#my Precious Little Woodland Creature

[andy-clutterbuck]

1x01 | Days Gone Bye

[writingwisterias]

New Beginnings

Leon Kennedy X AFAB!Reader (Pictured Leon between Re2 &RE4R) Warnings: FLUFF, Slight Angst, Dad Leon, Summary: After being sent to training, he returns home to meet his new girl for the time.. This is based off this ERAs and requested by anon to extend it!

Leon,

I’m not sure if you will get this, mom wasn't sure if they would let you have these whilst you were in training but I wanted you to get the updates still. I went for my first scan today, they said everything looks good. I've been craving lots of cucumbers. Mom said she thinks I'll turn into one if I keep going. They also lied about morning sickness…it's all the damn time. The first trimester is almost over, I've sent you a photo of the scan and the bump 

Stay safe.

Your love <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leon,

I’ve been missing you a lot recently, our little girl is kicking all the time. I think she gets it from you! Oh no, I revealed the gender…I can't believe we are having a little girl. Mom and Dad helped me set up a new nursery in a flat that I managed to get close to them. I’ve given you another photo of the bump and the latest scan. I think I've popped now...cravings are still cucumbers and morning sickness has subsided. 

Stay safe, 

Your love xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leon, 

Not long to go now, the nursery is all setup. I chose an enchanted woodland theme. Lots of little creatures hiding around the room. Filled with greens and it just feels cosy I can't wait for you to see it. I think she's about ready to come out now, she's kicking like mad and dropped really low. I'm scared but I know that you have been brave all this time so I'll do it for us. I really hope you are okay…I miss you like crazy. Even though she feels like I have a part of you with me. 

Stay safe 

Love 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leon, 

Wow, what a whirlwind, our little girl was born a couple of months ago. She's been a handful so it took me a while to write this letter…if they even give them to you! The delivery is rough but worth it. She has the cutest blond hair and blue eyes you wouldn't believe! I've picked my favourite pictures of the past few months…I know they'll be returned to me soon enough anyway. 

See you soon

Love xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leon stared at the letters from where he spread them out on the little tray on the plane. His reflection is sharper and colder than when you last saw him. Guilt and nerves collided through his system like a drug, his stomach bubbling with anxiety as they announced the landing. Your handwriting hadn't changed over the years, always the same cursive font that was written in the margins of his textbooks. He smiled at the small doodles decorating the edges where he knew you were just thinking of what to say. It felt unreal like he was going to wake up to some sick dream the world decided to play on him. To take away this tiny lifeline of happiness he had left. 

He wondered what would happen if he didn't return if he left you both untouched by the taint that he carried with him. The rucksack of nightmares he had seen in the past two years, the one he had to train his shoulders to carry. His hands were rough, his eyes piercing. Would you even be able to find the same soul that you fell in love with before? 

And then there was his daughter, something born out of pure innocent love. A romance blossoming on the white picket fence fantasy he always dreamed of…only to now have a father who was unsure if he could provide that for any of you. If he could even step up to be the man she needed. The one she would run to when she needed help with boys or the kids bullying him. The few campmates he did get along with told him that he didn't miss the precious moments. That there was still time for him to form a loving bond between father and daughter. A small part of him inside hated the photos as they were evidence of everything he missed, all the small kicks and the cravings you experienced. Not being able to soothe you when it all got too much just like you did that night. 

The attendant announced the plane landing, the runway coming into view masking his reflection. Leon folded all the letters again, having remembered every letter and word you imprinted on the page. The ink smudged on some of them. The pictures were tucked in the cheap wallet he bought when he was at the airport safe for when he needed them. His movements were calculated and careful, Leon's mind already aware of everyone around him as he moved. He helped the older lady next to him with her back, his arm held out to guide her off the plane. He watched the bittersweet reunion as her daughter found her. Their cries of happiness blend into the chaos with the other people around them, the further he gets away. Worry settled when he thinks about accidentally walking past you as he left the gate. His eyes scanned for any figure he remembered. The silhouette that visited him in his dreams was like an angel. Leon often swore he could still feel your phantom touch the next morning as his cheek always felt slightly warmer as he completed his early laps of the base. The warmth was always welcomed, however, instead of the coldness of Krauser's stare or his words as he corrected him again. 

Then he saw it, the cursive writing of some paper sign in the corner of his eye. The bold letter was held by a woman who scanned her eyes over the crowd. His name and the fingers that grasped the sign were yours. 

Leon took a moment, watching as people continued to move around him. Taking advantage of his hardened appearance to watch you. His eyes are not failing to notice the young girl on your hip. The now two-year-old waved at people as they passed, her hand grasping the charm on your necklace tightly. The photos didn't do her justice, she looked exactly like him. Her piercing blue eyes met his. They always said kids notice more than adults. 

He watched the way her curious stare ran over him, trying to figure him out…almost like he was familiar to her. You had noticed she’d gone quiet. Turning your head to look at where the young girl had now rested it on your shoulder. He watched as you asked her what was wrong, shifting her in your arms slightly. Your hip jolts out to support her weight better. Leon's feet didn't move, they couldn't. Right, there was all he ever wanted. Did he deserve it? Was it actually his? The perfect dream, the one he saw every single night in that stupid bunk amongst the snores of his bunkmates. 

His whole body froze as you looked at him, the whole world stopped. Your love washed over him like a tide crashing against rocks. It was fierce, strong and unstoppable. The current is already pulling him into your ocean of affection. His little girl began to cry as you passed her to your mum. Your feet are already pounding on the airport carpet as you bolt it to him. He didn't know what else to do but welcome you, like the hole in his heart was finally filled. The two years apart suddenly ended with a new beginning.

You collided into his chest with such force he stumbled. His own emotions leak out into the softness of your skin. Words failed him, they seemed to fail you as well as you held him in silence. Your smaller frame fits against his own with no change. However, you could feel the new muscles. His hardened grip is proof of his changes not that you cared about them. You would learn to love this new version just as you promised on that one night. Your promise was never forgotten when he left in that black car. Your heart is still soul-tied to him. 

Leon's breath faltered when you pulled away, his biceps subconsciously pulling you in closer. Your eyes met his, your warm smile melting his tough gaze. “There he is,” you whispered. At your words, he crumbled, his frame shaking as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He tried to smile, to muster up the courage to say anything. Part of you regretted bringing your daughter now fearing he would be overwhelmed in meeting her in this state. Yet to his credit, he stood up straighter, a small smile filling his features. His hand cradled your face bringing you into a long-awaited kiss. He didn't need to speak. You knew exactly what he wanted to say. You could feel the love radiating from him, pouring it into the first kiss. His soul begging for redemption from situations you didn't know he had experienced. His hands were almost afraid to touch you, to swallow you in the darkness he had retreated himself into. 

You heard her before you felt her, the small stumbling steps of your two-year-old as she collided with your legs almost taking you off your feet. 

You watched Leon's eyebrows pinch in concern as he felt your body buckle, hands sprawled out on his chest to catch yourself. Your daughter's hands gripped at your legs, small tugs on your shirt as she whimpered to be picked up. Leon's demeanour changed when you did. His body regained the stiffness as he looked at her closely. Their eye contact was intense both trying to figure out what to make of each other. “Baby, This is daddy remember?” You prompted, eyes solely focused on the small girl. Leon was grateful for that, you couldn’t see his flinch at the word. The small girl nodded her hand outstretched to him. 

That was the thing about children, always curious. No matter if they were reaching out towards unknown danger. You would have protected her if you thought it was dangerous. Part of him wanted to back away, careful not to let the innocent fingers touch his blood-stained skin afraid if they pulled away her tiny hands would be strained red. You knew otherwise, you always did. Allowed these hands to cradle your face, to hold you when he finally returned home. Her hand touched the stubble that coated his cheeks, the small strands of hair prickly against her tiny fingers. You watched him process the touch, his frame softening arms finally wrapping around the both of you.

“Daddy” The girl muttered, a small toothy grin growing on her features. Her small arms wrapped around his neck as he swung from you to him. She was so small against him, his large arms hiding her from the surrounding crowd. His other one holding you close. “Thank you…I’m sorry I wasn’t..” Leon finally spoke. You shook your head, “You were always here, How do you think she knows who you are?” You smiled. He was home, different, but home. Your parents picked up his bags as they followed you both home. He was too busy carrying his whole world in his arms anyway.

[toffee4you]

Cuddling Headcanons (Shorter!reader)

Content: GN!reader, fluff, romance, Grim is in the specials, one mention of Lilia at the end, HC Silver (staring at his battle lines...)

Other parts: Taller!reader, Cuddling While Studying

I realized how tedious it was to find Silver content without Chapter 7 spoilers, so here's my tribute to the skrunkle 🤲

Assuming the two of you are already close, Silver's favorite thing to do with you would be cuddling. Expect it to happen very often, nearly every day if you'll allow him.

Of course, he'll make sure you're comfortable with it first. He generally doesn't care where he does it or which way, so if you just make a request, consider it granted. Want to be the big spoon? Have at it. Little spoon? Of course. He's going to fall asleep almost immediately anyways.

Just know that he'll find it a bit silly whenever you're the big spoon. It's like you're trying to hug an oversized plushie.

Despite his versatility, if he really had to choose, his favorite spot for cuddling would either be Ramshackle or the botanical garden, and he would be the big spoon. It makes him feel at ease knowing that he has you secured in his arms like a precious treasure.

If you're at Ramshackle, it's likely to be on the couch or in your room. He typically prefers the room since it's a bit more private, which means less interruptions. Plus, it's more comfortable. Either way, he'll have you both wrapped up in sheets together no matter where you are—unless it's too hot for sheets. That's when you pull out the fan and popsicles.

If you're in the botanical garden, he'll show you to the patch of grass that he usually falls asleep on. The little woodland creatures will immediately circle around you two, and he's always up to introduce them all. Rabbits, birds, squirrels... Maybe even a random deer. He calls them by their species name, but if you decide to give them your own personal nicknames, he will probably find that cute. There's not as much versatility with sleeping in the garden, but he just likes to have you resting on top of him as he's completely reclined on the mossy ground. The scent of flowers, the warm beams of sun, and the merry chirping of bluebirds will make you fall asleep almost as quickly as Silver.

He can be a bit of a sleep talker on occasion, though he doesn't move too much in his sleep. It won't take you long to discover how near-impossible it is to fall out of his arms when he's fully at rest. You'll be able to hear almost every coherent word he says from such a close distance; mostly about his duties, but never a shortage of affirmation towards you. Yes, even in his sleep. Maybe you'll even get to hear words of love if you listen close enough.

Special: With Grim

No one can forget the great housecat mage, Grim!

Grim would either be initially jealous that he's not getting cuddling attention or extremely offended by the idea of being stuck with “two lovebirds”, but either way, he'll be unable to deny how comfortable it is.

Silver is 100% fine with your dire beast joining in the cuddles. To him, it's just like cuddling with woodland creatures.

Just the addition of Grim suddenly turns the entire vibe of the cuddle to a family bonding experience. Yeah, Grim's your son now, and Silver's. This family is Lilia-improved. Enjoy.

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Asking this knowing it will break my heart- Stan being a Vet Tech while being the biggest animal lover and extremely sensitive must be ROUGH.. is there any specific times he’s been really affected by something that happened at work 💔💔

I know Ky and Moose will help their boy though 🤓

Oh my god YES holy shit our boy OJV Stan gets so attached to every animal he works with and like Wendy runs the front desk and has totally implemented a rule that Stan does NOT get to see any pets coming in for euthanasia. The whole clinic squad knows that would break his heart. Stan is such a good pet doctor man and his patient’s humans love him too, like a sweet old lady with a cat coming in and he’s like “uh oh Fluffy did you get into the yarn box again” “I’ll tell ya, I don’t know if she ate any of it this time but I figured you could check” lmao. The main vet handles most of diagnosing and everything, but a lot of the regulars request Stan to assist because he’s AWESOME at keeping the patients calm. They all adore him as they should.

Like even when a patient is super nervous and panics and even hurts someone (I’m never getting over the fact that this boy got his ribs broken and was more worried about the horse than himself lmfao) he LOVES those animals.

It does destroy him when there’s an emergency and he can’t save the critter. I’m a lot like Stan in that I’m a vegetarian animal lover fantasy dork, which this why I’ll never write out an animal death (hence why we’ve just decided Moose is immortal), and I have a headcanon about a time a pet death really upset him.

Someone had been a regular for years at the clinic with a parrot named Quito. Quito was old as hell, his favorite word to squawk was “fuck”, and he would trill the national anthem and Stan found him FUCKING HILARIOUS. but Quito had lived a longggg life and his human eventually had to make the decision to put him down because he was dying. Stan was devastated for real. Like yes it comes with the job, and the staff knows him well enough to make sure he doesn’t see any of the dead animals, like this is the man who starts crying because a sick puppy on the exam table wagged it’s tail at him (oh my god y’all he’s so good at petting creatures he knows exactly where to scratch fuck ojv Stan is the most precious boy) and after that parrot passed on, he started sobbing in the back room, had to go home early.

My boy called Kenny on the drive home and THANK GOD it was a Saturday and Kyle wasn’t at work, bc Stan immediately wrapped himself around Ky and just held him, one hand on Moose’s little head, begging them both to “please never die” (holy fuck i am crying. It is 4 in the morning and I’m genuinely struggling to see because I’m crying) and if you’re familiar with the Moose origin story, u know that that kitty is named Moose because Stan, in a depressive slump, had been reading his favorite kids books and “Thidwick The Big Hearted Moose” was the one he’d been reading the day before someone brought a certain little brown kitten into the shelter he was volunteering at. And Kyle, ever perceptive, knowing his sbf inside and out, seeing he’s really in need of comfort, reads him (and Moose) that Dr Suess book, about the moose who let all the woodland creatures make a home in his antlers. Because that’s Stan.

[experimentalmadness]

Time Alone

Summary: At the six month reunion Tav sneaks off with Astarion back to remind him of the place she first fell for him. Fluff ensues.

I mean it, it's just sweet fluff. I'm adjusting to my ecological niche in fandom being the girl who writes the soft Ascended fic and the new epilogue was absolute catnip. Enjoy!

More of my Eidel and Astarion fic is here!

***

“It’s just up here!” Eidel said, tugging on Astarion’s hand as they climbed up a small rise in the middle of the woods. 

“Exactly where are you taking me?” He grumbled. He would have much preferred staying by the camp, at least there the fire was warm. And beyond that he still didn’t see why this little reunion had to take place in this godsforsaken wilderness at all when the others knew he had a perfectly splendid estate. 

“You’ll see!” His consort was bouncing on her feet, not dampened in the slightest by the night’s chill. The fine coat he had put her in looked woefully out of place in this rustic backwater. “Don’t tell me these last six months have made you soft.” 

“Careful,” he warned even as Eidel laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “Do you enjoy getting my ire up, pet?”

“Yes,” she said confidently with a grin before she tilted her head. “What’s an ire?”

That did make him laugh. “Teasing, darling, only teasing.”

“Here we are!” Eidel announced as they finally made it to the top of the hill. The woodlands below them stretched out for miles, and Astarion could see the fire light from the camp not too far away. He could still hear the music from the minstrels, and from this distance he could see the edges of the Emerald Grove. 

“Do you remember this place?” Eidel asked as she sat down on the grass. 

“We criss-crossed over so much of these woods you can hardly expect me to remember a single hill.” Astarion sat alongside her. He caught the conspiratorial light in his consort’s eyes. “But I believe you are about to tell me why it’s so important?”

“I brought you here, remember? Our first night together,” she laughed, “You were trying to seduce me, but you let me take you up here to look at the stars instead.”

“Oh gods, must you remind me? I was pathetic then.” Thinking about what a miserable wretch he had been at the start of their journey was not worth spending an iota of time on. He had been a weak, scrambling, desperate creature then. Willing to latch on to anyone with a modicum of power he could sway to protect him. How times changed. Now he was the one with all the power. 

“You were not!” Eidel sounded scandalized. She had a rather adorable indignant look on her precious face. “You were wonderful, and patient—even when you were teasing me. And you let me talk about the stars for hours. You mustn’t be hard on who you used to be, Astarion. It all led you here.”

“Still seeing the best in me, despite everything?” He teased, tapping a finger to her nose. 

She laughed. “Always.”

Eidel leaned back, staring up at the full moon. Astarion rolled onto his side, propping himself up with one arm. How exquisite she looked bathed in the starlight. Perhaps the walk had been worth it after all. He blinked, recalling a similar thought he had had the first time they had come here. 

“This is my favorite spot in the world, I think,” Eidel announced. 

“Oh that won’t do, darling,” Astarion said, brushing her hair back, “We’ll have to go on a trip soon, I believe. Find you some place far more magnificent than this little spot.”

“I suppose you can try,” Eidel said, “but it won’t be the place I fell in love with you.”

How did she manage it, Astarion thought. How did she always know what words would render him speechless? He pulled her to him, slipping a leg between hers as he pinned her to the ground, kissing her fiercely. She wrapped her arms about him and hummed a laugh against his lips. 

“I can’t believe I really thought you’d want nothing to do with me after that evening,” Eidel admitted breathlessly as they parted. “It all seems so silly now.”

“You took me by surprise, that was all,” Astarion said. “You still do.”

“I hope you feel that way after a few thousand years.”

He caught that self-deprecating half-smile in another kiss. “Always,” he breathed against her as his lips trailed down her jaw and neck. He bit down near her collar and he delighted in the startled gasp she gave as blood hit his tongue. He did not drink too deep. He didn’t want her hazy and listless, he only wanted to taste the euphoria of her. 

“Do you think we should go back to the party now?” Eidel asked.

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

“No,” Eidel giggled and Astarion felt his heart race as she licked her own blood from his skin. “I think I’ve said everything I needed to everyone, and they all know where to visit us. Can we spend the rest of the night up here? Together?”

“You ask like there’s a choice in the matter, sweet thing.” He let his weight sink further down onto her, keeping her pinned beneath him. He liked her just like this, underneath him, where he could feel her wriggling against him, her laughter vibrating through him. 

“It was worth it, wasn’t it?” She asked quietly. “All of it. Everything we’ve done. Everything we’ve been through?”

“Of course it was,” he answered without hesitation. The bond between consort and vampire went both ways and he heard what lay unspoken between her words. “Of course you are.”

There was that smile, back where it belonged. She was always such a dear, starved little thing—hungrier for his affection than any blood. It was his pleasure to give her as much as she desired, every affirmation, touch, and look only served as a reminder that she was his. Completely. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” Eidel ran her hands up and down his back. “I know being out in the wild isn’t your idea of comfort.”

“You can always make it up to me later, pet.” He could just as easily come undone by those little touches. He was not fond of the reminder that he was equally starved, but out here, alone, there was no need for concern. 

She kissed him. Sweetly, softly, perfectly, and gods, he’d only had her all to himself for six months and it was not enough. He couldn’t tell if those were his feelings or hers, they felt connected, combined. He wanted to devour her, drain her dry again, consume her utterly, nothing he could do would bring her close enough. It was infuriating. 

“When we were traveling around here I used to think about how nice it would be to have a little home right here,” Eiffel said. She turned her head to glance over at the empty rise. “Obviously that was before—it’s just a silly daydream.”

There would be enough space, Astarion thought, the sound of her voice forcing him back to sanity. Nothing too ostentatious, but a small, simple cabin would fit. He followed her gaze. Yes, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have a place they could disappear to if needs must, or if they wanted to be truly alone. “Very well,” he shrugged. 

“Very well…what?” She was so adorable when confused. 

“Your little house. You shall have it.”

“What?” Her eyes lit up. “Are you…are you teasing me again?”

“Not in the slightest, darling. Besides, it’s a fine idea to have a secluded retreat all to ourselves. When we return to the city I’ll make the arrangements.” It was hard not to feel immeasurably satisfied by the look on Eidel’s face. It was so easy to please her, and this was the first time she’d ever asked for something larger than new seeds for the garden, or a book for her reading lessons. And she hadn’t truly even asked. From anyone else he’d have suspected base manipulation. The romantic setting, the agreeable conversation, the seductive touches—but not Eidel. She was genuine to the core. 

“I love you so much!” She said in a rush as if to prove his point. 

“Do you really? I might never have guessed.” 

When those dear, sweet eyes of hers went wide in horrified shock Astarion laughed, pressing his forehead to hers. “Now I’m teasing you, love.” 

[pitviperofdoom]

So uh. About 12 years ago I thought it'd be fun to do Sherlock Holmes set in the Redwall universe. I wrote a bit for it, then lost interest and moved on to other things.

Well, between my Redwall reread and the Letters from Watson substack, I've recently found myself with renewed interest in both Redwall and Holmes stories, so I decided to dust off the ol' Redwall AU. I reread what I had, found it almost entirely unusable, and completely reworked it. And now I have a humble little introduction here!

Don't know if I'll continue this, but I've had a LOT of fun ideas over the last week, so we'll see!

*****

Extract from the personal journal of Lancejack Johnswort Swifteye, formerly of the Fur and Foot Fighters Border Patrol—

The first day of spring has come and gone. The days grow warmer and longer as we leave winter further behind—the Winter of the Sweeping Mists, by Abbey reckoning. By my own reckoning it was the Winter of Abject Misery.

For six seasons I have marched with the Fur and Foot Fighters Border Patrol, that intrepid unit that keeps watch on the region where Mossflower meets the sand dunes by the Western Sea. Most of my comrades were Salamandastron hares, but with the border patrol’s proximity to the forest, they had plenty of use for squirrels like myself. Like many of my kind I am sharp of eye and handy with a bow, and between my childhood of helping in the Abbey Infirmary and my later training under Lieutenant Lagsworth, I had the skills to make myself useful as a healer as well.

It all came to an abrupt and inglorious end last winter, when a Galloper from the Long Patrol came to us warning of a corsair ship that had made landfall not far from our position. Word reached us too late that the ship was in fact a full fleet, and in the resulting battle I found myself cut off from the rest of the patrol during our retreat. I went down with several wounds, not the least of which was a bolt from a searat’s crossbow in my leg, and I would have been killed if Corporal Pennyroyal hadn’t dragged me to safety.

The patrol suffered heavier losses than it should have, with its principal healer gravely wounded. Penny tells me it was touch and go for a while, before reinforcements from Salamandastron arrived, led by Colonel Kordyne himself. In the end I survived, albeit severely weakened and with a newly-acquired limp, my military career indefinitely on hold if not outright over.

Once I was well enough to travel, I was swiftly sent on my way to Redwall by shrew logboat, and had scarcely passed a week in the willing paws of the abbeydwellers when I was struck down with a ferocious fever. The days and weeks that followed were miserable, full of aches and chills and horrendous dreams—and precious little company, as I was kept away from other creatures so as not to spread my illness to the rest of the abbey.

To add insult to injury, I missed the Nameday celebrations entirely, and by the time I had regained enough of an appetite to enjoy the taste of food, every crumb of that glorious feast had been eaten or sent out to the denizens of the surrounding woodlands in need of extra food after the winter.

It is strange to find myself walking Redwall’s venerable halls once more. I was quite young when I left, creeping out in the cover of night so as not to alert the elders to my departure. Back then I dreamed of returning in glorious triumph, and here I am now, scrawny and scarred and hobbling about with a cane on days when my leg gives me trouble. I keep busy how I can, usually helping Brother Stonecrop in the Infirmary, but more often than not I find myself passing days in a fog. I miss my comrades, the smell of the wind off the distant sea, the feeling of good bark beneath my claws. Embarrassment about my situation has made me a recluse. Stonecrop and I were friends as Dibbuns, and he is still good company, but in spite of his best efforts, in spite of the many good creatures who make their home in Redwall, I cannot recall ever feeling so terribly lonely.

****

The sound of pawsteps on the stone floor reached John’s ears. Briefly he considered snuffing out the candle and waiting silently for whoever it was to leave, but the thought felt unbearably childish. With a sigh, he set down his quill and blew gently on the still-wet ink.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding.” Brother Stonecrop poked his head around the cask. “By the fur, how can you stand being down here so long on the cold stone?”

“It’s quiet,” John replied. “And before you ask, my leg feels fine. How’d you find me?”

“You certainly didn’t make it easy.” The stout mouse eased between the barrels and sat down with him, fidgeting until he’d smoothed out his habit. “I checked the infirmary and the top of the belltower first, and then I remembered Pinn saying she’d seen you creeping down here the other day.”

“I really thought I’d given her the slip,” John muttered, before a cloth-wrapped bundle was thrust into his inkstained paws. “Stonecrop, what—”

“You missed lunch again,” Stonecrop informed him. “I managed to rescue some cheese and nutbread and a scone before the young ones scoffed the lot. There’s a beaker of dandelion cordial as well. Get your jaws around that, see if it puts you in a better mood.”

“My mood is perfectly fine,” John protested. As if on cue, his traitorous stomach growled.

“Says the daft beast as he broods in the dark, scribbling out his thoughts by candlelight.”

“Alright, alright.” John bit into the scone and almost groaned. “Hell’s teeth, that’s good. How is it still warm?”

“Alright, so I didn’t actually snatch it from the jaws of a ravenous mousebabe,” Stonecrop admitted. “I stopped by the kitchens for a fresh one. I thought if you were making yourself this hard to find, it was a scone-straight-from-the-ovens sort of day.”

In spite of himself, John couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Stonecrop.”

Stonecrop clapped him on the back. “Think nothing of it, old Swifteye. Somebeast has to make sure you don’t waste away to nothing.”

“I’m nowhere near old.”

“Is that a fact? I could hardly tell, when you’ve got a face on you like a decrepit frog more often than not.” Stonecrop’s tone, light as it was, betrayed his worry. “You know it wouldn’t hurt to attend a meal every now and then. It’d be good for you to have some company once in a while.”

“I know, I know, it just…” John sipped from the beaker to buy himself time to think. “It gets a bit loud, especially with how voices echo in this place. And the last time I was somewhere loud, it wasn’t one of my good days.”

Stonecrop frowned. “I would think Dibbuns shrieking at dinnertime was a far cry from a battlefield.”

“You would think.”

“Well…” John could almost hear Stonecrop’s thoughts whirring as he hunted for a solution. “Would it help to get out of the abbey for a bit? You’ve hardly left since you got here—obviously you couldn’t with the fever, but you’re hale and healthy now, besides the leg. A bit of fresh air never harmed anybeast. Matter of fact, I’ve been doing some spring cleaning in the infirmary, and some of my herb stores need to be restocked.”

“It… would be nice to walk among proper trees again,” John admitted. “Though with my luck, I’d go out for a leisurely stroll and run straight into a robber gang.”

“Good thing you’re in an abbey full to the brim with willing, helpful beasts,” Stonecrop pointed out. “Why don’t I send you and somebeast else out on a little herb-gathering mission for me?”

“I’m not some restless young one you need to keep busy,” John told him, finishing up the last of the cheese.

“No, you’re a restless fully grown squirrel who needs to keep busy before he crawls out of his own fur,” Stonecrop said dryly.

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” John sighed. “You’re right. I’ve just been… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Lonely?”

“I don’t know if it’s that,” John flicked away the last few crumbs of nutbread. “But it feels the same whether I’m hiding down here or standing in the middle of a crowded Cavern Hole, so I may as well feel it without forcing my awful moods on somebeast else.”

Stonecrop placed a paw on his shoulder. “That’s no good and you know it, John. Starving the body won’t cure it of sickness, and starving the spirit won’t cure it of sadness, either.”

“I’m not sad, I’m just… I’m not exactly what anybeast would consider good company.”

Stonecrop took long enough to reply for John to finish the rest of his meal. When he glanced over again, he found the mouse looking at him thoughtfully.

“What?”

“It’s funny, I was just thinking… you’re not the first creature to say that to me in the last few days,” Stonecrop said, stroking his whiskers.

“So there’s another unsociable hermit in the abbey? I’m shocked we haven’t run into each other in the same hidden-away nook.”

“You’d be surprised,” Stonecrop chuckled. “But no, he’s been away from the abbey for most of the winter and just returned this past week. Bit of an odd one, but clever as anything. Knows the woods like the back of his paw, too. It was actually him I asked first about herbs, and he was all for helping until somebeast else came along with a more interesting problem for him to solve.”

“Not very courteous of him.”

“Oh, that’s just how he is,” Stonecrop said with a shrug. “But either way my stores need replenishing, and I’ve been busy with cleaning and early springtime sniffles. Would you be willing to lend me a paw?”

John sighed, trying not to smile and failing. “Well, when you put it like that, I’d be a real puddenhead to say no, wouldn’t I?”

“That’s the spirit!” Stonecrop heaved himself to his footpaws before reaching down to pull John up alongside him. “Come along then, let’s get you back out into the sunlight. Meet me in the infirmary and we can go over the list—I’ll go let Hemlock know I won’t be needing him after all.”

“Actually…” For a moment, John teetered on the edge of indecision, before he steeled himself and swallowed his ever-present doubts. “I think I’ll come along with you. You’ve got me curious about this Hemlock fellow.”

Stonecrop’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Well this is a pleasant surprise.”

“I rarely hear a cross word from you about anybeast,” John pointed out. “So if he’s odd enough for even you to remark upon it…”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Stonecrop chuckled, a bit nervously. “Just try to keep an open mind.”

Curiosity piqued, John followed him out of the cellar, through the Great Hall and out onto the abbey lawns. From the looks of it, most creatures had taken advantage of the warming weather to have lunch outside. The food was cleared away, but rumpled blankets still lay strewn across the grass, and sticky-pawed Dibbuns dashed about playing while their elders cleared away dishes and napkins.

The gatehouse door stood ajar when they reached it, and Stonecrop knocked twice before pushing it fully open and stepping inside. “Are you in there, Hemlock?”

There was no reply, but the sound of pages turning told them that somebeast was inside, at least. The gatehouse was a cluttered mess, and the sounds of life came from somewhere behind the stacks of old tomes and loose parchment that covered the desk.

Before Stonecrop could call out again, the unseen creature gave a great “Ha!” before slamming a book shut and nearly knocking the chair over in a mad scurry for the door.

Behind Stonecrop, John froze, and his mouth dropped open.

There was a ferret in the gatehouse—better fed and groomed than others of his kind that John had encountered, but a ferret nonetheless. From head to toe his brown fur was so dark it was nearly black, with flashes of white over his muzzle and ears, and a thin layer of dust over all.

“Solved it!” he crowed triumphantly, waving a slip of parchment. “Terribly sorry for the wait, Stonecrop, Myrtus presented me with a puzzle the other day and it couldn’t wait.”

“Sounds like it was a real poser,” Stonecrop said.

“A decent diversion. How close is it to noon?”

“About two hours past,” Stonecrop replied.

The ferret beamed. “Excellent timing! This is the best part—come, this way, you’ll both enjoy this.”

Without waiting for a reply, the ferret seized them both by their sleeves and pulled them out of the gatehouse, then released them and took off for the orchards at a quick lope.

John was left staring after him, mouth still hanging open. Wordlessly he turned to Stonecrop.

“I did say he was odd and to keep an open mind,” Stonecrop sighed. “We’d better see what he’s found.”

They caught up to the ferret at the wall nearest the orchard, walking quickly along its length and tapping each sandstone block as he went. “Well, what is it, Hemlock?” Stonecrop asked.

“Twelve, thirteen—hush, I’m counting—fourteen, fifteen…” The ferret carried on until he reached the middle of the wall, then turned his back was to it and began counting his steps. Before long they were within the shade of the orchard, and the ferret had halted at a damson tree and was squinting at something on the ground. With a noise of sudden understanding he darted along its shadow until he reached its end, counted several more steps, and stopped at an apple tree.

“Here it is!” The ferret inspected the tree trunk, then stared up into its branches, before turning and locking eyes with John. “The smallest favor, if you don’t mind—could you climb up there and see if you can find this?” He passed the slip of parchment to John. Scribbled on it was the symbol of a flower with star-shaped leaves.

Luckily today was a good day, and his leg didn’t pain him beyond a bit of stiffness. With one last baffled look at Stonecrop, John scaled the tree with ease. This early in spring, the boughs were mostly bare of leaves, and it took him several minutes to find the symbol. It wasn’t carved into the tree itself, but engraved on a small bronze disk embedded in one of the branches.

“Found it!” he called down.

“Which side of the tree?” the ferret asked.

“South!”

“Thank you!”

John climbed down to find the ferret down on all fours at the roots on the south side, digging furiously into the soil with both paws.

“Would you like me to find Foremole?” Stonecrop asked.

“No, I’ve got it!”

Soil flew into a growing pile behind him; the ferret dug with single-minded determination until his head was fully out of sight. Minutes passed before John heard a thud and curse, and the ferret’s dirt-covered face poked back into view.

“It’ll just be a moment more, I’ve just hit it,” he said, before diving back down with renewed energy.

“Just hit what?” John mouthed to Stonecrop, who shrugged helplessly at him and crouched down for a better look.

Eventually the ferret rose again with a grunt of effort, and lifted out an old, dirt-caked chest secured with a rusted lock. The ferret dove down again, produced a sizable rock from the hole he’d just dug, and smashed it off. Then he lifted the lid, peered inside, and gave a bark of triumphant laughter.

“Well?” Stonecrop spoke up. “Don’t keep us in suspense, what have you found?”

“No gold or jewels, if that’s what you’re wondering,” the ferret replied. “These are the journals of Brother Mallowgreen, during the reign of Abbot Kastel. There’s a bit of a gap in the abbey’s history during that time, thanks to the abbot’s rather unfortunate penchant for destroying records he didn’t like. Luckily, the Infirmary keeper at the time had the presence of mind to hide his own scribblings, and was kind enough to leave behind a few riddles leading to their location.” He lifted himself out of the hole and dusted off his paws, gray eyes alight with satisfaction. “And I do love a good riddle.”

“And you took all of two and a half days to solve it,” Stonecrop remarked.

“As I said, a decent diversion.” The ferret’s eyes settled on John again. “Hello.”

“Ah, right—Hemlock, this is John Swifteye, an old friend of mine. John, this is Hemlock, who I told you about.”

“Pleasure.” Hemlock’s pawshake was firm but not so tight as to be painful. “I didn’t know Stonecrop’s friendships extended as far as the Fur and Foot Fighters of the western dunes.”

“I, er, haven’t been back here in some time,” John stammered out, caught off guard.

“Do your herbs still need restocking, by the way?” Hemlock asked Stonecrop. “I know it’s been a few days.”

“You know, I was just coming to let you know that I’d found somebeast else for the task,” Stonecrop replied. “But it looks like you’re free again.”

“It might be a two-beast job, given the state of your stores when I last saw them,” Hemlock pointed out, with a glance at John. “I wouldn’t mind the extra paws, especially if it means having an archer along. Never mind being out of practice—any ne’er do wells we find in the woods today will most likely flee at a warning shot.”

“Um,” said John.

“If you’re not averse to my company, of course,” Hemlock added with a smile.

“I—not at all,” John answered without thinking. “If you don’t mind slowing up for a squirrel with a limp.”

“Well then.” Hemlock scooped up the chest and tucked it under one arm. “I’ll go run this little find up to the attic, and then I’ve got to nip down to the kitchens for something. See you at the east wallgate, Swifteye.” With that, he was gone.

John waited until Hemlock was well out of earshot before jabbing his paw into Stonecrop’s ribs. “Out with it, Stonecrop, how many others have you gossiped to about me?”

“I didn’t!” Stonecrop was grinning. “On my honor, I never breathed a word about you, to him or anybeast else. I told you he’s clever.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” John asked.

Stonecrop slung a friendly paw around his shoulders and began leading him back to the abbey building. “Only one way to find out.”

They had only just reached the lawn when, behind them, the deep voice of Brother Bramlen the gardener rang out from beneath the trees.

“WHO IN THE NAME O’ SPIKES HAS BEEN DIGGIN’ UP ME TREES?” the hedgehog bellowed. “HEMLOCK!”

Squirrel and mouse beat a hasty retreat, laughing like misbehaving young ones.

****

True to his word, Hemlock was waiting by the east wallgate when John made his way down. The ferret was cloaked warmly for the lingering winter’s chill, and carried an empty basket with one paw and, oddly enough, what seemed to be a fully-packed haversack on his shoulders. John had a basket of his own, and had armed himself with bow, quiver, and a stout walking stick.

“Planning on spending the night, are you?” John asked, glancing at the pack.

“No,” Hemlock replied, and unbolted the gate. “After you.”

The sun was out, with more blue in the sky than gray. In spite of the warmth of sunlight, the air was still cold, even more so without the high abbey walls to block the wind. John’s injured leg gave a twinge, forcing him to lean on the stick a little more heavily than he would have liked.

Hemlock had taken the lead without a word, which was fair enough. Before he’d come limping to the abbey under the guidance of the Guosim, John hadn’t been this deep into Mossflower Wood since his nighttime escape as a wayward young one. Besides, if he wasn’t focused on pathfinding, it gave him a chance to size up his strange companion.

It wasn’t unheard of for vermin to live their lives in peace and quiet contentment. John had known of a few to the west—a weasel couple that farmed and fished in the woods, a solitary old rat that lived out in the dunes—and the patrol kept an eye out but otherwise left them alone. But that didn’t change the fact that, by and large, the vast majority that John had encountered had been… well. Roving bandits, robber gangs. Corsair fleets.

John glanced back at the sandstone wall looming over the tree tops, then again at Hemlock. Redwall’s charter had something or other about extending paws in peace and friendship, but that didn’t change the long history of vermin hordes showing up to try and conquer the place.

“Rest assured, that is not my intention,” Hemlock said dryly.

Startled, John nearly tripped. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was only a little older than a kit when I first came to Redwall,” Hemlock went on, picking his way carefully through a tangle of roots. “Rather a long time for a plot to simmer, wouldn’t you agree?”

John slowed, leaning heavily on his stick as he followed. “I didn’t—how did you—?”

“Your stare has been burning holes in the back of my head since we left,” Hemlock replied. At least he didn’t sound particularly offended. “And just now you looked back at the abbey as if to make sure it was still there, then very pointedly looked at all the spots on my person that might conceal weapons. It wasn’t difficult to follow your train of thought.”

“...Oh.” Sheepishly, John lapsed into silence.

Eventually Hemlock led the way to a patch of vervain, and John descended upon it. The plants were strong and healthy in spite of the recent winter, and before long the bottom of his basket was lined with it.

“I found feverfew not far from here, last time I passed through,” Hemlock spoke up suddenly. “Hopefully it’ll still be there—not much snow, this past winter, so it won’t have frozen.”

John pulled himself back up on his stick. His leg was beginning to ache, just slightly, but he could still walk a bit more. “Lead on.”

They found it near a massive fallen beech log, growing green and full out of the loam, though it was still too early in the season for flowers. Still, Stonecrop could do a lot with stems and leaves alone. When John was finished harvesting them, he found Hemlock sitting on the log waiting for him.

“Might as well sit for a bit,” the ferret said. “Rest that leg.”

“Oh. Er, thank you.” John leaned his stick against the log and climbed up to sit—not beside him, but near enough.

Truthfully, he was grateful. He hadn’t had much in the way of exercise recently, between injuries, fever, and moping. He could feel himself getting winded and tired more quickly than he ever had before. A long walk through the woods without rest was likely to make his leg worse.

Hemlock must have known. He certainly wasn’t resting for his own benefit.

“Can I ask you something?” John asked eventually.

“You may.”

“Stonecrop said he didn’t tell you about me,” said John. “Did somebeast else tell you who I was, or…?”

Hemlock’s gray eyes flitted up and down, taking in the whole of him again. “I hadn’t heard of you before Stonecrop introduced us.”

“Then how did you know I’m—I was one of the Fur and Foot Fighters?”

“Oh, a number of things,” Hemlock replied. “I looked at you and thought, here is a creature who carries himself like a trained soldier, with his best seasons before him but covered in scars old and new, with a freshly maimed leg and a recent bout of illness, in the middle of a vast forest that hasn’t seen much trouble from hordes and bandits in quite some time. The military bearing suggests the Long Patrol, but it’s extremely rare to see anybeast but a hare among them. And if you were in the Long Patrol, you would’ve rested from your hardships in Salamandastron. Then I remembered hearing of the recent visit from the Guosim, and that answered that. You came from the border between forest and sand, and your comrades saw fit to put you on a boat for home rather than send you on a long march over the dunes.” He paused. “The archery was easy enough—calluses on your paws and a thin patch on your inner arm where the bowstring wears at your fur when you fire.”

John gaped at him.

“It sounds complicated when I lay it all out, but it’s really not,” Hemlock finished. “Two and two make four.”

“And you know Redwall is ‘home’ for me because…?”

“The accent, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He hadn’t even known he had an accent.

“How’s the leg?” Hemlock asked.

John tested it, then carefully slid down to the ground. The ache was nearly gone. “Better, thank you.”

“Let’s be off, then. The infirmary’s stores don’t have a single stem of marigold left.”

Before they left, Hemlock shrugged the haversack from his shoulders and set it on the log. John watched him curiously as he wedged it in the fork of the roots so that it wouldn’t slide off.

“What are you doing?”

“Paying for services rendered,” Hemlock replied, leaving the pack where it sat. “Let’s be off.”

The ferret offered no further explanation. Something told John it would be useless to press.

****

“So what do you think of him?” Stonecrop asked later that evening, as they reorganized the herb stores.

“You were right,” John replied. “He’s an odd one and no mistake. Monstrously clever, though.”

“Oh, that he is.”

“He left a full haversack out in the woods,” John added, glancing at his friend. “Any idea what that’s about?”

“Ah, that.” Stonecrop grinned. “Don’t worry about that. You’ll find out soon enough.”

[gatorlovebot]

Finally getting my brainworms out about Simon being jealous of you interacting with any real dogs. It’s been fermenting in my brain because I feel like I can’t do this delicious concept enough justice but I /need/ to speak on it.

It starts small: you and Simon relaxing on the couch, him in his puppy-space and his head in your lap as you slowly run your hands through his hair and watch TV. A small puppy comes on screen with it’s little kid owner, playing together, and you off-handed mention “Oh cute”. Whether you meant the dog or the scene of the two didn’t fully matter, because Simon tenses for a second before nuzzling further into your space and looking up at you with big brown eyes that are somehow both petulant and begging at the same time. You, who didn’t even notice you had something, immediately begin to coo at your most precious boy, telling him how adorable he is and how ‘those big brown eyes are the prettiest things I’ve ever seen, I just want to kiss you all over every time I see them <3’. Simon is basically a purring cat, basking in the love, and almost consciously pushes the gross feeling he got at the thought of you liking another dog out of his memory.

The next time something happens, it’s harder for Simon to ignore, though you are still unable to pick up on it. He’s in his head space again, and you both are looking out the window. It’s a rare sunny day, and Simon wants to bask in the sunshine (and scare away any of the little woodland creatures that may dare come near the window 😤). You are just reading next to him, occasionally scratching at his head, or press a kiss to his head, making him wiggle his butt a bit as he keeps his attention outside. However, the peaceful feelings that Simon has is broken when he sees a dog being walked outside. It’s not doing anything wrong, isn’t even on the same side of the street as Simon’s apartment, but Simon is instantly a little put off by seeing the dog (not angry or jealous yet, not anything that he would even label as a negative emotion, he’s just aware of the dog). When you look up to see what got your pup’s attention, you notice the dog and say absent-mindedly, “Oh, a dog? I didn’t realize any of the people around here had one”. You didn’t even comment on the dog really, but Simon is instantly a bit growly (he’s hiding his pouting behind the growls), and starts to drag you away from the window as he glares at the dog (who doesn’t even know the two of you exist, or that it now has a human-pup that hates it’s entire bloodline). It takes hours of soft coos and cuddles and loving to get Simon out of his jealous pouting, though to you it just seems like he suddenly got really cuddly and wanted to go to the bed. But Simon cannot lie to himself, at least once he comes out of headspace.

And when he is out of headspace from that session, and able to think of just how jealous and angry he got with the other dog? The one you didn’t even interact with or compliment? He’s overcome with shame and also is just asking himself “what the fuck?”. He’s fine with being territorial or possessive, most military men are, and adding in everything that he has been through? It’d be weirder to him if he wasn’t. But this wasn’t just being territorial or possessive. This was him getting jealous that you noticed another dog- wait, fuck, no, not another. He’s not actually a dog. He might go into puppy space, you might treat him like a dog, and the both of you may love it, but he isn’t actually a dog so he can’t use the word “another”. He decides to bench that thought process for now, so he can focus on why the fuck he got so jealous at you noticing another dog. It’s not like a real dog would stop the two of you from this dynamic, or stop you two from being together or loving each other. Besides, a dog can’t love you like Simon can, can’t know everything about you, protect you as well as he can, not to mention that Simon fucks you! It’s probably a one time thing (He pointedly ignores the fact that he got upset when you mentioned another dog as cute on the TV before this incident), he’ll be fine.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t a one time thing, and he was only mostly fine.

You take such good care of him and love him so well, it is impossible for him to stay upset too long, especially because it only happens when he is in puppy-space, and you never are actually around other dogs when he is in puppy-space. But then it happens when he is outside his headspace. And he knows he’s fucked. Whether it’s because he has gone completely crazy and needs to be put down, or because he has to have a conversation with you that will feel awkward, he hasn’t decided yet. A part of his pride (and his shame) is telling him the ‘put down’ approach may be preferable.

But what caused this realization of how fucked he is? He had been gone for ages on a mission, and it’s been so long since he’s even been able to hear your voice, let alone touch you or go into puppy-space. He’s desperate to get home, make a nest in the bed with your dirty shirts and panties, have you put his collar on, and then sleep cuddled up together in the nest, where he may hump against you every so often, depending on if his dick got the memo of how tired the rest of him is. So imagine his surprise when you are on the tarmac waiting for him! His love, here! He can see you already! You’re so pretty and you came to pick him up! He is trying really hard to keep his butt from wagging (it only sorta works, but it can be played off as him just being antsy to see you). However, that excitement is slightly dampened when he sees you kneel down to start petting one of the K-9 units near you. He can see both your hands in the neck fluff of the pup, can see your lips are slightly more pursed out and that they are moving in your more baby-talking voice, and suddenly he is so desperate to get you away, to lock you up in a room with only him to hear your cooing words, where he is the only dog you will ever see, ever love. He’s borderline shoving his way off the craft, ignoring everything and everyone to get to you, there so quickly you didn’t even have time to notice him coming so you’re still kneeling petting the dog, and you smile up at him like nothing is wrong even though your petting a dog right in front of him (Simon is mentally hanging up the “welcome home, CHEATER” sign). He immediately pulls you up and into his arms, burying his face in your neck, using the friction to pull up his mask a bit so he can bite at you, and tugging at your permanent bracelet. You’re quick to pick up what is happening, and start to mutter close to his ear, where only he can hear it because you don’t want to expose his secret but can’t leave him in this nebulous headspace or with his jealousy. “It’s ok, baby, you’re still the only puppy for me. My favorite boy, my favorite puppy, the only one for me. No other puppy could ever protect me or love me as much as you. I don’t ever need to even look at another puppy when I have my Simon, huh? It was so unfair of me to give another dog attention when I was here to pick up my perfect boy after missing him for so long. I’m sorry, baby boy. I’ve missed you, and I love you more than anything and anyone in this entire universe, ok baby? I love you, I love you so much and you are the only one for me, for the rest of this life and for whatever comes after”

It got kinda long and idk if I did it justice, but I don’t think it will even fully send so I will end it here for now! Much love and smooches!!!

⁃🐶

omg anon thank you i feel so blessed <3

“This was him getting jealous over another dog, wait, fuck, no, not another.” anon, you’re brain. i’m kissing it. simon freudian slip riley!!! i literally gasped at that dude it’s so good. drives me crazy that he, in the waaaaay back of his mind, does really see himself as a dog.

you picking him after a mission omg i love, i’ve never thought about that concept before and now i’ll never stop thinking about it. welcome home cheater…this jealous, bitter bitch. and he’s just like, “she picked another dog over me >:(“ and in that moment his jealousy is an unstoppable force. until he completely deflates in your arms and whimpers against your skin as you reassure him of his place in your life, being your special boy.

[lewmagoo]

favorite human spotlight

today’s spotlight is @sebsxphia!

what i love about them: seb and i have been mutuals for over a year at this point and i am so thankful for their friendship. they are always so sweet and encouraging, and are always willing to discuss concepts and ideas. i have loved getting to know you these last few months! you are precious and kind and such a light in this little community. i’m so glad you’re here.

some of my favorite works they’ve written:

ptolemaea - this series is one of my favorites. if you like horror and religious imagery, this one is for you. the way seb masterfully weaves themes from ethel cain’s preacher’s daughter all throughout this story is just so breathtaking. it’s sexy and dark and tragic, all in one. such an emotionally stirring read.

woodland creatures - i of course have to include this series. age regression is a very special thing for me and this series helped me really embrace that little part of me after it had been repressed for so long. it’s a series of soft, precious stories highlighting rhett abbott, bob floyd, and their darling. each story is so near and dear to my heart and makes me feel so safe. i am so glad these stories exist.

but there are so many more i could name. please refer to their masterlist for more fantastic stories and concepts!

thank you for all you do, seb. you’re wonderful.

[polarisbibliotheque]

Little Update + Nemesis and Survivor's Blood Shenanigans

Hello my dear little cryptids! I hope your days are doing fine and your cups of tea remain warm for a long time - or cold, if it's hot in your area!

Just a little update, I'm travelling today to a small town devoided of internet (I love it, I'm a woodland creature, as we call it in my language) and I might disappear for a while. But fret not! I'll be taking my pc with me and I'll keep writing and figuring out a way to post here whenever I have new stuff!

I'll probably write on my pc and then upload here from my cellphone, the only thing that will have some internet (it'll be precious, but I think I can manage it for 15 days).

Regarding the longfics!

On Survivor's Blood, I got to the final words I had before and now I'm completely on uncharted territory. As I said before, I started writing it in Portuguese and then translated to English - now, there's nothing. I'm freaking out, but luckily I had an outline already for this one, so I know where we're going xD

You might notice, though, a little tone difference. Use of words and such. I started writing it around 2 years ago and posted now, so I'm writing a little differently than before - plus, I think I have a different writing voice in Portuguese and in English, if that makes sense. I hope you like it, though!

On Nemesis, oh boy, we got new things coming!! I'm very excited! I got an idea for it the last couple of days and I'm just putting it down on paper to have a better understanding and view of what I want to do. I don't know how many chapters we'll have, but I hope I can do that thing I said before - having as many chapters as there's missions on a DMC game!

There'll be a lot of things to get to where I want to in the story, but I'm planning out to see if it works. Might take a while, but it'll be worth it! Plus, get ready for the slowburn of the century: the Reader and Vergil will stare at each other with the longing of a thousand years and then leave as if nothing has ever happenned for quite a while on this one.

I hope to see you soon here! I'll keep updating whenever I have the opportunity!

[snowdropluck204]

Beware the Spirits of the Vengeful ~ pt 2

_________________________

Ten Years Ago~

3rd Person pov

Happy giggles filled the garden as (y/n) sat watching the birds and the squirrels, smiling widely as they ran up to her and dropped nuts and berries on her lap. Creatures seemed to do this often with (y/n), as well as her mother (m/n). Residents of Beacon Hills would often see the pair walking around town or the park with big smiles on their faces, hands intertwined and a trail of woodland critters scuttling behind them.

Of course, it had been months since anyone had seen the two, (y/n) being taken out of public school early and (m/n) stuck in a hospital bed. “(y/n),” A calm voice was heard from inside the house, the little girl turned around, continuing to giggle as there was a sparrow nesting in her hair. “Lunch is ready sweetheart!” The (h/c) girl lifted her hand as the sparrow fluttered onto her finger, lifting her hand further, the bird then fluttered from her finger to the birdhouse before she ran into the house for lunch.

“Hi, Lissa!” (y/n) practically shouted as she rushed into the kitchen and into the arms of the awaiting Melissa McCall. The woman smiled and hoisted the girl into her arms. (y/n) was rewarded with a kiss on the forehead and a sandwich and the two of them watched as (y/n)’s father came through the front door, a grim look on his face.

“Dad!” The young girl cried, running up to her father and circling his legs. Her father tried to smile and looked over at Melissa with an even darker look. The woman covered her mouth in shock and realisation of the event that had transpired. Tears began to fill her eyes as she grabbed her purse, stroked the girl’s hair, hugged the distraught widower and swiftly left the now broken household.

“Hi pumpkin,” (d/n) began shakily, holding his daughter close to his chest, “Come sit down darling, I need to tell you something.” He said, tears filling his eyes as he looked at his precious baby who looked so similar to his precious wife. His precious (m/n) who was due to be added to the (l/n) mausoleum in a week.

Present day~

3rd Person pov

The Library of Beacon Hills High School was quiet, for the most part. Other than the crowd of teenage boys trying to get a look at the new girl, the tall teen werewolf and said new girl and the two boys following her. Whilst (y/n) and Isaac huddled close in front of a textbook as he tutored her, Scott and Stiles were hiding behind nearby bookshelves trying to get a peek at the girl and compare her to some pictures they’d found.

“So, from the research I did,” Stiles began, trying his hardest to keep his voice from jumping in volume in his excitement, “Her mom died when she was five or six and then a few months later, her babysitter reported her missing. You’ll never guess who her babysitter was Scott.” The mentioned Beta was staring at the girl, wondering if she seemed familiar, he was also trying to ignore the odd anger bubbling inside him as he saw Isaac inching closer to her. Stiles sighed and finished, “Melissa McCall.”

“What?” Scott asked, rather loudly, causing a few students, including (y/n) to turn and look at them. The boys barely managed to hide behind the shelves. The attention eventually went away and Scott continued, “Why was my mom babysitting her? Why have I never heard of her?” He asked. Stiles jumped a bit and showed his friend the police report from his bag.

“Yeah, see here,” He said, pointing at some typed text, “Your mom was recorded and they took her statement as the last person to see her and the person who reported her missing, for a while, the cops actually thought it was her that did it.” Scott couldn’t believe it. His mother, his loving, caring mother, was a suspect in potential child abduction.

Ten Years Ago~

Sheriff’s Office

The young mother sat sobbing in a rigid chair, her knees were shaking and her son was sat in the waiting room, playing with Stiles and a few toys. “Melissa, you need to calm down,” The Sheriff told her, pressing record on a tape recorder. “I need you to calm down and talk to me, okay?” He asked, the terrified woman nodded and breathed slowly. “Okay, can you tell me exactly what you are reporting?” He asked.

“A m-missing child,” Melissa sputtered, “Maybe an ab-abduction.” She whispered.

The Sheriff wrote everything down in an official report, “Alright, were you the last one that saw her?” He asked.

Melissa continued shaking and began, “I-I’m not sure. I think so. Her dad was at work and I was watching (y/n). We watched television, had some dinner, read some books and then I put her to bed. Her dad came home so I went back to my house with Scott, who I had brought with me.” Her voice began to waver again as she looked out at her son, sat happily without a care in the world, the same way (y/n) had been not twelve hours ago.

The Sheriff nodded and asked, “So, other than Mister (l/n), you were the last to see the victim?” The weeping woman nodded, “Alright, did you see anything strange between (y/n) and her father? Or her father in general?” He asked, offering Melissa a box of tissues.

Melissa wiped her tears and, through sniffles and hiccups, tried to relay what she had seen recently. “Well, when (m/n) p-passed away, (y/n) became a bit quieter, she didn’t smile as much but was still… well (y/n). (d/n) was destroyed when his wife died, he became really secluded, he stopped going to work and locked himself in his office for days at a time, leaving (y/n) with me.”

Sheriff Stilinski continued noting everything down, thoughts running through his head, ‘I have a feeling I know who did this and it wasn’t sweet Melissa McCall.’ He thought. Melissa’s whimpers brought back his attention.

“I know that (d/n) went back and forth between the house and visiting (m/n) in the mausoleum, he’s refusing to take (y/n) with him though, saying it would hurt and confuse her. I’m sorry but can we finish this now,” She continued, looking over at Scott and Stiles, “I feel awful enough already.” Melissa looked down into her lap.

The Sheriff nodded and stood to open the door for her, watching as she and Scott left the station, leaving Stiles to play on his own. ‘He’s going to wind up getting bored and bugging me so I best finish this quick.’ He thought, walking back to his desk and continuing the recording.

“I think it is safe to say that Melissa McCall had nothing to do with this, she had a strong relationship with (y/n), there are many people who can testify for her. The top suspect needing to be questioned now is her father (d/n) (l/n). It struck many people as odd that he wasn’t the first to report his daughter missing, unless of course, he knows where she is.” He finished, pressing stop on the recorder, taking the tape and adding it to the evidence.

Present Day~

3rd Person pov

“Dude,” Scott said, after reading the transcript of what was recorded that day. He was shocked that his mother was so close to the girl, that he was supposed to remember her too, but he didn’t. Why couldn’t he remember her? He looked back over at the girl, holding her picture up to see the comparisons.

Their face shape was the same, same nose, eyes, smile. That gorgeous, bright smile. Scott shook his head, ‘I have a girlfriend!’ He thought, thinking about Allison. Allison, the girl he hadn’t been able to see in public because of who her family is. Her family could kill him. In fact, they wanted to and tried to. They could turn on him in the snap of a finger. He saw a side of Allison at the Hale house that he had never wanted to see. She was going to kill Derek. Derek might be an ass but he was still a living being.

Then there was this, new girl. She seemed to be something special, something… inhuman. He couldn’t quite figure out what she was, something he would talk to Derek about, but whatever she was, it was incredible. Allison, well she was just human. He still liked her, but he wasn’t sure if he still loved her.

(y/n) pov

“What?” I heard, looking up from the textbook to see the two boys from my first class duck behind some bookshelves. I raised a brow before looking back at the textbook I was sharing with Isaac. Being so close to him was driving me crazy. I knew he had some sort of connection to the Alpha, but Isaac was just a Beta, a Beta that had Derek Hale’s scent vaguely on him. I could smell Hale from the mausoleum that night. I needed to find him.

Anyway, I tuned back in to my study session with Isaac as he began running through things, “I still can’t believe you’ve never read Romeo and Juliet!” He chuckled, oh that laugh, that smile. “It’s a classic, basically, two families in the city of Verona Italy, they each have one child, Romeo and Juliet, they meet, fall in love and wind up in a forbidden romance.” He told me in a purposefully deep voice to be funny.

I laughed as he made kissy faces at me, “Well, I never really went to school, I was home-schooled.” I told him, a lie yes, but I doubt he could tell. As far as I know, he hasn’t been turned for that long, this may even be his first full moon tonight. I was excited to see what would happen, I knew what happened to me in the full moon, I grew more powerful because more people called upon my kind.

We quickly finished out study session, after getting some dirty looks from the librarian about being noisy. We packed our books away and stood to leave, “Hey,” Isaac began, suddenly switching from his impish grin to a bashful smile. How is he this cute!? “I have Lacrosse practice now, but would you maybe wanna come watch? Cheer me on?” He asked, hopeful. I smiled, maybe it would be nice to take a break from the plan right now.

If I’m lucky, Derek might be there and I can speak to him, he knows the feeling of being betrayed by family. I looked into deep blue eyes and smiled, “Yeah I’d love to!” I told him, wishing him luck with a peck on the cheek and walked off to my locker, leaving the poor boy smiling a goofy smile in the middle of the hall.

Ten Years Ago~

3rd Person pov

(d/n) held his daughter’s hand as they walked slowly to the cemetery, “Let’s go visit your mama,” He said to her, watching as her smile lit up the room. Tears began to drip down his face as he slipped his other hand into his pocket and clenched his fist around the mausoleum key, contemplating his next moves.

He sat in front of the mausoleum for a while, watching as (y/n) picked flowers to give to (m/n), she insisted that she would love them, he knew deep down that whilst she would love the flowers, she wouldn’t like what he was about to do.

He watched his little girl smiling as she picked daisies and dandelions, watched her (e/c) eyes sparkle, her eyes. He watched as her cheeks turned a rosy hue as she thought of her mother, her rosy cheeks. Watched as her smile faded when he took her hand and brought her into the mausoleum when she hadn’t finished picking flowers, her smile.

He listened as her precious little voice shrieked when the door shut behind her, her dad no where to be found as he was locking the mausoleum from outside. “Dad!” She cried, her father blinking tears down his sallow face as she kicked and scratched the doors.

“Papa!” She screamed even louder, her eyes becoming used to the darkness to see the coffins surrounding her. She shook her head rapidly, refusing to believe what had just happened. Her dad would never do this, he’ll be back for her. Tears streamed down her now pale cheeks as she cried harder and louder until her throat hurt.

“Dad!!!”

________________

[lapinbunwrites]

Title: The Awkward Scene

Ratings: Gen

Warnings: None

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund

Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Marianne Von Edmund, Claude von Riegan

Additional Tags: Modern AU, Fairy Tale AU, Actor AU, Fluff

Word Count: 1,135

Ao3 Link

Fog crept through the dense, dark, and quiet forest. Marianne didn't mind the grogginess and damper atmosphere, she knew it all to well. It was rather relaxing on her way to her grandmother's house. She was adorned in her little red cap that was over her long white dress and she was carrying her basket full of treats for her ailing family member. As she was walking through the forest, she would hear some creatures scurry around the forest. There was one that was elusive. He was a big creature with fur all over his body and had burning blue eyes. He could stand on his two hind legs and walk easily through the scenery. If there was only one creepy thing about him, it was his deep blue eyes, he always saw straight into her soul. Whenever Marianne tried to interact with the wolf, he would always scurry away. She was able to win over the most stubborn of animals, but he would never warm up to her.

On her way to her grandmother's house, Marianne would hear the creature scurry about. She faintly smiled, following the sound of his feet stomping around. She walked until she got to an open field with small woodland creatures huddled around him. It was rather cute he had them all around him, and it was even cuter when he was confused to why they were around him. It made her very happy that he wasn't alone out here in the dark woods. Her smile grew bigger as she slowly walked towards him.

"It's, it's okay," she softly said, holding out her hand full of food.

The wolf growled at her, though it didn't deter her from getting closer.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she reassured him. "I just want to be your friend."

The growl slowly died down and he began to sniff her hand.

"It's jerky," she nervously laughed as he grabbed them out of her hand. She placed the basket down on the ground, pushing it with her foot towards him. "Have as much as you want."

Marianne watched as he devoured all the dried meat that she had with him. When he walked over to her, sniffing her body, she did her best to keep her composure and not shake. She knew that this was normal for dogs and wolves to warm up to anyone. She let out a sigh of relief when he thought of her as a friend when he was done with his assessment.

"What's your name," she asked, placing her hand on his head and trailing it through his fur.

"Dimitri," he replied, letting out a low growl.

"What a precious name," she smiled, stopping her hand. She watched him take a step back to get on his hind legs before getting close to her again.

"What is a beautiful woman like you doing out here? There are better places to be than out here with a creature like me," Dimitri said, placing one hand on the small of her back and entwining his other with hers. "There are scarier creatures out here who want to eat you up."

"Y-Yes, I-I know," her voice shaking as he pulled her closer to his chest. It was hard for her to hide the crimson red color on her face and there was no denying that they both could hear heart beat loud. "Wh-What are you doing?"

"I should ask you the same thing," Dimitri said, slowly lowering his mouth to her neck.

"I wa-was going to v-visit my grandmother," Marianne said, feeling a great sense of relief when she heard Claude yelled out.

"CUT!" Claude yelled, walking over to the two. "Dimitri what are you doing?"

"What is scripted," Dimitri replied, releasing Marianne from his grip. He took out his script, flipping through the pages to show Claude what he was talking about. "See, right there."

For a few seconds, Claude was silent before he burst out laughing. "Oh dear Goddess, I can't believe you actually did this."

"Claude," Dimitri growled scratching off the poorly made wolf costume.

"What is going on?" Marianne asked, finally composing herself.

"He actually did it and not ask any questions!" Claude laughed to the point tears came out of his eyes. "I can't believe you actually did it! I owe Hilda fifty bucks!"

"Claude," Marianne softly said.

"Oh, sorry," Claude apologized slowing his breathing. "The script he has a more intimate scene to it. Hilda bet me Dimitri would take this script seriously."

"Wait? How intimate?" Marianne asked, feeling the blood rush to her face again.

"Just a little kiss on the neck and on the lips," Claude said, finally able to breath again.

Marianne and Dimitri looked at each other, then looked away; both of their faces were crimson red.

"I-I don't think that's, uh," Marianne trailed off.

"It could have been worse," Dimitri muttered out.

Claude looked at them both, looking at their body language very carefully. He pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at them one last time. "I can't believe it. You two are actually in love with each other."

"What! No I'm not in love with him," Marianne lied, looking away from Dimitri.

"I have never thought of us like that before," Dimitri lied, peeling off the rest of the wolf costume.

"Well, I know what I must do tonight," Claude schemed, giving them both a devious look. "So why don't you go back home for the night and we can try to tape again. And by the way Dimitri, Hilda is going to literally have your hide for destroying her costume."

"It's what she gets for this whole script debacle," Dimitri said, flustered.

"I'm, I'm going to go change," Marianne softly said, waving them both goodbye before heading to her trailer.

She was able to change out of her costume rather quickly; it was just a few fabrics layered over each other. Marianne let out a little sigh before sitting at her desk with a giant mirror, illuminated by the lights that were on it. She place rested her head on her arm, playing with a spherical object that was left on her desk. Her mind couldn't get Dimitri out of her mind; he was tall, he was handsome, and she could swim in those blue eyes of his. On top of that, he was a very kind, caring, and charming man. Maybe it wasn't a bad thing for her to fall for him. Maybe she will ask on a date after wrapping up this movie. Hopefully she could survive whatever Claude schemed up after making another revision to his script, but she knew she would since she knew most, if not all, of Claude's schemes. If not, she knew Hilda would tell her all of them.

---------------------------------------

Here is a little DimiMari for @toon-kirby as a revenge fic for the FE 3H art scuffle. I was originally going to go with Marianne and Ignatz since I do like them more, but when I thought of a fairy tale I thought of Red Riding Hood. No surprise that I saw this when I was trying to fall asleep. But it didn't fit Marianne and Ignatz so I went with Dimitri and Marianne instead. Plus an event bonus for it being Dimitri's birthday. Hope you like it!

[i-am-so-normal-about-wildlife]

Who's ready for Mackenzie lore because of this silly meme?

Many moons ago, when this town was but a woodland, I met a creature time and science had forgotten. It spoke in melodic cries, singing as if part of an opera. In that elderly twilight, the creature made a deal with me.

Now, in our current day, I yearn to take back what I so feverously tossed aside. For now, when the tavern screams and shouts, when the bard honey their words into a great song, and when I walk into store's with immense lights; I am afraid to say my body is racked with an intense pain. It makes me twist my head, to hit my chest, to yell and scream like a man on fire.

When I was but a boy, gazing up at the stars, I made a pledge to help people.

I knew the pain of suffering without assistance, I would never wish that upon my greatest enemy. I once believed I could join the healer's guild, where I could tend to the sickly and relieve them of a life of pain. With one look at their luminous candles and thunderous machines soon crushed my ideas.

So there I stayed, in the murky bogs and forgotten forests, where I assisted the passing travellers the little I could. Feeding the hungry, patching up the injured and telling stories to those who wanted a laugh. Little by little, I learned of the tragedies befall the land I call home. Men and women that were once heroes tore out precious peat to make houses, forests turned to rotten shells, beasts of foreign lands tearing the land apart. Healers turned locusts, their pure intentions made the world crumble.

When I look back on that encounter, that thing telling me I could save everyone with it's help, I wonder if it knew. Did it know afflicting me with this curse would banish me to this viridian, vanishing world that I would learn to protect the ones who needed it most.

Did they know?

[nabataprophet]

@enarmor asked:

"Ah, Nayler!"

He knows it isn't her name. Sophia is what they had called the little shaman. But it's all too fun and nostalgic to use the identities they met with.

"These are for you! I caused you quite a bit of distress back there, so I figured I ought to apologize. When next we meet, how about we be friends?"

He sticks out his hand and offers her a bag big enough to fill his entire palm. Inside is a month's supply of sunflower seeds, their shells already painstakingly removed.

She knows his real name is Sain, just like he knows her real name is Sophia. Professor Kent had leaned over the railing during the trial to chide him with his true name, after all. They must be close if they could call on each other with such ease.

(If he is truly Professor Kent's companion, that puts her in a bit of an awkward position. The Elibe he is familiar with is one displaced in time for her.)

If he wants to call her by her role, though, then it is only fair that she responds in kind.

"...Captain?" Sophia tilts her head. "For... me?"

She accepts the bag gingerly and tugs on the drawstring to reveal the treasures inside: sunflower seeds. Quite the number of them, at that. Does... does he perhaps see her as some sort of bird or small woodland creature? Even after she threatened him with dark magic?

What a strange man.

"Um... thank you... sunflowers are... common in my village, so this... reminds me of home. I'm... very happy." Not that it shows on her face, but she clutches the bag to her chest like a precious gift. "Friends... I would... like that, I think."

[andy-clutterbuck]

1x01 | Days Gone Bye

[2-dsimp]

Brain rotting from kitsune Tartaglia since Tartar is associated with foxes. Then kitsune Thoma and Tartaglia fighting over a darling.

Oh my!

You know there’s a ton of routes of where this could go from but since I’m keeping PG until I turn 18 in a month it’s gonna be fluffy ride ✨

Kitsune Thoma + Childe

fighting over S/O🔪

🩸Thoma overall is more of a pacifist but if it came down to something he considered of importance such as his family, best believe he’d throw paws at anybody or anything threatening his sanctuary

🩸That of which was you

🩸He already claimed you, so then why was this no good wretched Fatui trying to take what was explicitly his? He clearly marked his territory so kind of brave fool would be so bold as to trample upon the boundaries of what he called his

🩸It happened on the day where he was out commanding the troops against the invaders, He was confident in leaving his darling alone seeing as they thought of the Kamisato Clan as their new home

🩸But he didn’t take into consideration of his Darlings small yearning of wanting to be adventurous, and succumbing to their inner temptations they traveled just outside the Yashiro Residence

🩸And happened to run across a small orange fox who looked wounded and in bad condition they looked up with their big puppy dog eyes and you couldn’t help but to feel compelled to help out the poor “woodland creature”

🩸The fox offered no resistance as they relaxed and practically gave you the once over with their sapphire blue intelligent eyes checking you out with something akin to intrigue and curiosity

🩸You could’ve sworn that the mysterious worn a mischievous smug look on his snout as if he could understand everything you’re saying and was mocking you for talking to him in a baby voice

🩸Feeling embarrassed you quickly stopped and started to talk in your normal voice

🩸But nonetheless he showed no complaints when he was tucked against your supple chest heading onwards to your forever home

🩸Childe was such a rowdy playful Fox for despite having wounds almost like battle scars littered across his lean muscled physic, he’d always nip at you, while limping around the house like a damn crackhead, and overall was just a Chatty Cathy

🩸He still keep his distance from you sensing that you already had a mate as the scent was wafting off of you in strong waves, the one who bonded you must be strong he noted with curiosity

🩸He wondered who would be the winner if he were to fight your mate, for some reason his blood began to pump as his tail wagged in excitement of the fated outcome

🩸Childe also grew to like you as he felt the tender way you’d dress his wounds with care treating him almost as if he were made of glass

🩸And god your bright smile that sent shivers down his spine everytime you’d looked at him as he was the most precious thing in the world, your voice like honey as you conversed with him out of the blue talking to him as if he were a person

🩸Asking about how his day was, what kind of food did he like which he answered with non-verbal gestures since he couldn’t really talk in his fox form, providing him with a comfortable spot on your bed

🩸You really were the perfect mother for his kits

🩸Regardless of the fight he’s sure to have with your mate, he wanted you to himself

🩸It was basically a win-win in his book as he’d get a challenging fight and the perfect mate for his future kits

🩸While still appreciating the company since it can get lonely waiting for Thoma to return from his duties you took care of the troublemaker making sure they was feed and groomed

🩸When suddenly instead of keeping a comfortable distance away from you the fox began to rub up against you letting out little trills as it rubbed its snout against your neck, wagging tail almost hitting your face

”My lovely mate, I’m home—!!”

🩸Only to stop mid-sentence by the stench of another male clogging up his sharp nose with their musky stench, eyes dilated he quickly made the connection as he saw the ginger fox splayed all over your body looking back at him defiantly

🩸*Que intense growling*

🩸Barely managing to keep his composure he’s observant nature managed to piece together why this homewrecker was in his territory, due to the obvious wrapped bandages around his stomach and fore legs he deduced that unfortunately you were too kind to turn away this… Heathen in need

”I see your just as generous as always my darling but it seems that he’s healed and ready to be return to the wild, where he belongs ”

🩸No time was wasted when he snatched the little bugger up by the scruff of his neck outta your embrace, paying no mind to the determined attempts to struggle out of his hold paired with growls and full on bites to anywhere Childe could get his snout to

🩸Once they were out of earshot he tossed the fox like as if he were a bag of trash and stared down at him with teeth bared and eyes glowing with spite, his five tails where puffed up and ears were pinned back in a defensive stance

“Just who do you think you are?”

🩸The fox now turned human merely licked his lips as a snarky smirk found it’s way onto his face, he replied back with a short quip unapologetic as ever

“Their new mate that’s what”

🩸long story short nobody was the victor but they both got some good hits in since they were interrupted by you rushing out to bid one last goodbye to the fox who kept you company

🩸At the last minute Childe turned into a fox

🩸Upon seeing the newly acquired wounds on Thoma and the fox you scolded them and took Childe into your arms of which he missed so much even though it’d been only 10min away from your loving arms

🩸Walking them both back to where you’d nurse them back to health

🩸Meanwhile Thoma was death glaring the fox, while Childe could only look as if he was the cat who ate the canary and so the rivalry continues

[shirks-all-responsibilities]

Getting into the spooky season and this looked like an intriguing read. The tragic plight of Frankenstein's monster has always pulled at every one of my tender little heartstrings, but I did not expect to have my lil melancholy existential heart sincerely squished so hard by what you've done with this fairytale-style AU written so earnestly, humbly, and simply?

Poor lonely, tortured, abandoned Tim here with that good heart and strong moral compass at his core, having to endure those achingly-sad vast passages of time, watching lifetimes pass (I LOVED that line "for more years than be counted, enough so that he passes into legend", what a satifsying turn of phrase), my heart? Tim slowly learning to discover peace after so long, all starting with a chance change in routine? The poignancy of Tim being unused to precise, intricate movement and spending so much effort in making meaningful things for the reader?? Tim always feeling like he has to be useful to be worth anything, until reader tells him they like him just as he is, that they like his very nature? That moving ending? 🥹🥹🥹

I was like the Vince McMahon reaction meme personified at how you kept upping the ante in making me EMOSH with Tim's every interaction with the woodland creatures, I mean???? Tim helping them with their nests and burrows? Oh and then Tim lifting fallen baby birds back into their nests?? Oh but then Tim gathering baby bunnies to safety??? Oh wait then Tim helping BIRTH A NEWBORN WITTLE PRECIOUS DEER to come into the world???? I cannot COOOOPE, my hearttt, halpppppp! 😆😌🥹🥹

The understated and simple, quiet style of writing in this makes the emotions stand out all the more for me, there's a honesty in this piece that I appreciate so much and don't see enough of, thank you so much for sharing it.

And what inspiration from that moodboard! Though then I saw @almostfoxglove's OTHER Tim moodboard here which in the context of your story hurts my heart even moarrrrrr! (just look at his gigantic, broad shoulders in that bottom pic, is that not your Tim!).

And THENNNN I had to go and read your comments about what happens next in the story and OH MY GAHHH MY HEARTTTTT. 😭❤️

What Was I Made For?

3.1K / Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Left on his own, Tim learns a new way to live.

Warnings: None! Age gap cause Tim’s like hundreds of years old 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Semi-sentient woodland creatures that meddle, I guess 🤭

A/N: Inspired by @almostfoxglove’s beautiful AU moodboard below - if you haven't already, check out that post and the tags, along with all her other AU moodboards! Thank you so much for sharing them with us 🥹🥰

Title by Billie Eilish / Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 🥰

For a very long time, Tim did not go outside during the daytime.

Father said not to.

And even though Father has been gone for many years, Tim still heeded his words.  His being the only voice Tim had ever heard.

He still doesn’t know why Father left.  He’s even less sure of why he never returned.

Merge Mansion remains dark, even during the day.  Its halls empty, its candelabras unlit.  If anyone was to pass through the ivy choked iron gates and listen at its door, and no one ever did, they would hear only the skittering of mice and the occasional heavy footstep, so slow and deliberate it could be mistaken for the heartbeat of a slowly dying house.

Only ever at night, Tim goes out to the woods behind the now dusty and crumbling mansion.  Those same woods where Father would have him lift, throw, break - repeatedly.  And Father would write furiously in his notebooks.  Tim thinks maybe that’s what he was made for.

For more years than can be counted, enough so that he passes into legend, Tim continues to do what he knows.  He uproots trees and plants and heaves them over knolls and into streams.  He rolls boulders and smashes rocks.  He haunts the forest alone until the dawn threatens to pierce through the thick overhang of the old growth trees; hiding within the moss-covered stone walls of the only home he’s ever known until night brings cover once again.

Until one night after so many nights, he just… doesn’t.  Instead of his nightly exertion to prove something to the darkness, Tim just sits and bathes in the pureness of the moonlight.  He breathes in the earthy musk of the forest’s damp soil and the sweet scent of pine mixed with bark sap.  Instead of his own laboured breathing, Tim finally hears the babbling of the brooks, the hooting of the owls, and soft breeze whistling between the low berry bushes and the high tree tops.  Tim doesn’t know if he was made to be at peace, but he finds that he can do it all the same.

He teaches himself to read.  At first using words Father would say and the signs he would point to in the room Tim lived in: Lock.  Unlock.  Hot.  Cold.  On.  Off.  Danger.  Stop.

Then from books about nature that he finds in the library, remembering words that Father would use to describe their surroundings when in the woods that Tim now knows so well.

Tree.  Rock.  Hill.  Hole.

It takes a very, very long time.  But Tim has nothing but time.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right - he has no one to ask.  Not that he could even if there was.  He says the words in his head the way he thinks they sound, but with no voice, never out loud.  He wasn’t made for that.

It’s no matter.  Even if he isn’t sure he’s sounding them out properly, Tim thinks he’s assigned the words to the pictures in the books of animals and landscapes correctly.  There are other books, as well.  Ones with illustrations that are foreign to him and where the words denote meaning that he doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he learns them anyways:  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  Love.

In his woods, Tim no longer destroys: he clears, builds, tends.  Tim carves out paths that feel softer on the bottoms of his lumbering feet.  He removes dead branches from healthy trunks and uses them to sweep the forest floor.  He rolls away dead trees, some fell by age or disease, others by his own hand in the olden days when he thought that was what he was made for.

He still only does these things under the cover of night.  Father had said to be afraid of the village at the bottom of the looming hill upon which Merge Mansion perched.  He warned Tim that if he was discovered, the villagers would come and hurt them both.  Tim wishes that he had known the words or had the voice to tell Father that he would have protected him.  That perhaps it was the villagers who should have been afraid of him. Father’s notebooks say that he was built to be fierce. 

The bunnies in the woods do not seem to think so.  Nor the foxes, or the badgers, or the mice.  The deer do not find Tim to be fearsome, and the birds readily to flock to him.

He supposes it’s because he starts to help them build their nests; his long legs easily carry him to the farthest corners of the woods where the best nesting materials can be gathered.  He volunteers his big, pawlike hands to dig their burrows and holes.  His strength he uses to drag logs and branches to where whole furry families reside, breaking the thick wood into smaller pieces to help them expand and fortify their homes for their growing broods and the incoming weather.  He’s tall enough to lift baby birds back into their nests when they fall out before they’re ready to fly.  He forages and shares all his bounty, himself having no need for sustenance. 

Tim would not mind if this is what he was made for.

The years continue to pass.  The village at the bottom of the hill gets less busy, smaller, and is eventually gone.  Tim only knows because he witnesses the number of tiny square windows illuminated by bright candles during the night, dwindle until there is only darkness.

From the now dilapidated walls of Merge Mansion, Tim watches as what remains of the village rots and is reclaimed by the Earth.  It looks less frightening to him the way it stands now, wild and lush - much more like his beloved forest where he’s only ever known friendly creatures.

It’s the bunnies who convince him to come out in the daytime. 

It had been an especially abundant year for the rabbits, with baby bunnies almost overrunning the forest floor.  The mamas plead with Tim using their big brown eyes to help round up their little ones and keep them safe, making sure none of them strayed too far from the safety of the woods.

Little bunnies are hard to see in the dark.

The first time Tim steps outside during the day, he’s so blinded by the sky’s brightness that he thinks perhaps his eyes were not made for sunlight.  His forest is so green in the daytime.  A richness of browns with the occasional pop of red, blue, even lavender.  In the winters, the snow is so white during the day it appears almost clear.  Once the snow has melted, the streams splash with fish that jump during the day – something that never happens at night.  The sun’s beams warm Tim’s rough skin in a way the moon’s cold, comfortable ambiance never has.  The sounds of the forest are so much louder, cheerier in the day than they are at night – it strikes Tim as odd given it’s the same forest but he supposes he feels more alive during the day as well.

The deer are the ones that lead him out of the forest and to the front of the house.  The overgrown grass on the Merge Mansion hill begs to be grazed on, and with the village gone, Tim and the deer while away many days unseen and unbothered amongst the soft green blades – looking out to a splendid view of rolling plains and sprawling forests stretching all the way to the horizon.  He never strays far from the house - still heeding Father’s words of caution even though the dangers he warned against look to be long gone.

Tim doesn’t even know that another village has sprung up somewhere on the other side of a low mountain that he considers to be more than a fair distance away until you.  The first time he sees you, you’re but a little girl and you come with your own father to the cemetery that rests at the bottom of his hill, where it once bordered the old village.  The same cemetery from which Father gathered the parts that make up Tim as he is, if Father’s notebooks are to be believed.  The deer scamper away before you or your father see them, but Tim stays and hides, watches.

He hears your father tell you that these graves belong to your ancestors who once lived in the old village that’s now gone and that even though you live on the other side of the mountain, you should still pay your respects.  Tim listens to your cheery chatter and the hum of your father’s merry tunes as the two of you clean the gravestones, pull the weeds, plant fresh gardens.

You and your father come every week and Tim begins to look forward to it.  He watches you grow into a beautiful woman and your father into an old man.  He listens to the musical lilt of your voice and the gentle teasing of your father as the two of you care for and nurture the plot of land at the base of the Merge Mansion Hill so that it grows vibrant and fragrant with flowers that he’s only ever seen in Father’s books.  He hears your father tell you stories he heard as a child about the house that Tim lives in – the legend of a mad scientist and a terrible monster.  Tim doesn’t know why, but he feels relief when you laugh at these stories and call them ridiculous.

When your father stops coming with you, Tim watches over you in his stead.  You continue to do your duty in the cemetery joyfully and your sweetness is like an invitation.  The bunnies and the foxes and the mice and the deer all come down to join you.  You laugh and share your food with them and they enjoy your company as much as you do theirs.  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  He thinks he finally understands.  When his furry friends turn their soulful eyes up to the house, Tim knows they’re looking to him to come down but he shakes his head no.  He’s not made for this.

He doesn’t know that you see him anyways.

You’ve known he was there since the days you would come to this cemetery with your father as a little girl.  Most times as just a shadow on the Merge Mansion grounds, but once or twice you had seen Tim’s handsome, haunted face in one of the cracked windows.

You don’t know who he is or what he is, but some how you know that you have to pretend that you’re unaware of his presence.  As if for some laughable reason, he finds you to be frightening.

So, you try to make yourself to be as nonintimidating as possible.  You wear soft flowing fabrics that lie prettily over your equally soft skin in pleasing colours that compliment the hue of your hair and the brightness of your eyes.  You keep your voice gentle and the sound of your notes harmonious when you sing or hum your favourite songs of love and fantasy.  When your father tells you the old stories of the Merge Mansion Monster, you make sure to loudly decry this characterization.  Your unseen friend is not a monster, and you want to make sure that he knows you know that.

Your woodland friends who proclaim to know him best seem to say, give him time.  So you do, waiting patiently for a sign.  For what?  You don’t know.  Just a sign for more.

It comes one summer day, many, many years after your weekly trips to the cemetery became solo trips.  For two weeks, you’ve been in a state of mild panic, unable to find the delicate gold chain necklace that your father gave you - his last gift to you before he passed.  A part of you fears that it may have come unclasped and dropped onto the path some time during your weekly trip to the Merge Mansion cemetery; your heart clenches – if that was the case, your treasured necklace is surely lost.

Your surprise when you find your necklace waiting for you on top of a gravestone next to a small tied bundle of lavender is palpable.  Your eyes threaten to overflow with tears as you look up the hill to the house and mouth, thank you.

You don’t know that you had actually lost your necklace next to this very gravestone and that one of your bluebird friends had carried it up to Tim in its beak.  Tim spends two weeks practicing making the small bouquet of lavender – his large and clumsy hands unused to the precise and delicate movements required.  He refers to the instructions in the book he found so many times he can see the diagrams in his sleep.  But he keeps trying until he gets it right – wanting to offer you something more than just your returned necklace as a token of his appreciation for all the work you do.  Holding the delicate chain in his oversized hand, he can’t stop looking at it glittering in the moonlight and admiring its intricate craftsmanship.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Well, second.

The next week, Tim discovers a large and fragrant bouquet of the cemetery’s best and biggest blooms laid outside of his iron gates.

Three weeks later, on the same gravestone, you find those flowers dried and pressed, then laced together in a pretty flower crown.

You weave your own from new fresh flowers and leave it in place of the dried one you take home.  The following week, the crown you made is gone, and in its place, a large pile of fresh wild berries that must come from the forest behind the mansion.

The squirrels had objected, but Tim promised that the reduction of berries from their weekly hoard would be for a good cause.  You helped prove him right the following week when he returned from the hill with a jar of wild berry jam which he happily shared.

This continues for months.  Each week a small, thoughtful trinket exchanged - neither you or Tim having much to offer except your consideration and time.  The giddy anticipation and resulting awe a gift in itself.

The day you bring a blanket that took you six weeks to knit, you’re imbued with a bravery (the source of which is unknown even to you) that brings you all the way to Tim’s doorstep.  The heavy door opens when you push against it, but no one answers when you call out.

While Tim is in the woods assisting with the birth of a newborn deer, you’re wandering the dark, musty halls of Merge Mansion.  You find where you think Tim must sleep: in a room that looks like a lab - electrical wire equipment, gurneys, restraints and medical utensils long since pushed against the walls of the room and abandoned.

You read the notebooks left behind by the scientist and seethe on Tim’s behalf.  To call him a Creature!  To experiment on him and put him through trials of endurance and strength as if he was merely an instrument for violence!  You’re grateful that Tim’s creator must be long dead by now, else he might not be able to escape the vitriol you feel rising in your chest at the mistreatment Tim endured at his hand.

You leave the blanket and the mansion in a hurry.

When Tim comes back into the house, he knows immediately that you were there.  He smells you.  The sweet floral perfume from your garden and the sticky scent of fruit from your jams hangs in the air.  Nothing in this house or the forest smells quite so lovely.  You were here. 

With growing distress, he finds your thoughtful gift in the room where he sleeps and knows that you’ve read Father’s notebooks.  You know the truth of what he is now.  He’ll never see you again.

But you come back.

You leave him a letter and for three weeks, he reads it every day. 

It’s a letter that tells him about yourself and your family, and how you came to be his weekly visitor.  You tell him how you’ve always known he’s been there but you were afraid to scare him away so you never let on that you saw him.  You tell him that now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re not quite so angry at Father but you do think that he didn’t understand Tim’s true nature, or perhaps, you concede, he simply wasn’t gifted enough time to understand. 

You tell him what you think of his nature.  In your experience, men who are strong are rarely gentle and those who harness power are hardly ever giving.  But Tim is.  His hands, arms and muscles may be sewn together from much lesser men, but he, Tim, wields his strength to protect and look after others.  His heart may not be able to pull down trees or break rock, but it’s tender and pure – and where his true power lies.

You write that even though you’ve never met him face to face, you only ever feel safe and cared for knowing he’s around.  And you hope that even if he never forgives you for trespassing in his home and going through his personal belongings without his permission, he will take your words to heart.

Every week you come back to the doors of Merge Mansion bearing a small gift and a big apology, but Tim is nowhere to be found.  You’re starting to fear that you’ve crossed an unforgiveable boundary and ruined your indescribable but cherished connection, when the most wonderous sight awaits you as you near the top of the hill nearly a month after you left your letter.

Tim. 

Impossibly large and broad, a hulk of a man is sitting on the front steps waiting for you.  His face is hard, lined from time and worry, but his eyes are soft and vulnerable.  You see some trace of old scars along his forehead and neck, and down the worn skin that stretches over the corded muscles of his forearms.  His clothes are outdated and entirely the wrong size, but somehow it works on him.  He looks formidable.  Wild, yet tame.  Handsome.

You run to him, beaming.  Tim stands when you come to a stop in front of him, towering over you as he holds out a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the forest lands behind his home that he tends to so carefully.

When you reach out to accept, your small fingers brush his larger calloused ones, and the jolt of electricity that passes between the two of you feels like pure joy.  And although Tim can only offer a quiet grunt, unable to say the words that he wishes he could sing with his whole chest, you understand him perfectly.  Your incandescent smile and hopeful expression reassure him that you too, recognize the simple, unspoken truth: Tim was made for you.

🎶Obligatory Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For lyrics🎶:

'Cause I, 'cause I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try I don't know how to feel But someday I might Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be Something I wait for Something I'm made for Something I'm made for