#i preferred the beast in beast form to his human form though :/

[titania-sleeps]

Wild Roses and Hawthorns (Sub!Bloodbag!Human!Yandere x Vampire!Reader)

hii i promise i didn't forget about adonis, he has TWO whole pieces in my drafts (i just need to be in a specific mood to pump out adonis fics)

in the meantime, here's the aftermath of dion getting the blood sucked tf out of him

spoilers: he wants more. :3

more works featuring Dion: Dion Introduction

warning: mild nsfw, dom reader, biting, asphyxiation (choking), messy feelings, minors DNI pls

A week has passed since you'd last lost your temper with your bloodbag. The look in his eyes never left your mind. The torrent waves of turmoil in his gaze had washed over you, and you were stricken with a sense of fear and... greedy desire. You had immediately fled after that, terrified by what he aroused in you.

Tonight, you lay still as a statue, staring into the ceiling. While you don't need sleep the same way that humans do, it calms you to rest when the sky is dark. It's habitual from your time training to melt into human society (as all vampirekin do for a few decades). However, dawn was nearing in a couple of hours and you've yet to get even a blink of rest.

Every time you close your eyes, even if for a moment, a flash of glistening sweat on caramel skin appears in your mind. Then the sensation of your teeth sinking their way into supple skin manifests in your mouth. The hair on the back of your neck stands and, if you were to look in the mirror at that very moment, what would reflect back is a lonely monster, craving for the flesh of the living.

You are not a common monster, that you know. You are a noble creature, born with veins of blue gold and armed with grace. Yet such a simple bite stirs a primal need in you, one that rivals that of a hungry beast. It borders on something that you'd hope to never experience, especially for your blood bag.

Maybe you need some clear water to reset your thoughts.

As you glide down the stairs to the kitchen, you bump into a shadowy figure. The figure steadies you, and a familiar scent enters your senses.

"...Dion."

The figure responds to your call, a grin on his lips.

"Are you here to indulge in a midnight snack, master?" The comment is teasing and almost enticing, and you know that the snack he is referring to doesn't exist in the kitchen.

Sighing, you push past him and walk to the counter to pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher. He follows you.

"Dion, why are you awake?" you ask, taking a sip of the water. Though you vastly prefer blood over water, as long as the water isn't tainted by any holiness, it suffices to quench your thirst.

Dion's eyes wander for a moment before he responds with a disarming smile. He shrugs, the collar of his shirt falling to the side to reveal his neck. Your eyes flit to it for just a second, and only a second.

"Maybe I was looking for someone," he replies. His vague response irks you, but you don't bother pressing him for more details. The more you know about him, the more you will feel for him. So it is easier to maintain the comfortable distance that you have with him.

You finish the last drop of water and place the cup in the sink. "I hope you find them," you say airily, giving him a lazy wave as you prepare to return to your room.

You're stopped by an encircling grip around your wrist.

You whip your head around and before you know it, you're chasing Dion out the door, down the hallway, and into your room, slamming him against the wall. He lands with a thud and a devious smirk.

You brush your finger across his lips, eyes peering into his. There they are again, the storm that has torn sailors and their rafts asunder, lightning and thunder electrifying even your immortal form.

"Your thirst has yet to be quenched," he whispers to you, eyes swirling. Or maybe you're just imagining that, entranced by him.

"Are you offering yourself?" you ask dryly, with the restraint that you don't have.

Dion laughs, cocking his head to the left. Once again, he bares his neck to you. You aren't so impolite as to reject a gift offered to you.

You sink your fangs into his skin. The same caramel gold that plagues your mind, shining with a thin layer of sweat. And it tastes sweeter than before, with the right hint of despair, just as you like it. Dion's existence at that very moment perforates your senses; the smell of iron and sweat in the air, the sounds of his low moans in your ear, the taste of saccharine goodness in your mouth. And then you open your eyes and he greets you with a loving smile and a tsunami that sweeps you off your feet.

"You're still hungry." It isn't a question but a statement. And he's right to make it a statement because you wouldn't have been able to answer anyway.

You lick the puncture wound with your tongue, gliding gently against the surface. He shivers, his legs struggling to remain standing. Noticing this, you drag him to bed, yet again pushing him down.

He chuckles, laying flat on his back, his hair sprawling out like ripples in a lake. His arms are wide open, and you dive into his embrace, your legs straddling his form.

As you pin him down with your weight, you find yourself caressing his face. A drop of your fingers on his long eyelashes, and then they're slowly trickling down to his jaw. You can feel him become still beneath you and your fingers trail beneath the precipice of his jaw to the jugular juts of his Adam's apple. Your touch bobs up and down as he swallows air, his eyes staring into yours... muddled in something you can't quite place your finger on.

You think you hear him breathe a whisper in your direction, but you don't catch what he's saying. Instead, your hands are clasping around his throat, nails kissing his tender skin. A maniacal grin is stamped on his face, his hands laying peacefully to his sides. He doesn't struggle and instead almost seems to lift himself to meet your grip more.

A flush of power overcomes you as you tighten your hold on him just a little more. He's clasping onto the sheets of your bed with his fingers; it's a shame that he'll have to make your bed again later tonight. You watch, intrigued, as his eyes roll up and drool leaves his lips.

You release him gradually, the skin on his neck blooming in colors of wild roses, hawthorns, and cornflowers. A wreath around his neck, as your prized champion and faithful servant. That's what you've given to him.

When you back away, his hand springs out like a geyser and catches your wrist. His grip is gentle but unyielding, and he's looking at you with a satisfied smile and a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He pulls you down, embracing you fully in his arms. You feel something wet and hard beneath you.

"Only take blood from me," he mutters into your ear, appendages like boa constrictors. "Only from me."

You finally rest your eyes, lips painted in his redness.

i welcome and encourage all psychoanalyses of both y/n and dion

-> masterlist

[drizzledrawings]

Do you have a full master post of like your cowgirls lore, how they met, their backgrounds and situations they got in ect. I absolutely am obsessed with them.

Why thank you so so much

I’ve talked so much about them on here, but it’s scattered, and quite a lot of it has evolved lore wise

So let’s make this that master post:

Basic lore for this universe:

Set in a non specific time of the Wild West (implied to be the tail end of the era)

But with a magical twist. The folklore of things that are not quite human living alongside humanity is real, and they are hunted for their skin. It is a known fact that shapeshifters exist, and they are illegal. Though some peoples “magic blood” don’t always show itself as Shapeshifting, it can also appear as accelerated healing or acute senses. These people are generally referred to as beasts or animals

These transformations are hard on “beasts,” they take up a lot of strength to preform them, and if you’re injured in one form, it can take time before you’re able to switch. If you’re injured enough it can be permanent.

Brunette: Flora Guerra

She was born to an Italian immigrant family with strict parents, as well as the youngest daughter to five other children. When she was 16, her parents arranged a courtship with a much older man. Flora was furious, this rage culminated in her first transformation, unfortunately this happened in front of the man as well as the rest of her family. They immediately turned their backs on her, disgusted with what she was. Terrified, she fled. She hopped on trains and resorted to petty theft to make her way west, to a land she hoped would be freer than the life she left behind!

Her first big brush with the law was when she stole her horse Bandit from a man who was treating him poorly. She fled the scene but only after shooting one officer. (Thus her first ever bounty was for murder)

Her main way of making money was seducing men and robbing them blind while they were distracted by her beauty, unfortunately she picked up the wrong trick one day, a notorious gang leader, who instead of shooting her outright, brought a then 17 year old Flora back to his gang. She became “his girl” and used her looks to help him get what he wanted.

In the gang however there was one man who was like her! He could turn into a wolf, like how she could turn into a jackalope, they formed a bond, and when the gang fell apart, he was the one to get her out safely.

Ginger: Mattie (Matilda) Hayes

Mattie is the eldest daughter of her odd family. Her father and mother immigrated from Ireland, her mother dying during childbirth of her youngest child, Ben. Because of this, Mattie became the sole caretaker of him, very much raising him herself. The entire family were beasts of some sort.

Mattie could turn into a fox from a young age, her brother as well started to transform around the same time. (Though he was a cougar)

Their father, was also odd, in more ways than just beastly. He was a sour old man with a mean streak, drink had a mighty hold on him. After an incident that broke the camels back, involving hateful words and a smashed beer bottle, Mattie had enough. In a fit of rage she set fire to her father’s barn, in the aftermath She packed her bags and set to leave. She tried to get Ben to come, but he refused and told her to never come back. So she listened.

At 18, her and her horse June travelled the desert, finding odd jobs, pulling off some robberies, and failing at pickpocketing, this left her with quite a price on her head.

After a couple years of travelling by herself, the way she preferred, she ran into Flora for the first time.

First meeting:

They met as their animals first, Mattie was trying to hunt Flora but got startled by her horns.

Later on, she was trying to rob a man on the side of the road. Only for Flora to swoop in at the last moment and get the trick instead. (By “saving” the man, but picking his wallet a moment later)

That night, Mattie was nursing her hurt ego by drinking her weight at a saloon, but alas she couldn’t even enjoy her whiskey in peace, when the woman who stole her prize sat down at the bar with her.

Pissed off Mattie tried to storm away but bumped into an angry drunk, this turned into a full on bar fight. Which Flora dragged her away from and offered to patch up her wounds

They stuck together after that. But didn’t become lovers till much later

Flora fell first, but Mattie fell harder.

JESUS this is long I’m sorry

Anyways main plot:

Word gets to Mattie that her father is dead, and her younger brother has resorted to a life crime. He is being set to hang once he’s caught. She sets out to find him.

Flora’s old gang has picked up on her location, and they are hunting her down. Scared for Mattie’s safety she works with her old friend to figure out how to keep them off their trail.

The two of them have also been found out to be beasts by the law, so on top of being wanted because of their crimes, they are also being stalked by beast hunters.

Everything seems to be going okay, Mattie finds Ben, and together her and Flora help him get away from the noose, they look after him and bring them to their camp. They thought they were evading the hunters as well as the gang.

What they didn’t know was that Ben still held a grudge for Mattie leaving. He blames her for their father’s ultimate death.

He rats them out, not only to the hunters, but to Flora’s old gang. He figured that if he gave them their location, the law would let him go. They took the bargain.

The hunters and the gang ambush them, Ben leading the way.

Flora gets injured during the fight in her human form. Ben nearly kills her.

The siblings go head to head in their beastly forms, and against all odds, the fox beats the lion, killing the last remaining member of her family.

Flora, incredibly injured, cannot transform, and for reasons unknown to Mattie, she cannot switch back.

Years pass, Flora has a limp that doesn’t go away. She is never able to be her animal again. And Mattie, well, she didn’t get too injured that day, though it seems like something broke inside because she lost her human form.

They move north together, and live a peaceful life, even though it’s not quite normal. What with Mattie being a fox and all that.

A decade or so after everything, they’ve been out of the life for a long time, is when Mattie finally finds herself again. Though she’s very different to what she used to be, her human form had changed, more fox like and more wild, though still her. She can only take that form for bits at a time, but it’s something. They’re happy

If you read all of this… damn thank you!!

[lavandulawrites]

Undeserving

Yandere Zhongli x reader

Zhongli is definitely a terrifying yandere.

Synopsis: Zhongli takes it upon himself to rid the world of those who sin

Masterlist

Warnings: explicit violence,torn limbs, kinda gory, Zhongli is very possessive, Zhongli is completely feral, reader is not directly involved with any of the violence

Word count: 2223

Zhongli had always seen himself as a reasonable man. Even before he had taken on the name Zhongli. He valued respect and honour. Zhongli had always held a fondness for contracts and their power. He often preferred to negotiate rather than fighting. It was more proper after all.

It was however in moments like this, his polished appearance faltered and revealed the beast within that had slain many.

His glowed fingers loosened his tie before he elegantly slipped off his leather gloves. He placed both his tie and his gloves on the mantle on the unlit fireplace. He slowly turned to face the sinner that sat on his newly bought antique armchair. Zhongli’s skin crawled at the sight of that vermin who had made himself extremely comfortable in his beloved chair.

The man whose name was Haoyu sipped on a cup of pipping hot tea. He showed no care for Zhongli’s possessions and handled the cup with much carelessness.

Zhongli clenched his fists behind his back. Though a dragon was only one of his many forms, his bloodlust was still ever present. His fanged teeth clenched together as he recalled the days he had used those teeth to tear out his enemies throats. No matter what kind of form Zhongli took, his golden reptile like eyes and his long sharp fangs was something he never managed to conceal.

He walked over to the chair which was opposite of Haoyu’s. His steps no different from a stalking predator. With elegance he sat down and crossed his legs. He leaned back in his chair as he picked up his own cup of tea. He inhaled the aroma and sighed him delight at the delicious smell. The tea hot and intense as it filled his throat.

“Do you have any ideas for your brother’s funeral? Or any specific wishes for the ceremony?” he asked the black haired man.

Haoyu rubbed his goatee while he drummed his fingers on the armrest. “I don’t have any specific wishes. I just want to have him buried as fast as possible. I am a busy man you see” his voice had the same pitch as that of an squealing pig.

“I see” Zhongli nodded. “As for payment, the director wants to know when you are able to pay” he continued with an almost bored voice.

“Soon. I just need to make sure my next business deal goes well. So maybe in a week or two. Two is more likely” the bearded man shrugged.

Zhongli’s golden eyes narrowed before he chuckled. “Director Hu Tao needs the payment before Friday, meaning in three days. I have told you so many times” his smiled forced. The director of the funeral parlour was a remarkable young woman. Her youthfulness made Zhongli almost feel young again and he enjoyed her company. He acted as her counsellor and a kind of guardian. Though the guardian part was something that had happened over time.

Zhongli’s appearance was youthful and he looked somewhere in his early to mid thirties. Despite that, his wisdom was greater than all of the elderly in the city combined. He knew that Hu Tao suspected that he wasn’t human, but he never addressed it.

“I don’t think I will be able to” the middle aged man shrugged. He sipped more of his tea and didn’t notice how he spilled some on his shirt.

The former geo archon’s eyes turned cold. His finger stabbing the inside of his palms. “You will have to find a way. We can’t propound the payment any longer.”

Haoyu sighed. “Don’t be so difficult! I’m sure you’ll be able to do something” he winked his goat like eyes at the brunette.

Zhongli felt offended at the ugliness that sat in front of him. “No. I am not able to ‘do something’” his voice monotone. If Zhongli wanted to, he would be able to convince Hu Tao to propound the payment, but he did not feel like doing so.

The man sneered. “Fine” he groaned like the pig he was. He downed the last of his tea and slammed it onto the newly polished mahogany table.

Zhongli’s eyes twitched at the blatantly rudeness. He took a deep breath before he rose to his feet. “I remember I told you about my collection of tableware. I should give you a tour before you leave” he smiled politely at the irritated man.

Haoyu’s frown quickly turned into a smile. “Oh I would love that” he stood up and stretched his limbs, nearly knocking down his teacup from the table.

Zhongli led him to the room where he kept his various collections. Rows upon rows of tea seats filled one of the long walls. Haoyu stopped in front of a delicate purple clay teapot. He lifted it up from its shelf and studied it closely.

Zhongli closed his eyes in annoyance, but continued to play the part of a good host. He showed him his various treasures and Haoyu was overjoyed by the different riches.

Zhongli followed Haoyu out to the hallway. “Before you leave, I want to ask you something” his voice polite.

Haoyu raised an eyebrow. “Alright. Go on.”

Zhongli ignore his rude tone yet again. “I have heard that you are good acquaintances with [Name]” his voice as calm as still water.

The man smirked at his words. “Yeah, you could say that… She’s quite the looker” he laughed. His fat fingers clasped together.

Zhongli reminded silent. He’s face similar to his many statues that were scattered over the country.

At the taller man’s silence, Haoyu raised his brow. “Why are you asking?”

Zhongli walked towards a painting of a bamboo forest. His back facing Haoyu. “I do not like it when people get their greedy hands on what’s mine. It angers me. And very much so” his voice had a sharp edge to it.

He turned slowly to face him. “You are a foul man. You lack both tact and elegance” his diamond shaped pupils small in disgust. He stalked towards him with slow steps.

Haoyu slumped his shoulders at Zhongli’s fury. He gulped loudly as his back hit the wall.

“You are not worthy of [Name’s] presence. She has told me countless times that she finds you revolting” his rage cold in his veins as he looked down at the man who had sinned the greatest sin of all. His cold golden gaze flickered down to the man’s hands. The very hands that had touched his beloved.

“I-I promise to never speak to her or touch her ever again!” Haoyu uttered as he slumped even further together. His legs were shaking in fear.

His stuttering a clear sign of his cowardice and Zhongli found it humorous how his brutish façade was just only that: a façade.

The adeptus’ entire body was filled with the want, need, to spill the blood of the man who had crossed him. He flex his hands along his side and felt the welcoming power of geo that flowed through his veins. He raised his hand in a quick motion as he wrapped it around Haoyu’s neck. He slammed his head against his wall, not caring about his expensive wallpaper.

“All sinners must pay for their sins. You are no different” he spat. Zhongli’s eyes glowed a golden hue which was the main telltale sign of his non-humanity.

Haoyu desperately tried to defend himself, but the strong hand that held his neck only tightened. The sound of his struggling breath was music to his ears.

“Be quiet” was all he said before he dropped the man.

The bearded man quickly crawled towards the front door before Zhongli brought his foot down and kicked him in his ribs. The sound of bones creaking brought a small smile to the former archon’s face.

Haoyu screamed as snoot and tears streamed down his disgusting face. He loudly prayed to be saved by Rex Lapis.

Zhongli scoffed before he brought his foot at the nap of Haoyu’s neck. He pressed down, earning a cry from the black haired man. “Take his name out of your filthy mouth” he sneered.

He manifested his spear and pointed it towards the man who laid in a kneeling position on the floor. The pointed tip, glittering in the light. His polearm had been his trusted companion throughout many years.

“Get up” his tone dominating.

Haoyu scrambled up to his legs and clutched his side in pain. His dark eyes looked up at Zhongli in fear.

Zhongli raised his spear before he brought it down to Haoyu’s left shoulder. The spear pierced his flesh and made contact with the bone. Red blood splattered on the hardwood floor. Haoyu screamed in pain.

“AGH! Fuck! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!” he screamed as he tried to stop the bleeding with his fat hand.

The brunette laughed at his pitiful cries. “No one will help you. They cannot hear you on the outside” his lips twisted up into a cruel smile. He had used adeptal arts to completely soundproof his home.

He stalked towards his prey and stopped right in front of him. His polished shoes soaking in blood. He sneered in disgust.

He rose his empty hand. His finger tips turned into claws which he used to slash through the neck of the sinner in front of him. Haoyu gurgled on his blood as he desperately clutched his throat. His eyes wet as they pleaded to the god in front of him.

Zhongli brought his bloodied hand before him. Torn skin was attached to his long black claws. He shook his hand and sent the skin flying towards Haoyu.

With a splat the skin landed on his forehead which resulted in him throwing up. Vomit spewed out from his mouth and the gaping hole in his throat. The sight was disgusting and Zhongli felt even more offended. The smell of vomit reached his strong nose and he crushed his inhuman sense of smell.

He reattached his claws and sat his spear neatly against the wall behind him. He crouched down to the dying man’s level. His godly eyes scanning his. “You brought this upon yourself” was all he said.

Long elegant fingers wrapped around Haoyu’s left arm. Zhongli waited till he was sure he was sure he paid attention. He then ripped his arm off with no effort. The tearing sound echoed in the hallway. Blood gushed from the open wound. It was going to be long before he died from blood loss. Zhongli tossed the arm away before he stood up.

“Stand” he commanded.

Haoyu struggled like a newborn fawn, but managed to stand. His appearance similar to that of a mangled corpse than a living human.

Zhongli brought his hand up to his chest. The power of geo poured out from his every pores and onto the man in front of him.

Slowly, but surely his chest turned into stone. Haoyu screamed as loudly as his damaged vocal cords let him. Zhongli was sure to be slow. It was important for him to feel the pain as long as he could.

His harsh eyes met the gaping hole in his throat. Tendons clearly visible. His vocal cords looked rather teared as well as his Adam’s apple which was completely damaged.

“You should apologise for your unkempt appearance” Zhongli had no humanity left in neither his voice nor eyes.

He reattached his hand. He made sure to make proper eye contact with Haoyu before he curled his hand into a fist. His fist drove into his face. Before he knew it, his fist had made a complete hole. Haoyu’s body fell limp against the floor. His face completely gone and replaced by a through hole. Brain matter covered the wall and stained his beautiful wallpaper.

Zhongli scoffed at the mess. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and willed his hands. Th white pure fabric quickly turned grimy.

He was yet again glad for the adeptal art he was the father off. With a snap of his finger the whole hallway was clean. The hardwood floors no longer coated in warm sticky blood and the wallpaper no longer stained. The body was turned into stone which quickly turned into sand.

He brought a broom and cleaned the sand up.

He would sprinkle the sand in the garden in Haoyu’s family house.

He sat down on his armchair and breathed out. He was content with his work. The only thing missing was you by his side. He picked up the contract he had written. He would encourage you to write your name on it. Then your fate would be sealed and he would finally be able to sleep peacefully with you by his side. With Haoyu and the others who had been close to you out of the picture, it was only the two of you.

Just as it should be.

He took a sip of the rich wine and let the the liquid swirl around in his mouth. A soft smile formed on his lips. He had had the adepti make a beautiful red wedding dress with gold embroidered into the silky fabric. You would make a beautiful bride and he would do everything in order to protect you. He would even take his role as an archon again if the situation called for it.

[lustlovehart]

I just wanted to let you know that I've been obsessed with your monster and reverse!monster au 💓 I've been rereading the posts over and over again lol you're a great writer!

I was just wondering what you think would happen if the reader for each au was somehow swapped. Like monster!reader replaces hunter!reader in the monster au and vice versa. Would the monster boys be happy to have a monster darling who they wouldn't have to worry about scaring off, or still prefer the caring mortal reader? And would the hunter boys like hunter!reader more and fight about keeping them in their own ranks?

I guess they would all still be obsessed regardless lol

Thank you for your writings and don't forget to take breaks and rest!

This is such a fun idea ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ (This ended up being way longer than expected)

The appeal with both of the au’s is the Odd one out kind of thing. As the others are taking a deep interest in you due to their status of being different from you, MH!Reader feels the opposite way, wishing to stem away from the dangers of the unknown (Despite the occupation of Monster hunter holding its mysteries, and the species of monster having their own ways.) This is essentially the make up of both Au’s. Buut, With the roles being swapped around, It surely sounds fun, because now, the cast and you are the same species, making it so they’ll have to find a different reason to become infatuated!

MH!Reader is appealing to the Monster!Twst cast as they’re a human who hunts their kind, while still harboring some form of sympathy towards them. Even with the acts of murder and all that evil stuff, they could fall into your arms, you might be horrified, but you’ll still hug them all the same.

But! If you were to swap them out with a Monster!Reader, you’d need to do something different too! Perhaps you’re the kind who travels instead of staying in one place. In this case, I think you’d have to do something along the lines of protecting humans this time! In the monster world, it’s an all for one thing, fight to survive. At first, when you protect the human they’re about to devour, they assume you’re just trying to steal their meal. But when you tell the thing to run away? They’re convinced you’re a fool.

But when you continually step in their way to stop them? Then they’ll be intrigued. If you’re a low ranked beast, they’ll gladly swipe their hand and let you drop dead. But, you’re ranked just the same as the 7 highest bounty beasts (Or so rumors says) so they can’t simply toss you away. That’s when you peak their interest. Someone as (rumoredly) powerful as you, take pity on humans? It’s pathetic… yet their actions speak the opposite.

“So, You stalk monsters you think are pathetic right? Do you attempt to sleep with them too?” Depending on who you’re talking to, you either receive a sway of the hand, or words of adoration.

The only one who is not affected by this change is Rollo. Just like his Human counterpart, he believes you to be absolutely vile. The way you save humans though is entirely the opposite. So… he’s extremely conflicted.

On the other end, you have MH!Reader with the reverse cast. It’s the same situation, where you spare a monster from the kindness in your heart. But, instead of it being them this time, they’re essentially spying on you as you let your heart get in the way. Truly… they should be executing you for such treasons, but they can’t bring themselves to do it. In this case, I like to think they had their eye on you before your first failed mission, but only when that happens do they actually engage in their interest.

Your status as a specialized hunter (Though everyone just calls you Crowleys favorite), leads to many admirers in the organization. Though, you didn’t think you’d receive 7 different letters (Plus a couple of extras from the newbie), all requesting you to transfer to their unit. They’ve only been talking to you for a few months after that job, you questioned why they were all scrambling for you attention at every turn. Maybe they just needed an extra member…? (no they’re obsessed.)

Riddle insists having someone like you in their group would be beneficial for both of you. You get less sporatic jobs, a more organized scheduele, and he gets to see you. Ace and Deuce would calm down a whole lot too… He has the highest chance of acceptance, but with the way Trey and Cater slump against the door at your answer, he understands he must try much harder. Especially if he’s going against the others…

Leona tells you if you join him, you’d get harder jobs, but will get way more rest than usual. You won’t ever see the first draft of the letter where… Your thoughts disperse when you notice Jack in the corner of your eye, the shadows overcasting him as if he’s a wet puppy. He doesn’t move from his spot when he turns his head, quietly asking if you’re gonna join.

Azul by far has the most convincing letter of request. What is it? You get a better pay and much better work benefits. Truthfully, if this was anyone else eyou’d take him up on the offer. But… Knowing him and those twins, less than ideal business transactions… you don’t think you will join them. Azul buries his head in his hands on the other side of the door, Jade sighing in disappointment while Floyd shifts from a happy mood, to a complete opposite vibe.

Kalim doesn’t actually send you a letter, he bursts in through the door just offering you the position straight up. The one who sends the request is Jamil. His offerings are rather on the standard side in truth. There’s a slight increase in your wage, but the true appeal is his offering to help assist you in your missions. Kalim may be in charge of the Scararbia unit, but Jamil is so capable… Though, you’re a bit off put by the feint smell of iron. You hope he didn't pen this after a job…

Vil is by far the most proper when he writes his letter. You’re sure this is those acting skills he has cooked up, the ones he uses to lure in unsuspecting monsters… He writes with a certain primness, yet a slight desperation that makes you feel inclined to join. You’re close to actually considering joining, but then a chill runs up your spine. You know the feeling all too well. Someone’s watching you. It’s definitely Rook. You set the paper down, leaving the room without showing any sign of knowing he’s there. He sniffs paper when you’re gone, leaving a second letter by him. You don’t read it.

Idia has the shortest letter of all. He lists what he can give you in bullet points, and then below just has a single sentence. “Please join.” Compared to everyone else, it’s the least worthy letter of acceptance. Yet, he’s the only one who gets an in person visit. He’s walking back and forth, tightening his head to the point of suffocation. He’s in a complete panic, why would you ever wanna join him? He’s the unit with the least talkative members… you’re gonna wanna leave the moment you join—

He stops his thoughtless rampage when you pull his head free from that hood. Everyone sees this happening too by the way, and suddenly they’re wishing they did whatever it was he wrote down.

Malleus is the exact opposite. He has the longest letter ever, 5 pages?? The first three are him praising your skills, your looks, you intellect, your kindness, your— It’s too much to process. You don’t even have the chance to finish the letter before Sebek basically hoists you overs his shoulder all of a sudden.

“Malleus is waiting for your arrival! As a new member you can’t be late!” Your head turns quickly towards Lilia and Silver, heavy confusion evident on your face. You… You didn’t even…! Wait, did they just assume you’d say yes to him?? (Lilia knows you didn’t. When you’re alone with him he’ll let you decide. But, convincing you with a little persuasion wouldn’t hurt would it? After all, he hopes you join them as well)

Rollo basically cucks everyone 💀. When you’re looking through and actually considering, he sits next to you. His fingers gently grab your hand and pull you away from the papers, his eyes imagining fire to set to those wretched requests.

“Why would you join them?” His mouth ghosts over your knuckles, never touching them, but connecting somehow. “I believe you’re everything without them.” Rollo attempts to block out the other 4 who nod in agreement. (He doesn’t wanna accept his alone time with you is being interrupted by Fellow, Skully, Neige, and Chenya 💀)

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x fem!oc (bonus ii)

a/n: I'm back on this bonus feature, a special episode of the Stark-fluff, I'm giving you deleted scenes! Yay! So these did not make the cut for the chapters I wrote, they were either repetitive or just meh, but I did work on them so I thought you'd all love a glimpse :)

SCENE #1 (part i) - I DON'T TRUST YOU

Winterfell had grown colder since her arrival.

It wasn’t just the weather. The halls felt different—quieter, more shadowed, the cold biting sharper than it had in years past. Since the day Claere had stepped across Winterfell’s threshold as his bride, whispers followed her, as persistent as the wind that howled through the keep.

Cregan Stark sat at the head of the long table in the Great Hall, a ledger spread open before him. The flicker of torchlight danced across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw. His supper, a hearty stew that had long gone cold, sat untouched beside him. But it wasn’t hunger gnawing at him tonight.

His thoughts were tangled, circling back to the same place: Claere.

She unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain, though he prided himself on reason and instinct. She moved through Winterfell as though she were of another world—her silvery hair catching the light in a way that seemed otherworldly, her violet eyes drifting to things no one else seemed to notice. Her habits baffled the household. She barely ate, spoke sparingly, and often vanished for hours into the grey skies on her mighty dragon. The servants whispered of seeing her wander the halls at night, murmuring to herself in a language older than the North.

Cregan had witnessed it himself: her wandering, barefoot, as if in a trance, her lips forming soft, lilting words that left him uneasy. There was something haunting about her, something unknowable. Even the dogs kept their distance, tails tucked low when she passed.

He tried to dismiss the gnawing whispers as nonsense. Claere was a young woman far from home, a stranger in the harsh, unyielding North, navigating customs as cold and unrelenting as its winters. Of course, she would struggle. Of course, she would seem strange.

And yet, the stories clung to him like frost on iron.

The Valyrian witch, they called her. The true queen of pale fire and blood magic. Beautiful, yes, but unnatural—a creature of strange songs and sleepless nights. Whispers filled the keep, spoken in low tones by bannermen and servants alike. They said her kind preferred the taste of human flesh to that of beast, that her gifts were double-edged: capable of charm and destruction in equal measure.

Cregan had never been one to indulge superstition. The North demanded practicality, not folly. But Claere...

Her harp’s strange, haunting melodies still lingered in his mind, dissonant and otherworldly. Her violet eyes, too large, too sharp, seemed to see into places no mortal gaze should reach. She walked the halls of Winterfell in silence, barefoot and unflinching, her expression distant as if caught in a dream—or a curse.

With her, the line between myth and reality blurred in ways he hated.

A sharp echo of boots on stone pulled him from his brooding. He looked up from the ledger to see two figures approaching the long table, their movements halting and uncertain. A man and a woman, wrapped in wool cloaks patched from many winters past, their faces pale and taut with worry.

“My lord,” the man began, his voice trembling as he bowed low. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his cloak, twisting the frayed fabric nervously. “Forgive the intrusion, but we... we need your help.”

Cregan closed the ledger with deliberate slowness, the thud of its binding echoing in the chamber. He stood, his dark brows knitting together. “Help?”

“Our children,” the woman blurted, her voice cracking as she clutched her husband’s arm. “They’ve not returned from the woods. They went out hours ago. They were with...”

She faltered, her throat tightening around the name.

“With?” Cregan prompted, his voice cold and edged with steel.

“With the princess,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the floor.

The name landed like an axe stroke.

“Claere?” The word came sharp, almost incredulous, but the knot in his chest tightened.

“They were curious about her, my lord,” the man added hastily. “About that dragon. My lady, she told them stories, and... well, they followed her.” His voice grew quieter. “We thought they’d be back before long, but they haven’t. It’s... it’s nearly sundown.”

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the narrow window, where the last streaks of sunlight bled orange into the encroaching dark. The North woods were no place for small children, not with wolves and worse lurking in the shadows.

“How old are they?” he asked, his tone clipped, his jaw tightening further.

“Six and four,” the woman said, her voice trembling. “Their names are Jonnel and Betha. Please, Lord Stark. Please bring my pups back to me.”

Her words cracked with desperation, the kind only a mother could summon. But Cregan barely heard her. His mind was already racing, drawn inexorably back to Claere.

Her strange, sleepless eyes. Her murmured words to herself, were too soft to catch yet unsettling in their rhythm. The echoes of the harp still rang faintly in his mind, haunting and cold.

The rumours clawed at him like unseen hands. Could she truly have harmed the children? The image of her, pale and otherworldly, the fire casting strange shadows across her sharp features, surfaced unbidden. He thought of the dragon she claimed was hers, a beast as enigmatic as its mistress.

No. He shook his head as if to dislodge the thought. It was ridiculous. It had to be. But still...

“Ready the horses,” he said, at last, his voice a low growl.

The woman sobbed with relief as her husband bowed low. Cregan turned away without another word, fastening his cloak and striding toward the courtyard. His men fell in behind him, ready to patrol, their silence speaking to the gravity of the task ahead.

As they mounted, he cast one last glance toward the keep. Somewhere within its ancient stones, she was likely unaware of the turmoil she’d caused—or worse, unbothered by it.

He spurred his horse forward, his thoughts darker than the woods they now entered. Whatever they found out there, he knew this much: Claere was not a woman to be trusted.

x

The woods swallowed the last light of day, the shadows deepening to a near impenetrable black. The only sounds were the crunch of hooves on frosted leaves and the occasional snap of a branch underfoot. Cregan rode at the head of the patrol, Ice strapped across his back, its weight a constant reminder of duty.

The trees closed in around them, gnarled branches clawing at the sky, and the cold bit sharper here, as if the forest itself sought to repel them. His men called out the children’s names—Jonnel, Betha—voices ringing out into the empty expanse. But none dared call for her.

His breath misted as his thoughts churned. The bloodied image of Claere from his imagination melded uncomfortably with reality. The rumours whispered in Winterfell grew louder in his mind. He gripped the reins tighter.

“Lord Stark!”

The shout snapped his attention forward. One of the men pointed, and there she was, emerging from the underbrush like some ghostly specter. Claere.

Her hands were slick with blood, crimson streaking her pale fingers and arms, as though freshly painted. Her skirts, once pristine, were smeared with mud and more blood, dark streaks dragged haphazardly across the fabric as if she’d wiped her hands there in haste. Her feet were bare, toes red and raw against the frostbitten earth, and her hair had fallen from its usual bindings, wild tendrils framing her gaunt, hollow face.

Cregan halted his horse so abruptly it reared off the track, and he dismounted in a single swift motion. Ice sang as he drew it, the great blade gleaming even in the dim light.

He approached his wife slowly, like a predator stalking its prey.

Claere’s head lifted at the sound of his boots crunching against the frost. Her violet eyes, tired and strange, met his. She took a hesitant step forward, but he raised the blade. Wordlessly.

Her steps faltered. She blinked, and though her expression remained still, her hands trembled, her fingers twitching at her sides. Slowly, she stepped back, lowering her eyes to the ground.

"My lord," she said, her voice hollow, as if the words were spoken from a great distance.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. The stories screamed in his mind—the Valyrian witch, blood and fire, the maneater, the beautiful demon.

“The children?” His voice was low, hard, edged with suspicion.

Claere did not flinch. She turned her head, glancing westward. “The brook by the tall trees,” she said, her voice faint and uneven. “I only tried—”

But he didn’t wait for more. He sheathed Ice and strode past her, his pace swift and resolute. His men followed, their torches bobbing behind him like fleeting will-o’-the-wisps.

The landmark came quickly, the brook glinting faintly in the moonlight, its surface not yet frozen over. At its edge stood a towering tree with roots gnarled and exposed, reaching toward the stream like claws. Beneath its shelter, he saw them.

Jonnel and Betha.

The children were huddled together beneath a cloak far too large for them, their small feet tucked into the softness. Claere’s cloak. The fire before them sputtered weakly, the last of its life fed by scraps of leather—her shoes again, he realized, sacrificed to the flames.

For a moment, he simply stared, the scene pressing on him. The children were unharmed. Warm. Protected.

The men moved quickly, retrieving the little ones, murmuring reassurances as they wrapped them in blankets. Cregan didn’t follow. His gaze remained on the remnants of the fire, on the makeshift items strewn about—the cloak she’d offered, the shoes she’d burned.

When he turned back toward the woods, he saw her standing at a distance, her shoulders hunched as if against the cold. Her hands hung limply at her sides, stained red but empty. She did not meet his eyes, staring instead at the children being carried away.

The suspicion that had burned so fiercely in his chest faltered. He looked at her again—not the witch, not the monster, but the woman who had given what little she had to keep two helpless children safe. The moment stretched, and he felt something stir—an unease that wasn’t borne of mistrust, but of something far heavier. Guilt.

Yet still, the concern lingered. The blood on her hands, the strange air about her—it was all too much. Too foreign. Too other.

He shook it off and turned away, climbing into his saddle. The ride back to Winterfell would be long, and the questions clinging to his thoughts longer still.

“The horses, my lord,” one of his men called, gesturing toward the horses. An extra one.

“Leave her one,” Cregan commanded. “Let her do as she pleases.”

He cast one last glance over his shoulder. She had taken to kneeling by the brook, a silent figure against the shadowed woods. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if she was praying—to whom, or for what, he could not say.

And then he rode on, the ghost of her presence trailing after him like a haunting he could not outrun.

x

Cregan leaned against the cold stone of the ramparts, the weight of the night pressing down on him. Below, the gates of Winterfell stood sturdy and silent, the soft glow of torches marking the perimeter. His breath came in slow, heavy puffs, mingling with the frost of the air. He told himself he wasn’t waiting, and yet his eyes lingered on the road leading from the woods, scanning for the faintest silhouette of a rider.

Her bloodied hands plagued him. He shook his head, frustration knotting his chest. What had he done? In his anger, his doubt, he had left her. The memory of her kneeling by the brook, her skirts muddied, her face hollow with exhaustion, burned itself into his thoughts.

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a gloved hand through his hair.

The sound of hooves on stone broke the quiet, and his heart stuttered. He leaned forward, eager, catching sight of a figure dismounting in the courtyard below. It was her—already within the keep. She hadn’t taken the horse he’d left; she’d come through Winter Town. Barefoot, frostbitten, her steps faltering but determined.

By the time Cregan reached her chamber, the air was thick with the sharp tang of herbs and damp wool. The door was slightly ajar, and a faint orange glow spilled out into the dim corridor. He paused, his hand resting against the rough wood, listening to the muffled movements within.

She was there, alone, perched on a low stool by the hearth. Her head was bowed, a curtain of silver hair falling across her face, her shoulders trembling as she worked. The basin at her feet was darkened with blood, the water tinged red and nearly frozen again. Her hands moved in slow, mechanical strokes, dabbing a cloth over the angry cuts on her fingers. Her frostbitten toes rested in the frigid water, the skin cracked and raw, as though she didn’t feel the sting of the cold.

It was the lack of reaction that unnerved him. She worked as if her body were something apart from herself, her expression distant, eerily calm, even serene.

“Claere,” he said, his voice rough, filling the silence.

She didn’t stir. Her focus remained locked on her hands, wiping at the blood as if she could somehow erase it from sight.

“Claere,” he said again, louder this time.

Her head lifted slowly, her eyes meeting his with a hollow detachment.

The sight of her—pale, bloodied, and so utterly calm—set his teeth on edge. Anger sparked in him, but it was an anger born of fear, of guilt, of not understanding sooner. He stepped inside, the door groaning on its hinges behind him.

“Stop,” he ordered, his tone sharper than he intended.

Her gaze flicked down to her hands, and for the first time, there was a flicker of awareness in her expression. Slowly, she lowered the cloth, her fingers trembling.

He crossed the room in two long strides, calling for the maester with a bark that echoed down the hall.

When Maester Kennet arrived moments later, his face tightened at the sight of her. “Lady Stark,” he said gently, kneeling beside her. “Please, allow me.”

Cregan stood back, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on her every movement. She didn’t resist as Kennet worked, applying oils and wrapping her hands with strips of linen soaked in pungent herbs. Even as the maester’s careful fingers pressed against the frostbitten flesh, she barely flinched. Her stillness was unsettling as if she had resigned herself to pain—or worse, as if she didn’t feel it at all.

“She’ll heal,” Kennet said when he finished, rising to face Cregan. “But the cold has taken its toll. She must stay warm, my lord.”

Cregan nodded curtly. “Thank you, maester.”

The room fell silent once more, save for the crackling of the fire. Claere remained where she was, her hands now neatly bandaged, her feet swaddled in cloth. She seemed smaller somehow, sitting there in the flickering light, her head bowed as though waiting for something she knew would not come.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she said, her voice low and steady, though her gaze dropped to the basin at her feet. The words were measured, devoid of plea or softness. “It was never my intention to cause their parents grief. I misjudged the woods, the snow. The children swore they knew the way to the shrubs I needed.” Her eyes flicked briefly to the bloodied water, then back to her frostbitten toes. “They did their best.”

Cregan’s gut twisted at the sight of her—the bruised, bloodied hands, the faint tremor in her slender frame. But her tone, her words—they struck something raw in him. There was no defense, no demand for his apology. Just quiet truth, sharp and unadorned.

His grip on his emotions slipped. He’d pointed a sword at her throat, doubted her every action, accused her in his heart of monstrous things. She had borne it all without protest and still managed to save two children who weren’t hers to protect. And she had nearly frozen herself to do it.

He swallowed thickly. “Thank you,” he said at last, the words low and stiff, clawing their way out of his chest.

Her head lifted at the sound, her silver hair falling from her face. Her violet eyes found his, and for a moment, the room seemed colder. She studied him in silence as if trying to see past his words, past his name and title, straight to the marrow of the man.

“You doubted me.” Her voice was soft, but it carried a bite—a blade, not dulled by anger, but honed by a quiet certainty. It wasn’t an accusation; it didn’t need to be.

“I…” He hesitated, the truth a jagged stone lodged in his throat. The weight of what he’d assumed, of how he’d treated her, was unbearable now, standing here in this room with her bruised feet in freezing water and her bandaged hands still trembling. “I was wrong, princess.”

She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he thought he saw the flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, perhaps, or pity. But it was gone too quickly to name.

“Even the lord of Winterfell,” she murmured, her voice laced with quiet irony, “can be wrong.”

He stiffened at the words, but not from anger. They weren’t spoken to wound. There was no malice in her tone, just an acknowledgment of the raw, human truth that he’d been so slow to see.

Her gaze dropped again to her hands, now wrapped tightly with linen soaked in oils and herbs. She flexed her fingers experimentally, as though testing the pain, but her expression barely changed. Only her lips moved, faintly, a breath too soft for him to hear.

Cregan watched her with a churn in his chest he couldn’t name. She was still too strange, too foreign, her pale beauty both otherworldly and unsettling. But there was something else now, something gnawing at the edges of his certainty.

“You burned your shoes,” he said suddenly, his voice sharper than he intended.

She glanced at him, startled, as though she’d forgotten he was still there. “The fire wouldn’t hold in the snow,” she replied simply. “Leather burns slower than wood.”

“And the cloak?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Sewn with wool and lined with my blood,” she said, showing him her wounded palms. “It was all I had left to keep them warm.” She shrugged faintly as if such a thing were obvious.

His chest tightened. She’d used her own blood to insulate the children, to keep them warm while she bore the frost herself. He thought of the sight of her in the woods, barefoot in the snow, her skirts smeared with blood. How quickly he had drawn his blade. How sure he had been that she was a monster.

And here she was, undoing every dark thought he’d clung to with a calmness that only made him feel smaller.

“Why?” he asked, though the word felt hollow as it left his mouth.

Her brows furrowed, as though the question confused her. “Because they were cold,” she said simply, tilting her head. “And I was not.”

There was no answer to that. No apology would be enough. He stared at her, his chest heavy with something unfamiliar. Guilt, shame, and something else—a growing awareness that this woman, this strange, pale figure who unsettled him so deeply, had a strength that defied the stories whispered behind her back.

As the silence stretched between them, she turned her gaze back to the water. Her fingers brushed the surface, red streaks curling like smoke in the fading warmth. “The children,” she said, breaking the quiet. “They are safe?”

“Aye,” he managed, his voice hoarse.

She nodded once, her expression unreadable. “Good,” she said softly, as if that were the only thing that mattered.

[ I have no idea why I rejected this scene, I think I didn't explain it as well or just did not have enough evidence to support Cregan's mistrust, the description wasn't up to par, it was just all over the place, so I wrote it off. ]

X

SCENE #2 (part ii) - SOAP AND BUBBLES

Winterfell was meaner than Claere had imagined—colder than the stories ever told. The air seemed to gnaw at her, the chill seeping beneath layers of fur and silk. But it wasn’t just the weather; it was the people, the customs, their lives. Northern life was unyielding, hard as the ironwood trees that dotted the wolfswood. Mercy was a luxury the North could not afford.

Claere had begun to learn the harsh ways of her new home. She spent long hours pouring over maps in the solar, her fingers tracing the paths of rivers and trade routes. She watched with quiet vigilance, absorbing everything—how the men spoke of war and how disputes were resolved swiftly and without sentiment. She’d even resorted to mingling with the maids and stewards, overhearing their fierce remarks about her. It stung, but she endured, knowing that respect was earned here, never freely given.

Cregan noticed. He always noticed.

At first, it was the odd tilt of her head when someone spoke, the way her clothes turned to more cloaks and furs, darker shades of his own colours rather than Targaryen colours, how her lips pressed together in thought. Then it was her diligence—how she’d taken to studying the Stark family ledgers without complaint, or how she lingered longer in the courtyards, her eyes sharp and observant of the children playing. She was... different. Strange, yes. Vigilant, certainly. But hers was a quiet resilience, the kind that never stopped intriguing him.

On his fortnightly ride to White Harbor, the thought of her lingered, as it often did these days. He tried to focus on the tasks at hand—the long lists of goods to inspect, the tallies to confirm—but her image crept into the quiet moments between. The curve of her lips when she smiled, the soft cadence of her voice when she spoke of the godswood, her quiet intensity as she studied maps in the flickering firelight.

Winterfell’s larders were vast and well-stocked, but White Harbor offered treasures the North could not produce—southern goods that reminded him of her, a woman so different from the hard, unyielding stone around them.

He moved among the crates of grain, smoked fish, and wool with the practised eye of a Stark lord. Each decision he made carried the weight of his house, and his men knew better than to question his scrutiny. But when he came upon the crates of southern wares, he paused.

“What else do you have from Dorne?” he asked the merchant, his tone sharp with interest.

The man looked at him, startled, before recovering. “Fruits, spices—cinnamon, saffron, dried lemons. They fetch a high price, my lord.”

“Bring more next time,” Cregan said, his voice brooking no argument. “Fresh, if you can manage it. And anything else of quality from the capital—items meant for royals.”

The merchant nodded eagerly. “Of course, my lord. Is there anything specific you seek?”

Cregan paused, considering. “Vegetarian fare,” he said at last. “Dried herbs, cheeses, and anything light. She...” He stopped himself, feeling the weight of his men’s curious gazes. “The Lady of Winterfell has particular tastes,” he finished curtly.

It wasn’t intentional, not at first. As the goods were sorted, his gaze wandered to another stall nearby, smaller but filled with curiosities from Essos—glass beads, bolts of silk, carved wooden idols. But when he saw the little bar of soap, nestled between silks, it stopped him in his tracks. It was a lovely thing, carved with intricate patterns and scented like lilies. He turned it over in his palm, imagining her expression if he gifted it to her.

“She’ll think you’re courting her,” one of his men teased, his grin wide.

“Then let her think it,” Cregan replied gruffly, tucking the soap into his saddlebag.

When he rode back to Winterfell, the cold biting at his cheeks, the thought of her remained a quiet warmth in his chest. The blood oranges, dates, and soap nestled in his saddlebag felt like small tokens, yet they carried a significance he didn’t yet have the words to express.

In his mind, he pictured her as she might look when she found the soap—a small, private smile tugging at her lips, the kind that made the world outside Winterfell feel momentarily distant. It was a thought that stayed with him, warming him far more than the furs on his back.

x

He left the gift in her chambers that evening, no note, no ceremony. The next day, he knew she had found it. The scent of lilies wove its way through Winterfell like a secret, light and intoxicating. It clung to the cold stone, a defiance of the North’s austerity.

By the time he passed her chambers that evening, the fragrance was stronger, laced with warmth from the hearthfire within. Her door hung ajar, as it often did—a small defiance she had taken to after remarking how Winterfell’s doors seemed designed to shut out the world. Cregan paused, his hand brushing the uneven wood of the doorframe. The hinges needed mending, he noted absently, his eyes narrowing.

He meant to pull it closed. He meant to walk away. But the faint sound of water—soft, sloshing and rhythmic—stilled his hand. His instincts told him to leave, to respect her privacy. But a flicker of motion within drew his gaze like a lodestone.

Just one glance. One little peek.

Gods, this was hell. The hearthlight gilded her bare shoulders, turning her skin to honeyed gold. Steam curled lazily around her, softening the stark edges of the chamber. Her hair, a tumble of silver silk, was piled atop her head, loose strands clinging to the damp nape of her neck. She moved with an unhurried grace, her back to him, the soap he had gifted her sliding over her skin.

Cregan went immobilized, his breath caught in his throat. The soap’s lather trailed down her shoulder, gleaming against her bare arm before vanishing into the water. Her movements were deliberate, sensual without intent, a quiet intimacy that made his pulse pound. He drank in the curve of her back, the subtle lines of her ribs, the delve of her spine, the elegant slope of her neck.

She was a sight to rival the old gods themselves.

A muscle in his jaw tightened as heat flared low in his stomach, an ache sharp and sudden. She was so different here, stripped of the Northern chill and her careful composure. She was soft. Vulnerable. A creature of fire and moonlight, wholly unguarded in her private sanctuary.

For a man of the North, accustomed to restraint, this was dangerous ground. He gripped the doorframe, his knuckles whitening as he struggled against the urge to step inside, to close the door behind him, to join her—

“Lord Stark.”

The voice shattered the spell. He turned sharply, his shoulders stiff, to find one of her handmaidens standing behind him. Her gaze flickered to the open door, her expression caught between curiosity and amusement.

“The hinges,” he said gruffly, his voice lower than usual. “They need mending.”

She arched a brow, a faint, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Lady Stark prefers it that way, m'lord. She likes the air.”

Cregan forced a curt nod, stepping back and away from the door, away from the golden light and the intoxicating scent of lilies. “See to it,” he muttered, his tone clipped.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode toward his chambers, his steps heavy and deliberate. Once inside, he pushed the door shut with more force than necessary and leaned against it, dragging a hand down his face.

The scent still clung to him, subtle yet maddening. His hands trembled as he pressed his palms to his eyes, willing the image of her—bathed in firelight, her skin glistening, her form so achingly bare—to fade. But it didn’t. It stayed with him, carved into his mind, an unshakable temptation.

“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, sinking into the nearest chair. His chest rose and fell with each labored breath, and for the first time in years, Cregan Stark felt truly undone.

She was a storm he hadn’t anticipated, and she was far more dangerous than the winter winds ever could be.

[ I love how i deleted so many horny Cregan scenes, like I have two more of him just being a simp for his wife. lmao we love a pathetic lovey-dovey king ]

X

SCENE #3 (part iv) - BOW SHOOT

When Cregan sought her out to share the latest developments, he found her in the courtyard, not with her harp nor wandering the keep, but standing alone by the practice yard. She was a pale figure against the rough-hewn timber and frost-covered ground, a giant bow in her hands. Her eyes narrowed in quiet concentration as she drew the string back, the soft morning light catching the strands of silver in her hair.

Cregan paused by the stockades, his brow furrowing in curiosity. She was an unusual sight here, out of place among the cracked leather targets and straw dummies. Yet there was a determination in her stance, something raw and deliberate, even as the arrow she released flew wide, thudding into the frozen ground with an audible lack of grace.

She frowned, her lips tightening, but said nothing as she adjusted her grip and notched another arrow.

“Planning to shoot your way out of trouble now, princess?” Cregan called, his voice carrying over the yard. Though the words were light, his eyes lingered on her, taking in her unflinching focus.

Claere’s head turned slightly, her gaze meeting his for the briefest of moments. There was no smile, no coy remark—just that same steady resolve. “The bow was left by the yard,” she said, her tone as cool as the frost beneath their boots.

He approached, boots crunching against the frozen dirt. “And you thought to pick it up?”

“I thought to try,” she replied, not looking at him this time. Her fingers trembled slightly as she drew the string back again.

The release was awkward, the arrow wobbling and veering far from the target. Cregan sighed and stepped closer, his presence casting a long shadow over her. “A bow’s no use if you don’t know how to wield it,” he said, his tone softer now, but still tinged with amusement.

When the second shot went wide, he couldn’t help but smirk. “A bow’s no use to someone who doesn’t know how to wield it,” he said, stopping just short of her.

Her grip on the bow tightened, and for a moment, he thought she might argue. But instead, she turned her head, her gaze meeting his with that same unsettling calm. “Then show me,” she said simply.

The words hit him like a challenge, quiet but loaded with meaning. Without a word, he stepped behind her, closing the space between them until his chest was nearly flush against her back. The sharp scent of pine and leather clung to him, and she stiffened, though not out of fear.

“Here,” he murmured, his voice low as his hands came to rest on her shoulders. He adjusted her stance, his touch firm but careful, like a sculptor shaping something fragile. “Relax. You can’t shoot if you’re this tense.”

She inhaled sharply, her body responding instinctively to his nearness. His hands moved with deliberate slowness, sliding down her arms to guide her.

“You’re stiff as stone,” he chided softly, his hands sliding to her arms, steering them gently. “Let go of some of that pride. A bow doesn’t care for it.”

She inhaled sharply, her gaze fixed on the target ahead. But all she could feel was him—solid, steady, and far too close. His fingers brushed hers, calloused and warm, as he helped her notch another arrow.

“Draw slowly,” he instructed, his hot breaths against her cheek. “Feel the tension. Don’t fight it.”

Her pulse thundered as she drew the string back, the bow creaking under the strain. His hands moved over hers, steadying her grip. She could feel the rhythm of his breaths, deep and even, and unconsciously, she matched it.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice rougher now, closer. She swore she felt the faintest graze of his lips against the shell of her ear, though it could have been the ghost of her imagination. “Focus. You’re not thinking about the target.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as the bowstring thrummed under the tension. Her fingers felt too cold, her cheeks too warm, and his hands too solid, too sure as they held her steady.

“Let go, love,” he whispered, and it wasn’t just an instruction. It was a command, a promise, a challenge.

She released the string, the arrow slicing through the air. It struck the edge of the target—not perfect, but far better than before. A breathless laugh escaped her lips, surprising even herself.

“A fine attempt,” Cregan said, his voice laced with approval. But he didn’t step away. His hands lingered on hers, the rough calluses brushing against her softer skin, his touch deliberate, deliberate enough to send a shiver down her spine.

“And if I miss?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her head tilting slightly to glance at him over her shoulder. The movement brought her lips close—too close—to his.

His gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second, his expression unreadable. Slowly, his fingers slid along the inside of her wrist, his touch featherlight, tracing the delicate veins beneath her skin.

“Then I’ll catch you,” he said.

The silence that followed was thick; charged. For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them—their breath mingling in the cold air, the tension crackling like the belly of a beast.

And then he stepped back, the absence of his warmth a jarring contrast to the heat still lingering on her skin.

“Try again,” he said, his tone lighter now, though his eyes still burned with something unspoken.

She turned back to the target, her movements steady, though her heart was anything but. When she drew the string again, she couldn’t help but feel his gaze on her—not just watching but waiting.

X

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[maeshelix]

If Ordis ever does get a new body,

If he ever takes up the Ordan name again,

I want him to be completely unchanged in our prescence.

By which I mean, I want the mission staring Ordis to be a horror mystery all throughout. Starting with all Ordis voicelines ceasing, only a note left in your inbox by Ordis, stating that he "needs to take care of buisness", indicating where he last was.

You go to the first location and it's empty. Corpses litter the stage. Bisected and dissected haphazardly. There are messages carved into the walls in blood. Piles of organs sporting chunks of useless armor decorate every broken terminal and every shattered structure.

This remains the same every stage you go. Of every faction in the game. Grineer. Corpus. Infested. Sentient. Even Narmer cultists interrupt their endless "unity" to scream as one.

Ordis carves a bloody swath through the Origin System. And he carves it near effortlessly.

Finally, you and (in a perfect universe) Lotus track him down as he's in the middle of another bloodbath.

What his form looks like doesn't matter. I mean, it does. Would prefer if he looked cool. But what ultimately matters is that he looks dangerous.

Big and bulky, slim and fast, coated in sharper yet sharper implements or completely bare, maybe his head still resembles his owl body, maybe it resembles what Ordan once looked like. Maybe it's pure machine. Maybe it's organic. Maybe it's both.

Whatever the case, he is dangerous, he is cruel, he is in the middle of implanting a Grineer onto his blade. Like Artorias from Dark Souls during his boss intro.

And then he turns to you. Eyes dark and vicious. Thirsty for blood.

The look of a furious god-killer.

And his first words to you, upon noticing you, after a beat, are such.

"Oh Operator! My sincerest apologies I was not expecting to find you hear! Though I probably should have expected it, on second thought."

And then he acts normal around you. Completely normal. Like Ordis always has. Complete with his voice still glitching out and spouting violent things despite his best efforts.

You never fight him, you never even get the chance to try. In fact, he becomes like a spector, or like Stalker during the Belly of the Beast event. Assisting you on occasion and making the reoccuring mission much easier when he does. The mission itself focuses on some new unethical experiment of the Orokin previously unexplored. Or on what Erra/Pazuul's goals are, or on The Indifference.

The details don't matter to me. What matters is that your mini death machine now has a macro death machine he can be in when he needs to/is feeling human dysphoric.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept: Bungou Stray Dogs but the Atsushi’s a reverse weretiger.

He’s a tiger that can turn into a human.

The bounty was placed on his human side (people were pretty chill bout a tiger roaming round apparently) and his cover was instantly blown when Atsushi the tiger saved Dazai and turned human right infront of him.

It’s the fastest case that’s ever been closed and Atsushi’s still embarrassed about it.

Being raised more tiger then human (because the orphanage wouldn’t dare treat him as anything but a wild beast) Atsushi is pretty feral.

He doesn’t really understand much of the world given he was imprisoned and just relies on tiger instincts.

It’s okay though tea on rice is still his favourite food.

He starts to get the hang of things once All Men are Equals kicks in and he’s able to change form at will.

Though he prefers to be a tiger and as stated previously people are just weirdly chill about a tiger roaming around Yokohama.

Because giant tiger it may be but it’s still Atsushi. Besides he’s got a lil badge that says he’s with the Agency.

And frankly no one wants to question what they’re doing.

Definitely been moments when Atsushi drops his human form to get out of an argument. He does this to Akutugawa a lot and the man will carry on while Atsushi pretends he can’t understand him.

Atsushi does keep his human form as he works though he’s had to relearn a few things. Reading is something he managed to teach himself but writing isn’t his best suit.

The orphanage didn’t exactly care to teach a beast any of these things.

Kunikida does take him aside and teach him how. He still makes mistakes here and there but everyone’s supportive.

Atsushi’s also gotta be aware of if Dazai’s in a “annoy Kunikida mood.”

Well more than usual.

Because Dazai will grin with mischief and tap Atsushi and suddenly there’s a giant tiger in the middle of the office and oh oh fuck the paperwork!

Fortunately Kunikida has since stopped yelling at Atsushi for these instances and so Dazai gets the full brunt of his wrath.

Deserved.

There’s a joke in there about how Dazai’s ability renders (quite literally) no longer human.

Dead Apple was certainly interesting because with his ability gone Atsushi couldn’t exactly speak anymore. But Kyouka and the others know him well enough to understand his growls and such.

Akutagawa got right pissed about it because I knew you could understand me! And then dedicated more time he would never admit too to understanding tiger Atsushi.

Dazai showing up at the end to explain his side and instead Atsushi runs over and he opens his arms to get absolutely swept up in a tiger hug.

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Nu carnival x top amab werewolf reader

Warnings: language, monster fucking, knot, stomach bulge, cum

Yakumo

You can not knot him the first time you fuck! Yes he loves all of you, but you will rip the poor boy in half! He really wants to take all of you to show how much he loves you. He's scared at first because of your size but after you help him relax it's okay. After you both finish it doesn't matter if you are tied or not, he will fall asleep snuggled into your fur. You're always cautious about not hurting him with your teeth or claws and he's always grateful for your gentleness.

Edmond

I've said it before and I'll say it again. He. Was. Born. To. Bottom. It takes a little effort to fit your fat knot in his tight hole but once you do it stretches perfectly to fit you. He's so full and his little whimpers are like music to your beastly ears. He says he prefers sex in your human form but you can smell how much more excited he is when you shift. Little liars get fucked a little harder.

Olivine

Please knot him. Please he wants you to fill his ass so bad. The slight pain from your knot stretching his ass to the limit makes him see stars! He goes dumb on your dick it feels so good. He loves you no matter what form but he will beg you to let him take your knot. He loves the full feeling of being knotted and resting against you. Use your sharp claws to pull at his chains or pinch his nipples when he's trying to catch his breath. He'll cum a few times before you deflate.

Quincy

Oh sweet sweet primal fucking! You two play fight to see who will top (his idea) if he wins he will fuck your sweet ass in either form, if you win though you have to take him in whatever form won. So far only your wolf form has been strong enough to take him. It won't end until both of you are covered in bite marks and scratches, and he is properly filled with your knot and cum. Be rough he can take it, just know he's going to be rough back.

Kuya

Just so you know he has made a dildo copy of your knotted dick. He uses it when you aren't around (and he misses you). Pray you don't find it because this sly fox will use it on you instead. He'll have you fuck him with your own knot in your ass. Just because you are fucking him doesn't mean he won't still target your weak spots. He will rub the base of your tail or nip your ears, anywhere that will excite you further. Wreck him. He deserves it.

Blade

He does not see the difference between you and a normal person. He does however feel the difference when you fuck his synthetic brains out with your giant knotted dick. Fuck you make him feel so good darling. Be thankful your werewolf form has more stamina because he can go for a long time.

Garu

He's so small compared to your wolf form. You can see his stomach bulge a little after you knot and fill his ass with cum. Thankfully being a wolf as well he is built for this. He takes your knot so well like the good boy he is! Praise him, pet him, and fuck him good.

Karu

He tries to make a deal like “I'll take your knot if you take mine”. After you fuck him really good that deal kind of goes out the window. His knot is not as big as yours because of his humanoid body. It was something he was self conscious about before, but now he doesn't care because you feel so good in his ass.

Dante

Given his beast tamer status everyone expects him to top no matter what form you are in… but that's not always true. He has let you top only a few times and when he does its amazing. He lets you leave your marks all over his body as they mix with his tattoos. The only thing he hasn't let you do is knot him. He's always worried about danger coming from the dead zone and can't take the risk of being stuck on your knot if anything were to happen. Maybe one day he'll let you fill his ass properly, but not yet. He wants your knot but can't justify the risk.

Rei

Fuck him up. He talks a lot of shit and the best way to shut him up is to replace his words with moans. Honestly I can't tell if he antagonizes you just for the fun of it or because he wants you to fuck him rough. Whatever it is he's into it. He knows you're still human but he's got a thing for you going a little primal and acting on instinct. When you stop using your brain it makes him feel more comfortable not using his.

Eiden

Well this is definitely new for him. In his world you are a fantasy and one he is so excited to try! His mouth is watering the minute he sees you excited. He will take your big werewolf dick any way he can. Oral, anal, hand job, any way he can think of. Of course anal is his favorite but he has to at least try everything once. It was difficult for him at first to fit all of you in his ass but Eiden is nothing if not determined. Either way he loves sex with you, whether in human or werewolf form.

Aster

Who says werewolves and vampires have to fight? Sometimes they fuck instead. His bites are so much more sensitive when you are in wolf form and he takes full advantage of that. He doesn't prefer to be knotted mostly because he doesn't like feeling stuck. He will let you occasionally but you have to really get on his good side first. A little bribery goes a long way when you have puppy eyes.

Morvay

Yup he's great right now. He loves both your forms but goes feral when you dick him down in your wolf form! He will happily sit impaled on your knot for hours. Whenever the knot shrinks he will moan the dirtiest things in your ear to keep you hard. You make so much werewolf cum that he should be full for days but he's always wanting more.

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟐 : 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳 𝐣𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞/𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫/𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: for all people believe that werewolves are dangerous creatures, your wolf is pretty tame, even with some of his...quirks. this halloween you let him be the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood, while you give out candy to trick-or-treaters. what he doesn't know, is that you have your own trick-or treat planned for him after this– you're his treat tonight, but he's going to have to chase you first. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. smut. wolf shifter au. werewolves. no abo dynamics. outdoor sex. scent kink. vaginal sex. fingering. possessive behavior. predator/prey kink. tummy bulge. breeding kink. knotting (but not really). mention of heat/rut cycles. no protection. carlos’ filthy mouth. author may have cooked a little too hard 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 6k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: carlos sainz jr x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: peek-a-boo • red velvet

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: fair warning this is the most foul thing i’ve written ever. like, i thought the first upload was unsettling, but this is terrifying in comparison. i think i’m getting better tho, low key. no, this was not an excuse to write a breeding kink 😒. this was an excuse to spread my personal feeling that i think carlos sainz jr is a massive freak, and i will take no criticism on that 😩. but i do apologize for his foul ass mouth at the end. imma try and get these out quicker because i realized that if i’m releasing one fic every week, i will not be finishing this b4 the end of the month. there unfortunately will be no part two to this, it’s a standalone, i got so many things to write now, im sorry :( i hope you all enjoy it (i did an embarrassing amount of research for this aka twilight wiki), and thank you for all the support !!!

want to be added to my f1 kinktober taglist? or my general taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my beta readers @saintslewis and @my-ylenia ! i appreciate y'alls quick feedback :)

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

have the link to my general masterlist, and my f1 kinktober masterlist ! and send me a private message if you'd like to be added to the beta reader waitlist for this special!

carlos is not a werewolf. carlos is a born wolf; he comes from a long familial line of shifters. while he and his wolf share a brain, carlos is in control one-hundred percent of the time. he can shift into a wolf at will and maintains awareness as the wolf. however, during the full moon, it’s extremely difficult for shifters to resist the call and refrain from transforming. werewolves, on the other hand, are created by a curse or from being bitten. they are forced to change into a beast every full moon, thirsting for blood and carnage. their humanity isn’t present in the half-wolf/half-human form; being a werewolf is like a parasitic disease. carlos’ family has found their calling in bringing a sense of order to the wild, and during full moons, their purpose is to contain and redirect the beastly werewolves from harming humans.

shifters are rare, and carlos prefers it that way (he doesn’t ever want to find out what tension multiple shifters on the grid could cause). his nature doesn’t give him any unfair advantages in an f1 car, sure, his reaction time may be a little quicker, and he heals faster–but, nothing that would classify as “cheating.” if he did have any extreme advantages, maybe he’d end max’s world champion streak, but that is not the case; anything about his nature still couldn’t make up ferrari’s shortcomings.

the only downside to being a shifter is how they’re mistaken for werewolves (even though they are obviously two completely different beings). the world doesn’t know about the shifter population at large, it’s mainly an “if you know you know” society, and werewolves are known to the masses with how many slaughters they’ve been caught doing from the beginning of time. which is massively unfortunate for carlos. if he were to be revealed as a wolf shifter, he’d probably lose everything he knows–formula one, his privacy, his family, you–and he would probably be scheduled for a public execution if those were still in place. he’s only trusted a small circle of people within formula one with the secret of his wolf; lando, charles, fernando, jon and rupert, and vasseur. it’s made his life easier having people that are aware of his true nature, so he can shift comfortably during race weekends if needed, when you are not able to join him.

regardless of how the world views carlos’ supernatural state, you genuinely don’t understand how people could be terrified of him. carlos is ‘the dream man’™, and you’re not accepting any critiques on that matter. he’s a personal-sized space heater, so you don’t have to worry about being cold at night–and he doesn’t even complain when you stick your icicle-like toes and fingers on him. he cleans without being told to, he’s an excellent home chef, he takes you golfing with him and even lets you caddy for him, he’s protective but in a respectful manner, and he even partial shifts around you so you can play with his ears and give him a good little scratch.

the only downside you could point out about carlos, is that he takes his wolf form a little too seriously. 

carlos was raised to train his inner wolf into a controlled, unfazed, unshaken, apex-predator being. the wolf has one purpose and it’s to guard his territory, the people he loves, and to prevent any werewolf murder sprees. but, you wish he’d allow himself to relax, and have a little more fun in his wolf form.

you’ve started training him, funnily enough, to allow his wolf to be off the clock sometimes. subconsciously, in the comfort of the spanish villa you two call home, he’s started to allow his ears to pop out whenever he’s relaxed enough. the spaced out and confused faces and noises he makes, with his head and ears flicking and tilting to match, invokes an unhealthy sense of cute-aggression from you. sometimes, you manage to persuade him enough to shift to his full wolf form, and that’s where you find the most difficulty of calming his behavior.

he’ll go around sniffing and rubbing his body along all of the walls and corners of the house to spread his claim, and even refuses to nap or sleep with you while he is shifted. he’d sit in the doorway of the room you were in and remain in an alert state to protect you from whatever dangers that may appear, even though he’s already sure none are present. there was one time you were able to convince him to lay with you under the guise of you being cold; he allowed himself to curl around you and rest his snout on your chest, but the way his ears remained cocked let you know that he was wide awake even though his eyes were shut.

he’s thoroughly unamused whenever you try and get him to play with dog toys. it doesn’t matter if it squeaks, crinkles, or smells–he wants nothing to do with them. he can’t say no to an old-fashioned game of fetch, though. whenever you grab a stick from outside, you hear his thundering paws running towards you before skidding to a rapid stop, his haunches firmly touching the ground while his front paws anxiously tip tap in front of him, and his whole body shakes with anticipation for your throw. and from there you started to get him to appreciate tennis balls and frisbees in fetch games. even though his massive jaw and teeth have you ordering replacements way too often.

and the thought of his massive ears, eyes, hands, and teeth—led you to your halloween costume idea. 

little red riding hood.

it makes the most perfect amount of sense. carlos can be the big bad wolf to your red riding hood! except he refused, stating that it would be shameful to use his wolf in such a manner. of course, you're disappointed at his refusal, but you respect his boundaries at the end of the day. so, you were just going to have piñon (your dog) be your big bad wolf. and then, that fell through as well. 

piñon was staying over at carlos’ parents house a few days before halloween, and ended up losing a battle to a mouse that he tried to catch through a fence. the fence scratched him a little deeply on his tummy and he ended up getting stitches and a cone of shame. while his stitches are in, he’s staying with reyes and carlos sr.–and, you’re back to square one; you’re ‘big bad wolf’-less-ness.

you don’t attempt to try and convince carlos to join you again, you just decide to keep your original costume and sit out on the porch handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters, missing the other half to your costume. it’s very simple attire, just the red-hooded cloak and a picnic basket full of candy. carlos peeks from the front window’s curtains and watches you smile sweetly at all the children and compliment them on their costumes. he hears you fein terror when kids dressed as werewolves ask for candy, he hears you fawn over the cutest kids and their costumes, and he hears your happiness falter when anyone asks where your ‘big bad wolf’ is. 

you’re in the middle of explaining how piñon wasn’t feeling well to a little girl, and you hear a muffled bark. your head perks up in question, thinking you just imagined it, but then you hear scratches on the door. confused, you go to open the door and carlos comes slinking out to join you on the porch. 

his wolf is massive, when standing on four paws his head nearly reaches your chest, his coat is a silky coloration of a brown so dark it appears black, but in direct sunlight it radiates warmth. his paws are larger than your face and the claws he’s got on them are big enough to match. the little girl shrieks and hides behind her dad’s legs, and the dad backs them up off the porch frantically. 

“no, no, no,” you reassure them, and carlos tries to shrink his body behind your legs, whining lowly, “he’s friendly! i promise he’s a sweetheart, he’s actually pretty shy!” carlos skimpers behind you, quickly managing to shove himself under the outdoor couch, only allowing his head to peek out from underneath. the dad doesn’t quite believe you, and just apologizes and just ushers his daughter to the next house.

you sigh, and plop down a little forcefully on the couch. you hear carlos crawl from underneath the seat, and rise to a sitting position at your side, resting his snout on your lap. you look down and purse your lips at his wide, apologetic brown wolf eyes and raise your hand to give him a few pets. you question softly, “are you going to join me for the whole night?”

carlos blinks at you once. an eager grin spreads across your lips, “yay! aren’t you just such a good boy,” you tease sarcastically. carlos huffs, the force of his exhale swooshing your cloak, before he turns his back to you in dismissal. you laugh at him, and the next group of kids run up yelling for candy, and carlos tries to appear as small as he can so he doesn’t scare these ones away.

after the initial scare carlos caused, everyone seems fascinated at your “wolf-dog,” and how well mannered and amicable he is. carlos lets all the kids who are brave enough pet him, not snapping once even if they accidentally tug at his tail or ears, and sits incredibly still so he has no chance of accidentally crushing them. several dads even pause to give him a sturdy little dad-pat on his side, and inform you of how “that’s a good guard dog you got there, he takes a pat like no problem.” you even impress a few of the moms with how well trained you have him, and how he listens to all of your commands and can do many tricks (so far, the most impressive trick is having him harmonize to your voice with a howl). carlos preens silently next to you whenever little kids can’t help themselves from telling you how pretty you are (his tail thumping on the floor the only giveaway), and seethes when overzealous men and women try and hit on you (growls rumbling out of his chest). you brush off their advances and charmingly tell them, “i don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate me cheating on him…especially in front of his dog,” with a disguised smirk. overall, carlos does so well cosplaying as your big bad wolf, that you decide to give him the present you planned all along. 

after the halloween celebrations die down, you and carlos return inside, and you lead the way up to the bedroom as he trots behind you. carlos shifts back into his naked human form, and you giggle and pull him into a hug.

“thank you, my love! everyone loved you tonight–you know you didn’t have to join me outside, right? i didn’t want you to feel pressured to do something you were–” carlos cuts you off with a chaste kiss to the cheek and dismisses your worry, “mi luna, i wouldn’t have gone out there if i did not want to, sí? i am happy i could make the night more fun for you, by playing your “big bad wolf.’”

you pull away with a small ‘aha!’ of remembrance and rush into the en-suite bathroom, closing the door behind you. carlos stares at the space you were just occupying and shrugs, figuring you have to pee really badly–considering you were sitting on the porch the whole night without a break– and that you’re probably changing out of the costume, before turning to the closet and pulling on clothes. 

he hears the toilet flush, and then the water runs for a minute too long–almost like you’re covering up any noises carlos may hear with his enhanced hearing, but he doesn’t think that you’d have anything to hide from him, anyways. you fling the door open excitedly, still in your riding hood, and pull carlos away from the closet and start dragging him downstairs. 

“ay–” carlos objects, “i don’t have a shirt on yet, mi amor! where are you rushing too?”

you don’t respond verbally, only glancing back at him with a cheeky smirk, and continue to lead him to the backyard. you drop carlos hand once you’ve stepped outside, shutting the sliding glass door behind you two. walking back to him, you stand in front of him–pausing as you stare into the warm depth of his brown eyes, before you take one step backwards. carlos automatically goes to parrot your movement, attempting to take one step towards you to eliminate the space, but you ‘aht-aht’ at him disapprovingly causing him to freeze. you press your hand against his chest near his clavicle and guide him to his original position. patting once with intention, you order, “stay.”

carlos’ eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t say anything. he allows you to back away from him, twitching towards you when your bare feet slip off the paved patio onto the grass. you come to a stop when you’re halfway into the yard. 

carlos calls out to you, confused, “amor? what’s this, i do not want to play fetch right now–”

“we’re not going to play fetch carlos,” you start, “we’re going to play a new game called chase.” carlos does his adorable head tilt at you, continuing to question your actions, “qué? i don’t know the game you are talking about, mi luna–wh-what-qué haces (what are you doing)?”

you unbutton the collar of the cloak, and spread the front open, from where you wrapped it tightly around your body, and reveal a matching set of the scantiest, laciest, and most mouthwatering red bra and panties. carlos is stunned to silence, mouth dropping open as his eyes fall to your exposed body. the way your smooth melanated skin is complimented by the rosso corsa-colored lingerie, the way you’re holding open the cloak to allow him to get his fill of your body, the way your hips seductively rock from one side to the other, the way the smell of your arousal begins to become apparent to his sensitive nose–before you abruptly wrap the cloak shut, tying the waistband tightly and shattering the moment.

“we are going to play a game called ‘chase’, carlito. where i run into the woods behind us, and you…chase me.”

carlos’ entranced state is shaken by his protective instincts, “qué? no, no! absolutely not. the woods are dangerous, mi amor–”

“carlosss,” you whine, “you patrol the woods every other week! you know there’s nothing that could hurt me out here, because you’ve already gotten rid of it. you’re going to give chase and you’re going to like it!”

carlos shifts anxiously, not fully persuaded, so you decide to not give him a choice, “ten minutes, love. after that, come catch me.” you turn and run into the densely packed woods, ignoring carlos’ exclamation for you to stop. he doesn’t suddenly appear and stop your disappearance into the forest, so that’s how you know the game is on.

your chest is already heaving from adrenaline and excitement as you run through the forest, ducking under branches and hopping over rocks and fallen tree limbs. you pant and the nerves start to set in, not out of fear of what’s in the forest, but fear of giving carlos an easy chase. you stop suddenly and take a sharp turn, running for a minute that way before you circle back and run at a slight diagonal in the opposite direction, overlaying your scent to try and give some added time to your pursuit. running deeper into the woods, it begins to get darker, the only light source are the scraps of moonlight that manage to find a pocket to slip through. your eyes adjust to the reduced light level, pupils blown wide not only in necessity but also arousal, and you come to a halt again. you quickly slip off your red panties and hang them on the nearest branch, hoping that the wetness that’s already seeped into them distracts him from your true location. 

you start to traverse your way through an uphill part of the forest, exhaustion finally beginning to become apparent after that first rush of adrenaline–but then, a familiar howl cuts through the air; your time is up, and carlos is loose in the forest, hunting after you. reinvigorated, you continue running deeper and deeper into the trees, changing directions multiple times losing track of exactly where you’re going.

the wolf fucking losing it. you–his luna, his mate–are out in the forest he protects—his territory—inciting him into a relieving game of chase, allowing him to be just as uncontrolled as he wants in his pursuit of you. he’s quick to catch on your trail, seeing the way you’re rushed heavy steps in the start leaves an easy path for him to follow. and then, he notices you employed different tactics to delay him. he catches himself running in circles you intentionally plotted, and notices how your scent and foot-trail overlaps multiple times. and then, he can tell you switched from running with the full bottom of your foot and just on your toes for a moment to disrupt your trail. his breaths have started to mirror yours, forceful with the adrenaline from a good chase, and he freezes. he smells you.

he speeds up to a full run, paws thundering against the earth under him, loud and uncaring if you hear him coming or not, before he bursts through the trees where your scent is the strongest. but, you’re not there. the wolf whines disbelievingly, bringing his nose to the floor to analyze your scent trail before a glimpse of red catches his attention from the corner of his eye. he spins around swiftly, expecting it to be the swish of your cloak as you run from, but it’s not you.

it’s the damn red panties you kindly left behind for him. 

he rocks up on his hind legs to knock it off the branch to the ground, and presses his muzzle to the barely there fabric, inhaling your arousal deeply. an unhinged growl tumbles his way out of his chest, before it morphs into another full howl, letting you know how much he appreciates your present. carlos won’t be fooled by any more of your tricks again, and he takes off running.

you’ve taken a brief break from running, leaning forward with your hand against your knees as you catch your breath. it’s loud around you; bugs are buzzing and you can hear the hoots of several owls echoing through the forest. suddenly, it goes completely silent, quicker than a drop of a pin. you slam your mouth shut, quieting your inhales, and you slowly shift your stance into a running position, trying to use your hearing to tell what direction the wolf is coming from. you hear the rustle of a tree on your right, and you make to leap away into a run–but it’s too late. 

you’re caught, large hands around your waist and a leg sweeps your own out from underneath you and takes you to the ground. a scream of surprise escapes from your chest but is cut off with a heavy hand laying over your mouth.

carlos is looming over you, kneeled in between your legs, bare as the day he was born, chest heaving, and pupils wide from the thrill and pleasure of a successful hunt. “caught you. i could hear your little heart racing in your chest.” he boasts.

carlos removes his hand only to replace it with his lips, and the passion he bathes your lips with fragments your mind. you can only part your lips and let him ruin you as he pleases. his plump lips suckle on yours before his tongue begins an eager exploration of your mouth–a desperate moan falls from his lips into yours. one of his hands comes to grasp at the curls on your head, tilting you for a better angle; and you raise one of yours to grasp at his shoulder for stability, but carlos startles away. an animalistic growl rumbles through his chest in dissent, and he grabs both of your wrists in one of his hands, and pins them above your head. 

you’re at a loss for words, unsure if you want to moan or plead to suck his dick, but carlos doesn’t give you a chance to decide. 

he allows himself one last soul-sucking kiss, before he presses nips into your cheeks and jaw, leading towards your neck. carlos buries his nose deeply into the spot where your jaw meets your neck, and takes an excessive inhale of your scent. dios mio. the way you smell. delectable and rich soaked with lust and the dregs of fear still clinging in the surroundings. he gets to smell this for the rest of his life. another growl erupts possessively, and you can only moan depravedly at the sound.

carlos continues to lavish kisses on his way down your body, bruising them into your skin before soothing over with a pass of his tongue. the hand in your hair releases, coming down to allow him to grasp at your chest, brushing over your nipples in a quick motion; the lace scrapes against them and the feeling is paralyzing. he tugs the rossi corsa bra underneath your breasts, and they spill out over the top in a manner so obscene it forces another moan out of carlos. he ducks his head again, to tease at your nipples with his tongue, alternating between flicking and sucking at them randomly. he ignores your hips are rolling up, attempting to get some friction, and your hands in his wrists flexing and tugging to escape. 

he frees your nipples from the assault of his lips, and starts sucking hickeys into your underboob with a pleased hum. the change in sensation and slight ache, has another scream bursting from your chest, it’s too much.

“c-c-carlos, c’mon! please, please—oh!” cutting yourself off with a gasp, as carlos abruptly pulls away, his large hand releasing your wrists,  to scooch down and bully your legs open with a free hand and shoves his broad tanned shoulders between your thighs. 

you’re dripping everywhere. the tops of your inner thighs are smeared with stickiness and you’ve created a wet spot on the cloak underneath you. a growl fully spills from carlos’ chest, shaking the air around you and causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise. he is an apex predator, you should at least be slightly terrified, but all you do is moan in response, more arousal leaking from you, and you start begging.

“carlos!p-please touch me! lobo mió—please, dont you wanna taste me? i want you to eat me,” you sob, “eat me out! you h-h-hunted me, take what you want!”

carlos laughs sharply at your obscenity, “oh? mi luna, you’re so bad, aren’t you? you should be scared of having my teeth so close to your pretty pussy, but here you are: begging, leaking, and your little hole winking and clenching at me, sí?”

you quickly agree, “yesyesyes, for you, for you, always. please carlos,” one of your hands flies down to grip at his hair and try and tug his mouth onto you. carlos snaps his teeth at you, and you quickly pull your hand away from his head, leaving it hovering in the air.

carlos growls, “don’t rush me, mi luna, i always take care of you, no?” you hum in agreement, both of your hands falling to your sides and gripping the grass next to you in anticipation.

carlos dips his head and swipes his tongue gently at your left inner thigh, and groans deeply. it’s your scent liquified; he licks his lips and smacks his mouth, savoring your slick. after that one sample he can’t help himself, he loses himself and makes it his personal mission to clean up every last drop of you that spilled. carlos’ mouth is sloppy, and he’s uncaring of how your thighs begin to shake in oversensitivity from the way his beard is scratching your thighs up, red lines appearing faintly on your brown skin. you start squirming away from his mouth, and carlos huffs, annoyed. 

his hands switch to gripping the underside of your thighs, and he pushes them upwards near your chest, and commands, “stop moving, mi amor, or i’ll stop completely.” you moan a soft breathy okay, and your moan pitches into a sharp gasp. carlos runs his nose up your cunt parting the lips, more wetness spreading, before he pauses at your clit; and deeply inhales your scent from where it’s the richest. you cry, half bewildered and half humiliated, at your boyfriend eagerly sniffing at your warmth.

carlos rumbles out, “mierda, mi luna. mmm, so sweet—i cannot wait. i have to get in you, sí?” carlos doesn’t wait for a response and presses two fingers inside you. a cry escapes you at the sudden stretch, but your scent doesn’t sour with pain—carlos continues. he rushes through stretching you; his fingers scissoring you open methodically, consciously avoiding your g-spot. the squelching noises coming from your cunt, has tears gathering in your eyes in embarrassment, even though it’s fairly clear that carlos enjoys it. 

his fingers slide out a minute later, and that same hand reaches for his dick to begin spreading your wetness over it. carlos hisses, and with a clenched jaw, he asks, “mi amor—estas lista (are you ready)?” his body is now vibrating with the force he’s holding himself back with, waiting for your approval. 

your hands release the earth, blades of grass you ripped out of the ground falling from between your fingers, and motion carlos to come closer and lean over you, dwarfing your body completely, “yeah, lobo mio, fuck me.”

carlos whimpers, head falling to rest in your neck. his hand grasps tighter at the underside of your left thigh—a bruise forming already—and pushes it firmly to your chest, your right leg bends slightly and you press your knee to his hip, urging him forward.

carlos guides the head of his cock with a trembling hand to your cunt, and gently presses in. you sharply inhale, holding your breath, until the head pops in fully, causing both you and carlos to moan in pleasure. carlos continues sinking deeper within you as controlled and slowly as he can, not wanting to cause you any discomfort. however, you’re completely gone already. eyes shut in bliss, mouth open, drool already leaking from the corner of your lips. carlos lifts his head to read your expression, and smirks, you’re so easy for him. 

he bottoms out, feeling how your walls squeeze him tightly, and flutter in desperation, like they can’t quite accommodate to his size. carlos waits patiently, chest heaving again from the strain of not taking you, and watches how you squirm underneath him, not knowing if you want to squirm away or closer. you adjust to his presence a handful of seconds later, and grind your hips up to feel the delicious drag of his dick inside of you. carlos’ eyes widen and a shocked groan escapes him before he rolls his own hips down to meet you. 

carlos sets a quick pace from the beginning, he can’t be bothered with building up his speed slowly—he has a claim to lay on you; and to any other being in this forest who can smell how alluring you are, you’re his mate.

moans are being punched out of your chest with every one of his thrusts, harmonizing with his matching grunts of effort. your back is sliding against the grassy floor, and your shoved up with every one of his deep thrusts, and you sink your nails into his back in pleasure, and carlos growls into your ear at the feeling. 

you manage to find words to praise your wolf, “s-so deep in me, carlos—yeahyeahyeah, deeper, baby, please—ah! faster, carlos, faster—“ and carlos does his best to fulfill your wishes; his mouth rests right next to your ear; his panting breaths, and moans only making you squeeze around him tighter.

he soon tires of your orders; he’s not doing his best if he hasn’t fucked the words out of you. carlos suddenly pulls out of you, and you cry out angrily with a furrowed brow, “no, carlos! don’t stop, what are you—“ and with a rough commanding tone, he interrupts you, “stop whining.” your mouth slams shut, the sound of your teeth clacking together mortifyingly loud, your eyes wide with shock.

carlos softens, patting at your hip gently to reassure you that he’s not angry. he then flips you over (cloak spread on the ground underneath you), up on your elbows and knees, and makes to mount you properly—like the wolf he really is. the air is thick, and with your back turned to him in such a vulnerable manner, adrenaline rushes through you again. carlos laughs down demeaningly at you, as your scent thickens even more with lust and smidge of fear. 

rattled at his amusement, you try to push up onto your hands and knees, but carlos automatically pushes you back down, with a heavy, hot and veiny hand scruffing you at the base of your neck. you moan out highly, as carlos forces you back down to your elbows. he releases your neck and smooths his hand down to the small of your back to deepen your arch just the way he wants, and to pull your hips up to match.

all he says is, “now, you stay, just like that—and be a pretty hole for me.”

carlos bullies his dick back inside you, and doesn’t allow you any time to adjust in the this new position. he roughly pounds into you, now only caring about getting his release—he’ll make you cum after he’s thoroughly enjoyed his prize for hunting you down.

carlos’ grunts are animalistic, and his thrusts are too fast for you to try and buck back against him to match his rhythm; all you can do is sit pretty and take what he gives you—just like he said. you can only ramble out four words in between your moans; ‘carlos,’ ‘full,’ and ‘too deep.’ carlos rumbles approvingly at your chanting this time around, and pulls your hips back even closer to dig as deep as he can, uncaring of how you're trying to run from his thrusts.  

your start babbling at the constant pressure and drag against your g-spot, he’s so deep, in this position, hitting areas he can only reach and causes your legs to give out. carlos’ hips don’t falter, as he catches you pulling you back up with a hand around your navel. and then his hips stutter in shock with a crude moan. he grabs one of your hands, causing you to fall flat on your face, head turned to the side with your cheek pressed to the cool red cloak—and guides it to your stomach and holds it there.

carlos resumes thrusting, and preens, “mmm, can you feel that, mi amor? i’m fucking you so deep—ah—you can feel it through your skin.” you can feel it, and the pressure from carlos pressing your hand on his own dick from outside of your body, has your eyes rolling back and tears streaming down your face. your legs go limp again, but carlos isn’t fazed; he continues to hold your body up for you. “so good for me,” carlos rambles, “mio luna—my mate.”

abruptly, you feel it. the press of his knot against you, and in a sudden moment of clarity, you start to beg. 

“—los! kn-knot, please! ‘arlos, breed—ahahah—breed me deep and full—oh!”

carlos gnashes his teeth, growling savagely, before he leans down and forcefully bites down at the back of your neck—not enough to break skin, but enough to remind you of his teeth for a few days. you shudder, air stolen from your lungs, and you have no choice but to cum. 

carlos feels the way your pussy flutters around him, failing to push him out with your release flooding your thighs, and how it continues to drag him deeper within you in a hypnotizing motion to milk him dry. carlos struggles to thrust once, twice, thrice more times with how tightly your cunt is gripping him and shoves his cock as deep in you as possible without allowing his knot to slip in, filling you up nice and good—breeding you just like you wanted. 

carlos rocks you two both through the aftershocks, ensuring his cum coats your insides thoroughly, only slowing to a stop when your combined release starts frothing at where the two of you are joined, and your hips start squirming away from him. he guides you back, sitting you on his lap, keeping himself inside you, as he rotates you to face him.

your makeup is ruined. mascara and eyeliner staining your cheeks with the tracks of your tears, red lipstick smudged on your brown skin, eyes wide and still glassy with moisture. carlos swipes his thumb around your lips, fading the smudges as best as he can. 

you smile softly, and ask with a light tone, “wasn’t that fun, mi lobo?”

carlos can only laugh softly, and nod, “yes—i did not know that you would enjoy being bred on the forest floor that much.”

your cheeks flush again after they began to cool, and you smack carlos shoulder in embarrassment. your brow furrows, and your mouth drops into a pout, “why didn’t you knot me?”

carlos raises an eyebrow at you teasingly, “ah, sí! you were begging for it like whore—“

“carlos!”

“i’m joking, i’m joking, mi luna! of course you were begging, more like a slut for my knot than a bitch in h—“

“dios mio, carlos! your fucking mouth after you cum—jesus christ!”

he can only laugh harder, extra pleased at how he gets you to fluster so easily, even after he just railed you in the middle of the forest.

“ay, mi amor—i’ll stop, im sorry,” he starts still grinning cockily, “pero, i did not give you the knot you begged for so sweetly, because my rut is in three days, sí? and i can’t afford to bruise your pretty pussy with my hefty knot before then, no?”

you balk. carlos’s semi-annual rut is a force of its own, you're practically out of commission for a week after it, unable to close your legs from how raw it leaves you. his knot bruises your insides every time you take it, so he definitely made the smart decision by not folding to your cries of desperation.

the scent of the two of you's satisfaction permeates the air, intertwining with the smell of sex, and carlos can only lean forward to mouth at your neck to taste how well he took care of you tonight. 

“mmm,” carlos hums, “now—do you want me to carry you back to our den so i can finally get my mouth on you and clean you up, or do you want me to make another mess of you right here, mi luna?”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez

© httpsserene 2023

[palesweetscherryblossom]

A Cat’s purr

Warning: Mention of child neglect, murder, Yandere behavior, tumblr divider was made by @strangergraphics

Life in your tiny mountain village was considered to be very mundane and uneventful. Well, aside from the fearsome cat beast that’d been terrorizing the place. The current explanation was that your village head had struck a deal with the Bakeneko and had failed to deliver his end of the bargain.

Angered by this, the cat yokai had declared vengeance on your village and he wasn’t bluffing either. First, the creature had killed half of his livestock. Then scared away all the distributors who traded with the citizens with wolves.

Disturbingly, he got strangely playful with his torment. Turning poor villagers into mice and chasing them like it was a game, dancing as a cruel taunt and then delivered a horrible famine to the place.

‘I won’t stop till I’m given what I’m owed, stupid humans.’ It’d hissed when people had pleaded for it to cease its torment. It was agreed upon that something had to be done.

You were the child of a poor family and you were humbly offered up for the task. After all, no one would miss you.

Bitter winds swept over your form as you trudged through the unforgiving snow. E/c eyes wandered to your lantern which was loosing light. Your mind was elsewhere though, swarming with pleasant, comfy thoughts of warm blankets and pillows, a hot meal and loving hugs.

Your family had preferred to busy themselves with their jobs and children that they had actually wanted. You were just the unfortunate “accident.” Always the last to eat and be acknowledged.

So you spent your time either in nature or your schoolwork. The only time you got genuine attention was from a strange cat.

A simple blue colored one, with red eyes and sharp teeth. It’d been nice enough to sit with you when you were by the pond. It let you pet it, occasionally purring and going as far as to loaf in your lap.

Your thoughts were interrupted by you tripping on a branch. “Ack!” You seethed with pain as your lantern rolled down a steep hill as you focused on the pain. “Ow, ow, o-ow..” You sniffled almost childishly, clutching your ankle as you tried to get up. Then you heard a low meow.

Tomura hadn’t considered himself soft for humans. He regarded them as weak, soft creatures who couldn’t tell their hand apart from their ass. Except for you.

You were a gentle little thing. He’d spotted you by the koi pond, a place where he’d get a little snack every now and then. You were there, crying your eyes out.

At first Tomura wanted to mess with you but changed his tune when you regarded him with gentleness. You didn’t swat him away or yell at him, you let him come to you.

You’d given him a sad plight, you weren’t getting the attention you deserved and were being treated like a ghost rather than a child. Tomura was reminded of his mate, who was abandoned after getting too sick to take care of.

Imagine his disgust and shock to see you, all out in the cold with nothing to protect yourself.

“Isn’t this a shame.” He rasped, catching your attention. “I thought you humans were pack types, not loners.” He mused, sitting by you.

You tried scooting away, for you realized that this was the Bakeneko you were destined to slay. “Ah, ah, don’t strain yourself, kit.” Tomura chided, getting closer. “I’m a friend.” He purred.

“W-what do you want?” You sniffled, trying to wipe away your tears. “A-are you going to h-hurt me?” Tomura shook his head.

“No, I don’t bother with little mice like you.” He stretched before turning to you. “You know, little kittens shouldn’t be out at this time of night. Should be in bed.” Shigaraki tilted his head.

“I-I know.. I-I just gotta s-slay you.” You weakly whispered, trying to muster up strength.

“But how could you do that when you can barely get up?” Tomura teased. “Don’t strain yourself, kitten.” You frowned at the patronizing tone he took.

“I-I’m not a kitten, I’m a human.” You huffed, weakly swatting him away. Tomura chuckled, hopping on your chest.

“Hmm, nope. You’re just like a kitten. Small, helpless, cute.” He bapped his paw at your face gently. “Where’s your pack, hm? Surely they didn’t send someone as frail like you out.”

You let out a brittle whimper. They did. Just handed you a flimsy knife and told you to find the beast! While everyone else was warm and cozy in their homes, you were freezing to death and being taunted by the creature!

“Oh, don’t cry.” Tomura’s soft voice brought you back to reality. “They really did send you out here by yourself, huh?” You nodded weakly, earning a sympathetic meow from him.

“Poor kitten, my poor baby.” He purred, nuzzling your face. You couldn’t stop yourself now, fully crying as you held him.

“Shh, it’s alright. There there my poor thing.” He purred, delivering a few kitten licks. His parental instincts were kicking up slowly, watching you sob helplessly only amplified them. You didn’t deserve to suffer like this, no. Those filthy humans had no right treating his kit like this.

“You know, you don’t have to go back.” He murmured, slowly transforming into his more humanoid form. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll keep you warm, fed and cozy in my home.” You snuggled up to him for warmth, weakly nodding off.

“Your wish is my command, my sweet kit.”

You were never seen again

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

A silly thought in my mind: Yánwáng Dìjūn Mortal Lover stumbling upon him bathing under a waterfall, seeing him in his full beauty and vulnerability, not knowing it was the same Qilin she was visited by a few weeks ago in the Village Valley when she got injured and healed🤭

You didn't want to be a peeping tom but who hasn't stared at the geo archon statue and wondered why he doesn't bathe in the open often? Probably because curious folks were often seen trying to sneak into his bathing grounds at Taishan Mansion. If it happens too much, he might put guards at the entrance. Or maybe he'd create a subspace just for bathing so he could enjoy his privacy and peace.

On the contrary, he doesn't mind it if he were just soaking in his illuminated beast form, enjoying the afternoon sun and the scenery of Jueyun Karst. The pressure from the waterfalls massaged his body and polished his scales. Only a natural pool like this was large enough to accommodate him in this form. There was an advantage to taking this form. Though it was a rare occurrence, humans did not display the same behaviors when they stumble on him bathing, possibly because the physical differences were too significant. They also tend to keep a distance because of his sheer size, quite intimidating when up close. One time, he waded into the crystalline pool only to find out that he was not the first one there.

It was rather awkward, you in your nakedness and him in his, but to his surprise, you didn't flee at the mere sight of him like the previous times this happened. An enormous illuminated beast bathing in the same pool as you felt less unsettling than if he were in human form. He prefers mingling among his people on the streets in human form though, rather than beast, but today he was glad he was in this form. It would've been rude of him to request you to leave since you had arrived first.

"Rex Lapis."

You recognized him at once, bowing respectfully at your god. His large amber eyes briefly drifted over your body, realizing why you were in the water. You were injured and the pools here were rumored for their healing properties. Adepti were known to bathe here as well, further solidifying the claims.

"You are bleeding." He noted the gash on your shoulder. Whatever you had been injured by had done quite the damage on your fragile mortal body.

"I was attacked while gathering herbs." You explained.

"Be careful in these forests. They are dense and danger lurks." The dragon warns.

You held your breath as his enormous head hovers over you. The single horn protruding from his forehead gently touches your wound, glowing with adeptal energy. In a matter of seconds, your skin is flawless again as if you were never hurt.

"Thank you, my Lord." You bowed again. "I will not disrupt your leisure now."

"Nonsense. It was I who had infringed on your bathing. The waters have a soothing effect. It would benefit your recovery to continue soaking in it."

So you stayed until the sun set, human and dragon, just sitting there in the water. He shared some of his knowledge about the various rare herbs found in the area with you while you eagerly soaked up every word. To sit alone with the Geo Archon and converse so freely like this was something you had never dared to imagined.

Since it had gotten dark, the archon even accompanied you to the outside of your village to make sure whatever beast had injured you would not reappear. When you reached your home and unlocked your door, something caught your eye on the kitchen counter, specifically the stone mortar you often placed your dried herbs into to grind them into powder. Inside it sat a glowing object. It was square in shape, holding a golden gem with a geo sigil pulsating inside.

[lunarbreaksblog]

*Crashing noise* *Glass shatters* *Rolls into ask box* A TF WRITER WITH OPEN REQUESTS? IN THIS ECONOMY? Ahem. Can I get hc's for how tfp team prime would react to human reader who can shapeshift into like a dragon (let's say like a light or night fury from httyd as kinda reference) and has secretly been sneaking away from the base at night to go destroy decepticon bases/get into minor scuffles.

Like reader wants to help the team, has feelings for a bot, but hides their abilities out of fear what they'd all think, and also has kept their feelings a secret. They feel like the team kinda dislikes the humans, so they try to help in secret this way, until their random small injuries and constant sleepiness give them away to everyone (Also I have a fem reader in mind but if you prefer gn that's fine too! Sorry if this is too much specifics lol but i like to give details to be helpful :> )

TFP!Autobots x Dragon!Human!Reader

Note: Bumblebee x reader-ish

You are a mighty beast, you've lived for eons, seen kingdoms rise and fall. Now you've even seen other life not from your planet.

You take the appearance of human girl, one you knew once long ago. You even came to love the human girl but, she is long gone.

The robotic lifeforms notice you when you stand and watch them fight each other, you were intrigued by their weapons.it seemed like Dragon fire but more handable.

Soon, the Autobots took you in, the leader even made you want to fight for their side of their war. However, you couldn't help but notice the subtle way some of the robots would act around you and the others.

It made you angry to feel like you were underestimated.

Optimus prime

He knew something was up with you, had Ratchet do a scan on you when he first met you. The scan showed that you were human but some DNA of something was mixed with your own DNA.

When he sees new injuries littering your body with purple and yellow bruises as well as cuts. He immediately knows something is up.

When it comes clean that you've been destroying energon mines that the Decepticons had. It confuses him on how you do it until you reveal yourself.

Your dragon form towers from above his helm.

Everyone is freaked out until he steps in and asks that you don't put yourself in harm's way for the sake of his people and that he is proud of you for trying

Bumblebee

Is the one thats most freaked out but also so blown away. When you first 'transform', he wasn't expecting a scaly beast that towers over Optimus prime.

You did tell him your secret before, you trust him and he trust you. He'd just never imagined to see your other form. How your scales seem to reflect light, how mighty you looked and how beautiful you were.

Bulkhead

He won't admit it but he screamed a little since he was not expecting this on a Saturday night after you came back with more injuries.

He was concerned about you but now knew you could take care of yourself. You kinda scared him with those jagged teeth and spiked tail.

He loved you though, as a friend but respectfully you scared him

Arcee

Was ready to shoot you, she already went through the five stages of grief in a nanosecond as she aimed. Luckily the team took notice and stopped her before she could shoot.

She apologies for it but demands answers why you kept this form secret and that you cannot go hitting Decepticon bases all alone.

She scowled you like a mother

Ratchet

He knew you were different because of the scans, he just never thought this was it. That you were some so called mythic dragon from human stories.

He wants to laugh at but all that you see is him looking dead inside.

Accepts your form quite quickly, look he's seen things and will continue seeing weird things. This was quite tame

[blondeaxolotl]

Finally found the time to draw my re-vamp of Pluto... I had this planned for a while but I didn't do anything until now!!! so here he is! The guy!!!

Since I probably won't talk about Pluto that often, I'm deciding to just drop his re-vamp here and his lore that I made for him in this post!!

Personality wise: Pluto is a human who was formed into a "Hell-hound", unlike "Canon Pluto", Pluto here has more of the personality of a human instead of a dog in a mans body. He resembles a dog yes, but he talks, walks, behaves like a person, and prefers to be treated as one, otherwise it makes him feel de-humanised if he's being shoo'd away like some house-pet (which is what Sebastian often does, they don't like eachother that much). Pluto seems to have a close bond with Finny and Snake, considering them truly family first before he starts viewing the others as such as well (Not Sebastian). He does not recall his human life, he doesn't even remember his own name. The reason why he's referred to as "Pluto" is because it's what Angela called him when she was in charge of him, and the name stuck within the phantomfam, but he did eventually gain the nickname "Plu-Plu" by Finny, which Pluto seems to not mind, but he prefers if it's only used by either Finny or Snake (or his snakes). Besides his obvious close bond with Finny and Snake, he's slowly starting to show more trust with the others, Like Ciel, Mey-Rin and Tanaka. He doesn't like Baldroy that much but he doesn't hate him (they'll eventually bond when Baldroy starts to cook better food). Though he seems to hate Sebastian and refuses to be near him or listen to him (unless Ciel tells him to), poor fella is uncomfortable around him.

BACKSTORY/LORE (Warning for Human experiment, demon sacrifice, implied animal abuse, physical abuse and torture) Please read with caution if any of this things might discomfort or trigger you

I'm going to keep things short and simple I won't go into deep detail or such, it's just a summary of what "Pluto" went through from beginning to end and how he got to where he is now, also sorry if the writing is shit this is my first time writing anything like this so my bad.

On a bright sunny day, a 17 year old boy, Maxwell, and his pet dog were both kidnapped and taken away while alone working on their family farm while his parents were away for the week. Max and his dog were taken away by a group of men and taken to a mad doctor who wanted to create the first ever "half-beast half-man" and sell it off to a freakshow for alot of money, pretending to have "found" the beast instead of "creating" it. Unfortunately, the boy and his dog were not the first. While being dragged away to their new long-time home, Max noticed cages upon cages of "people" with animal parts attached to them (from the looks of it, it seemed like a few of them were already lifeless and decaying). With now knowing what's going to become of him, Max and his dog were thrown in an empty cage together, a cage which will be known as his long-time home and thus 2 long years of torture began. The torture of him and his dog becoming one.

After many forced injections, body parts being taken apart and stitched together, Max slowly grew weaker and weaker as more as he went through, not only did his body grow weaker, but so did his mind. Who was he? Who were his parents? Where did he come from? Why was he wearing a dog collar? Answers who he did not know for, at least not anymore. The doctor, who was getting more and more irritated realizing the only thing keeping his creation alive right now was his weak breathing, has grown sick and tired of all these failed experiments. The doctor had one last option to make his half-beast man become fully alive and functional, one last chance of becoming the rich man he wished to be.

Max being yanked by his collar and forced to walk on his hind legs (which was already painful enough to stand) was dragged down to a lower, darker part of the building(?) he was in, his vision was blurry and his ears were muffled but upon entering a room, he could see the figure of who believed to be the doctor standing above something and surrounded- what Max believed to be a weird circle.

After being thrown into the circle, he struggled to stand up and fell down to the ground, rubbing his eyes trying to handle this brain-spliting headache while the doctor rambles off non-sense, for a second he felt like he heard something being impaled but wasn't sure. Barely a second past and suddenly the whole room felt like it was spinning, weird black goop and furniture started circling around him and the doctor as if there was a hurricane accruing right this moment.

Max finally looked up and saw a strange tall lanky figure leaning over the doctor (at least what he thought was a figure), his vision was still blurry but he knew he felt unsafe the moment that thing appeared in the room. Not even trying to comprehend what the two of them were talking or even trying to figure out what that thing was or where it came from, he tried his best to regain his strength and attempt to crawl away to safety- Which didn't last long as he felt a sharp pain within his chest suddenly, as if a hand went through him and started crushing his soul. Whatever that thing was, he knew the doctor told it to do it (since he heard loud cheer coming from that freak)- He felt like he was being killed and reincarnated at the same time.

Moments later, Max found himself running out of the building he was once kept in for what felt like an eternity. Blood was dripping down from his mouth but he no longer felt pain every stepped he took, his vision and earing have improved as well, as if all that pain he went through never happened.

He did not know what that thing was, (he did not recall what he did or what happened after the experience with the figure and the doctor, but he knew he did something- did he hurt someone?) but it seemed to have helped him more than it helped the doctor, whatever it was, he did NOT want to encounter it again nor something similar to it. Despite feeling physically better, his mental state still remained fragile, he still couldn't remember anything nor how he even got here. Who was he again?

Months after finally fleeing his personal hell, walking for days and hours as far away as he could. He eventually found himself in a forest, and finally decided this was a good place to rest for a bit, he was far away from his abusers, but also isolated enough to where no one could find him and take him away again. At least, that's what he thought.

A minute has past with his eyes closed, only to quickly open them up again after feeling something hover over him, a strange woman in white was standing over him. “Oh dear, what are you” she muttered.

He didn’t know if she meant it with disgust, but she seemed surprised nonetheless. They both stared at each other for a short period of time, before the lady look away for a moment and then looked back, as if an idea clicked in her head.

“You’re a strange looking demon hound” A demon hound? Is that who he is? What's a demon hound? “But you seem to be lost and scared, come now, as an Angel, it’s my duty to help those in need, even if one is a demon”

He had no idea who this woman was, but the moment she spilled out that she was an angel he immediately jumped back onto his feet, an angel? Did she come to help him? Did she come to fix him? If only she would’ve come sooner but he would rather not complain “What’s your name?” she asked but all he could do is stare, what was his name again? Did he even have one? After receiving moments of silence, he felt a tug on his collar “Pluto” The angel said

“Nice to meet you Pluto, we’re going to be friends for a while now” Pluto? That felt familiar, but he didn’t know why.. But it was his name now, and it’s what he will be referred to from now on according to the angel. With his tail wagging and his spirit high now, Pluto finally found someone he can trust, I mean, it’s an angel after all, and angels are always there to help, so of course he's going to trust her, she did say she is going to help him.

Without hesitation, Pluto began following the angel after she gestured to him, leading him to a village. Believing that this village might be his journey to fixing himself, though unfortunately, he does not realise that the angel tricked him into becoming the monster of this villager, leading to long months of now being treated like monster that deserves to be hunted down by the towns people, and only bringing hatred towards the villages own dogs because of him being a "hound dog". That is, until help finally arrives.

______________________________________________

Okay yeah I yapped a little too much my bad I got carried away, but basically long story short, Ciel and Sebastian get there, they found out it’s not some evil spirit and it’s pluto instead (Sebastian beats the fuck out of him) and later on Angela hands Pluto over to them to “train him better” or whatever. Which Ciel agrees to and next thing you know Pluto ends up becoming a trio with Finny and Snake because he feels the closest to them and believes they’re the only ones who relate to him the most with the experience he went though and yeah. This took longer than I expected and it's now 3am lmaooo, as a bonus for reading my edgy story have a doodle:

[bethanythebogwitch]

It’s Wet Beast Wednesday and today’s topic is Anarrhicthys ocellaus, the wolf eel. Despite the name and long-skinny body, they aren’t eels (I’ll get around to true eels eventually, I promise), they’re actually one of the wolf fish, a family of 5 species, the rest of which look less eely. These fish are most famous on the internet for being ugly, which is a bit rude. Sure, they may look a bit like Popeye the Sailor Man, but that’s no reason to be insulting. I think they’re kind of cute, in a pug sort of way.

(Image: a wolf eel)

Wolf eels live in cold pacific waters in the Sea of Japan up into the Sea of Okhotsk, across the Aleutian islands, and down to southern California. Their long, slender bodies can grow up to 2.4 meters (about 8 feet) long ang weigh up to 18.4 kg (41 pounds), making them both longer and heavier than some children. Like moray eels, they prefer living in caves and crevices, often only sticking their heads out to look for food. Many will find a suitable cave as a juvenile and never leave unless forced out by a larger wolf eel or another cave-dweller like the giant pacific octopus. Wolf eels have a layer of mucus covering their bodies that helps protect from disease. Their scales are small and imbedded in their skin, giving their skin a leathery appearance. Each individual has a unique pattern of spots on their head, which can be used to identify them.

(Image: a wolf eel)

Wolf eels have large and powerful jaws and well as notable teeth. They are heterodonts, meaning they have teeth of different shapes that serve different functions. This is actually somewhat uncommon amongst animals. Amongst extant vertebrates, only mammals, some fish, and snakes have this feature. Wolf eels have molars and canines. In fact, the prominent canines of the wolf fish family is the origin of their name. Wolf eels use their hard molars and powerful jaws to crush and eat hard food. Their preferred diet includes sea urchins, sand dollars, crustaceans, and bivalves. They rarely eat soft food and aquarium specimens that have been fed soft food extensively can show poor dental health.

(image: a wolf eel monching on eating an urchin)

If you need more reasons to not insult them, wolf eels are romantics and model parents. They are monogamous and mated pairs will live and mate together for life. These pairs have a unique form of mating behavior. The male will nuzzle the female with his head and coil around her while she lays her eggs (up to 10,000 at a time), which he will then fertilize. Afterwards, the female will coil around the eggs to shape them into a ball She will occasionally rotate and massage the egg ball to make sure all the eggs are getting exposed to oxygenated water. When both are in the cave, the female will coil around the eggs to protect them while the male coils around her for more protection. Both parents share egg protecting duties, with only one leaving to go eat at a time. Once the eggs hatch, the larvae will leave the nest and move to the open ocean to grow. Juveniles live in the open ocean and have a different diet than adults. They are more active predators who use their canines to attack and eat small fish and fish larvae. After a few years, they will make their way back to shallower waters to take up their adult lifestyles. They become sexually mature at around 7 years old, though some will par up with their future mate as early as age 4. In addition, juveniles are bright orange with purple spots. They become darker as they age, eventually becoming fully grey.

(image: a pair of wolf eels protecting their eggs, the yellowish ball on the middle)

(image: a juvenila wolf eel)

Wolf eels are rather curious and even playful animals. In places with lots of human activity, they can become used to divers. In fact, they can even become friendly with divers, sometimes coming out to play with them and being happy to receive chin scratches. In many places, divers can hand-feed the wolf eels. This is controversial as it can disincentivize natural hunting behavior and ignorant divers may feed the eels the food that is bad for them. Wolf eels are very rarely aggressive, but they can deliver very painful bites if provoked.

(image: a wolf eel and a diver)

Wolf eels are classified as “least concern” by the IUCN, meaning they are in no danger of extinction. Still, threats to them include bycatch and pollution. They are rarely targeted for fishing today, but in the past, they were targeted by a few Native American tribes. In these, they were considered to be sacred “doctorfish” and were only eaten by healers, in the belief it would enhance their healing abilities.

UPDATE: after doing some digging regarding the usage of the fish by Native American tribes I found that everyone who makes this claim seems to reference the book "Probably More Than You Want to Know About the Fishes of the Pacific Coast" by Milton S. Love, which itself cites a book from either 1868 or 1870 titled "The Indians of Cape Flattery, at the entrance to the Strait of Fuca, Washington Territory" by James Swan. The book specifically discusses the Makah people. I'm a bit skeptical about the source so take those claims with a grain of salt.

(image: a wolf eel sticking out of a rock)

[etchedjade]

My comfort headcanon is that, instead of going to the house of wind, Nesta decided to run to the human lands instead in a petty act against the IC, as if saying she preferred a sure death than live with Cassian. And you know what court is closest to the human boarders?

The Spring Court.

Nesta going there and kinda forcing Tamlin into taking her in, both turning into reluctant housemates that clash a lot, but Nesta isn't afraid of his beast form and her mean tongue doesn't bother Tamlin. Eventually they become friends because they bond over the ic's hypocrisy and how they've been treated over glasses of wine. They both get their healing arcs together.

She gets to see Eris sometimes, outside the IC machinations, and while they don't like each other yet, she gets to know him a bit better.

Until the IC comes looking for her (because of course Rhysand had Azriel track her down to drag her back) Tamlin helps her escape and guess who ends up finding her this time?

Eris, who brings her to his court as a refugee, and she has to navigate around the complicated family dynamic and the twisted court where no one can be trusted. But much like Feyre's canon story, what seemed like a terrifying and evil court turns out to be way more than it meets the eye. The Vanserra are not what people think, none of them. And slowly, Nesta finds her place within them

First of all, I love this. I believe she would heal better away from the IC and outside of the NC (though the Valks helped a lot). I do think Nes having a hand in taking down Beron and rebuilding Autumn with someone who gets her—Eris—would be very cool and fitting.

Second of all, I think I partially read a fic that went something like this. I didn’t get to the part where Nes got together with anyone but Nes and Tam’s bond was really sweet. I think the endgame for the fic was Az—which I love bc Nesriel is on par with Neris for me.

It’s called “A House of Flame and Flower” by Mellowenglishgal on AO3!

Third of all, I was not expecting this but I love that you wanted to share your Nesta-related thoughts and headcannons with me!

If anyone wants to send their Nesta/Valk/or Autumn Court theories and headcannons with me, please feel free to send it in asks! I’d love to read them!

(I’m actually working through 3 theories rn and hope to post those with evidence in the next month or so)

[olympeline]

More thoughts on national animal forms in Hetalia:

Their beast selves are slightly bigger than what’s considered normal for the species. Not to such a degree that they’d look like freaks, but big enough to make you take a second glance.

They’re incapable of human speech while in animal form. I’m on the fence as to whether they’d be able to speak to each other as beasts or whether they’d have to change back to hold a conversation. Leaning towards the latter, honestly. These forms are wild and primal and speech of any kind just feels too human.

The appearance of a nation’s human guise stays mostly consistent throughout their lives, but their animal form is different. It can change radically depending on what’s happening in the world. This is most often seen with territories and settler colonies who break away and ascend to true nationhood. Like Alfred, who only became a bald eagle after the USA won independence from the British Empire. Before that he was a young lion. And if you’re wondering whether a super badass Lion King style battle ever took place between him and Arthur during their war? I’m happy to inform you the answer is: yes. Absolutely Hell Yes it did. 👌

Only real animals count. So no unicorn form for Scotland, dragon for Wales, etc. They’re cool but I prefer the consistency of everyone having creatures that actually exist, you know? Oh and, if you’re curious, I picture Scotland’s animal form being a stag. Not sure about Wales’s yet.

Speaking of the UK family, Arthur is a lion but he didn’t start out that way. He was a rabbit in the distant past. Quite the transformation. When did he change? Hard to say. Definitely not before Roman Britain ended. Most likely it would have been either during the reign of William the Conqueror, or else at the start of the Hundred Years War.

The manner in which an animal form changes depends on the circumstances behind why it’s changing in the first place. For Alfred, who won his freedom in battle’s flame, it was a fast, violent, and painful process. The first night after the war was won, Alfred bloodily tore off his golden lion’s pelt and cast it into the fire. Then he resculpted his fleshy, naked, skinless body and reclothed it in a bald eagle’s feathers. The whole thing was over before the sun rose above the newly made country. And as agonising as it was, it was also a relief for Alfred. His lion’s skin hadn’t felt right ever since the start of the war. It itched, and chafed, and burned, and almost drove Alfred mad. Even as a human, it tickled and whined and gnawed at him in the back of his mind. Only getting worse as the war dragged on. Eventually Alfred was assuming his beast form regularly just so he could bite and tear at himself in a frenzy. The revolutionaries got used to seeing their fledgling country covered in the wounds he’d gouged into himself in a futile attempt to find relief. None came until victory was won and he could cast off his lion form - and his old self - for good.

Meanwhile Matthew, who peacefully slipped into a fluffy lion cub form after Arthur won him from Francis, was very different. His independence was gradual and diplomatic so there was no need for a violent ripping of flesh. Instead, over time, Matthew quietly started using his lion form less and less the more Canada drew away from Britain. Until one day, when he badly needed release from the trappings of the human world, he assumed his beast form for the first time in decades. Only to find it had changed. Something Mattie had been expecting for a while but it was still a shock when it suddenly happened. There wasn’t any pain or anguish for him, though. Just a small feeling of wistfulness at the realisation he’d never wear his lion form again. It’s fine, though: a Canadian horse suited him better. Fit like a glove right from the start.

Mattie ultimately becoming a horse is funny too because, while I haven’t made up my mind yet about what Francis should be, a horse is an option I’m considering. Which would mean Matthew went from French foal, to British cub, then ultimately back to horse again, lol.

Maybe…maybe a horse is good for Francis? Maybe? Urgh, I don’t know! Seriously, I’ve only just started this AU thing and already Francis has become the bane of my existence. 😂 France is a world power and England’s historical rival. So his animal form would need to be something that could not just fight, but win against a lion. Yeah, a rooster ain’t cutting it, lmao. A big destrier style war horse could conceivably kill a lion by kicking or trampling it. Horses are prey animals but that doesn’t mean predators aren’t still scared af of a horse’s kick caving in their skulls and smashing their bones to powder. Also, historically horses are symbols of wealth, grace, war, and just plain pretty to boot. All of which fit Francis. My only other idea is that he’d be another lion. Because England got its lion from French nobility. Or maybe he’d be a lion up until the French Revolution? Then he’d pull an Alfred and rip off his pelt - or have it ripped off him by force during the Reign of Terror - and be remade as a horse. Lions are one of the symbols of monarchy so it’s some nice imagery there. Napoleon relied heavily on his cavalry too. Yeah, it could work. Maybe…? What do you guys think? Any other ideas? Post em below if you have em.

A nation-person doesn’t always change their animal form completely if their real world circumstances are altered. Take Argentina for example; a Spanish colony who started as a black calf and still remained a bull after locking horns with Antonio and driving him out of his part of South America. A bull suited Argentina so a bull he stayed. Though his coat and horns did turn from black to silver post-independence. Argentina. Land of beef. Land of silver. Silver bull, geddit?

Finally, there’s the differing effects of conquest where the original inhabitants of the land aren’t replaced like what happened in the Americas. Cases like Romano: a nation whose animal form never changed through all his ups and downs. Not after Antonio conquered him, not after being set free, and not after unification with Feliciano. Romano remained an Italian wolf through it all. Change was possible but it never happened for him. I guess it would depend on factors like how much of the original culture survives, how tightly the controlled nation is under the thumb of the master nation, etc. In the most extreme cases a conquered nation’s animal form might change completely to mirror that of their conqueror. Other times they might shift only a little. Like, say, if Ireland’s original animal was a wolf. Then, after being crushed and occupied by England, that wolf began to look more doglike. Symbolic of the English (later British) goal of “taming” wild Ireland. Stuff like that. A case by case basis, really.

(That’s all for now. Hope you enjoyed reading. I’m tagging this as my national animals AU ☺️)