#fox den :: threads

[moltenmaplemoth]

Little OC's on a picnic date

[vulpe-mp]

A Dance with Demons

Closed w/ @juyeonmp

TW // Alcohol abuse

The bright studio lights pierced through his sunglasses and intensifying the throbbing headache he already had. Vulpe wore a pair of oversized sunglasses that hid his bloodshot eyes, evidence of a wild night of excessive indulgence.

Despite the foggy haze in his mind, the teacher tried to keep a cool face, but it was clear to anyone who saw him that he was not in his best state.

This was not the first time, far from it, but this time it felt different. It was different. The fox demigod was not just hungover like he had been the previous times. He may or may not still be a little drunk.

The night prior was one only seen in Hollywood movies and with the amount he drank and the little he had eaten or slept, it was a miracle the demigod was still standing. Just barely.

No one had said something about his behavior before, at least no one of importance and he hoped to keep it that way. But by the way the usually agile dancer was walking around, anyway but graceful, it was clear he should've stayed home that day.

[vulpe-mp]

Vulpe accepted the packet of tissues with a silent nod of gratitude, wiping away the tears. The question Sungjin posed was profound, causing the vulpine demigod to pause and reflect. After a moment, he offered a response.

"It's not just a reminder that he's are no longer... here; it's also a reflection of the choices and paths we didn't get to take together. Seeing you is like catching a glimpse of an alternate reality where things turned out differently. I'm sorry... I shouldn't have put all of this on you in the first place. You're not him."

The Brit took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself, which worked to some extent - not breaking down in ugly sobs in front of the stranger.

"here," sungjin whispered and passed him a small, travel-sized packet of tissues. he carried them on his person mostly for himself, but it wasn't rare that situations like this happened too. having a moment for himself, sung processed what the other had just said. how interesting it was to be a doppelganger to someone who isn't around anymore. he considered how it might have felt to have a clone of heoksang walking around and then he could envision such a heartache.

"well, regardless of what happened, there will always be parts of your fiance that exist within you. that, fortunately or unfortunately, is how relationships work. is it so heartbreaking to see me because it's a reminder of how they're gone?"

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 91, Part 1

As Wildclaw moves on from grieving Clammask, she and Rattlepelt go for a walk together.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt and Wildclaw approach two black newborns. Under the leftmost kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: VALLEYKIT, 0, MALE, QUIET. Under the rightmost, smoky kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: MIDNIGHTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. Under Wildclaw, it reads - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

Rattlepelt typically despised winter. The snow was beautiful, Longest Night was lovely, and she always purred when kits played in the snow. But her Clanmates had fur. They could handle the cold. The winter wind didn't sting their bodies and quickly numb their limbs. They could safely leave camp! Meanwhile, Rattlepelt stayed huddled in the artisan's den, tucked under extra leather pelts while she, Rabbitjoy, and Frostpaw fixed baskets.

The artisan's den was packed with supplies and tools; leather wraps for managing hot stoves, drums, dry ferns and grass for basket weaving, and more. All those supplies trapped heat within the rocks and brambles. There was just enough work for the three artisans to sit and do their work.

"Trust your claws," Rabbitjoy said as Frostpaw pulled twine through the stakes of her basket, weaving it back and forth. "Your claws are made to snag material like this. Let them hook the twine and treat it as an extension of your paw."

"My wrist keeps getting stuck," Frostpaw muttered. She tried to hook her paw around the next stake, but since she was repairing a hole in the side of the basket, her paw had little room to move. The twine kept slipping off Frostpaw's claws in her effort to pull it through without breaking the basket further.

"Repairing a basket is harder than weaving it from scratch," Rabbitjoy assured her. "Don't worry if you can't make it tight. Try your best."

"How do humans do this?" Frostpaw groaned as she finally pulled her thread back around.

"Malformed paws," Rattlepelt explained with a chuckle, tying off the broken base of her basket. She waved her paw, flexing her pads. "Their paws are flexible and good at crafts, but they barely feel a thing."

"They also don't have claws!" Gingerpaw suddenly stuck his big fluffy head into the aritsan's den, his maple seed necklace bouncing on his chest. Estherfern lingered behind him with a bundle of bark, but her apprentice was ignorant to his mentor's shoving. "They just have hard rocks on top of their paws!"

"Gingerpaw, go away!" Frostpaw whined. "We're working! Don't eavesdrop!" Estherfern finally knocked Gingerpaw away from the artisan's den and back to his chores. As Gingerpaw walked off, laughing, Frostpaw groaned and threw her paws over her ears. "I hate him sometimes!"

"He's just being silly," Rabbitjoy said, patting Frostpaw's back. Rattlepelt placed her repaired basket against the den wall. As she stretched her front legs, Wildclaw peeked into the den. Her amber eyes seemed brighter than they had in a few moons.

"Rattlepelt, come outside!" Wildclaw chirped. "It's finally a bit warm. I want to go on a walk."

"I should really help Rabbitjoy finish the basket repairs," Rattlepelt chuckled, snatching loose twine in her claws.

"You've been trapped in camp for ages," Rabbitjoy scoffed. "If it's warm, go outside! We only have one other basket to repair. Frostpaw and I can fix it." Rabbitjoy rolled the remnants of a broken basket toward her. Wildclaw kneaded the sand, eyes glowing. Rattlepelt purred. It was hard to resist that face.

"Let's go, then," Rattlepelt sighed, fixing her lavender-lined fox pelt onto her back. Frostpaw grumbled under her breath as she searched for fresh twine and Rattlepelt joined Wildclaw outside of the artisan's den.

Wildclaw was right; it was so unseasonably warm that the Clan didn't need a bonfire in the center of camp. Snow clung in piles along the dark and cool corners of the rocks and wood, but RippleClan could once again relax against the cool sand of their home. The land beyond camp was no longer white and brown, but a strange, gray-tinted mixture of tan and green. Though Rattlepelt's skin still danced under the soft chill, it was a pleasurable chill. It was a fool's spring, the sort that RippleClan would usually take full advantage of.

But RippleClan was not, in fact, taking advantage of the good weather. Instead, Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, Ravenweaver, and Trumpetspore hovered around the medicine den. They quietly shared tongues and muttered soft encouragement. Some of their friends and mates (Billowhaze, Anchovystrike, Brightreed, Scaleripple) comforted them, glancing into the shadows of the medicine den and quickly looking away.

"It's Mosspounce," Wildclaw sighed when she noticed her mate's confused look. "Honeybuzz just told his daughters. The infection is getting bad. They aren't sure how much longer he has."

"Should we visit?" Rattlepelt gulped.

"Later," Wildclaw quietly promised, heading for the camp exit. "The walk might give me time to think of what to say." Rattlepelt watched as Honeybuzz trailed out of the medicine den, merging into the small crowd. Trumpetspore scrambled into the medicine den as Honeybuzz spoke softly to Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, and Ravenweaver. Rattlepelt dipped her head, allowing her fox pelt to cover her eyes. She ignored the rest of the Clan and pressed into the false spring.

The birds hesistantly tested the warm weather, chirping their questions to one another, as though their fellow feathered friends could provide an answer. The mid-morning light offered the land a chance to stretch and feed itself before the explosion of frost and snow that would mark the remainder of the year. Twigs and branches, reminders of summer's rich foliage, rubbed against Rattlepelt's fox pelt. Her paws sank into the wet earth. Wildclaw strolled beside her, quiet, her ever-present guardian.

The silence stretched on for longer than Rattlepelt expected. The pair journeyed deeper into the forest, simply basking in the light. At one point, they spotted Tallowheart and Splashtuft, going over a few tales. Wildclaw raised her tail in greeting and passed them by. The two mates wandered over boulders and roots. All the while, Rattlepelt thought and thought and thought.

A twig snapped deep within the trees. Rattlepelt froze, eyes locking on the sound. A great buck stared at Rattlepelt and Wildclaw. Its magnificent crown of antlers snagged leaves that refused to fall from their trees despite the pressure of snow and time. Its brown coat blended into the forest. It flicked a round ear at Rattlepelt, blinking thoughtlessly.

"Wonder if it thinks you're a cat or a fox," Wildclaw hummed. The buck slowly lost interest in the two cats. It bent back down and chewed on a twig just beginning to bud, tricked by the heatwave. Rattlepelt took a deep breath. Her chest still hurt from the shock.

"We should go home," Rattlepelt suddenly said.

"What?" Wildclaw scoffed. "We're barely past mid-morning. Why turn back now?" Rattlepelt couldn't answer her mate. Did she even have an answer?

"Do you ever have a feeling that something bad is about to happen?" Rattlepelt asked. She jumped onto a large, mossy rock and spun in circles, trying to get comfortable among the limp leaves.

"Define 'something bad' for me," Wildclaw said. She joined Rattlepelt on top of the rock.

"We've had a lot of good in our lives lately," Rattlepelt groaned. "You've been a great mother to the toms."

"Now that I don't have a death wish anymore?" Wildclaw chuckled.

"You still get into some good scraps," Rattlepelt hummed, gently bunting her mate. "No, I just mean that even with… what happened with Lemmy, the two of us, we've been alright."

"Don't tell the rest of the Clan this," Wildclaw muttered, batting at the wet leaves under her, "but I get where Lemmy came from with killing Achilles and everything. It all spun out of control for her. I feel bad for her, even if she killed our Clanmates."

"It just makes me think," Rattlepelt groaned, "is it our turn next? When am I going to suffer some major loss again?"

"What do you mean?"

"When will tragedy strike the ones I love? Will one of my moms die? Will something happen to Shrewflame, or Whitepaw?" Rattlepelt pulled her fox pelt off. She was almost panting under its heat. "I feel like something's standing right behind me. Like I'm going to ruin everything."

"Is this about the Shardling? We keep telling you that wasn't your fault. It's not like you wanted to be possessed."

"It still happened, Wildclaw. It nearly broke me. Something's telling me that it will happen again. I know I sound crazy—"

"You don't sound crazy." Wildclaw leaned against Rattlepelt. "It's been a hard few moons. You've been stuck in camp. You're stressed. Why do you think I wanted to go on a walk with you?" Rattlepelt sighed. She forced the ripping, anxious itch in her chest out with her breath.

"You're right, you're right," Rattlepelt groaned.

"I always am," Wildclaw chirped.

"Don't gloat," Rattlepelt chuckled, shoving Wildclaw's muzzle down. Rattlepelt dragged her fox pelt back over her sensitive skin as a breeze made the bare branches dance. Rattlepelt could still smell the deer on the wind, but she smelled something else too, something pungent and stranger than any deer.

"Humans?" Wildclaw muttered, tasting the air. "Oh, those are definetely humans. Yuck." Wildclaw sneered at the smell.

"I hope they aren't setting more traps," Rattlepelt gulped. "Frostpaw almost stepped in one last moon!"

"Let's see if they are," Wildclaw suggested, hopping off the rock. "Keep low, alright?" Rattlepelt nodded. She and Wildclaw crept through the twigs and leaves, letting their noses lead them closer to where the WheatClan and AshClan borders met. As they pushed deeper into the forest, the humans soon became audible. There were two of them, with gangly meows that wavered in pitch. Rattlepelt kept low, the tail of her fox pelt dragging on the undergrowth. Wildclaw, nimble as ever, slipped silently closer to the noisy humans.

The two humans stomped around the corner of the three Clans. They were young from their size, with the tight-fitting leathers that typically marked males. Rattlepelt marveled at the leather's bright colors and strange patterns, unlike anything artisans could achieve. The smaller of the two held his front limbs close to his chest, keeping two small forms steady while his taller friend followed and yowled.

"I've never seen humans fight each other," Wildclaw muttered as the smaller human hissed at his companion. The black masses resting in the human's embrace shifted. Tiny mews broke through the human screeching. Rattlepelt held her breath when two sets of baby blue eyes peeled over the leather. The small human had two black kits!

The storyteller in Rattlepelt imagined what the humans could be doing. Were they yowling about the kits? Who were the kits? Did the humans take them from their mother? Did they even know their mother? Rattlepelt's anxieties slipped away, overshadowed by overwhelming curiosity focused on the strange unknowable creatures called humans.

The small human suddenly made a quick, snappy hiss at his companion. His strange eyes focused on the undergrowth… the undergrowth where Rattlepelt and Wildclaw lurked. The pair stayed utterly still, eyes locked on the smaller human. The small human slowly crouched, still staring at the two mollies. He made a soft, mouse-like chirp that drew all of Rattlepelt's attention. It made her stomach growl, as though she spotted a mouse shuffling through the leaves. Her ears turned straight on to the human. Rattlepelt caught herself before she slipped a paw out of her hiding spot. Whatever strange magic the human was wielding, Rattlepelt could not give in!

The human continued making that alluring sound as he carefully placed the two kittens on the ground. They couldn't have been more than half a moon old. The kits crawled on top of each other, stunned by the sudden lack of warmth. The human crept back like a hunter. He crouched at the side of a tree fox-lengths away from the kits.

"Is this some type of trap?" Rattlepelt asked.

"What kind of trap uses kits?" Wildclaw muttered. "I think… they want us to take the kits."

"I thought humans loved kittens."

"Maybe they don't want to take care of them."

"So they leave them in the forest? How cruel."

"But they aren't, they see us. I think they're looking for Clan cats." Did the humans know about the Clans? Did they know about RippleClan?

The tall human snapped at his smaller friend and grabbed his shoulder. The human spun and shoved him off, sneering. They yipped and growled at each other, with their mangled paws waving wildly at the kits. Rattlepelt steadied her jaw. She crept out of the undergrowth. The nose of her fox pelt touched the light first. Wildclaw snuck alongside her. The humans no longer noticed them.

Rattlepelt snatched the scruff of the bulkier kit, a tom with a slight smoky pattern across his pelt. Wildclaw grabbed his brother, who looked nearly identical. As soon as they had a good hold of the kits, Wildclaw and Rattlepelt ran. The two humans startled, finally aware of what the cats were up to, but they had no chance of catching them.

Rattlepelt and Wildclaw only slowed down when the ocean peeked between the trees. They skidded up to a sandy beach and dropped the kits. Both toms were shockingly quiet, merely huffing at the sudden stop and trying to get their bearings. Rattlepelt panted hard. Wildclaw groaned, stretching her hind legs.

"Well," Wildclaw huffed, "I think we found your bad feeling." She waved a paw at the kits.

"You know this isn't what I meant," Rattlepelt muttered. She sat beside the two black kits. Her fox pelt slipped off from all that running. The tail floated on top of the kittens' heads. The bulky tom's permanently unsheathed claws snagged one of the dried lavender petals woven into the fur. So much like Shrewflame.

"I don't know about you," Wildclaw hummed, slipping next to her mate, "but this feels like one of those moments StarClan designs just for us." Wildclaw dipped her paw in front of the smaller black tom, who instinctively crawled to it. He latched his tiny muzzle onto Wildclaw's toe. "The next step seems pretty clear to me. Ready to be a mom again, Rattle?"

Wildclaw was right. The next step was very clear.

(Rattlepelt: 74, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Rabbitjoy: 127, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Frostpaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, strict, lover of stories)

(Gingerpaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, childish, curious about humans, moss-ball hunter)

(Wildclaw: 83, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Midnightkit: 0, male, kit, polite)

(Valleykit: 0, male, kit, quiet)

Mosspounce died of an infected wound.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver, Trumpetspore, Washington, Wolfgaze, and Weevilsiht crowd around Mosspounce.]

---

"Lemmy better get here soon," Mosspounce muttered. His bandaged, sightless eyes gazed out of the medicine den. "She'll be… very upset if she misses this."

Mosspounce laid in the back of the medicine den, surrounded by his daughters and Trumpetspore. The other clerics all left the den, giving the family their privacy. Washington was still there, though; Mosspounce had insisted the old tom not leave. The glow of a yellow sunset dripped between the thin gaps in the wood, dappling Mosspounce's pelt. Trumpetspore practically laid in the nest with Mosspounce, curling around him. She whimpered as though he had already died. Whenever her voice rose to a cry, Weevilsight had to close her eyes and push back her sudden rage. She couldn't even think about her father. All she wanted was for her aunt to shut up.

When Mosspounce made his comment, Ravenweaver looked ready to join Trumpetspore in her pre-mature vigil. Wolfgaze's hazel eyes tightened. Weevilsight stuck her nose into Mosspounce's ear. For a moment, she was just a cleric again, checking on her sick patient. Mosspounce's ear burned.

"If she wanted to be here she wouldn't have…" Wolfgaze growled.

Wolfgaze bit her tongue, however, when Ravenweaver quietly snapped "She's still our mom, Wolf." Wolfgaze paced around the empty nests of the medicine den, keeping her supernatural gaze off her father. Ravenweaver crawled to the edge of Mosspounce's nest and rested her head by his sickly-smelling wounds. Her lavender crown fell onto Mosspounce's head. Mosspounce shifted just enough to nose Ravenweaver's forehead.

"Your old molly's just off hunting, Mossy," Washington suddenly coughed from his nest. "She's on her way." Mosspounce purred softly and groomed his daughter's head, unable to lift his own and properly share tongues. All the mollies in the den stared at the old gray tom.

"I don't know if we should lie to him, Washington," Wolfgaze muttered, squirming under Washington's wizened eye.

"He can't understand what's happening anymore," Weevilsight quietly explained. "He's too far gone."

"Don't say that, stop saying that," Trumpetspore whimpered. She buried her face in Mosspounce's back.

"It's happening, Trumpetspore!" Weevilsight suddenly hissed, the petals in her fur fluttering out as she turned to her grieving aunt. "And… and there's nothing else we can do for him." Weevilsight stepped back, forcing her sneer off her face as Trumpetspore wailed again. Trumpetspore clawed at the edge of Mosspounce's nest and shook so hard that Mosspounce moved as well. A painful buzz filled Weevilsight's chest and made her limbs ache. Her head burned with too many thoughts. There was nothing she could do. Not for Mosspounce, not for Lemmy. She was losing both of them in less than a moon.

"I'm not trying to intrude," Washington croaked, shaky paws pushing out from his nest, "but could you help me close to him?" Weevilsight took a while to move, even as Washington groaned under the simple yet mountainous effort of standing. Washington's groaning mixed with Trumpetspore's moans in a painful chorus that threatened to undo Weevilsight's remaining sanity. The tortoiseshell cleric slipped beside Washington and supported his large weight. With Weevilsight under him and his broken leg stiff and splinted at his side, Washington limped to Mosspounce's nest.

"You're a funny old flea-feast," Mosspounce whimpered as Washington fell next to him.

"I'm glad I could make you laugh," Washington purred, "even if we haven't known one another long." Washington set his paw against Mosspounce's shoulder. "I'm sorry to see you go. But this is a good death, in my eyes."

"A good death?" Wolfgaze huffed, marching in front of Washington. "What would be 'good' is if my father wasn't dying at all!"

"But he's dying with his family around him," Washington groaned, waving at the mollies crowded around Mosspounce. "That's more than many get."

"Hi again, Tempest," Mosspounce muttered, lifting his head slightly. "Have you met my mollies? They're good kits." Weevilsight's paws inched toward the exit. She needed to stay, she had to stay, yet her body pushed her outside. Still, she stayed long enough to catch her father's last words.

"Lemmy and I made some good, good kits…"

(Mosspounce: 52, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Trumpetspore: 52, female, warrior, nervous, makes the best pottery, good storyteller)

(Weevilsight: 26, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Wolfgaze: 26, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Ravenweaver: 26, female, artisan, den builder, very clever)

(Washington: 219, male, elder, nervous, good mediator)

Mitespark and Wolverineheart have grown closer over time, relying on one another through the recent chaos. They decide to become mates. Wolverineheart’s littermates celebrate with the pair.

[Image ID: Mitespark speaks with Wolverineheart while Boughfur, Thundergale, and Brightreed stand behind their sister in support. Under Mitespark, it says + MATE: WOLVERINEHEART. Under Wolverineheart, it says + MATE: MITESPARK.]

(Mitespark: 33, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 23, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Boughfur: 23, female, historian, righteous, great climber)

(Thundergale: 23, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)

(Brightreed: 23, female, warrior, righteous, student of art)

Moontide and Cobaltchaser don't move in time to avoid a large fir tree falling right on top of them. A patrol doesn't find them until they've both moved on to StarClan.

[Image ID: Moontide and Cobaltchaser are both StarClan spirits. Moontide says, "We need to see our sisters."]

(Moontide: 26, female, teacher, playful, excellent teacher)

(Cobaltchaser: 21, female, codekeeper, righteous, good cook, prey cleaner)

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 16 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 15 here. Part 17 here.

Summary: I learned that it is (was?) also called 'morning glory' in the UK. How delightful.

Words: 5700

Warnings: no <3

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia <3

*throws this chapter up before disappearing into Thanksgiving*

HELLO!! Thought we'd give thanks to y'all by getting (read: me forcing Bastillia to stay up late and edit with me) a chapter up before the holiday. So so happy the last couple chapters were well-received, we were both so delighted to hear you enjoy what we're trying to do here <3

We shall sadly take a break from smut for the next couple chapters, but there's much more to come (cum. lol.)!!

We love y'all so much, happy holidays to those who celebrate, and see you soon <3

It was a dream. Or divine intervention. Or perhaps it was your mind, finally untangling the yarn of your thoughts in its half-conscious liberty. Whichever it was, it struck you like an epiphany, throwing your eyes open.

You were the cub. Papa was the bear. Catawba was the bear’s den.

You jolted upright in a triumphant shout. Next to you, William Tavington flew awake, snatching his flintlock from the bedside table and pointing it directly between your eyes.

“What the—” You scowled, backhanding his wrist to shove the gun aside. “Good morning to you as well.”

The man across from you blinked into thought, his hair draped in messy ribbons over his face. His gaze focused, finding you in the bed beside him, and scanned your naked, bewildered figure before his arm relaxed and the pistol fell onto the sheets.

“Christ alive, woman,” he grumbled, rubbing his temple. “I’d pity your other bedfellows had they ever existed.”

You rolled your eyes. “I can’t say I envy any of yours if they received a greeting as welcoming as mine.”

He snorted. Glimpsed you as if about to say something. But instead tossed his hair from his face and sank onto his pillow before replacing the gun where it had been resting.

As of the haze of sleep cleared from your sight, you found yourself unable to look away from him. The morning sun opened like a magnolia flower, petals of light streaming color through the window and highlighting the stubble sprouting on his cheeks, the mahogany branching through his hair, the grey budding in his irises.

You wanted to be closer to him—to press your lips to the underside of his jaw and feel the scrape of beard, to push your hands through his hair and wrap it like thread around your fingers. You wanted to seal yourself against him, soak in the heat of his skin, wanted to whisper his name and hear his breath catch in his chest.

And as you stared, rolling that strange and saccharine fantasy across your palate, you realized that his name now labeled the space he occupied in your mind. No longer could you gaze at him and think Colonel, or Tavington without his name attached, too. The man who laid next to you was William. And you wanted to invoke it like a prayer.

Shifting toward him, you paused. You’d definitely just had a revelation about where your father was headed. Was rolling around in bed with a British colonel the most responsible action for you to take? If anything, you needed to be leaping into your clothes and—

William rolled onto his back, stretching his shoulders. You immediately shelved your scheming.

A tent sprang from the sheets between his legs. And despite the discomfort between your own, your eyes widened, vision tunneling on that silhouette like a fox poised to pounce.

Your throat worked.

“You’re…” You didn’t care how inexperienced it made you appear. You couldn’t not stare at it. “Eager.”

He raised a brow. From the corner of your vision, you saw him seek your gaze only to realize you were far too fixated on his erection. Pausing, he considered you, eased back against his pillow.

“Well,” he murmured, “if you’re so curious…” He pulled the covers back.

Your throat thickened with lust. In the light of day, his cock was even more impressive than the one in your memory. Thick, even girth, a slight curve all the way to its pink head, long enough for you to sob when he bottomed out inside you. Tiny veins pulsed underneath the skin—you wanted to trace them with your fingers, your tongue. Wanted to feel it throb like it had in your palm. Like it had when he’d emptied himself between your thighs.

At some point, your jaw had dropped open. Drool was seeping from the corner of your mouth. William said your name, which you intended to respond to, except you kept thinking about how his seed had tasted and how you wanted more.

Then two of his fingers trailed from the base up the underside of his shaft, making it twitch. You choked, drew in a trembling breath, and finally managed to look him in the eyes.

“Uh,” was the only sound you could make. You wiped your chin free of saliva.

His lip curled in amusement. “Do you want a turn?”

You didn’t know what to say. His fingers slid back down in a slow tease, and he seethed, his stomach tightening with pleasure. Desire shook you, and you squirmed, putting pressure on your clit with your thighs. As he dragged a finger around the root, earning another needy throb from his cock, you shook your head.

Right now, you were fully content to watch and learn.

Encircling the base with his thumb and forefinger, he dragged back up, pushing skin to the tip, then coasted over that sensitive little place where the head met the shaft. He inhaled, his jaw stiffening, then looked at you, studied all the flesh you’d left exposed to the sun. Eyes focused on your breasts, he gripped his cock and led it through a long, firm stroke.

You swallowed again. Your cunt clenched, your clit ached—you shifted your hips, squeezed your thighs, trying in vain to relieve the tension between them. But as he stroked himself again, and again, each movement releasing a quiet breath of relief, your efforts became futile. You needed to touch yourself, too.

William’s attention remained on your breasts until you revealed all of yourself from the sheets, settling onto your pillow and easing your legs apart. The pain from your core was humbling—even as it tightened around nothing, it made you wince—but your clit clamored despite it. Watching as he guided his cock leisurely through his fist, you snuck your hand over your stomach and to the crux of your thighs.

He exhaled, smirking. “You’re eager.”

Your first finger skimmed over the throbbing hill between your folds, and you huffed, shocks of delight darting to your toes. “I…” Speaking like this—naked and unabashed and gazing at one another—felt dirty. Filthy. Made your face burn.

You loved it.

“Perhaps I am,” you admitted, and drew a languid circle around your clit. “Oh…”

His throat bobbed, and his jaw shifted. “I would think better of your innocence had I not been the one to make you bleed.”

“I said I was a virgin,” you replied coyly. “Not innocent.”

“Mhm.” William’s smirk grew wider, and he pinched a drop of fluid from the head of his cock, slicking it around the head and pumping it along his shaft. His eyes fluttered, his breath faltered. “Perhaps we’ll have to explore that more thoroughly.”

Excitement lit your spine, and you gasped, nodding. The thought of it—finding yourself in his bed over and over, of being the object of his desire and the subject of experimentation, of becoming familiar with William—broke a smile across your face. You swirled around your clit, mouth parting with an ecstatic moan.

“Yes,” he said. “You’d like that.” He rolled his wrist, teased himself by sliding his fingers up the underside before thrusting into his fist again. “You’d like to be my very own whore.”

“Hell,” you gasped, the thrill of it ratcheting the tension between your thighs. “I would.” Your finger moved faster, you imagined him finding you in the hospital tent and bending you over one of the tables; imagined the groans grazing your ear while you climbed astride him in his bed; imagined staring into the stars as he fucked you in the field. “A-anywhere you wanted.”

William huffed, his thighs tensing, his cheeks and chest flush. His lust-laced gaze hung on your cunt, his breath picking up. “For anything I wanted,” he muttered. He gripped his cock tighter, his hips bucking now, seeking more and more of his fist. “Hm?”

Anything he wanted could be anything, and if you were of sober mind, you may have hesitated at that. But watching the most beautiful man you’d ever seen stroke his cock to the thought of you; watching the blue in his eyes grow a hunger and depth like the sea as he stared at your cunt, your breasts; watching his cock twitch and pulse with the intensifying need to come… well, the less terrifying that seemed.

In fact, anything sounded like a contract. One to which, in your current state, you’d happily sign your life.

If this was how he would tame you—oh, how desperately did you want to be tamed.

“Perhaps,” you said through your shallow breath, a grin sneaking onto your face. “If you believe you can compel me."

His lip curled in a sneer. “You will come to heel when called,” he said, and his free hand reached to snag your hair at the base of your neck, pulling you close. “After all,” he breathed into your ear, “we both know you cannot resist coming for me.”

Before you could whimper in assent, he captured your mouth with his own.

William—how strange and awful and exhilarating to call him that each time—consumed you, kissed you as if your lips alone could bring him deliverance. You whined, returning his ardor, desire surging you in gooseflesh. Your fingers moved faster, flicked and played at your stiff clit, and you moaned into him, your orgasm burgeoning at your thighs.

You didn’t want to break. Not yet.

Gasping, you released yourself and grasped his cock at the base. William stifled a groan, stuffing it down into his chest and ceding control. You squealed, elated, mimicking his movements until you felt his fingers tighten in your hair and his teeth clamp onto your lower lip.

“Christ,” he muttered, and groped between your legs until he found your heat. “Determined, aren’t you?”

With a nod, you caught his mouth again and slipped your tongue into it, humming in bliss when he caressed your swollen, tender clit. You were so wound, so taut with need already that the friction of his rougher, thicker fingers made you spasm to your shoulders. More fluid leaked from the head of his cock, and you glazed his shaft with it, relishing the way he pulsed in your fist.

A finger moved toward your entrance, making you cry out, a stab of pain locking your joints. If this concerned him, though, you couldn’t tell—he stuffed that single finger inside of your core and growled as you constricted around him.

“That’s it.” His thumb rolled over your clit, sketching fast rings around it. “Do you feel how tightly you grip me when you’re near to breaking?” he said, his breath husky with pleasure, his voice low. “I’d apologize for the pain…” His finger stroked a spot inside of you that made you twist with ecstasy and agony at once. “... but you do so enjoy it.”

Your head fell back as you convulsed with desperate breath. Like a sudden, furious tide, your climax loomed upon you. Your muscles froze. And with a brush of your tender clit, the encouragement of his finger, it crashed into you.

He kissed you as you came, swallowing your wails as his hand followed your jerking body. It came in angry, exhausted swells, as if your nerves were flayed open, and you melted into its dissipation, nipping at his lips before control returned to your limbs.

It was perhaps a miracle of his own that he hadn’t yet covered your hand in his seed. Thank the sweet Lord who you hoped was not looking down upon you at just this moment, though. There was still so much you were curious about. And you were, after all, nothing if not one who learned best by being hands-on.

Or, as appealed to you in particular this morning, mouth-on.

William’s tongue darted across your lower lip one final time before he drew away, easing from the quivering depths of your cunt. He brought his hand up between you, letting the morning light play across the slick sheen of your pleasure coating his finger. In a rush of pure instinct and before you could think too hard about it, you leaned forward and enveloped it with your lips.

He made a soft noise deep in his throat, and when you tentatively suckled at the pad of his finger, his hips flexed into your slackened grip. The taste of your own undoing zipped like lightning across your raw senses, grounded by the earth and salt of his skin. It exhilarated you. You needed more of him.

Flicking your gaze to his from beneath your lashes, you drew his finger in further and dragged your tongue to the tip, this time mirroring the act with a slow stroke of your hand up his shaft. Just as he had done, you lingered at the little valley below the head, teased it with the barest touch.

William seethed, crooked his finger behind your teeth and tugged your jaw open. His eyes stormed with something primal, dancing between your open mouth and the needy cock twitching at your palm.

“One might think you long for your lips to be wrapped around something else,” he growled.

Face hot, you nodded. Even without him prying your mouth apart, you’d hesitate to say it.

He tutted. “Judiciousness doesn’t suit you in this instance.” He released you, and you coughed. “Speak, girl. Tell me exactly what you want.”

You glanced at the shiny head in your hand, his desire dripping from the tip. You’d read enough, overheard enough married women giggling behind their palms to know exactly what you wanted to do, you just hadn’t imagined yourself actually ever wanting a man enough to do it. To your embarrassment, your mouth watered as you envisioned yourself settling between his legs and—yes, dear sweet innocent and hopefully oblivious Christ, yes. That was what you wanted.

“I…” You swallowed, and met his stare. “I want…” You could envision it, and yet the words felt trapped beneath the anvil of your tongue, your cheeks stoked to furnace-heat.

William frowned. “A shame,” he said with affected disappointment. “And your mouth was functioning so adeptly just moments ago.”

“I want,” you spat, fueled by his imperiousness, “... to…” Fire blazed in your face, but you wouldn’t let it stop you now. With a huff, you forced your lips to form the words. “I want to use my mouth.” You circled your thumb slowly over the swollen head of him. “Here.”

His hips bucked. A muscle fluttered in his jaw. His gaze flashed, the fever behind them melting the last links on his restraint.

“Now,” he said, “was that so difficult?”

You rolled your eyes, forgetting yourself. “You're impossible.”

A smirk—like he'd been waiting for you to show just a shred of snark—split his face. “Actually,” he purred, his hand slinking behind your head to nest itself in your hair, “I find myself rather amenable to your request.”

His nails scraped your scalp, and he forced your face toward his cock.

All you could do was loosen your jaw, eyes wide as you took him in your mouth for the first time. Whimpering, your tongue pressed to his shaft, your lips sealing around it, saliva pouring from your cheeks. He was hot, like he’d been kissed by the sun, his taste a mixture of his skin and the brine of his seed. It made you groan, made your vision fuzz with lust.

William held you there, his breath trapped in his chest. But there was no way you were rushing this. You shifted, dragged your fingers over his thighs, making sure you had his attention before sucking softly on the head.

Instantly, his body tensed, a grunt escaping, the grip on your hair tightening. The reaction made you cunt revive itself from stupor—you did it again, and again, holding his stare, humming against him, as if his cock was a delicacy you were delighted to devour.

As he hissed, groaned in bliss, his chest rolling with quickening breath, you thought perhaps there could be an argument made in favor of that thought.

You slid your tongue up and down the tender dip at the head of his cock, suckling at him like he needed savoring. He twitched against your tongue, and you moaned, spurred on, taking him another inch into your mouth.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “More.”

Swallowing against him, you took the barest advance, now aware he wanted to use your mouth just like he used your cunt. But you coughed, halted by reflex, and you eased back, returning to sucking at the head.

His jaw stiff, William gripped your head, pushed you further onto his cock until the tip hit the back of your throat. You choked, gagging spit down his shaft as you lurched away, but he held you there, excitement alive in his gaze as he watched you writhe, watched tears build in your eyes.

“More.”

Lip furling, he snapped his hips into your mouth, and you heaved, helpless against him, groaning pathetically until he finally released you. You wrenched free, spit stringing from your lips as you retched, coughing away the urge to eject the contents of your stomach.

“I thought you wanted to use your mouth.”

Eyes watering, you cleaned your face with the back of your hand. “I did,” you managed to say.

He was unmoved. “Then I suggest you continue.”

You coughed again, glaring at him as he coldly returned your gaze. Taking a breath, you lowered yourself to his cock again, slicking him with your lips. Watching him, you started to bob your head, ignoring each time you wanted to gag, until finally, the instinct subsided. Instead, you whimpered in gratification, saliva soaking his shaft as you stared at him.

You couldn’t imagine what you looked like: naked, your lips wrapped around his cock, your head bouncing like a buoy as you sought to drain him dry. But you didn’t begrudge that, didn’t recoil as you thought you might have every other time you’d heard of women doing this. Instead, you ached for his approval, your heart raced at the thought that he could actually come off in your mouth.

Even suggesting it to yourself made you whine, made your eyelids flutter. You held him in your focus, the heat between your legs burning bright as his breath became rapid, as his jaw began to slacken. You shifted, your hands suddenly so limp, so empty; you curled one around the root of his cock, pumping it in time with your mouth, pulse skipping when he gasped in bliss.

William ran his fingers through your hair again, his head almost falling back. From the pink in his cheeks, his panting in uneven rhythm, you knew he was getting close—he grew harder, more swollen in your mouth, and you squeezed him tighter, swallowing him over and over.

“Yes,” he groaned, “that’s right.” His eyes were slivers of sky, barely able to focus. “So much—so much prettier like this.”

You whimpered, something like joy flooding you, and he grunted, his head falling back, his fist twisting in your hair. His muscles hardened beneath you, his cock throbbed. You held your mouth on him, moaning onto him as he came.

His seed spilled from his cock in warm spurts, filling your mouth and smothering your tongue. It was just how you remembered: the unmistakable essence of him. You swallowed it all, kept your tongue to his shaft and felt it pulse with each release, entranced by the way his brows pinched together, the way his teeth grit out his bliss. His hips rolled with his climax, and you worked his cock gently until he stuttered to a stop, collapsing into heavy, labored breath.

As you eased off of him, you realized you were trembling, your thighs were warm, your belly tight. You swallowed again, falling onto your side, watching as William meandered his way back to reality, his gaze falling on you from under hooded lids. He looked to the ceiling, exhaling through his nose before glancing at you again and wiping the ring of sweat that had begun to bead on his forehead.

“Passable performance,” he said, taking another breath before pushing himself upright and moving to leave the mattress.

“Such eminent praise,” you mumbled, yet unable to stop yourself from grinning.

As you watched him rise from the bed, you rolled onto your back, not content to miss a moment of his body in the daylight. The sun rose over his skin and shimmered where you'd scratched him, where you'd sunk your teeth into him. Between that and the pleasant aches where he'd choked you, bitten you, rended you, you were satisfied that even if you never did this again, the both of you would remember it for some time to come.

Would you do this again? He had said as much, but that was in the throes of passion. You weren't sure how reliable those words were.

"So..." You sat up straighter, eyes following him as he pulled on his stockings. "Did you..."

How did one ask the question? When shall you take me next, William? Shall we meet each morning so you may feed me your seed? Ah, excuse me, but I must needs inquire when I can expect to come off around your cock again.

No, none of those felt right.

"Did I..." William looked at you, brow raised. "Did you have a question, or were you inquiring if I, at one time, sewed?"

"What?" You blinked, shook your head. "No, I—why would I ever care if you sewed?"

He shrugged, eyeing you with a smirk as he stepped into his trousers. "Absurdity has never precluded your inquiries in the past."

You frowned. "Don't be an arse." Shifting on the bed, your attention drifted to the window. "I was pondering if you... If we..." To run outside nude and fall face-first into a pond would feel less humiliating than this. William seemed to know it, too, since he was waiting far too smugly for you to speak. You glared at him and glanced at the ceiling. "Were you sincere?" you asked. "When you implied we should do this again."

"Ah," he replied dryly, a glimmer of amusement in his gaze, "that makes far more sense than an interest in my experience with textiles." Before you could roll your eyes, he started to throw on his shirt. "I see no reason to complicate the situation."

"Ah," you said. That answered exactly zero percent of what you'd asked. "Which means..."

He glanced at you. "Of course.”

You were only a bit surprised when your shoulders unbunched at his response. Of course. You were two adults who enjoyed some level of sexual association. Of course you would do this again.

And, of course, the next question on your mind: when?

If you’d been smart, you would’ve stuck with Lottie and gotten on the carriage to the Goddard home in Charleston (you hoped she wasn’t too worried about you). But now, you weren’t even sure what the rest of the day was going to look like for you, let alone what William’s plans were. Would he return to the field? Would the expectation be that you and Lottie would return with him?

Was it proper to wonder about any of this, or to even ask?

There was still some part of him, you knew, that didn’t trust you, and rightfully so. Because beyond even your worry for the next minute, the next hour, you worried for Grace.

If the bear’s den was indeed Catawba—which you were sure it was—that meant that Papa and the rest of his soldiers were headed in that direction, and that could mean any number of things. The most reassuring thought was that it meant nothing. But given your last conversation with him, how casually he tossed out Grace’s name as a proxy for your correspondence, you were far more convinced it meant something you would very much not like.

Perhaps your father would be disappointed that you hadn’t managed to get any useful information from the British in the meantime, and you certainly wouldn’t if you headed home, but that had long lost its importance to you. His insistence you collect intelligence was his delusion, not yours, and you were clearly incapable of doing it anyway, since your most daring attempt to do anything surreptitious ended with you bleeding and coming on a British officer’s cock.

Your relief for Papa’s well-being was still palpable. But the insinuation that he might bring violence even within a mile of your home made your palms sweat. Plus, there was now the issue of Patrick Ferguson, who appeared genuinely enamored with Grace, and whose proximity to her had the capacity to place her in even greater danger.

More than putting your mouth on William Tavington’s body again, or having a part of his body inside yours, you needed to get to Catawba.

You continued to lie on the bed, watching as William crossed to the bedside table and grabbed the black ribbon he’d unwound from his queue the previous night. Sitting on the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair before separating it into strands.

He felt your eyes on him, obviously, as he turned, brow raised.

"Something the matter?” he asked, voice laden with sarcasm.

“No,” you replied, averting your gaze. But that didn’t feel satisfactory. You realized you wanted to say more. And it wasn’t even for duplicity’s sake. “How well do you know Major Ferguson?”

His brow lowered in irritation. “Only the Lord could grant me insight as to why you’d inquire about that name.” He placed the end of the ribbon at the base of his scalp and started to plait it into his hair.

“I’m just curious about his character.”

“What do you mean, curious?” His gaze flicked over your frame.

You sighed. If Ferguson was already asking to write her, then there was no secret to his affection. “He’s…” The thought alone made you shudder with disgust. “He wants to write my sister,” you said. “He seems quite taken with her.”

William snorted, continuing to wind the ribbon through his braid. “If her familial association hadn't brought me to pity her before, I certainly do now.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Or perhaps I pity him,” he mused, “if she is as mendacious as her sister.”

You frowned. “You know nothing about her,” you said, your voice low, “so I suggest you stop speaking as if you do.” When he didn't reply, you added, “Besides, he deserves no pity. He’s awful.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say awful,” William replied, with the clear indication that he was indeed saying Ferguson was awful. After tying off the end of the plait, he started to wrap the ribbon around the tips. “Perhaps she maintains a predilection for chimerical, self-serving, aspiring martyrs.” He paused, as if his next words held deep meaning. “May remind her of her father.”

A growl rumbled in your chest. “I don't know if you think you're being amusing,” you said, “but I am not amused.”

“Amusing?” he said, glimpsing you with disdain. He tucked the ends of the ribbon into the queue. “No. Merely stating my observations.”

“There's nothing for you to observe.” You gathered the sheets to cover yourself. “So don't sit there and pretend as if you have insight on my family that you could never claim to have.”

“Far better than your willful ignorance, I'd say.”

About one thousand swords leapt to your tongue, and you imagined yourself wielding all of them at once. One in particular unsheathed itself, ready to plunge—you being undeserving of your parents' love doesn't deem all families devoid of it—

Glaring at him, you opened your mouth. Met his eyes. Remembered what he'd said last night. How he'd said it.

Why apologize for speaking truth?

William spoke his own truth at this moment. He had never, and likely would never know love as you had known it. And for that, your fury collapsed into something with far fewer teeth. You shook your head, chuckling to yourself.

“Something entertaining?”

“No,” you said dismissively. “It’s… I pity you, I suppose.”

His jaw tightened, his shoulders locked. “I don’t deign to presume what a choleric bog woman finds pitiable about me.”

“There is nothing more important to me in this world than my family,” you replied. “Without them, my life would be rather empty.” You glanced at him. “I imagine your life must feel quite the same way.”

“Your imagination deceives you,” he said. “You fail to consider that, perhaps, you'd be at liberty to define your life free from their influence.”

You raised a brow. “As if all influence is uniformly negative.”

“No,” he said, a thin, sardonic smile on his lips, “and clearly the influence you’ve received has molded a most modest, affable, and submissive young lady.”

“And your lack thereof has provided all the favors for your manners and mercy,” you snapped, sitting forward.

William’s mouth quirked, as if you’d proven his point. You glared at him, your hands curling in and out of fists. You were, for some reason, irritated that you'd lashed at him. A part of you had been sincerely perplexed by his perspective, but you’d somehow managed to steer him into bickering with you again. It seemed that every vine of curiosity you extended also had to be tempered with rows of thorns.

Regardless, there was no point in trying to salvage the conversation now as long as he was going to use it as a way to goad you into an argument. You were beginning to suspect he gleaned some demented little thrill from it.

Then again, you may not have been innocent of such an accusation, either.

Grumbling, you relaxed against the headboard. Released your rage in a long exhale.

“I’m going to Catawba.”

For all of the spite in his tone, his brows furrowed in a flash of disappointment. He looked utterly sour. “You what?”

“Not for long.” You shrugged, crossing your arms. Even if you hadn’t already been looking forward to having sex with him again, having knowledge of British movements still gave you the greatest opportunity to keep your family safe. “My sister is there. I haven't seen her in months. I'm worried for her.” Pursing your lips, you sought his gaze. “I want to see her.”

William stood, plucked his waistcoat from the floor. “Allow me to think on it,” he said. “Given your recent—and poor—attempts at subterfuge and a history of collaboration with the Continental army…” He leveled you with his stare. “No.”

“What?” You sat forward, leering. “Surely you don’t believe you can mete out your own form of punishment,” you replied. “I don’t need your permission. My parole has been cleared since before I started serving in the field hospital.”

“Precisely my point,” he said, finishing the buttons on his waistcoat. “You serve the British Army, my cavalry, and, therefore, myself. We depart tomorrow for Fort Carolina. I expect you to be part of the marching order.”

You felt your hackles raise. “Well, firstly, I’m not a soldier,” you said through gritted teeth. “Secondly, I’m asking for a few days. Send me with an escort if you think it’s necessary.” He glanced at you, brow raised. “I just want to see my sister.”

William grabbed his jacket and slipped his arms into it, silent as he adjusted his boots and then glanced at himself in one of the mirrors on the wall, running his hand over the wisps of hair that hadn’t been integrated into the queue. With a sigh, he turned toward a leather satchel that had been placed next to the bedside table and started to rummage through it.

“Major Ferguson is slated to head in that direction from Charleston, I believe,” he said, as if it was the most incredible burden for him to admit it. “You may join his caravan, if you so wish.”

“Ferguson?” You frowned, and he met your gaze with the barest but still infuriating sparkle of glee. It made you want to tackle him to the ground and bite his throat. “You are punishing me. This is punishment.”

He stood, a tin of pomade in his hand. “No,” he said, smirking. “This is serendipity.”

You huffed, knocking your head against the headboard to demonstrate your displeasure. You supposed you couldn’t disagree with that. “Yes,” you admitted. “Fine.”

“You know…” He slicked the pomade over his hair before pocketing it. “You’re far more appealing when you decide to agree with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I truly, genuinely, positively loathe you.”

“Mm, a mutual agreement then.” William stepped forward and pressed his mouth to yours, biting your lip before pulling away. “I’ll inform the major.”

Just the tease of his attention was enough to revive the warmth in your belly. You screwed your expression into a frown, cocked your head. “What, shall I go like this?” You gestured toward the sheet half-covering your body. “Depart with unlaced stays and a ball gown?”

“Carriages have been arranged for officers and their company,” he said, almost as if he was irritated by the question. “They’re set to leave for Charleston before noon.” He grabbed his satchel and holstered his flintlock. “Ferguson will gather you there tomorrow.”

You studied him for a moment, then nodded. “And where are you going?”

“Meddlesome creature, aren’t you?”

Heat rushed your neck. “No,” you insisted, “I want to know if I need to be leaving this room or if you’re coming back here.”

William stared at you a moment, lingering on your mussed hair, your purpled flesh. “You’ll want to depart soon,” he said, and turned toward the door. “Though it’s not a quality you possess, I expect you to try to be discreet.”

“Oh, yes,” you replied. “So simple when you’ve had the same effect on my torso as a volley of roundshot.”

Sneering, he opened the door and disappeared behind it. The sound of boots marched down the stairs, becoming distant as he met the first floor.

You gazed at the room, taking inventory of your stockings, your shoes, your petticoats and bodice. Your broken stays.

A small, not-insignificant part of you felt almost—to your utter horror—disappointed that he was gone. You glanced between your legs and silently cursed what lived there. Perhaps a break was for the best.

[vulpe-mp]

Guidance from the Underworld

with @mpxarawn

Vulpe had developed a strong bond with Arawn over time. You could say they were friends. Friends who spoke about many topics. About life in the present, day to day chitter chatter. About goals and dreams for the future. Even the past was a topic of conversation every now and then. About London, both then - centuries ago - and now.

But some things remained unspoken. Not secrets, trauma. Pain the demigod carried every single day, though he never showed an ounce of it. And he was never going to.

But he did wonder sometimes...

The dancer knew his friend could help in a way with the doubts that plagued his mind. And today, he was going to ask.

Vulpe walked into the Flower Mill, where he knew Arawn was often, and scanned the room. And just as expected, there he was, with a cup and cake in front of him. The Japanese demigod took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nervousness and determination as he approached his friend.

"Mind if I join you?"

[huahuaxmp]

Huachang stared at the wrap around his leg knowing full well he was not getting proper treatment for it, going out was too much for him and the shame drilled into his head was so deep. Don't be seen if you aren't able to be useful, doctors are a waste o money on someone like him unless mother got attention for it. There was only doctors called if he was sick and his mother could make people feel bad for what was going on, gain sympathy and popularity.

It was a bad habit made by bad people and the demigod was not at all sure how to get passed it or if he even could. Suddenly his head hurt, do did his throat. When Vulpe didn't reply right away he wondered if what he said had been... taken in. Not at all did it register that the other could be worried but rather that he agreed.

As it was. Always.

When his phone chimed again Hua looked at the screen with surprise to see it was Vulpe, confused and unsure of what was going on. He was not of use so why was the other still talking to him after knowing this? Soft hands with deep elegance reached for the phone and typed where he was, at home in the old little Chinese style home by his garden. Just home. Why was he asking?

Xiannu & Huli

-for the sweet and sassy fox @vulpe-mp

He had been so distressed after the accident, unable to really do much of anything thinking if anyone saw him this way they would find him use less and not want him around. Though that wasn't how the people he has met are the underlining trauma of what his parents inflicted, adding to the mental trauma of being subjected to the things they put him through so he would be perfect in their eyes. Huachang was stuck thinking that way. That without the ability to fulfill something he was not worthy.

The light of his phone flashed as the charge fed it life, a device he rarely used and only recently was given to him. Where he grew up technology was not around being told it was to mind numbing for their regal society so the introduction to it was like whiplash. Huachang waited for the device to come to life jumping at the way it suddenly started tp seize at the amount of messages he was receiving. One chime after the other the demigod stared until it stopped finally reaching for it with a cautious hand. Sliding it open since there was no lock it surprised him to see someone had worried about him. Hua hadn't let the phone charge after it died thinking no one would notice his absence but here, Vulpe, the one he had met under the tree in his past time of distress was. The texts went from casual hellos, to worried questions, asking where he was to all caps saying he better be okay, Huachang felt a ping of guilt in his chest and messaged back quickly no longer wanted them to wait.

Text > Huli Hello, I did not receive these messages as my phone was dead. I am so sorry I worried you so much... I didn't think anyone would notice I was gone since I am currently not useful to the world.

[somedaypleasee]

A Court of Fawns and Foxes

How long before the cold settles in the bones like a deer den in winter? How fast can a fox outrun the wave of night? Tell me, dear stranger How badly does a Dream Walker crave the warmth of the Sun?

Chapter 8: Dream Walker

Elain was floating. She was cold but it wasn't painful. Not like the first time. She fell slowly, her dress and hair flowing around her. She was lucid; able to open her eyes to her surroundings. There wasn't light or dark, just nothing- like she was blind. No, she said to herself. No, I refuse. She felt her body tilt upright. Her legs angled toward the ground and she let gravity pull her slowly towards it. Her boots seemed to touch nothing, like the floor she could feel was invisible. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined tranquility. She wanted peace-

Quietly, the sound of birds singing entered Elains ears. She opened her eyes and saw grass beneath her boots. Around her were large trees and blooming flowers. Like a garden but overgrown and abandoned. It seemed to be thriving in its chaos. She spun, trying to recognize anything around her. Where was she? Why was she here? What was her purpose here? Why was she needed?

A glowing, white thread appeared to float in front of her. Elain started, taken aback. She cautiously reached out, her fingers brushing against the flowing magic. It was warm and silky. She coiled the thread between her fingers, a smile curving her lips. It stretched out in front of her, disappearing behind trees and overgrown shrubbery. Elain grabbed it and tugged gently, feeling it caught somewhere on the other end. She glanced behind her and above, hoping that following the thread would not lead her to danger.

Elain kept hold of the glowing string, letting it fall like rope around her forearm as she followed the trail. As she walked, she could hear her own voice echoing in the canopy above her. 

“A beast within,” It sang, whispering through the warm breeze. Elain kept following the thread, hearing her heartbeat in her ears. She noticed the sound of birds started to wane, the beams of morning light dispersing as the sky darkened above her. 

“Tormented with memories and anguished by time,” The wind picked up and carried Elains voice through the trees, shaking the leaves, raining them down around her. Her breath quickened as she noticed aged stones covered in ivy were starting to peek through the overgrown moss and vines. The scattered broken stone walls seemed to be remnants of a castle aged by time. The canopy above her cracked open as the sky started to drain.

“A stone prison beats beneath,” The thumping in her ears grew louder. As the thread curled around a tree that had wrapped around stone pillars, Elain found herself looping into the remains of an old home. The roof was gone, and the three walls left were weathered and taken over by the forest. The drumming heartbeat was like fists against an iron casket. Elain froze, the thread taut in her hands as she processed where it ended. A few feet ahead of her laid a large beast, golden fur covering a bear shaped body. Its lupine head rises with regal antlers. Pine green eyes glowered through Elain- no, at Elain. The thumping beat louder and faster, the beast's teeth revealing in a snarl. Wind whipped around her; leaves, twigs and rain ripping at her dress and skin. Elain held her breath as the thread pulled tight towards the Beasts’ chest. It wanted her here, where was she? A growl shakes the stone walls around it, irritated by her trespassing. Elain felt the cold water of the cauldron again. She seemed to once more be tipping back. Her mouth formed words- words she couldn’t seem to voice. His snarl remained but his eyes widened before Elain fell back completely.

~🌹~

Elain sat up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. She was freezing, her skin covered in goosebumps despite her dress and being laid by the fire. She looked down at her shoes and watched as the wet grass and mud still stained the leather, the hem of her dress tinted brown as if she had been running through a river. 

“Elain?” Lucien's concerned voice came from beside her. Elain was still trying to regain her blurred vision. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, feeling the wetness of her skin. She pulled some leaves and twigs from her hair, groaning in pain. She felt heavy, weighted down. She blinked a few times before Lucien finally came into view, as well as the room. Still in the townhouse; however the sky was dark and the fire roared next to her. There was comfort in it.

“How are you feeling? You almost hit your head when you fainted,” Lucien asked, leaning his forearm on his knee. He was fully clothed now, his hair braided behind his back. Elain shook her head and took a deep breath.

“I’m fine. I just… Everything is in pieces. I remember things out of order.” Elain's face warmed as she recalled the moments before she fainted. Lucien nodded, moving to sit fully on the rug with her. She finally noticed the pile of blankets and pillows surrounding her.

“I can try to walk you through it. See if it helps put things back together.” He offered, wrapping one of the blankets around her shivering shoulders. Elain warmed as he leaned into her, eyes fluttering. Elain thought for a moment before agreeing. Lucien held his hand out to her as he shuffled closer. 

“Uh, what's the last thing you remember?” He asked, his bronze eye searching hers. She surveyed the scar across his metal eye, understanding his hidden question. He wanted to know when exactly she started to lose her lucidity. Elain took a deep breath and searched for the bond the same way she had earlier, speaking his name once through it. She watched his eyes flutter for half a second before he covered it up with a clear of his throat.

“I remember the feeling of falling into water. Cold water. Like the cauldron.” Her voice was the only thing in the room louder than logs crackling . Lucien kept his eyes on Elains, urging her on with a nod. “It was similar to before when I had uncontrollable, irregular visions. They would haunt me day and night. The cold was painful, it would follow me for days. However, this cold was different. I could just feel myself falling. I remember thinking…” Elain trailed off, eyes leaving Luciens as the cold returned to her bones. He glided his thumb over her wrist gently, enough to bring her back and force the cold to recoil. She swallowed. 

“I refused. I refused to be held down in the water anymore. And then something changed.” Elain looked over at the fire. “I… changed. I thought of calm, and of all I wanted at that moment. Then I was in a garden.” She glanced at Lucien. “Not my garden. Not Velaris. Not beyond the Wall. Somewhere I've… somewhere I’ve never been.” Elains fingers squeezed his.

“There was a string. I followed it through the forest where I came across a beast lying amongst stone ruins.” She reached her other hand out to Lucien, closing her eyes to focus on letting him see into her mind through the bond. She led him through the vision, let him hear the words she chanted, and to the Beast at the center. Lucien pulled his hand away from hers. 

“That's the Spring Court,” Lucien’s tone was surprised and worried. “The Beast is Tamlin.” His words were slow but deliberate. Lucien's brows furrowed as his mechanical eye shone in the firelight. 

“The drum beat I've never heard, and I don't recognize the ruins. The voice, it's in High Fae- I don’t know what it's saying.” Elain looked down at her palms and closed her eyes, allowing the cold water feeling wash over her this time. With her permission it washed up her arms and into her mind. When she opened her eyes again, they were glowing white. Lucien filled with alert, watching her movements closely.

“A beast within; 

Tormented with memories and anguished by time; 

A stone prison beats beneath,” Elains voice was an echo of itself, her head slowly turning upward. Garden, garden, garden, she chanted in her mind. What was the last thing she said before she woke up? What did she try to tell the beast? What was so important that she couldn’t get it out?

It struck her, straight in her forehead. Elain blinked and the white light was gone. With clear eyes she looked at Lucien.

“The rose does not fear the ash. That's what I was trying to say. I was trying to tell the Beast- tell Tamlin.” Elain stood from her spot with a surge of energy. She shook her head, raising her hands up to her temples. “But it's incomplete. There's pieces missing. It's so much bigger, and it makes my head hurt.” Elain nearly whined. Lucien stood and held her in place by her shoulders. 

“It's okay, you don't have to try anymore. Let's get you bathed and warm, okay?” Lucien rubbed her shoulders, leading her from the living room up the stairs.

~🍁~

Elain sighed deeply as she looked at herself in her mirror. She looked like she had been in a thunderstorm, with the twigs and leaves poking out of her hair. She undid her braid, pulling out as much as she could and dropping them into the sink. Lucien was filling her tub for her, checking the temperature before he stood straight. 

“Check to make sure that's warm enough. If you need me, just call my name,” he offered, stepping out of the bathroom. Elain watched his back disappear before looking at her reflection again. She chewed on her lip as she tried wiping some dirt off her cheek. 

“Lucien?” She called, hurriedly stepping to the doorway. He appeared just before she could turn the corner, his face expectant. Elain swallowed, looking at the bath and then back to him. “Can you… stay?” She was unsure what she was really asking for, as was Lucien. His head tilted and eyebrows angled down. “Not in… can you stay in the bedroom? You can sit in the chair by the fire. I don't want to be alone.” Lucien thought for a moment before nodding.

“Of course.”

Lucien opted for sitting on the floor beside the open bathroom door. He took the moment to admire her room; how she had made it her own. To his left sat the fireplace, a plush white armchair draped with a quilt in front of it with a small side table. They were both pushed up against the foot of her canopied bed. It was large, covered in a feathered ivory duvet and similar colored pillows. The canopy had pale sage drapes, but the top was a stained glass with roses designed throughout. On the opposite side of the bed was her regal white and gold dresser with two armoires tucked beside it. There was a divider with faded flowers littering the fabric face, to provide her privacy from the windows on his right. They were floor to ceiling, overlooking her garden and the fountain, with a beautiful ivory vanity stationed there. It was littered with different perfumes and glass vials, brushes and a book.

Lucien tried counting the amount of plants in the room, giving up after three attempts. Tiny plants in pots, some on a marble table in the far right corner, a few vining leaves hung from wicker baskets in front of the windows- and roses. Lots of clippings from her rose bush made it to the room. A large, thick cream rug covered most of the floor that also had the same roses designed into the fabric. Lucien smiled to himself, wondering how she managed to find all these things and arrange them all in here. 

The sound of Elain in the water pulled at his senses. He couldn't see in there, but she had asked for him to stay close. He was going to sit in the armchair, but it had a direct view into the tub, and well-

“Lucien?” He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing her call his name. He didn’t look at her but he moved his head to better hear her and hummed a response.

“Do you have any good stories?” He smiled to himself, not expecting her question. He thought for a moment, his silence filling the air. 

“What kind of stories?” He asked, finally. He heard her move in the tub, her voice directed towards him now.

“You can look over here, I’m covered.” She had a smile in her voice. Lucien held his breath a moment, before peaking beside him. Elain smiled at him, waving with her fingers. She was turned towards him, her whole body covered by the cast iron tub except her head and the arm she was leaning on. Lucien let go of his breath. “Any kind of story. Maybe one you remember from when you were a child.” She continued. “My mother used to tell me stories of the fae when I was little. I don’t know if there was any truth to them, or if they were meant to frighten us. I hoped maybe a true story from an actual Fae would be worth hearing.” A little quieter, she spoke. “Maybe this all wouldn’t seem so terrifying, if I could imagine your mother reading you bedtime stories.” Lucien felt a pang in his heart. He searched his mind, trying to remember that far back. He looked at her and smiled

“My mother used to tell me a story about two foxes and a witch. Is that something you might be looking for?” She beamed and nodded, adjusting herself in the tub. Lucien cleared his throat, pulling his knees up to rest his forearms on. 

“Once- Should I start with the once upon a time?” He looked at her quickly nodding head. “Okay- Once upon a time, there were two foxes. The older fox was wicked and wise, while the younger fox was gullible and kind. They lived deep in the high forests of autumn, chasing each other and hunting, living their lives as unburdened as two foxes could. One evening, the younger fox falls into a cavern and hits his head, falling unconscious. The older fox cannot reach him, despite his attempts. He does not leave, staying for hours whining for help as the younger fox stays trapped. 

After a long time has passed, someone hears the whining and comes looking for the sound. A young girl, a witch, finds the older fox sitting by the opening to the cavern. Foxes do not trust people, their survival is based on fleeing and outmaneuvering. However, the older fox is tired and cannot move from his spot. The witch is kind and gentle despite the foxes' cautions. She leans down into the cavern and sees the younger fox laid there, fast asleep. Despite the older fox thinking she would reach and pull him out, she simply whispered something into the cavern. A soft glow came from below as she stepped away. Moments later, the younger fox leaped out of the cavern, glowing like fire. He had been given a gift, one the older fox had never seen before.” Lucien glanced behind him, seeing Elain with her eyes closed as she laid her head on her arms. Her breathing was steady. 

“Like the daytime sun.” Lucien smiled to himself as he stood, grabbing the small stool by her vanity and bringing it to the edge of the tub. He sat and dipped his fingers into the milky water. It was almost cold already. With ease he allowed his fire to travel through his fingers and into the water, warming it back up slowly. With his free hand he took the small bowl beside the tub and scooped some water up, pouring it slowly onto her hair and back. He was grateful she was leaning, and that the oils and lotions she used made the water murky. The last thing he wanted was to invade her privacy by seeing something without her permission. 

Lucien didn't mind the water falling on his trousers or the floor as he wet her hair. She hummed softly as he brushed it from her forehead. Lucien browsed the basket of elixirs she had, picking one out for her hair. He popped the cork off and sniffed, smiling at the cedarwood scent. He massaged it into her scalp, letting his breathing match up with hers as she relaxed against the tub. Elain adjusted herself, moaning quietly.

“What did she say?” She mumbled. Lucien tilted his head, wiping some suds from her cheek.

“What?” He wasn't sure if she was talking to him or having another vision.

“The witch,” Elain turned her head, enough to gaze up at him with a half lidded eye. “What did she say to the fox? To help him wake up?” Lucien thought for a moment, realizing he never asked that question as a child. He lifted the water to her hair, rinsing the suds out.

“I don't know.” Was all he responded with. 

~🌹~

Elain had woken to her bath still warm. She moaned as she lifted her head, surprised to feel her damp hair in a braid down her back. She spied Lucien in front of her fireplace, shuffling the wood logs around before he looked up. He smiled gently.

“Your body temperature seems to be dropping significantly over time. I’m not sure if it has something to do with your visions, or if you're coming down with something. Either way, I’m setting up your fire now,” He explained. He held his palms up and a tiny blue flame erupted in his hand. Elain watched as it grew in size, the color warming to a harsh orange. He reached ahead of him and let the flames consume the wood. “I'll give you some privacy.” Before he closed her bathroom door for her. 

Elain stood from the bath, wondering if Lucien was the reason her bath stayed so warm for so long. He was definitely the one who braided her hair. She was surprised she didn’t remember it, she was normally a very light sleeper. Her towel rack stood behind the tub, the cloth warm to the touch as she wrapped it around herself. 

She noticed he placed some clothes for her on the counter next to her sink. Elain’s mouth curved upward as she noticed the softness of the gown he chose, as well as a single red rose laid on top. 

Elain opened the door, immediately shrouded in warmth. A long sigh escaped her as the cold chill in her bones scurried back from the heat. Lucien's chuckle was like chocolate. He sat in her armchair, ankle laid atop a knee and a hand up fiddling with a strand of hair. The firelight flicker made his skin look deep and golden. Elain didn't understand how he was so ethereal and godlike. She had been so frightened by fae as a human, yet now, in the presence of such an intimidating and rather underestimated aura, all she could think about was-

Lucien cleared his throat, moving to get up from the armchair. Elain blinked away her thoughts, looking at the ground. 

“I fixed a hot water bag under your covers. Hopefully it will help with the shivers.” They stood there awkwardly for a moment, both of them not meeting the others' eyes. 

“Thank… Thank you. For doing all of this.” She came down with the sudden realization that this, how they were acting, was such a significant jump from two years ago. In the first few months after being Made, she hadn't spoken more than a few words to him- albeit jumbled and unclear. She had ignored the bond after that, unsure of its intentions and how they mixed with her own. She often couldn't tell which emotions were from the bond, or from her. And Lucien… he had just been so patient with her, a wave of guilt washed over her. Shameful. She wanted to curl into herself, wanted the cold to come and swallow her up along with all her confusing emotions. 

“Elain-”

“I really do appreciate everything you do for me,” they spoke at the same time. Elains cheeks warmed, for the first time tonight, as she met his eyes. “I understand that this situation isn't ideal. I've read- uh, I've read a few books written by Fae historians on the mating bond, just trying to understand it. I know it has an increasingly powerful hold on males when they are paired with females. The drive to… well, to preserve the bloodline and all that.” Elains face was heating all the way down to her neck. What was she saying? She closed her eyes and shook her head. “What I'm trying to say is, thank you. For being patient with me. I know I wouldn't be anyone's first choice in a mate, let alone yours-” Lucien stepped forward suddenly, holding a hand up. 

“I'm going to stop you right there.” His eyes were alight with flames, either from the actual fire or from within, Elain couldn't tell. “Respectfully, you have no idea what I want. It pains me to think you believe yourself unwanted simply because you see yourself as a little difficult.” There was an edge in his voice she’d never heard before. A slither of irritation slid along the cord of the bond. Was he… angry with her? “I am no simple human man, Elain Archeron. I am a Fae male that's lived for nearly 5 generations. I learned the art of self control when I was just six and ten; something most human men don't learn in an entire lifetime. Please, forgive me for being blunt,” He stepped forward, Elain’s neck craning to look up at him. “But what kind of male would I be if I claimed you without your consent? I've told you once, and only once more- I will wait for your decision, whatever it may be, but it must be yours. I am a male of honor, and I take that honor very seriously. So do not look at me with those innocent eyes and beautiful pout and tell me that I wouldn’t want you as my mate. You know nothing of my want. Above it all, my wish is for you to have the freedom to choose, something no one has given you thus far.”

Lucien's words were clear and succinct, never once raising his voice at her but she could feel the turmoil inside him. He felt every word he spoke, the fire in his eyes coursing through his veins and heating his skin. Elain suppressed a shiver as the cold embrace left by her vision recoiled with a steaming hiss. Elain blinked at him, feeling the bond tied below her ribs purr. She closed her eyes as emotions flooded her, confusing ones that left her wanting in the middle of the night and embarrassed in the mornings. 

“How can you tell the difference,” She whispered, scrunching her eyebrows together. “Is there a way to tell which emotions are mine? Which ones are made?” She opened her eyes to see Lucien still standing close to her, his eyes taking in every inch of her face. He took one of her hands and laid it on her own stomach, lowering his eyes.

“Close your eyes for me,” He asked softly. She obeyed. “The bond is an urge. It pushes you forward, pulls you in- it takes the first step. It is not trying to force you, it is simply a… guidance. A tether, for Fae to find their other halves. In the old stories, the bond was painted as a thread tied from one person to another- no matter how far, they would always find one another. It takes years, hundreds of years for High Fae to find mates. Some never do.” With Elains eyes closed, she could imagine the string clearly. She felt like she was floating above herself, seeing opaque outlines of herself and Lucien, with a simple white thread tied to them both. 

“In those years, we hone our abilities. We study ourselves, our powers, our emotions. The Mortals always painted us as cold and calculating, but it was quite a contradicting rumor. In the years it takes humans to figure out simple emotions, a Fae has had hundreds to study them. We simply have a better understanding of our base instincts, and how to control them, because of how much time we have. However, we are not perfect, and the bond is proof of that.” Elains tilted her head, seeing Lucien place his own hand over hers. 

“Even the oldest Fae can be brought to his knees by the strength of emotions the bond can create. It takes a very strong minded male to contain his possessive tendencies, which are just a base instinct to protect- what does your sister call it?” She could hear the smile in his voice as she let a giggle bubble up into her throat.

“Possessive Fae assholes.” She giggled the words, bowing her head a little as she laughed. Lucien's hum was humorous.

“Think about your sisters. About how you feel towards them. What's there?” Elain inhaled deeply, raising her head back up. She thought about Nesta, about how harsh she was and how cold she came across, but also how loyal and brave she was. How she always defended Elain, even before being made. Her older sister was honed into a weapon of iron and ice by their mother, but she never strayed when it came to defending her sisters from their mother- even if she wasn't in the right all the time. Her older sister who, despite Elain and her father being stuck behind Tamlins glamour, would not be fooled and tried her very best to find a way over the wall; to find Feyre. Her younger sister, who was so young and aged; she hunted for them and made sure they had the things they needed even in squalor. She went over the wall to spare them, who spent so much time in the Spring Court, who did it all for her older sisters. Feyre died saving Tamlin, saving the Fae, saving the Mortals. She almost died again giving birth to her son, despite Nesta’s awful reveal to Feyre; despite Nesta’s resistance to change, she still gave up her powers to keep Feyre and her baby alive. Elain felt tears slip from her closed eyes, running down her cheeks in rivers. She loved them. With every fiber of her being, she knew that no matter how different they were or how much pain they were in, Elain loved them and would do whatever she could to keep them safe.

“Those emotions are based on memories, Elain. Those emotions are yours. Not magic, not made, you. When you feel overwhelmed with emotions, look for its source. Look deep inside and find where it comes from. The bond, its energy, it's a magic push. It has no memory, just basic instinct. That's how you separate. That's how you can tell the difference.” Elain was still floating above herself, her inner eyes fixated on the glowing string between her and Lucien. With a steady breath she let her mind's eye guide her hand from her abdomen, gently reaching between the two of them and caressing the empty air. Above them, Elain could see her hand glide along the string with smooth ease. Lucien closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, a muscle ticking in his jaw. 

“I think we should rest- it's been an awfully long day,” Lucien's voice was deep but calm. Elains eyes fluttered open, her hand dropping away from between them.

“Thank you. That was very helpful, Lucien.” His mouth curved up at the corners, bowing his head slightly. 

“Goodnight, Elain. Stay warm.”

Posting Schedule: Every two weeks on Sunday

Chapter 8 posted on Sunday, April 13th 2025

Chapter 9 will be posted on Sunday, April 27th 2025

[blorbologist]

Hold court among the sweetbriars

Gen / mild Feywild spoilers / 6.7k / Syldor/Elaina prologue that's mildly shitty but not completely

Once upon a time fox-woman-dreaming, or the fox-wife, left her ungrateful husband when he bemoaned the musk about her paws. What they never tell you is of what happened after: to her foxcub twins, and the cursed castle they found deep in the briarwoods.

For @percahliaweek day 5: Fairytale / Class

Chapter 1/2: To tame a fox

--

There was once a great and splendid manor within the deepwoods. Wealthy in every way, including in magic. In it lived a lonely man of great pride, who left it empty each day to tend to business in town. Each evening he returned to find it just as empty without him. He had lived long as such - it suited him fine. 

 

One day upon his return, he found his home tended to in his absence. Floors swept, carpets beaten, spiders evicted of their corners, and even a fire spat merrily in the hearth.

 

Weary of the tricks of fey - for he was one of their number - the proud man left a small gift upon the doorstep and went to bed.

 

The man was proud, not simple. Thus it was that on the second day he marched back home at noon, not nightfall, to catch what trickery was afoot. 

 

As he glanced upon his door his eye caught upon bright red fur. A fox! A fox had come a-slinking, to steal from his pantry! In a rage the man stormed in, throwing open the door to glimpse only a tail as the fox slipped away.

 

Now the shutters had shed their dust, too, and his clothes had been mended with hairfine thread. Not a loaf of bread out of place neither. 

 

Upon the third day the man did not leave for his work. Instead he followed foxtracks and gamepaths round his land, unable to find where the creature nested. 

 

Returning to his manor in defeat, the man found no fox pilfering his icebox. Instead, to great surprise, he found the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She tended to a rich meal upon the stove, and on a peg hung a foxskin.

 

"I am to be your wife," she said plainly. "I wish to be the woman of this house and mind it and mend it as my own." 

 

Overcome, and pleased the woman was already so studious in her duties as to snare and skin the vermin, the man took her indeed as his wife. And, for a time, they were happy.

 

She tailored his clothes and polished his shoes and dusted the cabinets, and fetched water from the brook and weeded the garden, and kissed him sweetly and laughed of his days and took him to bed each night. What a lucky man he was!

 

But in time the proud man found a musk about his home. In his meals, his laundered clothes, his wedding bed. Something he could ignore, as he once ignored much. However, grown accustomed to his tidy home, he complained of this to his wife, and so bid her to rid their home of this odor.

 

Oh, beloved, how fanged was her frown!

 

"The musk is mine, o husband dear," she said, "and if after minding our home so well this is my thanks? Then I am gone." 

 

Without another word she bounded to the door, finding the foxpelt on its peg. Her fur draped over her, for it was her fur, whiskers to tail, and the vixen vanished without a backwards glance.

 

I am sad to say the story does not end here. This man, lest we forget, was proud, and lonely, and thought himself no fool (though perhaps he was one). 

 

With a handful of magic and a burlap sack, he sought out her den, and returned home with foxkits two, scruffed and wailing. 

 

And so the manor was no longer empty, but it was just as lonely a place as before.

 

--

 

There was once a great and splendid castle within the deepwoods.

 

A different palace to the tale before: white as snow and old in its history, richer still in all things. Yet it sat just as empty and just as lonely. Briars ribbed its outer walls and within soot stained the upholstery. Haunting its halls was a young man, white as the stone and ghosts both. His name was long and tedious and grating, and so we shall call him Percival.

[Keep reading on AO3!]

[crevassier]

He let his face be cradled by Matthias’ hands, wondering if it was too much of a selfish move for him to indulge in the offered care. At the same time he couldn’t find himself caring- the starvation for something such as a loving touch of any kind was far too much for him to refuse. A nod was all he could offer at the given remark- make mistakes now, while there is still time and means to fix them. It made perfect sense, yet…easier said than done, considering so much of what he did now was a repetition of mistakes, bigger and bigger each time.

The pinch on his brows was soft. “I know that. It’s just-” Because we’re the same. She’s just a mirror. “...His Highness seemed to trust her word more than my own.”

His shoulders held back a shudder, teeth biting into the inside of his cheek to urge his body to focus elsewhere. Sylvain wouldn’t dare cry in front of his father over something like this. 

“I was born and raised by his side, but he goes and trusts the word of a girl he…just met, who’s not even from our class or from our country. A girl who lies and gets into the same troubles I do. He said me and her were just the same, but when she does it it’s suddenly all okay and can be overlooked…yet when I do it it’s irresponsible, reprehensible and wrong.” The only bad part of having his face be held by Matthias’ hands was that now eye contact was inevitable. “I just don’t get it.”

An empty scoff escaped his lips. “...not that I don’t deserve it, though. I do, I guess.”

Getting so overworked over this was just so childish, but no matter how much he tried to force that into his mind it just didn’t stick. “I did. Tried to, at least.”

@cielenruine

a ribcage's den

continued from here | @cielenruine

[rikomoriyama01]

Since I started personal writing challenge (1k words a day Ash invited me to play the ww uvu ) game by @/ kedreeva's

It’s WIP Wednesday (except it's Sunday bc I need headstart and to see what to focus on), time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited! If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write. Feel free to sent multiple asks All of them contain Riko as centrepiece

1. Roadkill canon divergence riko does not get shot/ canon typical TW's 2. Ship of Theseus AU in which riko left the nest at age of 18 and regretted it ever since /topics of self harm suicide grooming / slow burn recovery , very miserable but hopeful 3. Andreil foster home for peculiar charity cases slow burn recovery 4. Badger in fox den in which neil regrets not shutting up

big thanks to @noomyart for being my beta bc my english sucks and @jtl-fics for writing advice and creative support and any support I ever need

Snippet from Badger in fox den Riko was a fox now. Only by name though. Really, he was just a badger wanting to wait out the winter in their den. But even that wasn’t true, because the Fox Tower was off limits to him. After allegedly murdering Seth, supposedly breaking Kevin's hand and serving Andrew few weeks worth of psychological torture, he didn’t expect anything else. What confused him more, was his brother. His brother who looked much taller in person, more so because Riko never before felt so small and exposed, as he sat on the chair in the middle of the room. His arm ached as the drugs he was given wore off by now. He held onto the pain to keep himself whole, much more used to its presence than absence. “Ichirou,” he choked out with glossy eyes. Because his brother finally came to save him, the culmination of a lifetime of dreams shattered though with the press of cold metal to his temple. But the shot did not come, because in that moment the money and resources Riko sunk over the years for his senseless power plays were outweighed by the possibility that some of his blood could find a way on Ichirou’s pristine suit. Neil looked disappointed, even before Riko took another underserved breath, or Ichirou made a motion to pull the gun away. Neil could tell that the man who held their lives in his palm never killed someone with his hands, never saw the gruesome display The Butcher had forced them to witness. No, the Lord specialized in different kinds of pain. The disappointment turned into regret when Lord Moriyama looked back at him. Because now Riko was thrown to the Foxes, the Nest was closed, and Palmetto became the new patronage project of the Moriyamas.

[roseofithaca]

Echoes Of The Past

Set during @idiotwithanipad 's fic Stolen, in her Gore Au, after chapter 10. Ft her ocs Pin and Amy.

-

It's believed that a young cub absorbs the spirit of the first pelt it wears. That seems to be especially true in her case. Ever since Mama finished stitching her 'dress' together out of multiple orange furs and threaded her little arms through the holes, Kya cub seems to have become even more sneaky and mischievous than she was before, which is saying a lot.

Something special is happening. That much she can tell. Is it Big Moonah ritual? No, that last week. Weather getting big cold so maybe Midwinter Ritual where they light extra tall fire to call for Solar to return?

Wriggling underneath the collection of fresh furs from yesterday's hunt, waiting to be crafted into blankets or pelts or curtains or sacks, she's certain that all the grown ups are too busy going about their jobs to notice her, much less hear her tiny giggles she can barely suppress.

Uncle is making berry juice. If she really careful then maybe she can have an insy wincy-

"Ey!"

Kya cub squeaks as a hand grabs her ankle and lifts her up out from beneath the furs, dangling her upside down infront of a furrowed brow.

Fada's nostrils flare before he emits a low growl.

'That sneaky fox back again! Thought me told you to stay OUT!'

He tosses her unceremoniously onto the biggest, thickest pile of furs. Kya cub laughs, the fabric bouncing beneath her, and rolls off onto the ground.

Mama strides over and presses a finger to her lips before throwing a glare to Fada.

'Big idiot wake every cub!'

Fada suppressed his laugh while his younger daughter continued to wriggle and grin from the thrill of being caught.

Mama crouched down and poked her nose.

'Why Kya cub not in sleeproll?' She asked, with a frown more serious than her father's.

'Moonah awake so Kya awake!' She explained in her little grunts and wide arm gestures.

'No! Cub wake when Solar wake!'

A pout formed on the little one's face; 'But that biiiig long time away, Mama! Kya wake now!'

Fada came to her rescue, far too indulgent to his cub that always seemed to light up the world, even when sky fluff hid Solar and Moonah. She might not grow up to be the strongest huntress, but she will be either good den mother or priestess in rituals.

'Can't force cub to sleep. Moonah give her extra energy! She not like brothers.' Fada said to Mama.

It was true, Pek and Sol seemed to want to sleep all day if they could. Lazy boy cubs.

Mama rolled her eyes; 'Fine. Idiot deal with cranky cub tomorrow.'

Kya attempted to make a beeline for her uncle but Fada blocked her path.

'Ey, ey, where go now?' He asked.

'Kya want berry juice!'

'That present for Pin sister. It her special day tomorrow.'

'When Kya special day?'

Fada crouched to her level; 'Think. When Kya born?'

'...Big Warm!'

'Right. And it Big Cold now, so that mean Kya special day is...?'

The child pursed her lips and looked thoughtful about it for a moment.

'Tomorrow?!' She guessed with a grin.

Fada and Uncle laughed at the cuteness.

Mama shook her head; 'Not sure if she joke or dim like Fada.'

She blushed, that time she had been trying her luck. Fada rubbed her hair.

'Gotta wait bit longer, foxy cub. Maybe Pin share berry juice at party. Mama and Fada gonna go hunt for big dog. Nice juicy bum.' He promised, eyes widening with excitement.

'Kya help make party good?' She asked, practically hero worshipping her big sister.

Fada gave a sigh, knowing the little one should really be going back to her sleeproll. But that seemed to be out of the question. She was a true child of Moonah.

'How about Kya cub make crown for party girl?' He suggested, guestering to a collection of twigs and tiny bird and squirrel skulls collected in the corner.

She let out a squeal and nodded, toddling off to begin her crafts.

Rogh nudged his brother before picking up his spear.

'Kya cub maybe crash in hour. Shul tuck in?' He requested.

Shul gave him a nod, not that he even needed to ask. He gave his niece a fond smile as she began tying various twigs together in a circle.

'That cub ever sad?' He asked.

Riva shook her head; 'Little idiot not have room in head for sad. Wonder where she get that from.'

Both she and Shul looked pointedly at Rogh who caught their gazes, giving them both a look of blissful ignorance.

'Kya make Mama crown too!' She announced, giving her mother a gap-toothed grin.

Despite being the most no-nonsense parent in the tribe, even Riva wasn't immune to her youngest daughter's infectious joy. A smile curved at her lips and she bent to give Kya's ear a quick nuzzle of affection.

'Foxy be sleep when Mama return or else get two baths tomorrow!' She threatened, tickling her child's side before leaving.

Fada also gave her another pat on the head before following his mate.

'Fada get crown too?'

She giggled; 'Fada not pretty as Mama!'

Rogh gaped in an exaggerated show of hurt.

'Right! That it!'

Once again, she was off her feet, this time by the scruff of her pelts, and thrown back into the plush pile of furs. Kya giggled once more as she rolled to the floor, eager to ask Fada to throw her again. Again!

-

She span around with her arms stretched out, giggling as she danced in Moonah's good rays. It had taken her less than five minutes to get over the disturbing realisation that she could no longer see, at least anything except certain lights and whatever the shapes of her laughter revealed to her.

No point trying to stop the cub from playing too loud now. No point hiding cubs away in cave. Mistress and Red Cloaked Man will realise what's happened soon. The cave will be the first place they go look.

Other side of land then. Across the lake.

There's nowhere quite as fitting for them to camp in and be safe but he'll find somewhere.

Pin cub walks at his side while her happy sister twirls on ahead. He's sure that her mind has reformed to how it needs to be. Back to who she really is. She's still rather disgusted by the sickness in her mouth and how loose her eyes are. And she keeps turning her head back towards the house...as if looking for something.

But a quick tug on her sleeve is enough to get her moving. No more fighting. No more running. Good cub.

She turns to him and signs.

'What happen to Kya sister eyes?' She asks, watching the other girl nearly walk through a tree.

'Think wolf attack them. Like Cousin Bal.'

She gestures to one of her eyes, 'Wolf attack Pin too?'

Sure, let's go with that.

'Why me no remember?' She asked, clearly skeptical of all of this.

Understandable. The world has changed so much since they were last together. Tribe is gone. Mammoths gone. Even the pelts they both wear are different. Can't change that. He doesn't have Mistress' gift for creating pretty dresses.

Mistress...

Shouldn't really think of her as that anymore. He knows that he's severed any last shred of loyalty he once had to her. She won't ever forgive him. Not now.

So be it. Cubs were his by right. By Moonah.

Rival tribe. That what she and cloaked man are now. And, just like before, he'll have to be prepared to protect his babies no matter what.

'Pin cub big sick long time. Make head foggy. All make sense soon.'

She didn't look much reassured.

"C'mon, Pin sister! Let's gather some sticks as we go so we can make crowns, hehehe." Kya cub encouraged, bouncing on her feet.

Rogh gave his oldest a nudge and a look as if to say 'please indulge sister'.

It didn't take too long for Pin cub to notice yet another difficulty with their new situation.

'Can't pick things up!' She scowled, first gesturing to Fada and then writing the same into Kya's arms.

They didn't seem to question how writing and reading had not existed in their time beyond symbols scrawled on cave wall. Brains adapt. Rationality can be bent so as not to completely break the mind.

As expected, this didn't phase Kya cub, who merely giggled and squeezed Pin's hands.

"We use imagination, silly sister! Here," She bent down and appeared to scoop up an invisible staff in her hand; "I just found big long shiny stick with sparkly rocks dented in. Hehe, it easy!"

Rogh huffed in amusement and slight praise.

'Stick very pretty, Kya!'

"Thanks, Fada!"

His rusted old heart swelled. Happy Cub hadn't been able to understand him before now. Assumed his growls and grunts were little more than animal noises. Which lead to her treating him like a big pet. Not Fada. It had been...frustrating, to say the least. Writing on her arm had made things a little clearer between them, but it wasn't the same.

They spoke the same language now. Just as before. Kya cub knew his 'words'. His meaning. She couldn't see him signing, which did make up half their language, so they'd have to develop something else, but they'd get there.

Cubs are so malleable at her age.

Pin cub bit older. Might be harder for her. It easier now Kya cub can encourage her to play. Pin cub was always so protective of little sister, who was often finding herself getting tangled in vines or falling down ditches, even when she could still see.

"Kya gonna have flower crown. Pin sister can have skulls and twigs, hehehe." His youngest was declaring.

'Mmm.' Pin cub's eyes showed a glimmer of excitement, happy that her sister remembered her preferred style.

"Knew Pin sister like that! Haha. And, oh, Kya gonna use these shiny rocks to make big pretty crown for Mummy for when-"

"NO!"

The girls froze, turning towards their father with wide, frightened eyes.

Rogh took a breath, that burst of anger slipping out against his will through one of the very few words he could speak. Both cubs were looking at him in confusion and a touch of fear.

He forced a smile and softened his grunts.

"Mama, Kya. Mama." He corrected, gently, then padded closer to her.

'Not Mummy.' He wrote. 'Mama.'

"Oh....Y-yeah, of course, hehehe. Silly Kya...For Mama, me mean..."

He caught Pin cub giving him a strange look but pretend to ignore it.

The spell is still fragile. Needs time to truly be set in stone. Moonah will be working her magic while She be at Her most full. If he can keep cubs faith in him true, at least until Kya cub fall asleep again, then it should be okay. The girls brains will be fully reformed and nothing, not even the Witch's magic, will be able to break it.

...'I is not the one stealing babies from their beds...!'

What? What Lyssie Cub doing back?

He turns and sees her. Crouched on her knuckles. Blood dripping down from the scars in her face and neck, gushing from her shredded leg. Her eyes pierce straight through him, burning with contempt.

No. No. No, it not like that, not this time.

Did not steal babies from bed, Lyssie Cub. They came to him. They remembered who their Fada is. Please, Lyssie. Stop giving him that look. This is how it's meant to be, he's only following Moonah Law, please...

...The only thing I hads to fear for all these years that be true...was thee...

He clutches at his mane. How is the ringing back?! Why isn't Moonah taking the pain away now that he's doing the right thing?

Lyssie Cub. She must be doing this. Still won't forgive him. How many times must he say sorry?!

"Mmm?" Fada?

Pin cub tries to reach out but he shuffles back.

'Fada fine. Fada...sore head. Cubs play. Me fine.'

"Hehehe! Fada just need Moonah light! Moonah light make all better!" Kya skipped over and tugged at his hands; "C'mon, Fada, dance with me!"

Dance? No. He hasn't danced in...He can't remember. Doesn't know how.

But Fada always have dance for Kya cub at party...

"No be boring, Fada, dance! Dance!"

Was her voice always this annoying? This loud?! It's too much, too much with the piercing sound already in his head, he can't handle another.

Pin cub noticed. Pin cub more insightful, possibly due to still having eyes.

'Fada not feel good, Kya sister. Leave alone for bit.' She tried to tell her, taking her sister's hands.

"We can dance then, Pin sister! We make up dance to show Mummy, make her smile! Hahaha!"

'SHUT UP!'

He growled. Roared.

Kya's mouth shut tight. Pin moved closer to her, one arm in front, a shield for her little sister. It took Kya less than two seconds to realise her father wasn't joking, for once. She didn't have to see the fury on his face to get that, it was in every raging huff of breath.

She began to crumble. Happy Cub also most sensitive. Very difficult to make sad but...those that managed it...

Pin cub drew her sister into a hug and then turned to give Rogh a sharp look that made her look so much like her mother that it stung.

'What wrong with Big Idiot? Make happy cub cry?!'

Oh no.

...The only thing I hads to fear for all these years that be true...was thee...

Anger quickly cooling, he shuffles forward, reaching for Kya cub's hands.

'Sorry, sorry, sorry'. He writes into his younger daughter's arm, 'Fada being silly. Fada no mean to yell. Fada got big sore head.'

Kya cub sniffled. It had still been so out of character for their father to explode at them like that. Some sharp chiding and firm but patient parenting, sure, but that?!

"Me want Mumm-...Mama...Want Mama..." She winced, tears running down her cheeks, the memories of her two 'mothers' clearly fighting for supremacy in her head.

He tried to tug her close and then stuck his paws into her armpits.

'Forgive Fada, foxy cub! C'mon, forgive! Forgive!' He pleaded while tickling her mercilessly.

Kya cub giggled, though it only felt semi genuine, squirming at his persistent ministrations.

"Okaay, okay, stop! Me forgive! Silly Fada!" She grinned, tears still glinting beneath her milky eyes.

He gave her the biggest of hugs. There, all better. All fixed.

Opening his eyes, Pin cub was still looking at him with uncertainty. As if trying to work out if it was just a stranger wearing her father's face as a costume.

He reached a hand out and tickled her too.

A laugh escaped her, beyond her control, along with a gush of that vile, stale liquid. He chuckled and she glowered at him. Then she moved forward to give him a shove. Not one of her silly attacks like last time, not to hurt, just to try to topple him. Which he allowed her too, rolling on the floor with both his girls.

Pin cub was trying to tickle him now, with her sister joining in. Two on one. Not fair. He tries to hard to let their laughter be the hands raising his heart to Moonah. Ignore the pain. Ignore Lyssie Cub's judgemental stare.

His cubs. He had his cubs back. This meant everything. Nothing could possibly spoil-

"AaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAARRRGH!"

An explosion of flame and the blackest smoke shook through one side of the house behind them, shattering half the windows in the East Wing and sending tiles hurtling off the already dilapidated roof.

Both girls stopped their japes and clung to their father.

"What that?! It...It sound like Sky Fire!" Kya cub whimpered, clutching at her father's furs.

Rogh set his jaw. The brief moment of peace had passed. The Witch must have realised that her foundling is gone again. Which means the Body will also be soon on his trail.

With all his strength, he gathers each girl under one arm with a fierce instruction.

'Hold onto Fada. We run. No let go. No matter what. Never. Let. Go.'

Won't lose them again.

No one is EVER taking his babies away again!

[vulpe-mp]

"Thank you, Arawn. I appreciate your understanding," he replied, his voice slightly shaky. He took a moment to compose himself, his face still flushed, and managed a weak smile.

Vulpe shifted a bit when the Celt mentioned the fox features, as if to try to adjust the tail in his pants that way. "Nerves go down with enough alcohol in my system," the demigod jokes, chuckling for a bit, but his laughter soon died out as he realized he should just take this moment as the opportunity to get out.

He cleared his throat and with a quick nod, Vulpe excused himself, making his way toward the men's room to adjust his outfit and, more importantly, free his tail from its uncomfortable confinement.

Taking a deep breath, Vulpe did his best to regain his composure. He straightened his clothes, brushed a hand through his blond hair, and tugged at his tail to ensure it was comfortably positioned. Feeling a bit more confident, he made his way back to the bar, where Arawn awaited.

"Apologies for that," Vulpe said as he approached, his voice steadier this time. "I suppose nerves can get the best of me sometimes. But, I'm back now, and ready to continue our conversation, if you're still interested," he added.

vulpe-mp​:

Going once… Going twice

He had made his bed and now he must lie in it. Vulpe couldn’t keep his nerves down, however. He knew one day he’d piss someone off. He didn’t anticipate that being a god, though, let alone the Celtic God of the Underworld.

As the demigod downed yet another drink, a soft voice spoke. His voice. The drink ended up going down the wrong pipe, resulting in a coughing fit.

“I… didn’t mean… to disrespect you, sir- Your Highness…” the demigod managed to get out in between coughs. His face turned beet red, sweating like crazy and the snow white ears poked out of his fluffy white blond hair. Vulpe felt his pant tighten in the back as well.

Not the goddamn tail, too.

The vulpine demigod tried to control his breathing before speaking again.

“What a relief…” he said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, ignoring the fact he turned half into a fox. Ignoring the whole ass tail squished in the limited room in his pants. He should go to the men’s room to fix that situation. But running off now would probably send the wrong message.

“I really didn’t want to start any problems… It’s all for charity, innit?”

The Celt was rather amused. It was rare that someone had the guts to go against him in a match of wits. The last time that happened, it was his dear friend Pwyll a long long time ago. He had to give the Japanese demigod some credit, after all, while Inari was a menace in general, their kids were somewhat tolerable and kind of adorable. 

He chuckled at the shock that he’d given the other when he’d approached the bar. The wine glass was set in front of him and the God nodded politely as a thank you. He waited to speak until the coughing fit was kind of over. “Oh, I take absolutely no disrespect. And please, just Arawn will do. You’re not one of my subjects in the Anwnn. There’s no need for formality,” he stated, a heavily ringed hand wrapping around the base of the wine glass. 

The God noticed some discomfort and instead, raised the glass taking a sip of the wine. “Of course, all for charity. Besides, I’m only here as an amends to Apollo for declining his permit,” he said. 

“Please go and take care of your nerves I realize the children of Inari are prone to…..fox features when they are nervous,” he stated. “I will still be here when you return and we may talk more,” he added. 

[behind-the-screen-of-bangtan]

Layover

Release date: 8 September 2023

Official page

Official Weverse page

Announcement

Pre-order

Preview

Promotion Schedule: part 1, part 2

MV Making Film

V-hind 1, V-hind 2

Official merch

V's Instagram posts: album, MVs, stories (archive), in Carabanchel

Exclusive pictures on Melon

Kim Eunyoug's Instagram post

V is the seventh member to have a solo release. The creation of the whole album featured Min Heejin (src). She explained she wanted to keep things simple to better show V's splendor (src).

There are also several appearances from Yeontan, V's pomeranian. Note however that he was replaced by another dog in "Rainy Days" MV because V couldn't take him to Spain (src). The dog in question is named Rocky and has an Instagram.

On the pre-order notice, we have a glimpse of a handwritten letter from V. Lyssy translated it here.

An exclusive photocard was featured if you bought the album at Barnes and Noble (src). The back shows the songs, not in the album order but in the release order (cr.). Another photocard shows a fake tickets with easter eggs like V's birthday (December, 30) or the release date of Layover (September 8, 2023) (src).

Tracklist

Rainy Days

Blue

Love Me Again

Slow Dancing

For Us

Slow Dancing (piano ver.) (lyrics)

Photos

Release date: 11, 16, 29 August, 6 September 2023

Photo 1

Photo 2

Photo 3

Photo 4

Outfits and accessories

Min Heejin's Instagram Reel

The pictures feature several texts:

Be humble enough

Mistake =)

Find sun (not sure about this one)

Jazz is freedom

Bangtan Greenhouse made threads identifying the plants appearing in the pictures: plants in Photo 1, plants in Photo 2.

Concerning the two car posters, they show the custom Porsche 911SC made by Denny Kahler in 1987 (src) and a Ferrari Testarossa from 1984.

In this picture, V also wears an outfit reminding of Angus Young, the guitarist of AC/DC. The fact he has a guitar in one of the pictures accentuates the nod.

Most pictures were taken between Yeonnam-dong and Yeonhui-dong, in the northwest of Seoul. They notably went to the shop 사운즈굿 (SOUNDS GOOD STORE, they posted on Instagram) (src #1), to 매덕스피자 (Maddux Pizza) (src #1), to 미도파 (Midopa coffee house) (src #1, src #2, src #3, src #4), a cafe that was holding an exposition titled Videorama during the shooting (see their Instagram post) and to 피프에스프레소바 (Pfiff Espresso Bar).

The picture taken in the middle of a street in the second series was snapped here (src). As for the next one, it was taken nearby and there's another one taken two steps away, right in front of the gas station. And the two pictures with a vegetal background were taken on the street behind (here (src) and here). Please refer to this Google map (Chapter 2 > Layover's concept photo), for the location of these different places.

Thanks to the testimony of the owners and based on V's outfit, @jellda0 managed to reconstitute the path the team may have followed during the shooting.

Love Me Again

Release date: 10 August 2023

Lyrics

Special picture for Melon and Spotify (archive)

Outfits and accessories: tweets from BangtanStyling

The video was filmed in the Caves of Drach in Mallorca, Spain (src).

Rainy Days

Release date: 11 August 2023

Lyrics

Min Heejin's Instagram post: #1, #2, #3

Outfits and accessories: tweets from BangtanStyling

The MV was filmed in the penthouse of the Torres Blancas in Madrid (src).

The video starts with the following text:

When you listen really carefully Loops go wheeling Cozy and stuck,

The birds fly in a V formation but backward to what they would do naturally (the point of the V is supposed to be at the front, not the opposite, though it can happen as a transitory thing). Several people interpreted it in relation to the lyrics about being stuck in the past.

The cartoon we see at 1:33 is an episode from Mighty Mouse titled "Wolf! Wolf!", released in the 1940s. A lamb is tricked into a wolf's den by following jazz music, reminding of the Pied Piper of Hamelin story.

The next extract shows a red fox cub from a European documentary released in the 1970s (and now available as a stock video on Shutterstock).

Lastly, the blooming rose comes from this stock video.

All the videos show symbols reminding The Little Prince (cr.). The Little Prince asks the narrator to draw a lamb, he becomes friends with a fox and he loves a rose. You can check @JKs_Waist's thread on Twitter for more details.

Several hints show V is an animator and his flat is his studio. @ halogen_803 made a great thread about it.

V uses a baguette to paint. On the left, you can notice a rotating picture that seems to come from the concept photo.

Slow Dancing

Release date: 8 September 2023

Teaser

Lyrics

Fanchant

Min Heejin's Instagram post

Rachel JM. A's Instagram post: #1, #2, #3

Shin Dongle's Instagram post

Outfit and accessories: white shirt

They were again in Mallorca and Madrid for the filming. They filmed the beach scenes at Portals Vells and the street scenes in Carabanchel (see this map for details).

We know the identity of most of the extras who played in the MV:

Sergio Pérez: Instagram post, Reel

Bryan Montero: Instagram post

FEBO

Amelia Pinillos: Instagram post

yuantao: Instagram post

Emilio and José León: Instagram post

Karel López: Instagram post

Benedict Justin (the person filming in the background during the dance scene)

Quique Muro López: Instagram post, highlights

Alberto Tosco: Instagram post

(see part 2 → for the rest)

[warriorsweaver]

RP post starring Echopaw of LeafClan, played by Avery! Thread source (click)! Text:

The sound was magnificent. The ball, no bigger than a medium-sized pinecone, rattled it's way around the den; it's growl intensifying as it moved from the wood to the covered floor (rug) back to the wood. Her usually crystal-blue eyes were black with excitement, and she gleefully chased it around, scrambling underneath pieces of two-leg structures. At one point the ball had gotten stuck underneath one of the large platforms against the wall, and she had to wiggle her paw around underneath it to fish out her treasure. Prancing after it once more, she jumped from above like a fox onto her prey, scooping it up and rolling onto her back to gnaw at the edges. The material was cold against her fangs, but she didn't care. The texture was divine.

The ball rolled from her claws, and she was off once more. This time she skittered over loose leaves (old pages) that smelled like the objects on the edges of the den, the leaves making a delicious crackling noise underneath her paw pads. What a glorious day. Adventure, an adventure buddy, a new place to explore, things that made amazing loud noises, and a new play toy that was way better than any old moss ball. She bapped after her treasure as it rolled underneath some of the loose leaves. She arched her back, straightened her legs, and crab walked over to it with her head curled to keep her eyes on target. Completely enthralled in her new toy, she didn't hear the thumping of paws on wood as Wolfpaw boldly made his way upstairs to her.

If she had, she would've smoothed herself out, composed herself once more under her mask of serious demeanor. Instead, she was caught completely off guard when the fluffy black tom burst into the room like he was charging into battle. The she-cat whipped around with her toy in her mouth, a hiss fizzling out around the object, sounding more like a sad trumpet from a goose than a ferocious beast. Her spine arched once again, and her claws slid out, making marks on the wood. Her blue eyes blazing like blue fire, and her fur fluffed out to make her look twice it's size. Unfortunately, born with fur that grew longer from the base of her ears at the back of her head that wrapped around towards her mouth, partnered with her holding the toy, she looked almost exactly like an angry squirrel.

[geekymoviemom]

Writing Patterns

I was tagged by @thelettersfromnoone and @mega-aulover thank you so much! 💖

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there’s a pattern.

Okay, here goes:

1. The Greatest War:

The pale sun is just beginning its climb above the distant tree-lined horizon as Katniss ties off the final stitch in a row of twelve. She gives it a gentle tug to ensure the knot’s security, then reaches for her knife, slicing the excess thread away as close to the wound as she dares.

2. Project: Pathfinder

Tony shifts in the co-pilot’s seat, rubbing idly at the back of his neck as Clint skims the Quinjet along the tops of the mountain peaks and towering trees they’ve been flying over for the last ten or so minutes.

3. A Time for Stickball and Guinness

Coffee in hand, Tony settles in on the loveseat next to Steve, placing his free hand on Steve’s knee as he waits for the fireworks show to begin.

4. The Things We Love Most Complete Us

Katniss jerks awake, flitting her eyes around the room as she tries to figure out where she is. A sharp cry escapes her throat as her surroundings slowly slide into focus, the dark, haunted places she visited in her dreams slowly fading into the dull grey walls of the room.

5. Endgame, Not Checkmate

Steve blinks a few times in rapid succession, trying to ward off the effects of the blinding white light that flashed across the battlefield like a solar flare.

6. Across the Worlds

He is dying.

7. The End Never Came

Steve jerks awake with a grunt, glancing rapidly around the room as he tries to regain his bearings.

8. The Cutest Little Stowaway

“But, Daddy, why?” Peter whines as Tony hefts one of his big suitcases onto the bed, unzipping it.

9. A Den of Wolves and Silver Foxes

“We’re here, buddy. Time to wake up,” Tony says as he eases his Audi into the parking lot of Peter’s high school.

10. Immovable Mountains

“Tony, please, don't just walk away from me like I’m not shipping out first thing in the morning!” Steve pleads, the hurt lacing through his barely-controlled voice tearing yet another tiny piece from Tony’s heart.

So… these include fics written for three different fandoms, and are all pretty different in their starting scenarios. I typically use present-tense and third-person limited, and either start by giving the surroundings of (one of) the main character(s) or by using dialogue. Do those count as patterns? 😜

Anyway, thank you so much for the tags, this was fun! 💖

Tagging: @gaiagalit @sherlollyandspoilers @herogers @norbertsmom @clawedandcute @louezem @justajjfan and anyone else who would like to play 💖