humming in the background he started visiting websites of companies he knew of in the same sphere. Career page after career page yielded no luck. He grabbed his food from the beeping microwave and continued to solemnly scroll through page after page of indeed listings, applying to every one he could convince himself he was qualified for. Soon enough it was two in the morning, and Adam decided to call it quits. He cleaned up his now very cold dinner and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and clean up for bed. His red hair glowed under the ceiling light, looking almost like fire. It was one of his more attractive qualities, he thought to himself, looking at his skinny frame and ghostly skin. He flipped off the lights and hopped into bed.

It was around ten the next morning that Adam finally crawled out of bed. He grabbed his phone off the desk and quickly checked for any job notifications. There was only one, and not one he recognized. It was a recruitment email from a logging company, Cascade Lumber. He skimmed over the email, they’d “found” his profile online and thought he’d be a good fit for a lumberjack role? That was ridiculous, he thought, and closed out of his email. Frustrated at no actual leads, he decided to take a walk for the morning and get back to searching that afternoon. While out trying to enjoy the rare sunny day, that email stuck in his mind. Really? A lumberjack? It was absurd, insulting almost. He was a software developer, not some country laborer. He got back to his apartment and threw himself back into the search, sending out applications one after another. The next day was much of the same, desperately trying to find more niche positions that might be hiring. Still no responses, though. Each day he became a little more stressed, a little more frantic in his search. How had no one responded yet? He had plenty of qualifications and experience, he didn’t understand the problem.

Two weeks had passed and Adam was against a wall. His severance cash was nearly dried up, and still nothing had come through, not even an interview. Even his connections had fallen through. With the bills starting to pile up on the counter, he was out of options. That was when he remembered the email from weeks before. At this point it couldn’t hurt to respond, maybe they had a tech position he could weasel into. He wrote a short response and sent it off. Just minutes later, as Adam was in the middle of making lunch, his phone buzzed. They’d responded already, inviting him out to their office. The address was nearly an hour out west, but what choice did he have?

The next morning he was on his way out of the city, high rises giving way to fields and then forest. Dense groves alternated with barren patches of recently logged areas, letting sunlight down to the road. He pulled down a narrow road and a few minutes later parked in front of a modest building tucked into the trees. His car was surrounded by huge trucks filled to the brim with tree trunks, as well as some large machinery he couldn’t identify. Upon walking inside he was greeted with a dim room full of old logging gear. He heard the footsteps of someone large approaching, before a huge man descended the stairs to greet him. He looked enormous in this small room, almost scraping the ceiling, and his frame was equally wide. His open shirt revealed a forest of hair on his chest, and his beard was incredibly thick. Adam suddenly felt very intimidated, despite the large smile on the man’s face.

“Hey there! You must be Adam, so glad you took us up on visiting. We really think you’d be a great asset on the team. Whoa! I’m getting ahead of myself, the name’s Derek,” he reached out his absolute paw of a hand. With a shake Derek immediately began touring Adam around the office. Derek was overwhelming with his enthusiasm, but also in his assumption that Adam had agreed to start working there. He didn’t have another option, but they didn’t know that. They got into Derek’s truck and he drove off into the forest towards a work site. The majority of the information Derek was spitting out went in one ear and out the other, but Adam tried to look as engaged as he could. The truck came to a screeching halt in an area they were currently clearing. The sound of chainsaws was like nails on a chalkboard to Adam as they stepped out of the truck. In the distance he saw machinery whirring away cutting trees, as well as men harnessed up with saws. Derek went into more detail about working in an active logging site, the dangers and safety measures. Adam was instead busy looking at the men working nearby. They had on hard hats and bright orange vests overtop thick jackets or flannels. They all looked big and burly, like they’d been lifting for years. Adam wasn’t sure how in Derek’s mind he would be able to do anything here.

“...and I think that just about covers most of it. Oh! And the salary is $55k per year, with annual raises and benefits. We try to do right by our guys here,” Derek smiled at Adam. That number had finally gotten his attention. Nothing close to his old job, but better than zero. In a decision that probably warranted some more thought, Adam opened his mouth.

“Great, when do I start?”

Derek’s smile doubled in size and he slapped Adam on the back. “That’s my man, let’s get you all set up then while you’re out here,” he said. They both got back into Derek’s truck and drove back to the office. Inside Adam was handed the same hat and vest he saw the men at the site wearing.

“Now that’s just the basics, you’ll probably want some heavy clothing while on the job, and get yourself some good boots while you’re at it,” he chuckled, looking down at Adam’s aging vans shoes. Adam thanked him and walked back to his car. Still unsure of this whole venture, Adam departed. On the way back he stopped at some workwear stores, looking for boots and clothes to fit the job. Having no idea what he actually needed, he just looked for the closest things to what he remembered the guys there wearing. Close enough, right?

Back at his apartment he cautiously tried on all the clothing he’d just gotten. To his surprise, it all fit fairly well, despite his body being much smaller than most of the guys out there. His thin frame looked bulkier under a thick layer of protective and warm clothing. He almost… liked how it looked? Adam quickly put that thought out of his head and stripped off the gear. The sun was already dipping below the horizon and he had to be out there early in the morning from now on.

The alarm came even sooner than he thought. Adam rolled out of bed at four in the morning, and was out the door as soon as he could get himself together. The air was chilly outside, with not even a hint of the sunrise yet in the darkness. He drove straight to the site Derek had assigned him to, finding a group of men chatting together while donning their equipment. Adam introduced himself, and began putting on his own assigned gear. The day flew by as several other guys instructed Adam on how things worked. He was more keen to pay attention to everything this time, listening intently to each burly man who showed him how to use a chainsaw. By the end of the day he’d felled a few trees and learned the basics of the larger machinery the team used. Despite it being cool all day, Adam was sweating up a storm in his thick coat. Maybe he’d overestimated how much layering was needed. The drive home felt shorter than it had the day before, but Adam was frustrated at a recurring itch on his jaw, it just kept coming back no matter how much he scratched at it.

The next few days were much of the same, Adam’s time was highly supervised while he was learning, but he was surprised at how easily he took to it. His original plan of finding a tech position to switch to had already been forgotten. The other lumberjacks seemed to like Adam as well, despite his scrawny stature. His red hair made him easy to point out, even though it was usually covered by a hard hat. The itch on his face reared its head a few more times, as Adam’s baby smooth face was slowly overtaken by a light red stubble. Each day it would poke out just a hair more, reaching out from his chin towards his sideburns. Adam failed to notice this, just as he was blind to the muscle his skinny body had started to put on. In just a week he’d gained serious definition, he had slight pecs and shoulders, and his arms looked like he’d been working out for years. Must be the intensity of the job, he thought to himself when one of his old t-shirts no longer fit. As the days passed, his stubble connected across his face, and some wispy hairs poked out of his growing pecs. Barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

The weeks continued to pass as Adam got settled into his position. He started to feel like a real lumberjack as trees fell by his hand day by day. He began to fit in more with the other men as well. His bright red stubble thickened. Hairs that were barely more than peach fuzz grew thick and pushed out into a true short beard. The wisps on his chest likewise grew thicker, curlier, as more pressed out of his pecs. The red hairs grew and wove together until the hairy coating could no longer be ignored. His chest hair was normally kept beneath multiple layers, until one of his fellow loggers spotted the rug while he was changing. The crew gave him their old flannels and forced him to wear them and let some of the fiery red hair poke out. They all loved it, he was looking like them with their thick beards and hairy chests. The tiny new hire was quickly vanishing beneath muscle and fur, as the hairs on his chest spread downwards over his tight stomach.

Adam began noticing that each day he would leave work absolutely soaked in sweat. His layers just absorbed it leaving him a sopping mess as the job was so labor intensive. It didn’t bother him, he just bought more work clothes to cycle through, but he was oblivious to the other effects it was having. Adam’s body, steeping in sweat all day, was producing more and more. Not only that, his previously bare pits began sprouting fine red hairs. At first it was just a few thin hairs poking out, but as they were soaked in sweat they grew thicker. More hairs popped out of the damp pit, filling in rapidly. His once smooth pits were growing into a dense jungle of hair, the hairs thick and red, tangling together into a tuft that trapped even more sweat and stench. They spread out of the confines of his pit, connecting with the pelt on his chest and beginning to pop out across his upper arms. He would dig his fingers into his furry pits to scratch, the hair growing in itching like mad. Each day more hairs pushed out, more sweat was trapped, and the more he smelled like the other men around him.

As the weeks rolled on, Adam kept having to buy new clothes between sweat stains and simply outgrowing them. His body had put on a lot of size since starting, his thin frame bulking out as he grew taller and wider. The weather was growing colder, and the added layers were hiding his growing size, as well as his growing fur. The hair from his pits was continuing its march, with wiry hair cropping up across his shoulders, triceps, and was especially dense on his forearms. Red wispy hairs sprouted all over his upper body, filling in gaps and growing into a thick ginger rug. His body was growing at a rapid rate, biceps filling out and pecs becoming real pillows, but it wasn’t all muscle. His size was softened by a healthy layer of fat that only encouraged more hair to sprout. His already dense chest hair thickened further, red hairs swirling around his nipples and growing longer and curlier. The chest fur grew up and over his shoulders, creating a seamless carpet from his hands through his torso. Even his back was beginning to show signs, as light red fuzz was gathering around his shoulder blades and above his waistline. Hair sprouted out of his shirt collars and poked from his sleeves; even under his layers of clothes his coworkers knew Adam was hiding some impressive fur.

What they couldn’t see was below Adam’s waistline. The fur coat from his stomach slowly inched downwards, the wispy hairs occupying his groin quickly overrun with a thick red bush. The hairs pushed out from the base of his cock, thick and curly they sprouted and tangled together as the bush expanded. The hairs climbed up and connected with the rug on his stomach, and out to his thighs before racing down his thick legs. His pubes grew denser into a thick triangle of red hair, his cock growing larger to not be hidden beneath the jungle. Adam hardly noticed as the bulge in his jeans grew day by day, sweat soaking the area as it developed a thick musk that was barely contained by his underwear. He had to buy larger sizes after his balls swelled considerably, dropping lower than before and sprouting with their own rug of red hair. The hairs spread down over his taint before blossoming in his ass crack, a thick fiery explosion of fur pushing out as the hairs grew like weeds over his large cheeks. His legs grew stockier to support his growing body as the hairs continued their march from the thick nest of pubes. His thighs were coated before it spread to his calves. His feet stretched and ached as they grew multiple sizes in just a few weeks, before too being buried beneath a thick mat of red hair.

Winter finally began showing its ugly face, and Adam’s job grew rougher daily as temperatures plummeted up in the mountains. His body adapted, packing on considerable bulk. Gone was his thin, twinky frame, replaced now by a thick and strong body, built for strength and warmth. His thick muscular frame was coated in a layer of fat to insulate him, and his belly seemed to just keep growing. The fur coat he’d been developing only continued to come in. The red hairs grew thicker and denser every day, pushing against his clothing. His fiery red beard, which had been well kept until now began erupting from his face with a fury. Thick hairs curled over his upper lip as the hairs on his cheeks pushed out inch after inch. More hairs filled in between as the coating crawled higher on his cheeks. It surged down his neck and blended with the thick chest hair. He looked wild, but it kept his face warm from the frigid winds. He even got complimented on it, earning a reputation as a real mountain man from his fellow lumberjacks. Adam had fully adapted to his job, there was no going back. He was now a hairy, hefty lumberjack with a fur coat to rival an animal’s. He’d grown to be one of the best in the crew, each tree felled returning as a hair in his pelt.

#male tf #hairy tf #hairy #hair growth #bear tf #hairy chest #hairy pits #hairy torso #beard #hairy shoulders #my writing

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residences-of-the-darkforest · 2 days ago

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Dark Forest Residences: Flightfur & Lilybeak

Flightfur

Aliases / Nicknames: Love

Gender: she-cat

Sexuality: pansexual

Family: unnamed mother, unnamed father, Lilybeak (daughter), Birchkit, Sunkit (sons), Tadpoleclaw (mate, formerly)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, unnamed apprentice, Softbark (mother-in-law)

Clan: ThunderClan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: loves racing, good reflexes, tends to get over emotional (positively and negatively)

Murder Motive: protect her daughter

Number of Victims: 1

Number of Murders: 1

Murder Method: clawing

Known Victims: Tadpoleclaw

Victim Profile: her former mate, her daughter’s attacker

Cause of Death: throat ripped out, murdered

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

She was on her own the moment she became expecting.

She was delighted at first, until she shared the news with her mate and saw his face fall.

She had lost one kit the day that they were born, and her remaining son was incredibly sick, requiring attention at all times. Flightfur wasn't able to sleep for days, her worry wouldn't let her.

Her son--Birchkit--didn't live past more than a moon.

Flightfur shrank into her grief, becoming bitter and angry. Bitter at the world for stealing her children, angry at her so-called 'mate' for never comforting her or visiting them before they died.

How dare he?

How dare he bow his head at the vigil? How dare he give a speech about his poor dead children, who he never bothered to see?

All the moons Flightfur spent exhausted, ungroomed, on the verge of a breakdown!

All the times she went to him, begging for help, and he came up with excuses or promised to help 'later,' but never would.

All the worries she expressed, wishing that he would just come see his kits before it was too late, to just be with her again.

How dare he be pretending to feel the pain that was tearing Flightfur up inside?

It ate her up completely--the rage, the sorrow, the grief. It left her a shell of her former self, living day by day staring into space.

While she suffered in her misery, Tadpoleclaw moved on just fine not even a moon after his kits were in the ground.

After....how long? Moons...Years? Her daughter, her last surviving kit, was an adult now. She was walking in the forest alone, when she spotted Tadpoleclaw and Lilybeak writhing on the ground. At first, she thought that they were training, when the spray of blood hit her.

In a flash, she realized that her daughter was in danger. In that same flash, her instinct kicked in and she sprang forward, ripping Tadpoleclaw from her baby and tearing at him with her claws, screaming her hatred as she tore and tore and tore, unleashing all her hatred for him and all that he's put her through.

His face and chest were unrecognizable, marred completely by long red, ragged lines and pools of blood. When her ears stopped ringing, she heard voices behind her and sprung around to face a shocked patrol.

She tried to explain, stammering, but her heart was beating so fast and she still wasn't sure what had happened, it was all a blur...

She looked to her daughter for help. She could tell them what was going on.

Her daughter kicked that bird skull that she's been fascinated by since kithood, before telling everyone that Flightfur attacked Tadpoleclaw unprovoked.

Flightfur didn't have any time to speak a word before Tadpoleclaw's new mate leaped from the crowd and bit into her throat.

Lilybeak

Aliases / Nicknames: Weirdo, Lilyfreak, Skull-lover, Dungpelt, other various insults

Gender: she-cat, agender-leaning (she/they)

Sexuality: asexual, panromantic

Family: Finchfur (mother), Tadpoleclaw (father), Birchkit, Sunkit (brothers), Softbark (grandmother)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor

Clan: ThunderClan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: essentially “blind” to societal norms, loves the smell of rot, loves birds, loves her skull, obsessive of her skull, always lets her skull decide her fate

Murder Motive: the skull said “negative”

Number of Victims: 6

Number of Murders: 6

Murder Method: neglecting help, lying

Known Victims: Tadpoleclaw, Finchfur, several unnamed Clanmates

Victim Profile: her father, her mother, cats in danger

Cause of Death: eye puncture, murdered

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

Her father was never really in the picture--it wasn't until she became an apprentice that Lilybeak even knew which warrior was him.

Her mother...Well, she was in the nursery with her, but that's as far as their interactions went, not including formal greetings or patrols. Lilybeak didn't blame her. She had lost one kit the day they were born, and Lilybeak's remaining littermate was incredibly sick, requiring attention at all times.

He didn't live past more than a moon, but instead of turning her attention to her last surviving kit, she shrank into her grief, becoming bitter and angry.

That was okay. Lilykit had her grandmother. Softbark taught Lilykit to wean, to walk, and every other important thing a young cat must know. She also taught her granddaughter special skills, like how to perfectly pluck a bird of its feathers or clean the meat completely off the bones so that nothing is wasted.

Lilykit was so proud of herself when she had finished her first--successful--clean of a crow. Softbark pulled the skull from the rest of the body and passed it to her, encouraging her to always look at it in a time of need or confusion.

She had meant for Lilykit to remember her success, but the kit took it literal.

That skull was everything to her, moreso when her grandmother passed.

Lilykit could never be sure if her mother ever heard her questions, or if she just didn't care enough to provide answers.

But that skull...She could always be sure that it was there. It would always help her, guide her.

It was simple enough. When she was plagued by a question or choice, she would gently kick the skull. If the mouth laid open, it was affirmation of the positive. If it closed, negative.

When the only guiding figure in your life is the skull of a long-dead animal, you're bound to be off when it comes to...societal norms and thought processes.

When a warrior had tried to take her skull away, thinking it junk, she had wailed and bit onto his tail so hard, she hit bone.

Her peers teased her for it, calling it gross and weird and pretending to gag at the smell when she curled up beside it while asleep.

They tried to take it from her one day as a joke...Lilypaw had to spend half a moon's worth cleaning the elders from ticks, but at least she got her point across. No one ever bothered her about her skull again. Weird glances, sure. Whispers, whatever. Lilybeak didn't care.

While others voiced their disdain of her new name, Lilybeak was delighted! Lilybeak, just like her friend!

Then that warrior...her father? Yes, she remembered, her father asked to go on a walk. When the skull confirmed that she should go, she did so, holding it delicately in her jaws.

Tadpoleclaw tried to act understanding and patient at first as he attempted to explain how strange Lilybeak's obsession was, but when Lilybeak refused to listen, he became frustrated. He asked her why she had to be so weird, doesn't she know they whisper about him too, as her father? What cats think of him to have her as a daughter?

He shouted at her to get rid of the skull or he would. Lilybeak told him that she had to ask it first. That enraged Tadpoleclaw and he tore it out of her jaws, throwing it to the ground. Then he placed a paw on it, pressing down..

Lilybeak shrieked and shoved him off, and they fell into a whirlwind of tooth and claw.

Before Lilybeak knew it, Flightfur had killed Tadpoleclaw, and a patrol was demanding what was going on. Flightfur looked at Lilybeak pleadingly, so Lilybeak gently kicked her skull to see what she should do.

It was closed. Negative. She couldn't go forward with telling the truth. So she raised her chin and announced her mother's crime.

It would only be the first time the skull had lead to someone's death.

Three times, a Clanmate was in danger--hanging from a broken branch, trapped on icy water, and faced against a badger. All three times, those Clanmates died because when faced with the choice to help or not, the answer was negative.

Not always. Sometimes it was positive, and she sprang into action and saved the cats in danger.

Whether she saved someone or didn’t had no affect on Lilybeak’s conscience. She was merely following what she was being told—that skull was for her, no one else. It was in her best interest to follow everything it told her.

If she didn’t help someone, it was probably because she would only be putting herself in danger. If she did, it meant she was safe enough to do so.

If she had told the truth about Tadpoleclaw’s death, maybe she would have been blamed as well, instead of treated as the lucky survivor of Flightfur’s rampage.

Then Lilybeak took her skull into battle. It would be hard to fight and worry tugged at her, but she needed it with her always.

Then she saw a Clanmate getting attacked by two opposing warriors. She kicked the beak…negative. She turned away.

But she hadn’t been without audience. That cat’s father had seen her neglect. He was farther and couldn’t help in time, but Lilybeak could have easily stepped in if not so obsessed with that weird beak.

Consumed by rage and grief, he snuck over to her nest that night. She slept a tail-length away from everyone else, the only one unbothered by that smell.

He picked up the skull that she loved so much, and slammed it down.

Additional Information:

—Was initially just gonna be Lilybeak, but I started writing and realized the mom has a strong motive. Flight was chosen because did her similar fur pattern.

—Lilybeak was suggested by @meowstival and @colonies-of-the-shells-and-fish !

—Because she was killed by the beak as well as buried with it (out of respect for her strange love), she has it with her in the Dark Forest.

—Both Tadpole and the dad that killed Lily are in StarClan.

—The dad slammed the skull down blindly, not really sure where he was going because cats aren’t really used to stabbing with items in their mouths. He ended up puncturing Lily’s eye, deep enough to kill her!

#Long post #Profile #resident profile #Resident #Dark forest oc #dark forest warrior #Murder #dark forest resident #Dark forest profile #dark resident #Dark profile #Place of No stars oc #Lilybeak #Finchfur

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residents-of-the-darkforest · 1 year ago

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Dark Forest Residences: WolfStar, GoldfishFur, & HollowStar

WolfStar

Aliases / Nicknames: Cursed One, WolfFern, Champion

Gender: demi-tom

Sexuality: asexual, demiromantic

Family: SerpentWing (mother), PuppyNut (father), Rainkit, Bristlekit, Mistlekit (kits), 400+ other family members, 60 who were alive at the same time as him.

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, HalfSpeckle, BeaverJay, BlotchPad, SmallBlossom, AspenLight, MidnightTail, (apprentices)

Clan: WolfsfootClan

Rank: leader

Characteristics: bloodthirsty, good fighter, reclusive, confidant

Murder Motive: ambition, fun

Number of Victims: 80+

Number of Murders: 80+

Murder Method: luring to fox, clawing/ripping throat out, drowning, shaking to death, disemboweling, skinning, poisoning, hypothermia, burning alive, breaking bones, blunt force, placing maggots into open wounds

Known Victims: RobinKit, MorningKit, PatchKit, BoulderKit, RunningHare, RaccoonFur, PranceBlossom, PheasantJaw, GoldPelt, BadgerRiver, PinkFoot, TawnyPatch, SheepFang, WolfFeather, BlackKit, DayFur, CrestedSlip, FirePoppy, GrassKit, HayBird, ChasingShade, BristleFur, DuskCatcher, HatchNose, QuickKit, ThunderHorse, BreezeSplash, BriarNose, HollyPaw, SmallBeam, MallowLightening, HeronStorm, SleekDrift, LongRump, JumpLotus, SpiderWhiskers, PrickleFur, BroomDust, HollowStar/Stripe, CicadaStar, WolfFade, NeedlePelt, BitternFur, LarchKit, CrookedStone, PloverTuft, BogEar, BraveSkip, RainFur, FawnSnow, RushWish, FawnLeaf, LoudPelt, BlackSpeckle, ShardSpeck, Jayhorse, BubblingSky, OrangeRoar, HalfSpeckle, TroutPeak, PiperNoise, BeetleShade, DancingWhisker, BayBlaze, SnapDragonBerry, ShrewHeart, CoconutTooth, GoldPelt, BadgerRiver, many rogues

Victim Profile: Clanmates, rogues.

Cause of Death: blood loss from many injuries

Cautionary Tale: beware the quick cats with long legs and sharper claws that haunt the forests

Story:

WolfFern was born in a very large Clan mostly made out of his kin, but he never got very close to anyone except GoldfishFur.

WolfFern grew up to be the incredibly ambitious apprentice to the deputy, WolfFade.

It was truly a shame when sweet, elderly WolfFade showed up dead outside camp after WolfFern was made Champion.

He didn’t have any issue with killing his mentor. It was just a necessity to become leader. WolfFern spent a moon planning how to get rid of CicadaStar, but in the end he didn’t need to. The anxious, thin leader who never shared how many lives he had left got sick and, to WolfFerns luck, was on his last life.

Within a moon of becoming a warrior, he was deputy. Within a moon of becoming deputy, he was now leader.

WolfStar starting killing. Sometimes those who annoyed him, sometimes for fun.

He began washing his paws very frequently, which his best friend GoldfishFur noticed. GoldfishFur helped him kill many more cats, and forced WolfStar into a code of sorts. Helped him cover his tracks. And in return, GoldfishFur was made deputy.

Over many moons his kill count grew, and he even found a mate of convenience. He had very few friends, and needed a way to keep connected to the Clan. To seem devoted to them. They had RainKit, MistleKit, and BristleKit together.

Many, many more Clanmates died, and Wolfstar realized that he didn’t feel any grief in killing any of them, not even his kin.

He took on many apprentices, and even appointed a Champion: HollowStripe, however he would have to wait until HollowStripe was no longer with kits.

GoldfishFur helped him commit countless more murders and continued to do so after he retired early from his chronic joint pain in his front leg. BroomDust was an easy deputy to manipulate, but everyone knew GoldfishFur called the shots.

The only time WolfStar truly grieved for was their father, PuppyNut. Wolfstar never received visions, but that night he prayed for PuppyNut to visit him.

The secrets, the constant lies and covers, all the small injuries hidden in his long fur caught up to him and he lost it. He killed ten Clancats in front of the clan, and everyone was too scared when GoldfishFur turned on them as well to stand up to the cruel duo.

And, to his Clan's horror, he began skimming the corpses and piling them in the centre of camp as an example.

At the next elder's ceremony, he slashed SpiderWhiskers throat out. A couple cats died from the stress, more killed by GoldfishFur and WolfStar. HollowStripe was an easier deputy to manipulate anyway. Eventually WolfStar and GoldfishFur organized an attack with a group of rogues.

WolfStar died of his injuries, but not before nearly exterminating the Clan.

GoldfishFur

Aliases / Nicknames: Two-faced Tom, Goldy

Gender: demitom

Sexuality: bisexual

Family: CoconutTooth, WhirlAster (parents), HerringBreeze (mate), GuppyShadow, TallyPaw (daughters), MilkPaw, KoiPaw (sons) 400+ other family members, 60 who were alive at the same time as him

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, PoppyHeart, LaurelNight (apprentices)

Clan: WolfsfootClan

Rank: deputy (retired)

Characteristics: cold, goofy, good kitsitter, manipulative

Murder Motive: to protect his best friend

Number of Victims: 80+

Number of Murders: 80+

Murder Method: luring to fox, clawing/ripping throat out, drowning, shaking to death, disemboweling, skinning, poisoning, hypothermia, burning alive, breaking bones, blunt force.

Victim Profile: Clanmates, rogues.

Cause of Death: thrown into pit of starving rabid cats, snake bite.

Cautionary Tale: beware the quick cats with long legs and sharper claws that haunt the forests

Story:

GoldfishFur got along perfectly with his Clan. In fact, he was very popular.

When he caught WolfStar in the middle of a murder, GoldfishFur killed the cat before it could scream to him for help.

WolfStar exposing the murders was very against their original plan, but GoldfishFur still used it to his advantage. The Clan now fully trusted him instead.

He regretted the murders when he saw his Clanmates grieving, and he grieved for all the cats he had killed. One, however, nearly broke him: ChasingShade.

The two were fighting with a fox when GoldfishFur’s weak leg gave out, and the fox tore out ChasingShade's throat.

When the deputy, BroomDust, spoke badly about WolfStar, GoldfishFur killed him before the Clan as an example. The sweet, goofy cat turning on his family.

GoldfishFur had kits whom he loved, and desperately tried to keep out of the way of the rogue attack. The Clan fought back, stronger than they’d expected, and GoldfishFur was bitten by a snake after being backed up over the snake rocks.

Before he could succumb to the venom, he was torn apart.

HollowStar

Aliases / Nicknames: HollowHearted Leader, HollowStripes

Gender: tom

Sexuality: unlabelled

Immediate Family: DuskCatcher, MallowLightening (parents), ShardKit, BrookLeopard, RubbleShade (daughters) LongKit, GrassKit (sons), many unnamed siblings

Other Relations:

Clan: WolfsfootClan

Rank: leader, Champion

Characteristics: proud, ambitious, good fighter, excellent den builder

Murder Motive: exterminate all of QuickStar’s descendants

Number of Victims: 60

Number of Murders: 60

Murder Method: poisoning via deathberries and lilies, hiring rogues.

Known Victims: WolfLilac, BrookLeopard, RubbleShade, many unnamed Clan cats

Victim Profile: cats from QuickStar’s family tree

Cause of Death: neck torn out by wolf

Cautionary Tale: beware the quick cats with long legs and sharper claws that haunt the forests

Story:

HollowStar lasted a few moons after he became leader to the once thriving ClubmossClan, now shaken down and beaten from the inside.

With so many cats having been murdered at the paws of WolfStar and GoldfishFur, the lan was left in shambles. Cats turning on each other, Clans spreading word of curses. It was all too much. They had to be right! It was all a curse!

For decades, the Clans have been plagued by QuickStars legacy. It had to end. But first, HollowStar had something to do first.

He only killed one cat directly, and that was WolfLilac. He couldn’t stand to hear her name called across camp.

She was fierce, and put up a big fight. He earned a couple scratches along his back in exchange for her life.

Next, he gathered as much deathberries as possible alongside his two surviving daughters, born secretly to a rogue and haven grown up in Twolegplace. They were young, and listened to him out of an eagerness to impress their father.

They squeezed the deathberries into the pond, and within a day, half the Clan was seizing, frothing at the mouth, and convulsing on the ground by the drinking pond.

His daughters waited patiently by his side while the screams slowed, more and more surviving cats deserting. If they were of QuickStar’s decent, they were swiftly disposed of by some rogues who were helping in exchange for safe passage through the forest.

His daughters should have checked the prey he’d given them, for maybe they would have noticed the lily petals left inside it the day prior.

It was finally over! Starclan would be so proud of him!

The scent of blood quickly overtook the forest, leaving HollowStar in the middle. He should have realized that the starving wolves would have been interested in the easy meal.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @wills-woodland-warriors

--Wolf:

Wills: "I left a lot out, but he’s one of my favourites and is incredibly interesting. He hid that he was killing for years from his clan. He never had an attachment to his kits or mate, only ever getting close with GoldfishFur and HollowStripe."

*He drove the Xlan mad. No one was brave enough to stand up to him.

*He’s a very big and strong cat, and he’s about as ruthless as Alder/Myrtle and GremlinFrost.

--Gold:

Wills: "also a very interesting cat from clangen, and again one of my favourites."

*Almost all events from these two stories are from clangens generated story itself! cv Clangen Images are from the brief moments he was in starclan during his trial.

--Hollow:

*Few of QuickStar’s decendants possibly got away, but not very many.

*HollowStripe was actually a very sweet child before WolfStar took him under his wing (arm? Paw?)

*The end of QuickStar’s legacy!

#wolfsfootclan #clangen #fanclan #goldfishfur #hollowstripe #hollowstar #wolfstar #seizure mention #wc #warriors #dark forest #dark forest wc #dark forest warrior #place of no stars #dark forest oc #dark forest resident #dark forest submission #dark forest profile #quickstar

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hisbodycorpse · 21 days ago

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This is my design, 1990.

En las sombras, te veo.

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thewitchandtheassassin · 16 days ago

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Life, Death, and the Space in Between Part Three (Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal)

Summary: The Road is wild and wicked.

Words: 2277

Warnings: Arguments, talks of death, canon death, language?

A/N: Anything I have to fix, I'll go back and fix later. I am too in love with these characters. You're welcome.

-X-

Cradling the boy’s head in her lap, Agatha stared at Rio with watery eyes, a recreation of a moment long since passed. “Don’t. Don’t.”

Shrugging casually, your lover peered over the body of the dying Teen, watching thoughtfully as Jen began to attempt to heal him.

You weren’t entirely interested in watching a teenager drift from the mortal plane but something caught your eye and you inched closer, oblivious to Agatha’s noise of warning. One of the gifts you had procured when becoming the goddess of life was the ability to see lifelines. To examine and determine the strands of someone’s very essence. If they were meant to die, or beyond saving outside of celestial intervention, the strands would grow black and shrivel while a healthy lifeline was pure white and strong.

His was -

“What do you see?” Rio breathed, mouth close to your ear as you both stared at Teen.

Unlike Life, Death could not see a lifeline. She relied on Life for such things. She could see souls - spirits, essences; able to reach out and pluck them from their temporary vessels when their time had come. But she could only ever take what was hers to claim; what the cosmos were owed.

“His lifeline is broken.”

She inhaled sharply, gaze shooting up to your profile. “What do you mean?” she demanded.

Turning, you walked away from the group, using the dense forest to shade you from view. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the tips of your fingers together before stretching them apart. Where there should be a plain white cord, frail but solid as Jenn healed Teen, there was instead a cord that was black and blistered in the center. Stretching it further, you could see the beginning of his lifeline up until now.

Rio’s eyes were trained on the white cord. “What…”

“That boy died. Should be dead. That is something more than his heart stopping and then being revived. Otherwise it would’ve healed over. I don’t-” you cut yourself off, staring blankly at the lifeline. “This isn’t natural. Whatever that boy is, he’s-”

“An abomination,” Death’s raspy voice rang out and you glanced at the woman, unsurprised to see skull and bone staring back at you. She shook her head, the visage returning. “He goes against every order of nature. The fact he has escaped his reaping is a slight, and must be corrected.”

“Do you think Agatha knows?” you murmured, watching the coven shift his limp body to a more comfortable space, building a makeshift nest for him. “That there’s something wrong with him.”

“If she’s not certain, she has to suspect,” Rio replied, expression grave. “But she’s using him as a way to handle her grief. Replacing our son with this teenager who shouldn’t exist.”

Studying the white cord, your brows furrowed. Sparks of blue and red flared from it, more red towards the beginning before shifting into mostly blue sparks, something that was completely out of place and unexpected. “Do you see this?”

Reaching out, Rio’s fingers glided off the cord, completely devoid of emotion. “That fucking red witch. He is the reason the Road is real. The son of the Scarlet Witch and their weird reality bending bullshit powers. After the collapse of the Hex, I felt pulled there but I never found what I was searching for. It must’ve been his soul finding a home before I could find him.”

Letting the cord fizzle out in your hands, you pressed your forehead against Rio’s. Her cool breath fanned across your lips, dark eyes nearly black beneath the weight of knowledge and pain.

“I have to take him,” she whispered brokenly. “I have to take another child from her.”

“We should wait. See what becomes of this road.” Your lips brushed over hers, feather light and gentle.

There was sadness filling the space between you, of understanding what must be and what would happen after.

-X-

Sitting around a campfire discussing scars wasn’t exactly your idea of a fun evening but leaning against Rio’s side and watching the fire crackle softened your disdain. These witches weren’t terrible; in fact, you quite liked them all. Lilia was the epitome of a divination witch, her odd outbursts and strange mumblings charming. Alice, a protector who had her whole life ahead of her. Jen, searching for something stolen but making the best of it, even if she was scamming mortals. It would’ve been a shame for them to have died under Agatha’s magic, though you hated how powerless she still was.

Especially on such a dangerous road.

The moment Agatha settled somewhat close to you, all you wanted to do was drink in the warmth of being so close to her again. She told about a knitting needle scar, but you knew the truth. The scar along her elbow was from Nicholas. Or, rather, from the unfortunate pet your young son had managed to charm into coming home with him. That raccoon had taken one look at Agatha and screeched at the top of its lungs. His claws had nicked her elbow as he rushed away, but if she wanted to lie, who were you to judge?

“I have a scar,” Rio piped up, earning identical looks from you and Agatha. Your brow was furrowed, knowing you’d traced every inch of that body with fingers and tongue, but remembering no visible scars.

“No, you don’t,” she argued, and a wave of guilt passed through your bond.

Reaching out, you gripped Rio’s hand as she bowed her head. Her scar was internal. A never-closing wound that just never properly came back together because the thread had been hidden away from sight and nothing else could suture it closed. The kind that itched and burned for all eternity, constantly reminding her of the worst moments of her existence.

Slapping her thighs, Agatha escaped the conversation as soon as Rio finished speaking, skulking off into the forest to catch her breath. You were up and chasing after her seconds later, the green witch hot on your heels. Her back was to you, barely concealed sniffles audible in the silence of The Road.

“Agatha,” you whispered, her back easily meeting your front as you stopped behind her. Your arm encircled her waist, holding her close for the first time in centuries. It was like coming home all over again.

Rio settled in front of her, a cool hand on flushed skin. Her thumb trailed below Agatha’s eye, wiping away the fresh tear.

“That boy –”

Agatha’s face dipped close to Rio’s, breath fanning across it as she inched closer to her mouth. You could see the green witch’s mouth move, telling herself it wasn’t time, and you finished her heartbreaking confirmation.

“He’s not ours,” you whispered regretfully, feeling how Agatha tensed in your embrace.

The energy shift was subtle before Agatha yanked herself from your arms, putting substantial distance between you. She was hugging herself, as if trying to keep herself from crumbling into dust. Holding together the broken slivers of her heart.

“You don’t think I know that?” she hissed furiously, tears clinging to long lashes. “I know my little boy is long gone. Because you let him die.”

Stumbling back as if struck, you glared at Agatha with a fury you didn’t know you possessed. “I didn’t let him die! I kept him alive for years! While that sickness ravaged his body, I was the one pouring magic into Nicky to keep him breathing! You have no idea how many nights he almost left this world, but I broke every rule to sustain him longer. Don’t you dare say I let him die!”

A cool hand touched your shoulder, fingers digging deep into the flesh as Rio’s dark eyes bore into you but you could only see the gaping Agatha in that moment.

“How fucking dare you accuse me of not doing everything I could to keep Nicky here? You were not the only one who loved him. Who still loves him.” You stormed closer to the shivering witch, barely cognizant of the other witches and an unsteady Teen peering around the trees to watch the show.

“And yet he still died,” she spat bitterly, glancing down at your balled fist. “What? Did I strike a nerve? The all-powerful Life still bowing to Death?”

White magic flared around you, illuminating the otherwise darkened forest. There were noises of surprise at the sudden lightshow but you didn’t care.

“Fuck you, Agatha Harkness,” you hissed. “If it doesn’t fit your idea of how things should’ve gone, you refuse to see the truth. I have spent centuries excusing your behavior but all you will ever see is what you want. We’re the villains because you didn’t have the power to save him either!”

The sharp gasp beside you echoed through the pounding in your mind, clearing the red fog clouding your vision.

“You know, the Darkhold told me something about you,” Agatha said coldly, staring deep into your eyes. “You can visit the afterlife. That you can take people there too. Yet you never offered to let me see him again.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Bullshit! You can walk the line of life and death, and you could have told me. Could have… taken me to him,” she whispered, trembling with grief, thinking about having her little boy tucked into her arms once more.

Rio stepped closer, her hand sliding down to tangle your fingers together, both to soothe your fury and to stop it from becoming something darker. “That book lies, Agatha, and you know it. It shows you what you want to see. You want to see Nicky. So it gave you an answer in hopes of keeping you.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw blue flaring with twitching fingertips. You watched a familiar purple match the dancing blue across the tips of Agatha’s digits and your eyes widened fractionally.

“I cannot bring the living to the afterlife. Anyone who walks into that plane can never leave. It’s the way of the cosmos.” Your voice was tinged in desperation, begging the woman you loved to just… listen. “There’s a price all must pay who enter.”

There was a lull and for a moment, you hoped maybe she was seeing reason, before Agatha lunged at you. Her hand slammed into your chest, purple erupting around you and swallowing your vision. Purple and Agatha and furious, begging eyes.

All you could hear was Rio’s furious, panicked roar, “No!” ringing in your ears before there was…

Nothing.

Then you were falling.

And falling fast.

-X-

Being yanked from one dimension into another plane of existence was jarring. It didn’t happen often, unless you were in a different place than Rio and the universe called you home, but you imagined it was like being tossed headfirst into a blender that was on high.

As your back slammed into solid ground, you groaned low in your throat before slowly looking up at the sky. Or, what should’ve been the sky, except it was replaced with a beautiful, never-ending starlit void. There was no sun here, no moon, but you could see for miles and miles, never needing another light source.

“Oh no.”

Agatha’s limp form was a few feet away from you, but your spirit felt heavy. Neither of you were meant to be here and while you could pass somewhat freely without the imposing threat of danger, the same couldn’t be said for your witch.

“Agatha, get up,” you called out, carefully forcing yourself to an upright position. The astral body was similar but different from the mortal vessel you carried. Here, there was little imperfection, and you were simply the embodiment of Life. As meant to be.

However, Agatha’s had remained perfectly… Agatha.

It was like wading through waist high water to get to her. Hands pulsing white, you touched her shoulder and she jolted up with a gasp. You weren’t sure what such a journey had done to a mortal, but she seemed somewhat coherent – which you supposed was good.

“W-what? Where are we?” she demanded, peering around at the odd scenery of the afterlife as she stood.

“We have to go,” you replied sharply, glowing hand reaching out to grab her wrist but she jerked away, deftly dodging your grip.

“Is this the afterlife? Is he here?” She didn’t wait for your answer before cupping her hands to her mouth. “Nicky! Nicky! Are you here? It’s okay! It’s Mama!”

Waves of pain wracked through your spirit and you watched darkness creeping closer to the foreign entity.

No, no, no. It’s not her time. This isn’t…

Agatha continued screaming, her voice echoing throughout the plane until a long-missed voice called back from the distance, disbelief evident.

“Mama?”

Agatha bolted towards the voice and you watched tendrils of the afterlife chase after her, drawn to the soul still within her body.

Steeling yourself for what was to come; white light seeped from your fingers and filled the space around you, encouraging the darkness towards yourself instead. The sting was immediate and intense as darkness slipped into your body like blades, but you swallowed down the scream.

You promised to protect her.

And so you would.

-X-

Back on the Road, Rio cried out as a hand flew to her chest, the bond between you burning like a fire let loose to rage. Her long quiet heart thumped painfully, following the slowing beats of your own in perfect tandem. Her other hand was cupping your clammy cheek, wiping the sweat and tears falling down your cheeks.

“Oh, my love… what have you done?”

#agatha harkness imagine #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal imagine #rio vidal x reader #agatha x rio #reader insert #reader imagine #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #reader #agatha all along

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sapphiremusings · 8 months ago

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bride | vampire!aemond targaryen

cw: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

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