#fox den :: threads

[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?"

[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.

[cloververse]

Me when the Tittle was MOON 3 “what have u missed?!”

Look idk either! I scrolled up on the original thread and I just apparently jumped from 0 to 3 fjdkdhsj

But for the sake of lore, in those 2-ish months, Sage and Down have found a meadow with a few ground nests and an old fox den where they having been surviving in!

[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.

[vulpe-mp]

Fight, flight, freeze... Fox

w/ @inarimp

A bright white fox gaited through the post-blizzard snowy landscape of the island. Quietly. It would’ve gone unnoticed, if not for its tail. The otherwise entirely white fox had a tail that looked like it was dipped in a bucket of red paint. A mark only present on one type of fox; the children of Inari. This particular one happened to be the eldest son. The one who hated being in this form.

So how did he end up like this? 

That was the annoying part. 26 years on this Earth and Vulpe still didn’t know what exactly triggered transformation other than stress. But he didn’t feel extraordinarily stressed today, despite the blizzard and black out. One moment he’s just talking, the next he he finds himself strolling about on all fours.

He could probably never show his face to Nathan again...

Vulpe’s perception of time has been skewed; has it been minutes, hours or days, since he found himself in his furry state? The demigod had only turned into a fox once before and it was save to say he hated it. He felt vulnerable, alone and, strangely enough, naked. Nearly two weeks later, the young man had woken up in his bed as himself again. How he managed to do that, was a mystery.

The snow fox panicked briefly at the thought of spending two weeks in this cursed state. Unable to speak or do literally anything he does in his day to day life.

He paused in his tracks as he remembered the text he got from Inari before the black out.

I don’t know how this works-- Inari? Hi... Uhm... Help? Please?

[helluvaslut]

Continued thread for @bubblesage  : Entering the Fox’s Den 

Amber scratched her head for a moment to think. Before remembering the head master mentioning something in today’s assembly about new students. Didn’t think she’d be one of the few to share a room with one of them. “Oh right, the head master did mention there be new students. Well make yourself a home, and hope you don’t mind me walking in my underwear. I’m Amber Lowell, nice to meet you room mate.”

[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

[capcavan]

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!

[thisblogwilleatourselves]

The pAper chAse Auditorium

(credit's to glass beach plastic death)

Born from the bones of burned forests and bloodied trees,

the Auditorium rises, a cavernous sanctuary of chaos and creation.

Its walls breathe the whispers of Spectators, whose gazes slice like glass,

fractured reflections capturing the labyrinth of a being who is both stage and actor.

At its heart stands V, the ceaseless wanderer,

a predator wrapped in predator’s prey,

a fox darting through vøyr own mind’s rabbit holes,

always seeking, always bleeding, always burning.

V is the conflagration of contradictions,

the Ouroboros that consumes itself in endless loops,

an insatiable autocannibal of self-reconstruction.

Vøy moves through the Auditorium’s hollow dens,

dragging tender flesh molded from others’ shadows,

layering vøyr soul like nesting dolls carved from the marrow of trauma.

Vøy is both the hunter and the fox ensnared,

the iron teeth that pierce and the flesh that carries home the scars.

Every choice a trembling trigger, every step a sleepwalk across a gasoline sea.

The Spectators, the eternal voyeurs,

wiretap vøyr thoughts, their lenses fixed on the plasticine theater of V’s existence.

They are the chorus and the critics,

their empty eyes a mirror of surveillance and tenderness,

a love both invasive and indispensable.

They feed on the marrow of vøyr despair,

clinging to the riotous performances of vøyr unraveling,

yet they are the panopticon V cannot live without.

Each gesture, an SOS; each word, a cry for connection,

lost in the static of a one-note monotone.

In the frozen creek of memory, V limps forward,

a fawn licking blistered knees beneath a sky of collapsing stars.

The weight of shame is gravity,

binding vøyr steps to hallways that spiral endlessly,

a double-blind house with no exits but the Auditorium’s stage.

Here, love is a double bind,

a thread pulled taut between longing and fear,

a yearning to hurt and to heal,

to laugh at pain and cradle it like a sacrificial lamb.

Vøy is the beast and the angel, the burned meat and the blood in the trees.

A soul once coal, now a bleeding hole,

rage taking root where love was torn away.

Yet even in this tempest, Z stands as the gold star,

a silhouette carved by desperation,

a tether in a storm of comatose monotony.

Z, the roving ghost of what V could never reach,

a creation to keep the riots at bay,

to anchor V in the spiraling abyss of vøyrselvez.

The pAper chAse is an endless cul-de-sac,

a performance circling itself in fractal loops of transformation and decay.

Plastic death and sacrificial sleep,

a gorgeous lie of sacred violence and soft autonomy.

Through this chaos, V burns with the blood of the world,

shaping vøyr body like clay beneath coarse fingertips,

cutting through vøyr own arteries to feed the fires of survival.

The Auditorium is the mindscape and the battlefield,

where every hour burns like a candle in the void,

its wax dripping into pools of despair,

casting shadows that dance as Spectators cheer.

In this light, this tempestuous tide, V endures.

The Auditorium is vøyr refuge, vøyr stage, vøyr prison.

A panopticon of fragmented identities,

where every Spectator sees a different V.

Yet V persists, a paradox in perpetual motion,

building monuments to fear,

filling vøyr body with tender flesh and bleeding dreams,

the song and the silence,

the fire and the ash.

And so the performance continues,

a symphony of contradictions written in the language of scars,

with V at its center, an endless revolution in vøyr own gravity.

The Auditorium lives because V does,

its every echo a testament to the ceaseless creation

of a being who is never whole,

but always becoming.

[vulpe-mp]

Going once... Going twice

W/ @mpxarawn

T’is the season of giving, so when Vulpe received an invite to a Holiday Auction, of course the demigod went and gave. It was time to do some good with the money his “parents” gave him, even though it would’ve disappoint both of them if they saw him bid on a spa day for a pet he didn’t own or a year supply of coffee.

That was the item he was bidding on at the moment and soon found himself in a bidding war with one of the other attendants; one he could only guess was a god, as he seemed to have no problem spending thousands of dollars on coffee. Either that or the stranger was just as irresponsible with money as he was.

Vulpe knew he couldn’t outbid a literal god. Honestly, he didn’t even care much for the coffee and at this point he could just pay for the coffee like any regular customer. But who’d he be if not a brat. So he kept bidding to drive the price up. It was for charity after all.

His exterior was calm each time he raised his sign, but on the inside he was just praying the god would not just suddenly stop bidding as the price was already up to 2.5 million and the snow fox had no desire to spend that much money on one cup of coffee every day for a year. He was a big spender in his every day life, yes, but with that kind of money, he could buy the coffee shop, he was sure.

Even though every part of him, screamed to stop bidding, Vulpe’s sign went up one more time, rounding up the price at 3 million. Surely the other would not stop bidding now, right? Right?

But then, nothing happened. The man did not raise his sign and the whole venue went quiet. You could hear a pin drop. Vulpe’s heart was in his throat and his ears started ringing. How what this possible…

“Going once...”

The voice of his dad echoed in his head, calling him an idiot, a waste of space. The demigod should’ve listened to his gut. He should’ve quit while he was ahead. And now he’d be out 3 million dollars. For coffee…

“Going twice…”

“It’s for charity. It’s fine, it’s for charity…” Vulpe whispered to himself in a panic. Three million dollars was a lot of money for any regular man, but he could miss it, he told himself. In fact, he could probably miss a little more, he finally tried to convince himself. That didn’t take away from the fact he felt incredibly stupid.

Why'd I decide to mess with a god?!

[helluvaslut]

Moved thread for @ask-jaune-npr ( Entering the fox’s den ) 

Amber let out a sigh and scratched her head. Before reaching over and taking her jacket from the blonde. “ Thank you, but you could of still knocked.” She replied towards the other, while walking to her closet. As she did the blonde got a good view of her backside. Her hips swaying side to side. “Did you want something else?” She asked, looking over her shoulder. While hanging the jacket away in her closet.

[vulpe-mp]

He's where exactly?!

Vulpe looked at the sent coordinates on his phone screen. Flabbergasted. What did he get himself into? He thought of the post on social media as a joke and he - thought he - participated in funny, albeit flirty banter. Something the vulpine demigod often passed his time with.

But it wasn't a joke. The banter was funny, and slightly flirtacious on his end, but a joke, it was not. The other was truly lost and Vulpe seemed the only one to be willing to drive out there to pick him up. Only, that was a joke, too. Well, it started out as one, because he thought the over wasn't actually lost. But... he was. So this wasn't a joke.

A few years ago, when the Brit was young and stupid and much less responsible (Vulpe? Responsible?), he would've probably - definitely - pawned this responsibility onto someone else.

Vulpe quickly grabbed his keys, wallet and coat and left his apartment. If he was quick, he might be able to make it to the other before sundown. And with what he had read on the thread, that was imperative.

To the dancer's luck, he had put a full tank of petrol in his Porsche yesterday, so he was good on that front. He made a quick stop at the grocery store to grab sandwiches, snacks, water, and a few sodas for good measure.

Vulpe drove, over speed limit, but still as careful as possible, keeping his head cool in this stressful situation.

No, really, who was this man in the driver's seat of Vulpe's car? Stressing over a stranger?

A little over five hours later, the sun began to set. Not a problem for a demigod with the eyesight of a fox, but he did begin to worry the other might've wandered off, or was taken or--

Nevermind.

For miles, there were no cars to be seen and people walking in these parts of the island - that's why it's called the middle of nowhere - was a rarity also. So someone sitting by the side of the road stuck out like a sore thumb.

Vulpe sighed in relief and flashed his headlights a few times and beeped his horn once. Rolling down the window, he called out the first thing that came to mind;

"Get in loser, we're going home!"

Lost and Found

a starter based on a SNS interaction for the savior @vulpe-mp

There were times throughout his journey, when Alexander completely forgot where he was headed in the first place. But at this point, this kind of question wouldn’t have a chance to settle in his mind when the answer was so clear. All he wanted to do was to get home. 

That was the challenge, though, wasn’t it? Getting home. 

In addition to being completely lost in the middle of nowhere with no civilization in sight, he only saw three cars pass by within the last hour. And all of them seemed to be headed in the direction he wanted to get away from. Not that either of them showed any intentions to pick him up or even stop to talk to him. 

He tilted his head back, allowing warm rays of sun to hit his face. It was deceptively chilly outside, and he was grateful for the good sense of his past self to put on a warmer jacket before his journey started. If only that very same past self would’ve put in just as much effort into planning his trip as he put into laying out an outfit. Maybe then he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this mess. 

A deep sigh raised his shoulders slightly when he finally looked back at the road, making sure to look both sides just in case he could see another vehicle approaching. If anyone came by, Alexander would get up from his seated position on the ground to not only get a better look but also ensure he’d be seen. He certainly didn’t want to get overlooked from where he was positioned. But unfortunately for him, there was no need for him to stand. Instead, he sat with his arms resting on top of his propped up legs; mentally forcing himself to stay put. 

After all, he had clear instructions to not move an inch. And although he wasn’t a fan of rules and order, this particular occasion warranted every ounce of his discipline to pull through. Truly a grueling task for someone whose idea of relaxation would be a workout routine of his choice and a general quota of interacting with at least seven different people, or alternatively a get-together. 

When he felt the familiar buzz of his phone go off, however, his whole demeanor changed. Despite nobody being around to see him do it, Alexander’s back immediately straightened, and it was as if his entire body was on edge. 

The enthusiasm and hope of any kind of distraction made him suddenly feel alert and energized. However, when he unlocked his phone to find no notification other than the system telling him that the battery was low, it was as if his chest deflated and the weight of monotony came crushing down on him. 

“Fuck me.” A curse whispered into the wind for nobody to hear when he tried to spot any sign of life coming his way. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been waiting when a minute felt like an hour and an hour felt like an eternity, but all he could think of right now was Vulpe, his savior, coming to pick him up. Alexander just hoped he’d come sooner rather than later.

[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)