#pelting them with small stones

[gelarshiesprofruitboarder]

hey juys

[muffinlance]

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: In The Serpent's Den.

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.7k.

TW: Non/Con, Hybrid AU, AFAB!Reader, Cobra!Suguru, Rabbit!Reader, Biting, Aphrodisiacs, Heat Cycles, Oviposition, Manipulation, Biting, Breeding Kinks, and Predator/Prey Dynamics.

“It’s time to come out, little rabbit.”

 His tone was sickly sweet, lulled into something saccharine and tempting, only slightly distorted by the uncommon shape of his tongue. Despite his melodic coaxing, you curled further into yourself – pulling your thighs flush to your chest and burying your knees in your face, doing your best not to breathe, not to cry, not to make a sound. The temptation to uncurl yourself entirely and run, run, run until you found somewhere small and dark and safe gnawed on the back of your mind, but it never would’ve worked. You were in Suguru’s enclosure, Suguru’s territory, and there was nowhere to run where he wouldn’t be able to follow.

“I’m losing my patience, little rabbit. If you come out now, I promise I’ll try to hold myself back.”

Why was he even looking for you? It’d been weeks since his eccentric, white-haired owner forced you into the sprawling greenhouse that made up Suguru’s enclosure, and he’d never paid you a second glance. You did your best to avoid him, to make sure you never crossed his path while he was prowling for a meal. You could count the number of times he’d acknowledged you on a single hand, and he’d never so much as lunged at you. You couldn’t imagine why he’d decided you’d make a good meal now, after weeks of relatively peaceful cohabitation. Maybe he’d gotten tired of keeping you around, of having to share his territory with another hybrid – one so far below him on the food chain. Maybe, this was just the first time he’d gotten hungry enough to hunt you down.

You heard branches shift, twigs break, and instantly, all of your thoughts (rational and otherwise) were replaced with a frantic, buzzing static. “You’re only making this worse for yourself,” Suguru went on, and his voice was too loud, too close. You’d tucked yourself into the densest patch of foliage you could find, but your white ears and cottony tail stood out like blood on snow against the vivid greens and blacks of the flora. Suddenly, trying to hide at all felt stupid. Rabbits weren’t supposed to hide. Rabbits were supposed to die and get eaten by the big, mean snakes who preyed on them. “I’m going to find you, and when I do, you’re only going to be sorry you made me wait as long as I have.”

You could hear the dull drag of scales moving over rough stone, the ebbing ‘hiss’ that formed a slight lisp at the end of each sentence. You raised your head just far enough to see a large, black shape move in front of you, and something buried deep inside of you cracked and spilled open.

Running wasn’t a choice – it was the only option. You were on your feet in a second, sprinting deeper into the greenhouse in another. The direction didn’t matter. As long as you got away from him, nothing else mattered.

Blindly, you vaulted over fallen branches and overgrown roots, rotting leaf litter threatening to steal your balance as you veered away from the beaten path and threw yourself into the tangled wilderness. If Suguru was chasing you, you couldn’t hear him – the world little more than a blur of color and your own racing pulse. You just needed to find somewhere better to hide, somewhere he’d forgotten. A tunnel, or a tree hollow, or a cave dark enough to hide your snowy pelt from prying eyes. You just needed to—

 Your trek came to an abrupt end as your collided with a pane of thick, emerald-tinted glass and were sent crashing to the ground. It took you a second to process what you’d run into – the wall of the greenhouse, the edge of Suguru’s enclosure – and another to remember that you weren’t in the wilderness, anymore, that you wouldn’t find a tunnel or a cave or anywhere else to hide that hadn’t been created deliberately to trick animals like you into to think they were safe. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so desperate. You might’ve gone looking for Suguru yourself, if you hadn’t been too scared to remember what it meant to be caged.

Fighting back tears, you started to scramble onto your feet, but it was already too late. There was no sound, no warning, just a sudden pressure against your back and an agonizing pain burrowed into the side of your throat. His fangs were planted in your neck before you could so much as scream, his strong tail wrapped around your legs and his arms crossed over your midriff, keeping your body locked against his as he pinned you to the ground. You expected his venom to burn, to be able to feel death as it flooded into your veins, but instead, there was only a slight numbing sensation around the point of insertion, a distant fog over your senses that might’ve just been your own fading adrenaline. If anything, you felt…

You felt warm.

Suguru took his time pulling away, his ribbon-like tongue flickering over the skin of your throat before he lifted his head. You weren’t facing him, one of your cheeks pressed into the dirt, but you could just barely see him out of the corner of your eye, make out the dark hair tucked behind his shoulders, the pitch-black scales littered over his face, his chest. You knew he was a snake, but you thought you might’ve heard his owner call him something else, once or twice. A ‘cobra’, maybe, but you’d never met a cobra before. You felt safer thinking of him as a snake.

He opened his mouth, but you were already babbling. Trying not to cry had been useless. Tears poured down your cheeks unabashedly, blurring your vision and making it that much harder to spit something coherent out. “P-please don’t eat me – I’m really small for a rabbit, and I promise I won’t taste very good, and I—”

“Quiet, little rabbit.” You’d been wrong, before. You didn’t feel warm, no, you felt hot – something deep inside of you beginning to smolder at the sound of his voice. Immediately, you shut your mouth, and he rewarded you with a raspy chuckle. “You thought I was going to… to eat you?” You nodded stiltedly, and he went on. “Ah, no wonder you were so afraid. And here I thought my timid little bunny just didn’t like me very much.”

“…’m sorry.” You must’ve run farther than you realized. A few minutes of sprinting shouldn’t have left you this breathless, this dazed. “You… You aren’t going to eat me?”

“No, bunny. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But, you bit—”

“I gave you a present.” Another dry chuckle, his tongue flitting over the back of your neck. “Just a little something to make sure you wouldn’t be so shy. You should already be feeling better.”

You weren’t sure that you felt better, but you didn’t feel scared, either. A different feeling had taken the place of your fear – the sensation viscous and churning and prone sending pangs of dull, burning pain to the pit of your stomach. You had to make a conscious effort to move your lips, and even then, it was hard to get any sound past your suddenly dry throat. Suguru waited patiently, seemingly more than happy to watch you stumble over your own tongue. “It’s really warm,” you managed, eventually. “I think I might be… tired?”

“Oh, of course. I forgot how easy it is for prey animals to wear themselves out. I’ll take you back to my nest, where you’ll be able to rest safely.” It wasn’t a question, but you nodded eagerly. Safe. You wanted to be safe. You couldn’t remember what you needed to be safe from anymore, though.

He uncurled, but didn’t pull away from you. Rather, your smaller body was pulled against his broad chest as he took you in his arms and carried you through the greenhouse. His destination was a raised loft – set above the wild foliage of his enclosure, accessible only by a sparsely wrung ladder you never would’ve had a hope of climbing on your own. His nest wasn’t at all like a rabbit’s nest, either. Rather than a deep, dark tunnel padded with fur and leaves, he’d taken you to a mess of tangled roots and woven blankets, all piled onto one another to form a box-like bed. Your form, limper than you would’ve liked it to be, was laid on a relatively soft patch, and Suguru positioned himself above you; upper body supported by his forearms, his never-ending tail taking up whatever space you left unoccupied. You wanted to sleep, to do what he said you should, but he was still touching you – dragging a single, clawed finger down your chest and over your midriff, only pausing at your waist to draw slow, swirling patterns into your hip. “My venom has a unique side-effect, you know,” he muttered, his voice low and soothing, the tapered tip of his tail lashing from side to side as he spoke. “A full dose would be fatal. It’d be fast, too – a few seconds of screaming, a few seconds of twitching, and then—” He paused, clicked his tongue. “—dead, just like that. It’s a little anti-climactic, to be honest.”

Something deep inside of you began to throb. You shrunk into yourself, trying to relieve the pulsing ache, but Suguru mistook your agony for fear. “In controlled portions,” he continued, splaying his open palm over your hip. “The symptoms are much more pronounced. Humans tend to get all feverish and clumsy, but hybrids—”

Again, he paused. His hand drifted lower – first to your thigh, then your cunt. You didn’t realize you were dripping until his cold fingertips skirted over your slit, gathering up the slick already staining the inside of your thighs.

“Hybrids go into heat.”

A cold wave of dread washed over you, and Suguru’s smile widened.

“…heat?”

“Heat, little rabbit.”

His hand lingered on your pussy, two of his massive fingers splitting apart your lips and making room for his tongue to lap gingerly over your entrance. The sensation was strange – not good and not bad, a little ticklish – but your hips bucked as it flickered over your clit. You knew better than to get so close to a snake’s mouth, but you couldn’t seem to move, to think about anything but getting closer, closer to anything that could touch and poke and lick you. “Is heat—” You started, only to be cut off by a cracked whimper as the throbbing in your core intensified. “Is it supposed to hurt?”

“Only for a while.” His deep voice reverberated against your cunt, and you couldn’t stop yourself; attempting to rock your hips against his mouth with a high-pitched whine. It was embarrassing to be so needy, so desperate, but Suguru didn’t seem to mind, only ghosting his lips over the inside of your thigh as he pushed you back down. “But, you’ll need a mate to help you through it. Do you want a mate?”

“Y-Yes! Mate!” You’d never felt this empty, before. It was a little like hunger, but not as jagged, not as desolate. It was more of an absence than anything more tangible; a total and complete vacancy that had to be filled. You tried to roll onto your stomach, to scramble onto your hands and knees and present yourself, but Suguru held you in place with minimal effort. Your protest came in the form of a drawn-out whine, a waving sound Suguru mocked with a low coo and an airy laugh. “Please, please, it hurts, Suguru, I can’t— I need—”

“You need cock,” he finished, his tone one of pure, undeniable satisfaction. With a sigh, he picked himself up, straightening his back and towering above you. You felt saliva pool at the bottom of your mouth as the junction between his upper body and his tail came into view – pale skin slowly giving way to ebony scales, the sculpted muscle of his chest meeting the plated armor below his hips. His hand fell away from you, but you couldn’t mourn the loss of contact, not when your attention was so fixated on the thin, almost invisible slit just below his pubic bone. His fingertips slipped shallowly inside of it, and his gaze shifted back to you. “Come, little bunny. I think you’ve earned another treat.”

The encouragement was appreciated, but unnecessary. You were already crawling towards him, your limbs uncooperative and your movements jolting but your resolve absolute. There was still a throbbing emptiness inside of you, getting worse and more demanding with each neglectful second, but all you could think about was settling onto your knees in front of Suguru and drooling at the sight of his fluttering slit. You weren’t sure what to do, whether to use your hands or your mouth, but Suguru didn’t leave much time for indecision. His free hand found its way to the back of your head, nudging you forward until your mouth was pressed against his slit, just starting to leak thick trails of translucent slick over his dark scales. Your tongue darted past your lips hesitantly, at first, but your trepidation didn’t last very long. It couldn’t, not when you had a hollow pit inside of you still begging to be filled.

Suguru’s fingers carded through your hair as you lapped and sucked at his slit. The taste was mildly acidic, but surprisingly sweet – your eyes quickly falling shut as you sank into a pattern of wet sounds and strange textures and point claws grazing over your scalp, scratching at your ears. Throaty moans (the loudest noise you would ever hear Suguru make, in hindsight) and mumbled praise trickled past his lips as you worked, letting you know that he liked the way you were curling your tongue, that the spongy spot you could just barely reach inside of him was particularly sensitive. It wasn’t long before a mix of your saliva and his arousal dripped past the corners of your mouth, before the end of his tail was lashing violently within the confines of his nest. Maybe Suguru was in heat, too. You hoped he was. You didn’t want to be the only one in so much pain.

You felt the tapered tip of something smooth and stiff against your tongue, and Suguru buckled forward, a ragged gasp tearing past his lips as he took your head in both hands and pressed you flush against his abdomen. Confused and panicked, you tried to pull away, but his grip was iron-clad and it was all you could do to whimper, to sit there helplessly while something filled your mouth – hard and ridged and hot enough to burn. Cock, the pulsing in your core filled in, but it couldn’t be. Suguru had made it sound like something you needed, something you were supposed to want, but you didn’t like the way the blunt head prodded at the back of your throat, the way the ridged underside ground against your tongue. For the first time since he’d caught you, your instincts agreed with your better judgement, both urging you to get away, to run, to put distance between yourself and this newfound threat.

Your pussy, though, couldn’t seem to do anything but chant mate, mate, mate.

You could feel something else, too – not in your mouth, but pressing into your chin, your throat. Reflexively, your hands shot up, wrapping around the thick intruder, and this time, Suguru let go of you entirely, biting back a half-choked groan as he pushed you away, leaving you sprawled out and alone in the center of his nest. The hollowness inside of you was nearly unbearable, and rubbing your thighs together only seemed to make it worse. You tried to look to Suguru, to ask him to do something, but instead, your eyes caught on the long, pale appendage pressed into his lower stomach. His cock. Or, his cocks, you guessed.

You hadn’t expected there to be two of them.

You hadn’t expected them to be so big, either. Even at a distance, it was clear they weren’t meant for a rabbit. Just one would’ve been more than you could handle – as long as your forearm, as thick as your wrist, the end tapered to a steep point but the base absolutely massive before they disappeared into his slit. The color was strange, too – the tip flushed a dull pink while the base was nearly as dark as his scales, creating an ombre that might’ve been pretty, if you weren’t so terrified. You couldn’t see any veins, but both were sculpted with pronounced, perfectly spaced ridges. You couldn’t imagine having something like that inside of you, but you couldn’t imagine not having anything inside of you, either.

You couldn’t be sure how long you spent staring up at him, trying to wrap your head around his size, trying to decide if you’d rather be torn apart by his cock or your own increasingly demanding needs. In the end, it wasn’t really your choice to make. His eyes darted from your clenched thighs to your heaving chest to yours, wide and watery, and a grin found its way back to his lips. For some reason, his smile wasn’t as comforting as it’d been, the first time you saw it. “I’m sorry, little rabbit. Did I startle you?” The tenderness in his voice was almost cloying. You didn’t move, didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to need you to. “I didn’t mean to. Why don’t you spread your legs nice n’ wide for me, and I’ll make it up to you?”

Your gaze fell back to his cocks. One of his fists had wrapped around both, pumping idly while he stood above you. “Are those supposed to…?” You trailed off, shrinking into yourself. Suguru hummed, and you took it as confirmation. “But you’ll only use one, right? I don’t think I can— I mean, it won’t fit if you—”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were begging to be fucked properly just a few minutes ago.” You stiffened, but he only laughed. “Fine, fine. If that’s what you think you want, I’ll only use one.”

You didn’t think you could trust him, but you could feel yourself getting hot, again, a haze forming over your mind. You could leave when he was finished, you figured, even if you weren’t entirely sure how to get out of his nest, or where to go once you’d escaped back into the greenhouse. After you got over your— your heat.

Hesitantly, you started to listen to the negging mantra still playing in the back of your mind, to obey the near-deafening voice in the back of your head urging you to get on your hands and knees and make him fuck you, but Suguru must’ve decided you weren’t moving fast enough. His tail shifted underneath you, a thick coil catching your side and leaving you bent over one of the thicker lengths, your stomach pressed into his cool scales and your feet barely able to reach the tangled roots of his nest. You scrambled for purchase, but Suguru was there to steady you – his hands finding your hips, his cocks pressing into your ass. The calloused pads of his fingertips pressed into your waist as he aligned one of his cocks – the upper one, you thought, just a little thicker than its twin – with your entrance. He was kind enough to give you a long, slow second to breathe before his hips rutted forward and he inside of you.

Immediately, it felt wrong.

You’d been right when you decided he was too big for you. He was only half-sheathed, and yet, the tip of his cock pressed into the floor of your cervix, the head of his cock alone enough to stretch your pussy as far as it could go. Thankfully, he didn’t try to force himself deeper, but feeling the smooth ridges of rub against the walls of your pussy as he pulled back wasn’t much better. Still, your cunt clenched around him eagerly, doing its best to suck him in despite your physical limitations. Suguru, of course, seemed more than happy to indulge you. His thrusts were slow and lethargic, as gentle as they could’ve been but still forceful enough to leave you pinned to the curve of his tail. You weren’t in control of your body, anymore. As he rolled his hips against your ass, you ground back against him, your greedy cunt never warm enough, never wet enough, never full enough. You tried to dig your blunt claws into his tail, to ground yourself, but it was a futile effort; a limping dear attempting to evade a wolf who’d already tasted its blood. Suguru’s only response was a stifled groan, a new roughness to the way he fucked into you. You felt his chest against your back as he bent at the waist, draping himself over you, his dark hair falling from his shoulder and replacing chunks of your vision with a curtain of thick, endless black. It didn’t matter. A fresh wave of tears would’ve left you just as helpless, not that Suguru seemed to mind the way you sniffled and sobbed between moans.

“They say— fuck, you know what they say about rabbits, don’t you, bunny?” His voice was barely audible, but it seemed to echo on and on and on in your overly sensitive ears. His cock ground against something softened and vulnerable inside of you and your back arched, your pussy clenching impossibly tighter around him. “That’s it,” Suguru encouraged, as you tried to pry yourself away from his freezing tail and chase the gentle warmth of his chest. “They say bunnies make the best sluts. Knock them up once, and they’ll never stop begging for it.”

Kits. A strong mate. A safe nest. The thought alone had you crying out for nothing, your convulsions growing that much more erratic, and Suguru chuckled in-turn. “Like that? Want me to make you into my little mate-whore?”

“Want it, please, w-want it so bad.” It was all you could do to force yourself to speak, to spit something out through the daze of lust and exhaustion and total, unrelenting fullness. You’d never been more sure of anything than you were in that moment, never knew something as deeply as you knew that you wanted Suguru’s kits inside of you. “Please, wanna be you mate, wanna—Suguru—!”

One more thrust, one more scape of his sleek scales against your clit, and you were coming undone around his cock in jolting, erratic convulsions. Suguru let out a ragged grunt and straightened his back, but the distance was short-lived. Strong arms snaked under your knees, spreading your legs and hauling you up to his height. Your back remained pressed against his chest as he pulled out of you entirely and slammed back in. Even through the overstimulation, the wrongness hit you immediately. His cock was too big, too thick, and—

And he was inside of you.

Completely inside of you.

You forced yourself to open your eyes, letting your head fall forward limply. The shock was minimal, but still devastating – both of Suguru’s cocks buried inside of you to their pitch-black bases, their outlines just barely visible against the plush flesh of your lower stomach. “You—You promised you wouldn’t—”

His face was buried in the dip of your shoulder, his lips parted as panted against you. You felt his teeth catch on your skin before sinking into you, had time to process the pure heat of his venom seeping into your veins. Instantly, anything you might’ve said died on your tongue, your mind going utterly, entirely blank save for a single thought: mate.

Your mouth fell open, your thighs spreading that much farther. Suguru pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss into the injection site, then pulled away, grinning wildly. “A few drops, and you’ll want everything I have to give you,” he muttered. “That’s better, isn’t it, bunny?”

Much better. You could feel something swelling at the base of his cock, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge anything other than the utter bliss as a small, round shape was milked up the length of his cock and emptied into your core. Kits, you thought, and did your best to settle onto his twin cocks, to hold still as another egg was forced through your tight pussy. You stopped trying to count after the fourth – giving in completely to the shuddering, splintering euphoria every new member of your little family brought you. By the time the final egg was safe and snug inside of you, you were limp, twitching, and so full, it was hard to imagine ever feeling empty again.

As the last aftershocks started to fade, Suguru sucked in a stilted gasp and pulled you flush against his chest. You felt his second cock twitch once, then twice inside of you before something warm and thick flooded into your pussy. You whined miserably as he pulled out of you, but he didn’t stay gone for very long. Your pliable body was turned around in his arms, his cocks slid back into your leaking cunt as he carefully lowered himself onto the floor of his nest – your body laid on top of his. You strung your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against his chest, closing your eyes and giving in to your well-earned exhaustion.

You lasted just long enough to hear him mutter something about mates and clutches before your consciousness faded entirely and your mind went mercifully, blissfully silent.

~

Hours later, you woke up to the sound of a low, long whistle. “Really did a number on the poor thing, huh, Suguru?”

It took you a second to blink your eyes open, to raise your head and glance toward the man standing at the top of the ladder that led to Suguru’s nest, and another to recognize him as Suguru’s owner. His white hair was in a state of disarray, his eyes hidden behind circles of tinted glass, and for some reason, he was looking at you. You shrunk further into Suguru, but he only laughed – the noise loud and piercing to your foggy senses.

Suguru’s cocks were no longer inside of you, the flushed tips just barely visible at the base of his slit. You were still on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around your waist, his hold loose but possessive. There was a small bump over your lower stomach, and you weren’t sure whether to grimace or beam at the feeling of Suguru’s eggs shifting inside of you with every little movement. He was already awake – had been for some time, judging by the unimpressed scowl pressed into his lips. Something sharp and icy lodged itself into your chest, but his glare was directed towards his owner, not you, and the very tip of his tail curled around your ankle protectively as his owner stepped into his nest.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to walk into a serpent’s den?”

“I don’t think it counts if I own the den.” He straddled the bulk of Suguru’s tail, then gestured to you. “Turn the pretty baby around. I wanna see the damage.”

You shook your head vehemently, clinging to Suguru’s neck, but his own response was an exasperated sigh, a fleeting hiss to your cheek as he flipped you over; leaving you slayed across his chest and exposed to his owner’s prying gaze. “Five minutes,” he said, as his owner shrugged the waistband of his pants down just far enough to free his cock, already half-hard, already enough to send a bolt of pure dread from your heart to the pit of your stomach. “I don’t want your scent on my mate.”

You opened your mouth, ready to whine that you were sore, that you were tired, that you didn’t want anyone but Suguru and your kits inside of you, but the words withered into nothing on your tongue as his owner eased himself into your dripping pussy, as Suguru caught you by the chin and pulled you into a shallow, lingering kiss – the points of his fangs just barely scraping over your bottom lip. Looking back on it, it had been silly to ever worry that he’d eat you.

You should’ve been worried that he wouldn’t.

[robynlilyblack]

Begging for forgiveness or asking permission?

Fred Weasley x fem! shy! reader

Summary: After years of forbidding anyone from dating their daughter, a certain redhead finally gains the courage to ask their permission

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food, eating, drinking and alcohol, mutal pining, best friends to future lovers, ex Hufflepuff reader, overprotective wolfstar dads, non volley au, pure fluff

A/n: 2.3k words, apologies for any mistakes, happy new year everyone, based on this request from a little while ago ♡

Navigation | Fred Weasley Masterlist

Fred fiddled with his fingers, slow, unsteady breaths leaving his lips as he tried to ease his nerves. The confidence he’d had last night was gone now that he sat at breakfast. The chatter around him was lively, fun, he could hear his twin recounting one of his favourite pranks from last year to the rest of the table, but all he could think about was you.

You and he had been friends for years now. It all started in his fifth year when he collided with you at a corner while running from your respective prankees…

Start of flashback

“Ugh…fuck…” Fred groans, gritting his teeth as he felt the impact of his arse on cold stone before his eyes flick up, registering your figure across from him, whining with your eyes closed, hand to your head as he realises he just ran full pelt into you “Are…ahh…are you alright?” he asks, wincing a little as he moves to his knees, kneeling before you with his hands hovering around your head, unsure whether it was appropriate to check on you

“Been better” you giggle a little, hand falling from its place as you look up at him “Are you okay?” you ask, smiling shyly as you notice his wary hands before he moves them 

He relaxes at your smile, chuckling to himself as he hums “A bit achy but I’m alright” he assures and your smile brightens, however the conversation is interrupted by two distinct yells 

“Weasley!”

“Lupin!”

In that moment, Fred was bamboozled, his eyes darting between Filch, angrily approaching down his corridor, and a rather pink-looking Snape coming up yours. Luckily, you weren’t in such a daze. Grabbing his hand, you tugged him up.

“Come on” you say in a hurried yet sweet tone

“Yes, ma’am” he smirked, allowing you to lead him as you hopped quickly through one of the archways and across the courtyard to your escape.

End of flashback

After that, you and Fred met often. Your friendship wasn’t exactly secret, but to your family and friends, it all appeared surface-level. They didn’t know about the pranks you both pulled together back at Hogwarts, or how you would gush to each other about everything and anything, or how you both purposefully chose flats nearby after graduation. No, to the rest of the world, you and Fred were nothing more than acquaintances and neighbours.

“Morning” you greet the table softly, a sleepy smile across your face as you walk over to the kitchen, automatically melting into the conjoined hug of your parents

Fred can’t help but smile a little as he looks away from the scene and back to the table. Over the years, your friendship has grown into something more. There hadn’t been some defining moment when his friendly sentiment matured into love, it was the gradual kind of love, slow, inevitable, until his heart only had room in it for you

“You alright, sweetie?” Fred's head raises at Lily’s voice across from him “You’ve been quiet this morning?” she checks in, her maternal affection warming his heart

His parents were spending the Holidays with Bill and Fleur as she was too close to her due date to travel this year, and the Potters had been more than happy to invite the rest of the Weasley clan to stay with them instead

“Oh, I’m grand” he brushes off her concern “Think I had a bit too much firewhiskey last night” he jokes, earning some laughs from those around him and a small shoulder squeeze from George

George, however, knew he was lying. He’d noticed how different his twin had been acting lately, especially this holiday. Still, he kept his distance, knowing Fred would come to him eventually, just he always did. That didn’t stop him from worrying all the same

“You sure?” he whispers, eyeing his twin

“Yeah, I’ll be okay, promise” Fred assures, gifting a fond smile 

Conversation flows again once more as Sirius and Remus join the table, recounting the previous evenings events and filling those who tapped out early on the later escapades. You sit down a few moments later, carefully carrying your mug of hot chocolate, being cautious not to lose any of your marshmallows along the way

“Merlin y/n…” George chuckles as you take a seat across from him “...you want some hot chocolate with those mallows?” 

You smile quietly at the teasing, though Fred’s sure if he was any closer, he would be able to feel the heat from your cheeks

“Leave her alone” Ginny jumps to your defence, gently elbowing her brother “You’re just jealous you don’t have one” she teases him back before shooting a wink in your direction

You giggle at that, as does Fred, looking at you fondly as the table settles back into quiet conversation. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to meet his, sleep still clinging to them as you mouth a small ‘hi’. He returns the greeting, and your soft eyes linger on his for a few moments before your smile deepens, and you turn away beginning to fill your plate with the mornings feast

Fred was sure you felt the same way as he did. Nothing was ever said aloud, but there were clear signs, from the soft grazing of hands to stolen glances at lips, even moments like the one just now, littered with quiet confessions and longing. But today was the day that was all going to change. Today was the day he would ask you to be his, but first he had to overcome one major obstacle…your parents.

They were the overprotective type, to the point every boy in this room, plus Ginny, had been given the talkfrom them at one point or another, practically forbidding them from ever dating you. Fred got the talk during his final year at Hogwarts when you and he were paired together in  Herbology. Word had gotten back that you and he had been spending time together in the library. Of course, after he explained you two were merely working on your project, they lightened up, but he never forgot how relieved they were, nor how his talk seemed far more intense upon hearing others recount their own

“Alright” Sirius announces as he stands up, Remus following “Anyone need anything else from the shops? Last orders before the shops shut” he claps his hands lightly 

“We need some more rum for the pudding” James asks, earning a hum of acknowledgement from Sirius, while Remus shares a knowing look with Lily who had, in fact, helped him in polishing off the last of the rum the night before

“Dad, could we get some big marshmallows to make s’mores?” you speak up “With the good chocolate?” you add shyly, flashing those adorable eyes of yours that they could never resist, not that they ever did

“Of course, pup” Remus chuckles, secretly excited himself, now had an excuse to buy more chocolate for his stash without arousing Sirius’ suspicion “Well, if that's everything, we’ll be off”

Remus and Sirius gave a quick wave as they headed out of the room to grab their coats while Fred sits in thought. This was his chance, an opportunity to grab your parents alone 

“Where are you off to?” George asks as Fred stands up, drawing the attention of the entire table

Fred flashes a smile, mostly for you and George as your brows furrow in concern “I’m going to give them a hand. Could use the fresh air to wake me up” he says, keeping up his hungover façade, everyone seems to buy it except yourself and George, however, you both let it go for now as he heads off to catch up with your fathers 

Fred hurried out into the cold, his coat only half on as he spotted your parents. 

“Merlin they walk fast” he mutters, jogging to catch up while his thoughts race 

This is it. Just ask. They’re reasonable men. They won’t murder you on sight… probably

“Hey! You two need a spare hand?” Fred called, finally tugging his coat into place.

The men turn around, glancing at one another before pleasant surprise crosses their faces 

“Course, more the merrier. Young lad like yourself can help us carry” Sirius shrugs happily while Remus gestures, hithering for him to join

As they all trecked through a fresh coat of snow, the conversation is light. They ask of his family, the shop, his and George’s plans for expansion to Hogsmeade next summer. Fred is thankful, it gives him the chance to actually connect with them one on one, he asks about their school days, their best pranks, the map. He even learned how they came to the decision to adopt you, leading to a small ramble from Sirius about how proud he was of you on the way back…

“...you know she's just like Moony when he was young…” he says, referring to your shy nature “...though she does have a cheeky side, I know this will surprise you, but she’s a little chatterbox when she gets going…” he continues on

Fred tries his best to hide his smile. It did not surprise him, he adored your rambles, especially that little bounce you did when you were excited 

Remus chuckles, gently interrupting his husband off “As much as I love your chatter my love. I’m curious to hear more about how you're doing?” he redirects, his voice kind but pointed “You’ve told us about the shop but…” he trails off, searching for the right words

Sirius, as usual, cuts straight to the point “A little birdy may have let slip that you’re going through a bit of a dry spell” 

Fred’s eyes widen, cheeks reddening as he’s taken aback “Ugh…well…umm” he strugges, unable to find words, which only made the couple in front of him chuckle

“I’m sorry Fred, my husband lacks a degree of subtlety…” Remus says, shooting Sirius a look but said man is seemingly unbothered, likely stuck on the word husband and the love sick glow it gave him “What we mean is we’ve noticed ourselves you’ve been a little off since you got here, like your mind is elsewhere” Remus continues “And, well, we may have been talking to George last night. I asked him how things were going with Lee; he mentioned that you’d stopped going out much. He seemed quite worried about you”

Fred lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck “It’s true. I’ve stopped going out as much as I used to” he agrees, though he did not expect this to be the direction this conversation was going

“Growing out of it?” Sirius’ asks, head tiltin with an understanding smile “Happened to me once upon a time” 

“You’re half right” Fred admits with a small nod “I have grown a lot since Hogwarts but…there also a reason why nothing ever worked out for the long run” his voice steadies, realising the conversation was leading in the direction he needed it to, his thoughts becoming clearer

This is it. Just say it

“Is there someone special?” Remus asks softly, and Sirius’ expression shifts from mild curiosity to sudden realisation, Fred Weasley, major flirt and prankster extraordinaire has fallen in love

Fred’s eyes flick between the two men, inhaling deeplt before speaking, his voice filled with conviction “Well…that's actually why I offered to help today. I’m in love with your daughter” 

Silence

Fred watches their eyes widen in surprise before their expressions become unreadable. The weight of his confession lingered in the chilly air and he braces himself. They clearly hadn’t been expecting that, and there was still a very real chance he was about to decked at the side of the road 

“You…” Sirius blinks a few times, shaking his head slightly “You…love her? Not just some passing infatuation or…forbidden fruit nonsense?” he poses holding himself back, his tone wasn’t cruel but the question stung nonetheless

Fred stands his ground, his voice firm yet sincere “I do. Very much. I know I haven’t always been the most shining example, but…loving her is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. She’s my best friend. I feel safe around her, seen, listened to…even adopted her rambling” his voice softens, getting a little embarrassed at his gush “She’s my favourite person…don’t tell Georgie” he adds at the end with a nervous laugh

Remus’ expression remains stoic, but Sirius’ soften slightly at Freds sincerity 

“Are you begging for forgiveness…” Remus finally asks “…or are you asking for our permission”

Fred’s lips quirk into a small smile “Permission” he confirms without hesitation

Remus and Sirius stare at him for a moment, then glance at one another, something unspoken passing between them

“Do we mess with him?” Sirius whispers to Remus, his hand covering his mouth as he lets a cheeky grin slip through

“As fun as that would be, I think he’s waited long enough” Remus replies softly ”...and so has our pup” 

After a few more moments to let Fred think they were really debating the issue Remus turns back towards him and nods “Yes” he says simply

Fred blinks “Seriously?” 

Sirius rolls his eyes playfully “Yes, seriously. But if you hurt her…” his tone turns deadly sirius “We will kill you” he warns

Fred smiles wide, relief and joy washing over him “Understood” he nods, but his excitement can no longer be contained “Thank you!” he lunges forward pulling them both into a tight hug, practically lifting them off the ground

Sirius chuckles “Alright…alright! Put s down before we change our minds”

Fred awkwardly sets them down, cheeks red but still wears a huge smile, one that wont be getting wiped off anytime soon. The three resume their walk back to the Potters, but on the way back Sirius glances over his shoulder at Fred

“So, when are ya planning on telling her? Tonight?”

Fred freezes mid step

Remus stops too, a knowing laugh escaping him “You have no idea, do you?”

“Honestly?” Fred admits, a sheepish grin spreading across his face “I didn’t think I’d get this far”

Thank you for reading ♡

[nimbusclan]

Moon 2

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“Moonpaw, wake up. We have to keep moving. Moonpaw.” 

Moonpaw mrrps in sleepy protest as she's jostled awake by her brother's paw digging insistently into her shoulder. She cracks one bleary eye open, momentarily disoriented by her surroundings. 

Right. They’re not at home. They don't have a home.

She stands, stiff from sleeping on bark, her muscles protesting as she arches her back and stretches her legs. The sun that slots into their log from an opening at the top paints the inside in streaks of rich reds and browns, so different from the cool, smooth stone she’s used to waking up to. She misses her moss nest fiercely in that moment, the weight of her grief threatening to overwhelm her, but she forces the feeling away with a shake of her head. There is no comfortable, warm nest for her to return to. Not now, not ever, and she needs to move on.

“Coming,” she mumbles sleepily, rubbing a paw against her eyes as Fogpaw turns and ducks out of the log. “How'd you sleep?” She stumbles out into the sunlight and shivers in the weak, earling morning newleaf air.

“I've certainly slept better,” Fogpaw mews, licking a paw and drawing it over one of his ears. “Best not to dwell on it. Breakfast first.”

Moonpaw nods, padding after Fogpaw as he weaves through the sparse mountain pines. She opens her mouth, scenting for prey, and sets her ears on a swivel to better hone in on the skittering of small paws through the bed of fallen pine needles that soften the cats' footfalls.

The breeze drifts the scent of mouse towards Moonpaw and her tail flicks up in excitement. She shoots a look Fogpaw's way and he nods and veers off in another direction, allowing her this hunt to chase his own prey.

Creeping forward, the words of her former mentor rings in her ears. Keep your paws light. Even so much as a scattered pebble will alert your catch to your presence. She never was able to complete her training and earn her warrior name, she thinks with a pang, but files that sadness away for later. She has enough information to know how to hunt, and she and Fogpaw will have plenty of time to practice now.

The mouse she's stalking shows itself, leaping onto the root of a tree, little whiskers twitching. Moonpaw waggles her haunches, preparing to launch herself at it, but as she leaps she slips on the loose pine needles underfoot and falls short of her catch. The mouse darts away and she lunges forward, hoping to snag it with a claw as it escapes, but it's too far from her outstretched paws and disappears into a hole in the ground.

“Star-damned trees,” Moonpaw growls to herself and sits back with a huff, her tail tip twitching. “Hunting on the mountain was so much easier.”

Prey continues to evade her for the rest of the afternoon. Squirrels run up trees, voles dive for cover under the leaf litter, and one particularly annoying chase after a songbird ends with Moonpaw landing in a puddle of mud.

She screeches with disgust, the bird long gone, and drags herself out of the mud to shake her fur. Her nose wrinkles in disgust at the state of her pelt. This is going to take ages to clean out of her white fur. Hopefully, Fogpaw is faring better with his hunt.

She follows her brother's scent trail to find him laden with mice, pawfuls of them at his feet. As he glances up and makes eye contact with her, the corner of his muzzle ticks up in amusement. “Rough hunt?”

“Do. Not,” Moonpaw huffs, eyeing his sleek, clean coat enviously. She drops herself next to him in a patch of sunlight and begins to groom her coat. Between mouthfuls of fur, she says, “we need to find someplace else on the territory to stay. This is no place for a mountain cat to settle.” She darts a pointed look at his small mountain of prey. “Except for you, maybe.”

Fogpaw mrrps a laugh and pushes a mouse towards her. “You can have some. I caught plenty.” He settles onto his paws and helps Moonpaw clear the mud from her fur. “I agree, though. I think we should look around the rockier places of our territory until we find a place that could work as a new camp.”

“A whole camp?” Moonpaw says doubtfully, tongue paused in her grooming. “I could settle for a couple of safe hollows in a rock. What do we need a whole camp for?”

“Rebuilding NimbusClan, of course.”

“Oh, Fogpaw–”

“No, Moon, seriously. I don't want to spend the rest of our days as rogues. I want–” he falters, eyeing her hesitantly before continuing. “I've always wanted a family, one like ours. Mom and Dad and us, it just… made me so happy, you know? I want that for myself one day.” He casts his eyes away from her, his shoulders hiking up around his ears, and Moonpaw knows he’s fighting back tears.

Moonpaw smiles gently at Fogpaw, her own eyes misting a little. “It made me happy too, Fogpaw. Makes me happy. They're watching over us in StarClan, I'm sure of it.” She curls her tail reassuringly over his back. 

“I'm sure they are,” He murmurs, resting his head against hers. “I miss them.”

“I miss them, too.”

They sit that way for a while, purring softly with each other as the newleaf breeze plays over their fur. Eventually, they tuck into the mice Fogpaw caught, and then curl together to take a nap in the sunshine.

[Previous] [Start] [Next]

---

(Okay so yes I know moons are months and so far the timeline of the fic portions doesn’t exactly line up with that, but bear with me for the sake of storytelling purposes)

[kwillow]

(1/3) I adore the new comic with Alex, Ridge and Theo! The insight into how Theo's "healing magic" can be used is fantastic and the art is beautiful (as usual) to boot. A question, also: In the background of the last panel, there's several paintings in the background--what looks like three of Jocosa, but also a regular ermine. I recall that beasts (aka animals as we know them) are present in Amaranthine and associations/taboos with them vary by region. In Northcrest, are ermines seen as

Funny that you say there's three portraits of Jocosa in this comic - she is there, but her painting rests alongside these other members of her storied family. Most people who noticed the paintings thought they were all Jocosa, though! I don't blame anyone for being confused. The Norths are infamous for all looking the same.

(Also, they are probably slightly easier to tell apart here, when their portraits aren't covered by 5 years of dust - Theo really needs to clean that place up.)

Anyway, thank you so so much for your compliments on the comic! I will put the rest of your message and answer your questions under the cut.

Ermine Motifs

The ermine isn't a pet, but simply an ermine. The Norths are unusually obsessed with their "source" animal, and use the image of ermines as representations of their power and prestige. Like you predicted, ermines feature prominently in their decor and fashion. Ermine-shaped badges, ermines on rugs, ermine newel posts (that's a fun word!), and ermine paintings. It's a little obnoxious. They hold a peculiar reverence for the creatures while also being extremely willing to wear their skinned pelts as cloaks. They do not think there is anything weird or grim about that.

Part of their fixation comes from the fact that unlike some noble families, ermines feature in their heraldry, so the presence of ermine artwork alludes to their noble status, much like how the royal family of England might display lions. Heraldic ermine spots appear on their coat of arms, and ermines are the shield's supporters. But they are also just self-obsessed and have a fondness for that which reminds them of themselves. Even Theo, despite being of a ratlike persuasion, plays into the North fixation on ermines by occasionally wearing ermine fur and jewelry shaped like heraldic ermine spots.

Closely associating yourself with the animal you resemble was more common in historical times, but the degree to which the Norths do it would still be odd. People with more modern mindsets, more removed from ancient mythical symbolism and more concerned with modern problems of technological advancement and not dying in a frozen wasteland, would consider the Norths to be embarrassing themselves with their ermine obsession. Why are they so heavily identifying with a simple beast? Who cares what kind of animal you look like? Shouldn’t you be more proud of being, you know, a person?

Theo's Catalyst Stone

Yes, the North's catalyst stone is passed down through the generations upon the death of its previous owner. (The teardrop-shaped stone the ancestress is wearing in her portrait is the very same one Theo has stuck in his hand.) Given that Theo slammed the stone into his flesh, he will be the last of his line to use this catalyst stone - and given that he hasn't exactly been a hit on the dating circuit, he will likely also be the last North as well.

Ancient Hyden Encounters

While there were more mages back in Hyden's prime days, it was still a small enough population that it wouldn't be unheard of for Hyden and some early Norths to have crossed paths in their day to day.

Chocodile and I agree that Hyden probably knew some of Theo's ancestors, but we haven't worked out the details of those encounters quite yet. Given the North's seemingly inherent predilection for bitterness and snobbery, they probably didn't get on all that well.

[ramsayxme]

You've Been Watching Me.

You dried your dripping hands across the front of your horribly filthy skirt. Back home, you wouldn't even allow your lowest servant to wear such a filthy piece of clothing. Everything was different now, you sighed as you finished washing the last dish. You could still hear the loud laughter trickling in from the dining hall while you emptied the washing bucket down the drain. You didn't have servants anymore; you were the servant.

You didn't remember much about when Ramsay Bolton captured you, but you did remember you lost everything. You used to have your own warm bed to sleep in with layers and layers of carefully hand woven blankets draped all across, each with a beautiful design. You used to love to run your hand along the intricate designs that were woven with such grace, skill, and care...Now you fiddle with the loose twine that holds your skirt from falling down to your ankles. Not quite as beautiful.

You can't even begin to imagine what you look like now. Your long brown hair felt wiry and stringy but greasy and oily at the same time. Your eyes felt sunken from lack of sleep. You felt bony and scrawny, unable to remember the last time you felt the sensation of fullness in your belly. You sighed as you exited the kitchen chamber and into the hallway. There was one good bit about being captured, though. Your captor was a handsome monster.

Of course, you knew how horrible, vicious, and vile this man was. After all, you had witnessed it first hand a few times so far. Regrettably, there was something about him that peaked your interest. There was a slight sexiness to the way he asserted dominance and power, as if he had no fears in the whole world. You had studied Ramsay's face many times while he was asserting his power, and you had always noticed the way he lit up. It was obviously arousing for him to watch people squirm until they give in to him.

Last week, you had watched in the shadows while he tortured and mutilated the man who was formerly known as Theon Greyjoy, now just a broken pet named Reek. You felt yourself heat up just by watching him abuse his power and ever since then, you had fantasized about him using that power on you. You were obviously ashamed of this, but you knew it was just a fantasy and nothing more.

You finally reached your bed chambers, your bare feet chilled from the cold stone of the castle. You walked over to your small fire that was still glowing, and you climbed on your unstable 'bed' right in front of the stone fireplace. It was made with a plank resting on uneven stones and covered with a few pelts. It was wildly uncomfortable. Your room was tiny, but you weren't in it much. You were either doing your chores or sneaking around, trying to catch glimpses of Ramsay throughout the day. You liked watching him.

You were so unimportant to him that he never noticed you. You could just pretend to be sweeping the floor while he ate dinner, cleaning the linens while he screamed at another servant, or just simply laying low in the shadows like you did the other day. You felt your adrenaline rush when you watched him. You couldn't help yourself!

You began warming your ice cold toes by the fire, reaching down and rubbing them slightly. You were lost in your thoughts when you heard your door slam. As you jumped to turn around, you saw one of the other servants standing at your door. It was a scraggly looking boy, you guessed not much older than 15. "Oh. You scared me." You said, turning back towards the fire. The boy still stood at your door. "What is it?"

He looked down at the floor. "Ramsay has requested you." You felt your heart race in secret. "What? Why? I haven't done anything wrong." You had not yet turned back to the boy. "I don't know." He muttered, "He asked for you. Let's go, before he gets angry at me." The boy had just planted an idea in your head. Poor boy.

"I don't believe you." You smirked, still facing the fire. "Come on!" He begged, a little louder and much more desperate this time. "You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting, please..." You sighed and stood up to face the boy. "What do you imagine he wants from me?" You pretended to be too scared to go with him. The boy quickly shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, but we can find out. Please. Hurry." He was truly terrified. You felt excitement bubble up in you. "Fine." You finally agreed.

The boy led you down the hallway to one of the side chambers. It was similar to the dining hall but a little smaller. He pushed the door, causing a loud squeaking noise to fill the air. You stepped inside and saw Ramsay sitting at the table. He was alone. You felt a shiver slither up your spine, but it wasn't fear. You tried to look scared.

"That took... longer than I wanted." Ramsay said softly, his eyes staring into the young boy. You heard the boy shift his weight, obviously uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. She... she didn't want to come right away, she moved slowly." He whispered, his eyes glancing at your feet on the floor. You shook your head, determined to make Ramsay angry at the boy. You felt guilty, but you wanted to watch him get mad. "Not true, Ramsay. He got lost on the way. I tried to tell him to take a left after the dining hall, but he didn't listen to me."

The boy's jaw hung slack as he stared at you, realizing what you were doing. "I see." Ramsay said, his eyes still stuck on the boy. You watched Ramsay inhale deeply as he pulled his shoulders back. He was wearing a front buttoned vest with a wool long sleeve underneath it. His curly dark hair swooped over his eyebrows and his piercing blue eyes shifted around underneath. His jaw was strong as he grit his teeth. He exhaled his breath with the words "Come here", directed to the boy. He sulked over, slouching wit defeat as he approached Ramsay.

Ramsay reached out and grabbed a handful of the boy's horribly messy hair. He yanked him down to his face and whispered something into the boys ear. You couldn't hear what he said, but you felt yourself get excited watching Ramsay be so powerful. The boy shuddered as Ramsay let go of his hair, a smile breaking across his face. "Run along now!" Ramsay yelled, sending the boy running out the door. He swung it shut as he left, causing it to slam loudly.

Now, it was just you and Ramsay...alone.

"Yes, Ramsay, what did you need from me?" You ask, breaking the silence in the room. Ramsay smiles, his lips slowly unveiling his sharp incisors as he grins wider. "Have you enjoyed it?" He asked, his voice deep and quiet. You felt a wave of anxiety flow across your torso. "Enjoy what?" You asked. He did not answer you. He simply lifted his hand and gave a 'come here' motion. His eyes were peering at you from behind his curls. You swallowed a small bubble of nerves as you stepped closer to him.

He did not seem satisfied until you were at the other edge of the table, directly across from him. He looked up at you, his shoulders square and his breathing steady. You stared in silence for a moment before he began chuckling. "You do enjoy it!" He laughed. You still weren't sure what he was saying but before you could ask, he answered for you. "You've been watching me."

You opened your mouth to argue, but Ramsay kept going. "You think you're sneaky, but you're not, no you are far from it! Do you really think I don't know everything that happens around here?" He swirled his finger around in the air, indicating the whole castle. "I noticed you watching me the first time you did it. I saw you in the corners when I was..." his eyes rolled around as he was trying to find the right words. "...playing with Reek."

Again, you opened your mouth to speak. "You like it, don't you?" Ramsay asks more firmly this time. All you can do is slowly nod your head. He knows. He has known this whole time. "What exactly do you enjoy about it? Do you like hearing the screams of pain too? Or is it something else?" He asks you. His eyes are very intense. He is staring directly at your face and you feel your cheeks flush. "I...." "Speak up, dear. I can't hear you." He grinned.

"I like watching you... I don't really know what it is, but I like watching you be powerful." Ramsay snickers at this. "It is not the torture alone that you enjoy, but its watching me torture others? You like my power?" He asked you although his voice oozed with confidence that he already knew the right answer. You hesitated to answer, and with a ~shing~ you heard Ramsay unsheathe one of his knives from his belt, twirling it in his hand, and then pointing it at you. "Answer me." He demanded, his eyebrows raised.

Oh, Gods. You swallowed another bubble, but again, it wasn't fear. You felt a breathy whimper slowly escape your lips as you sighed. "Yes." His eyes seemed to light up to your response, and perhaps also the moan that crept out. "Wonderful." He said, still pointing the knife at you. "Come here." He demanded. You swiftly walked around the table and stood facing him at his side. Your breathing was quick, you were so close to touching him.

He stood up quickly, pushing the chair out from under him with a loud scrape on the floor. He turned to you, making direct and intense eye contact immediately. You felt your breath hitch in your throat. He slowly brought the knife up to your neck and pressed the tip of the blade against your throat. "Now," He began, his voice low and breathy, his face only inches from yours. "I want you to do something for me to show me how much you enjoy watching me. Can you do that for me?"

You gently nodded your head, staring into his hungry eyes. He pressed the knife against you harder, the edge of it barely nicking your jaw. "Use your words." He groaned through gritted teeth. "Yes... yes, I can do it..." You didn't recognize your own voice. It sounded smoother and thicker than usual. Ramsay dropped the blade on the table. "Are you going to do anything I say?" He asked, almost cooing at you. His lips were close enough to your face that if you barely leaned forward, you would be kissing him. You felt the warmth of his breath on your own lips.

"Yes, I will do anything you-" Before you can finish your sentence, his hand wraps around your throat tightly. You feel your airway cut off and watch his eyes widen as he chokes you. You reach your hands up and place them on the hand around your throat out of instinct. His eyes dart across your face, almost as if he is examining every tiny movement you make. You notice his breathing is steady and controlled even though his eyes are wild and his teeth are barred. He lets his grip loosen a bit, but doesn't completely let go. You want him.

You lean forward slightly, in hopes to kiss him. He doesn't allow you, his grip tightens when you lean. "What do you think you're doing?" He chuckles at your pathetic attempt of romance. "Are we making love now? No, I don’t believe we are." Ramsay just laughs at you as he releases your throat and sits back down in the chair. "Get under the table." He demands. You do not hesitate this time.

You crouch under the table and sit on your shins, the stone is hard on your knees but you can't seem to be bothered. Ramsay scoots his chair back so he can peer down at you, and you stare up at him. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat and your stomach. You watch him intently as his hands dip to his trousers and he unlaces his waistband, his gaze never leaving your face. You watch as he pulls on his trousers, releasing his erection for you. You sharply inhale, watching him do this is something you thought was only possible in your dark fantasies. He snickers as he pulls himself out of his pants completely, and interlaces his fingers before resting his hands on the table in front of him. He stares down at you with a dominant glare and you feel yourself melt slightly.

You sit eagerly on the floor, watching him as he raises his eyebrows at you. “Well? You enjoy watching me, now let me enjoy watching you.” You feel your stomach flip in your body with excitement. You scoot forward on your shins and place your head on his knee. You stare up at him and manage to whisper “I’ve been fantasizing about this for days.” He gives you a closed lip smile and nods. “I know. I can tell. Now, go on…” You take a deep breath in and stare at his erection. You can’t believe this is about to happen. You want to pleasure him more than you’ve ever wanted to do anything in your life. You reach your hands up and wrap one of your hands around the base of his shaft as you place your lips on the warm tip of his cock.

Slowly, you began kissing the head. You swirl your tongue gently as you allow your eyes to flutter shut. His head is soft and smooth, your tongue gliding across him with ease. You kiss deeper, allowing his entire tip in your mouth. You sense Ramsay take a deep breath, making your core heat up. You’re really pleasuring this powerful man. You feel so special and invincible. Your confidence seeps out of your body through your actions as you open your mouth wider and take in more of him. You were moving slow but with intention. You felt his cock in the back of your throat and you began bobbing up and down, methodically and determined. Ramsay sighed again, his hands must have left their spot at the table because one of his hands wrapped around your hair at the back of your neck. You felt the slight pressure on the back of your head as he placed his hand there, softly pushing your head down to ease his cock snugly in your mouth.

You continued to pleasure him, now allowing his cock to fully enter your throat. You started losing control as he began taking control, you knew this was bound to happen. You knew that Ramsay wouldn't actually give you full control. You felt him wrap your hair around his fist once, and then grip on it tightly. He pushed and pulled your head, using your mouth at whatever speed pleased him. It was uncomfortable for you, but you were more focused on the grunts and breathy sighs coming from his throat.

Without warning, he shoved his chair back and stood up; leaving you alone under the table with your dripping chin. "Get up." He growled, his grin proving that his demand was enticing. You stumbled to your feet and stood, your ass against the edge of the table. Ramsay smiled at you for a moment before diving his face into the crook of your neck. He yanked the fabric of your shirt down your shoulder, allowing the soft skin to be exposed to him. You sucked in a breath as he began kissing your neck eagerly with bites in between kisses. You felt yourself groan when he bit down a bit harder, which made him reach to your waist and squeeze your hips.

His hands snaked from your hips to behind your thighs as he lifted you, setting you down on the table. You frantically began pulling your skirt up, bunching it around your torso. Ramsay chuckled at this. "You're an eager one." He whispered into your ear before biting down on the flesh directly below your earlobe. A whimper escaped your lips. You realized your arms were desperately tugging at Ramsay's sleeves and the front of his vest. Gods, you were not very good at hiding your lust for him. He stepped back one step before yanking his vest open and tearing it off. Then, he pulled the wool long sleeve over his head. You gawked at the sight, his pale and toned frame heaving as he stared at you with a predatory glare.

He stepped forward again, pressing himself against your core. Your skirt was still bunched around your sides, fully exposing yourself. Ramsay's cock nudged at your entrance as he allowed his trousers to fall from his thighs to his ankles. You reached out in an attempt to allow your fingers to graze over his pale skin, but he stopped you with his own hands. He grabbed your wrists and tucked them at your sides. "Lay down. Hands under your lower back." You obeyed, slowly leaning backwards and tucking your arms underneath the small of your back. "Good." He quietly praised you.

He grabbed the same knife from the edge of the table and wielded it in his hand. He leaned forward, pressing it against your neck, the cold blade sending shivers down your body. He slid the knife under the neckline of your shirt and easily sliced through the filthy fabric, exposing your breast to him. He pulled the shirt open like a cloak and began kneading at your chest while he nudged at your entrance, his cock pressing against your needy core. The knife returned to your throat as he lined himself up with your cunt. His free hand still groping your body, squeezing and pulling at your soft flesh. He leaned forward, pressing his length inside you easily. You were clearly very aroused, as your body was slick and easy to enter.

You whined as he stretched you. He enjoyed your whimpers. He clenched his jaw as he began pumping in and out, not allowing your body to adjust. You cried out with a combination of pain and pleasure, and Ramsay simply growled in return. He continued to press the knife against your throat, the blade threatening to slice through your skin at any moment. He did not break eye contact while he began fucking you. His icy eyes bore deep into your own, causing your stomach to flutter with arousal. This was unlike anything you had ever experienced. Seeing Ramsay abuse his power was one thing, but watching him to do it to you? Incredible.

You felt yourself growing warm, your body fully adjusting to him and beginning to float with pure bliss. You must've gave your enjoyment away on your face, because Ramsay pulled his cock from you. You whimpered as you felt empty, and your eyes snapped open to see him take a step backwards. "Get up." He demanded. You brought yourself off the table and realized how sore your arms and shoulders were. You stood in front of Ramsay, your skirt falling back to its original length.

"I can't have you enjoying this too much." He cooed, shaking his head with disappointment. He brought the knife back to your throat. You swallowed as you watched his eyes scan over your face. His other hand grabbed your hands and he brought them to his wet cock, still hard. "Please me." He demanded as he grabbed the nape of your neck once again. "Yes, Ramsay." You obeyed. You began stroking his cock while he leaned into you. You were using your hands to please him while he kept the knife pressed against you and had your hair wrapped around his other hand. He turned your head to the side, giving him access to your neck and ear. He breathed against your ear, causing goosebumps to rip across your skin.

He kissed your earlobe as the knife pressed against your jawline. You were steadily and rhythmically using your hands to jerk him off. Your mind blurred as you pleased him. Your brain drowned in the sounds of his shaky breaths and moans between the kisses on your neck. You knew he was growing close to orgasm, the grip on your hair was extremely tight and the knife was pressed against your jaw firmly. You were afraid he would slice your throat without knowing.

His hips began thrusting forward, his body begging for more pleasure. He lurched a few times before his thighs tightened and the knife actually dug into your jawline. He came, releasing a groan from deep within his belly as he did. You were gasping for air just as much as he was, you hadn't realized you had been holding your breath. He came down from his climax and finally released your hair. He noticed the nick on your jawline from his knife and he chuckled. "I got a bit carried away, didn't I?" He reached out to your chin and pulled it towards him, allowing you to face him once more. He pressed his lips against yours, kissing your mouth for the first time. You felt your heart flutter. The kiss was too short. He pulled away and bent over to pull his trousers up.

"Go wash your wound. I may need you again later tonight." He grinned as he turned to walk away, leaving you a panting mess. You were desperate for your own release, feeling the sexual tension built up in your own body. You watched Ramsay disappear in the hallway and you looked down at yourself. Your open shirt hanging off your elbows. Your dress even dirtier than it was before, but this time you didn't really seem to mind as much.

[forestclan-clangen]

MOON 4 (Part 2)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

Hopechase leaves on patrol by herself, not thinking properly and forgetting that the woods haven't been fed. She sees a Woodcrawler. And IT sees HER. Hopechase runs. Fast. DONT LEAVE ME

(Hopechase, warrior, female, 86 moons) (Woodcrawler, a mockery of life, ageless) (Rootgrove, ?????, Lightfoot, can you see me. i have become something else)

---

Hopechase couldn't breathe.

Her ears were ringing as blood coursed through her entire body.

She could see, but it was all a shaking blur. All she could sense was the familiar smell of ForestClan's camp, and the tall rock she had seen her leaders stand on. Birchstar. Lakestar. Redstar. Apprentices. New warriors. The focal point of their society.

Camp? Camp. Yes. She was in camp. Her senses started to return to her. The muffled voices of fear and concern around her faded into existence as everyone's pelts suddenly melded into shape.

"Hopechase? What's wrong?"

"Are you alright?"

"Dad - what's wrong with her?"

"Warblerkit, listen to whatever Windfur and Redstar tell you right now. OK?"

"Are you being followed?"

That last one was Windfur. She hated that question. Hated it, hated it. He always asked that. What she hated the most was that she didn't know. She didn't dare look back. The second the leaves in the bushes rustled, the world fell into all-engulfing silence. Long, spindling legs crawled into sight, like weavers threading the air - slowly, gently, with the precision of an owl's talons.

It had no eyes.

But it still saw her.

"Hopechase?"

Hopechase's hackles flattened as a clear, cutting voice pierced through the haze of her mind. Her eyes focused on a bright, white pelt that radiated through the green and brown forest.

"Hopechase, you're alright. You're in camp. You're with clanmates. You're safe."

Iciclepool. It was Iciclepool.

She was wearing a brave mask as she stepped closer towards Hopechase. Iciclepool couldn't hide her fear.

"Hopechase. What happened?"

The adrenaline in Hopechase's veins started to slow. For a brief moment, terror's claws released the molly's heart, and Hopechase seized that moment to fight back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She took in every scent of comfort and safety in that breath - her clanmates, the sap on the pine trees, the mud and stones, the small cooking fire, the water boiling in a clay pot. She flexed her claws. The grass uprooted itself beneath them. She was alive.

"Woodcrawler," she finally spoke. "I...saw a Woodcrawler. I ran."

Many voices chimed in at once, but Redstar's quickly boomed above the rest as she took her place beside Iciclepool. "Where, and did it follow you?"

"I didn't check," Hopechase said. Her body and voice found their footing as she remembered how to act in an emergency. "Close the gates, now."

"Is anyone out on patrol?" Redstar hissed.

"No. I didn't even know Hopechase was - "

People's voices started overlapping again as the blend of chaos began.

"I'm declaring a lockdown. Iciclepool, Talonpaw, Morningpaw - you three go help Windfur carry Olive to my den right now."

"Barleywave, get your tail up here and pull the other gate rope!" Cloudthunder hissed.

"Yeah yeah, keep your fur on, I'm - WARBLERKIT! What did Redstar just say about lockdown?!"

"Come on Warblerkit, we..."

"NO! Not fair! Dad comes too!"

Hopechase jumped up one of the tall pine trees that the clan's sliding gate was tied to, climbing past Barleywave and telling him curtly, "Go, attend to your kit. I'll do it."

Barleywave's tail flicked with annoyance before he crawled back down, and Cloudthunder looked at the dark grey molly with gratitude.

"Thanks, Hope," Cloudthunder uttered between her teeth as she pulled the bulrush rope off of its handle. Hopechase did the same, slowly bringing the gate of sturdy logs and long branches to a thud. Their camp entrance was now blocked, and their walls were securely surrounded by barricades pine logs, stone and sharpened sticks stolen by Twolegs in their greenleaf place. These walls are what allowed them to survive for countless seasons.

Everyone moved up into Redstar's den, retreating until their backs were as far back against the walls as they could. Iciclepool stood at the den's entrance, looking over the clearing, while Redstar alone stood on top of ForestClan's gate, her ears twitching and her eyes darting. No cat spoke a single word. Even Warblerkit sensed the gravity of the situation, and resigned to hiding under Barleywave's chest fur.

Time crawled as cats waited with held breaths and focused stares. Olive, the newest member of the Clan, glanced at them expectantly. The sheer air of fear prevented her from asking any questions, but they still sat on her tongue.

Hopechase watched Iciclepool wordlessly communicate with Redstar across the clearing as the two kept their vigil. A swaying of the tail every five minutes. A high-pitched chirrup every ten.

By the thirty minute mark, Redstar made a low-pitched, rumbling meow. ForestClan released a collective breath of relief. They were not safe yet. But it seemed the Woodcrawler did not follow Hopechase.

By the time the hour had passed, Redstar announced that the lockdown was over, and that cats could return to their regular duties - but to stay alert and to avoid the paths taken by Hopechase for the next quarter moon. Life breathed into camp once more. Olive finally asked her lingering questions, with a patient Cloudthunder answering her. Windfur received help to escort Olive back to the nursery, and Warblerkit and Shiverkit bombarded Barleywave and Iciclepool with questions, their furs still standing on end.

Hopechase, meanwhile, felt wrong.

She sat in the middle of camp, staring at the fresh kill pile. She ought to grab food and start cooking meals. She...she was supposed to be on kitchen duty with Morningpaw. She was supposed to show her how to remove pelts from their prey. She promised Barleywave she'd do it, because he playfully said he was always no good at it. She even laughed and agreed with him. But she couldn't bring her paws to just pick something from the pile.

She wasn't normally this shaken by Woodcrawler sightings. She was old. She'd seen worse. But she'd also had faith, her entire life, that the world had to be inherently good. Redstar gave her the honor title 'Hopechase' when Lakestar was finally dethroned. For her constant optimism, and faith in her Clan. Even when many cats left ForestClan when Lakestar finally died, even when despair was the only thing in sight, she believed that even in death, things would be okay.

So why now?

"Hopechase."

The dark grey molly turned her head and saw Iciclepool staring at her. The deputy tilted her head and gave her a look of gentle concern. She sat next to her, her fur brushing gently against hers. Iciclepool placed her tail on Hopechase's shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"Aw, are you worried about little old me?" Hopechase said with a forced purr. Clearly, Iciclepool saw through her on that one.

"Hopechase, it's okay if you're shaken."

"Shaken? No, silly. I'm going to teach Morningpaw how to skin pelts. I'm trying to pick out something," Hopechase insisted.

"Ah yes, because you take more than five minutes staring at the fresh-kill pile as a part of that process. Hope, come on, please be honest with me," Iciclepool meowed, her tail brushing against her clanmate's back gently.

Hopechase still kept a forced smile on her face. "Alright, alright. Maybe the adrenaline wasn't good on my bones. You're right that I'm tired - but I do have a promise to keep."

"Then let me take over."

"I thought you were going to spend time with Shiverkit tonight?"

"She can watch Morningpaw and I. She enjoys staring at cats when they do something new," Iciclepool said with a purr. "Those bright blue eyes of hers are always inquisitive. You should see the amount of questions Windfur is plagued with. The poor boy is inundated."

Hopechase felt her heart beat warmly as she spoke about her kit. Iciclepool was so much more like how she remembered her when they were younger - attentive and loving. Iciclepool remembered every little thing she liked about you, and always let others know. It was her greatest ambition in life to be a mother. If fates were different, maybe Iciclepool would've made a great queen and teacher. She knew Iciclepool always had eyes for Cliffstep alone, and she couldn't blame her - he was a thoughtful, empathetic tom, with similar ambitions to Iciclepool's. His death had destroyed her, and permanently changed her for moons. Hopechase was always worried that she'd never get to see her old self again - but she started to see cracks of it more recently, and her heart swelled every time she saw them. The more she thought about Iciclepool, the better she felt. But she knew the deputy wouldn't allow her to rest on that distraction.

"Hopechase, please. Let me take over the lesson today. I don't want to make it an order, but I will if you don't go to your nest," Iciclepool insisted. By the look in her eyes, Hopechase knew that she wasn't going to be swayed by anything else. The older molly sighed, and got to her feet.

"Alright, alright. I can't say no to our lovely deputy."

Iciclepool's whiskers twitched in amused affection. "Get some good rest."

As Hopechase padded away and slinked into the warriors' den, the light comfort that Iciclepool gave her faded. She felt the weight in her heart sink as the world around her loomed. As she curled up in her nest and stared at the wall, her thoughts swarmed like gnats.

Someone hadn't fed the woods in five moons.

The Clan knew that Redstar was trying. She kept leaving at night and returning in the morning. Her eyes were getting more and more sunken, and her fur was getting kinks. Her silence upon entering camp every morning spoke every word that was needed.

Hopechase buried her face in her bedding. Her lips curled and she suppressed the hiss in her throat.

Olive was pregnant. Everyone knew that now, and no one spoke their fears. The woods were not fair. They were opportunistic. If someone doesn’t sacrifice themselves, it’ll be Olive’s kits, or Warblerkit, or Shiverkit. It will take whichever clanmate is deemed the easiest to catch. It was always the greatest tragedy of ForestClan - that kits were extremely vulnerable to the woods. The only time kits were safe, is if the woods were fed recently.

She should’ve fed the woods.

She was the eldest cat in the clan. Every other cat in the clan was young and lively, with their entire futures ahead of them. And kits - it wasn't fair that so many of them didn't get the chance to truly live. She lived a good life, didn't she? Dying wasn't so bad, right? StarClan was waiting to save her soul. Her family was waiting for her. She could finally see her mother and father again. She could listen to her uncle Rootgrove's stories again, and her brother Icypaw - oh, Icypaw - she missed her littermate. She couldn't remember his face anymore. That hurt her.

She didn't...she didn't have any regrets, right? So why? Why did she just doom the children of her clan?

Hopechase quivered like a kit in leafbare, failing to suppress the sorrow in her chest. She buried her face in moss and pelts, and muzzled her wails, desperately pleading that no cat would walk in. They couldn't - they just couldn't see her like this. She was Hopechase now, and had been for months. Not Lightfoot. Hopechase. The pursuer of hope. She brought her clan hope.

Today, she just went out to bring them food. She brought them back suffering instead.

Why didn’t she just feed the woods?

---

< PREVIOUS | NEXT >

[n0tamused]

Hiii! Saw you were doing requests! Could you do a Aragorn x reader? It is Christmas time and they are spending it together with the fellowship (Boromir is alive) please?? 🙏

A/n: Thank you so much for the request! I really hope you like this :D <3 And we all love the 'everyone lives au'.. I do hope I did this request justice, and that I executed his character well. Feel free to let me know your thoughts!

Contents: Aragorn x F!Reader (reader is regarded as 'queen' and 'my lady', but nothing much besides that), fluff, everyone lives au lol, use of Y/n

Words: 3268

Ko-fi

Snow pelted the rolling valleys beyond the White City in cloaks of white shimmer with the golden touch of the rising sun. It was a cold wind that sighed in the air, bringing down the morning chill. Walls of high white stone looked pale yellow and young once more and the world was quiet. 

There was little doubt that one talking about ways to wake up peacefully wouldn't name such a sight. One right before you now. Even for the lowliest of creatures, a moment of quiet was always a welcome respite. The tips of your fingers were touched by the cold breath of the morning, your nose as well and the tips of your ears and toes as the balcony held you in its open palm. Sleep had all but fled you that night, and having suffered restlessness far too long you rose with the first light that greeted the sky. While you got used to the sight unraveling before you, the view was no less beautiful than the first day you gazed upon it. From so high above you glimpsed a green banner down in the streets, and another brown one, and besides many others stood green ornaments and decorated big wreaths tangled with ribbons upon the house doors and their corners. From up above it all looked so small, you could almost reach for it and pinch it between your fingers.

Couple of days before you had walked through the cities after receiving Aragorn and yours’ old friends, now come as guests, and there you've seen your people prepared for the approaching holiday. Despite the cold, their faces glowed with warmth and joy. Ever since the war ended the hopes these people displayed was almost strange in how brightly it shone, both in their eyes and in their work. Aragorn had commented on it as well, expressing the unfamiliarity that graced his heart, but he did not cast it away. It was a welcome unfamiliarity. For someone who witnessed and felt the darkness, it felt like accepting aid for the first time. But once it was grasped in your hands you swore to do what you could to protect it forever more. Aragorn, although now a king, never fit into his kingly role as one might’ve expected. He made it a point to walk outside without fancy robes or the crown, being a simple man just like the rest of them, and you were not the only one that appreciated such acts. 

Despite your clouded and mixed thoughts, your own joy arose, bubbling along the surface as you became surrounded by more familiar faces over the past couple of days. Aragon had been affected by it too, in the most positive ways. Whatever weight was on his shoulders suddenly melted from him. Friends, family - these were no ordinary words for him. They meant a great deal and carried even greater weight. Suddenly a sound graced your ears, a shuffling from behind and something light dragging across the ground, but you did not turn to meet it. The morning held you still. 

“Dearest..” a voice came behind you before a fur cloak kissed your back and thinly veiled arms. “..what brought you from bed and my arms so early this morn?”

He's whispering in that gruff tone of his, no less gentle than any other time he addressed you. Warmth clung to him and the scent of warm blankets tickled your nose, tempting you. Aragorn’s kingly life also meant a certain extent of domesticity that had warmed the old Ranger's heart furthermore. You sigh a smile as you feel warmth seep through your frosty skin, feeling it ebb and flow like a thousand lover’s kisses as your hands caught the edges of it to bring it closer, only now willing to admit you might not be as immune to the cold as you wished to be.  Turning your head to him you noted the darkened, sleep heavy eyes as he took you in, patiently waiting for your response to break him from his dream-like state. There was no rush to be had, especially not so early. 

“Nothing worrying, Aragorn.. I am alright” you finally told him when his eyes began to wander, looking for a response written between your features; they snapped back to your eyes when you replied. There was a subtle pull at the corners of his mouth and a small nod, displaying that his ears have not given into the dreams and its call. 

“Good.. but you need your strength” he spoke plainly, his arms pulling the cloak further around you. There was more to be had to his words, but his refusal to speak more than needed amused you enough. 

A chuckle falls from your lips like a scoff, your lips pulling into a grin. “For what?.. Oh, do you see the upcoming evening like a battle?” 

Aragorn can’t help but roll his eyes at you, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder instead as his eyelids give under their weight once more. His arms wrapped around your middle, bringing the cloak closer around you. “I would’ve thought you would have missed your old companions, especially after not seeing them so long.. Should I go warn them of events to come?”

“Enough of you..” his arms affectionately squeeze you in his own way of defiance, pushing his chin closer to your neck where his beard tickled and pricked at your skin. “You very well know my words did not hold such meaning, so why must you make it out to be so?” Although you cannot clearly see him now, with him being so closely pressed up against your side, you can feel the curve of his lips.

“To help you wake up. Be sure, my teasing is not nearly what the teasing of others will be..” Your tone had dropped to a comfortable whisper, nuzzling back against him before he slowly began to sway and teeter you away from the balcony, leading you back inside. 

“That I know.. but I still have half a day's worth of time to prepare. I believe you’d help me better by joining me in bed for a moment longer”

“Of course. Yet I will have you know that I cannot simply let you sleep again.. We should talk about today” Gently you reached for his hand, your cold fingers giving him a squeeze, but internally you could feel him frown at the coldness. Once back inside, he was quick to close the balcony door and bring you to bed.

“That is quite fine, I did not expect to rest for much longer. You seem excited.. Could that be the reason for your restlessness?” 

“Perhaps” you smile at him, sliding underneath the thick blanket, meeting his gaze as he follows in after you. “Perhaps I am just happy to see you be so…yourself?” you continue in a mellow tone, reaching your hand out to cup his cheek. He leans in, eyes falling shut as his warmth spreads through your fingertips, and for a brief moment he grasps your wrist in order to plant a firm kiss to your palm. Then he lets go and cradles you close, pulling you into him until your head is on his chest. 

“And I am simply happy that you, and all those loved by me, are safe and happy as well..”

The moments passed swiftly in his arms, the warmth seeping through your bones like warm water through cloth, soaking it up in the comforts of his hold. So dear was the moment that the inescapable parting felt all the worse for it. The cold didn’t seem so bothersome while you were situated alone on the balcony.

The sun climbed higher up the sky, smoothly making its ascend although it felt further away than in any other season, for it failed to chase away the chill even as you walked in the courtyard dressed in several layers. Breaking your fasts that morning with Aragorn was swift, as both of you got pulled apart by your own duties, although duties were more numbered on his end than yours. There was something he was hiding, you could tell by the way his eyes hoped to flee from yours when you stared too long, but you did not know the secret was. So you let him be for now.

 Gimli stood underneath the white tree, its branches pebbled with closed buds of flowers that awaited spring through the winter. You could hear his laugh from within the halls of your home, a deep and joyous rumble, and soon you figured out why. Before him the two hobbits, Pippin and Merry, rolled in the snow, trying to push the other one’s face into it. Assuming the end goal was just that, to drown the other in the cold white blanket of nature, Merry was surely on his way to win.

“Good morrow, master Gimli” you called to the dwarf through your chuckling, your gloved hands clutched for warmth. 

“Master Gimli?” Gimli scoffed as he turned to look at you, head slightly tilted upward. “Has the distance made us grow into strangers, (Y/n)? Surely not, I’ve hardly been away for that long for ya to forget me” You grin at him, already shaking your head in denial, lifting your hand to wave it in dismissal. 

“Of course not! Of course not.. I was simply being polite. I hope you’ll forgive me for that, hm?” you can’t help but smile at him, his eyes shining with that dwarfish mischief entangled with joy, as well as a certain spec of pride only his kind knew how to wear well.

It was hard not to laugh mid-sentence, although the chuckling that fell from between your teeth was already heralding your doom, as Pippin shouted with his mouth full of snow after Merry shoved him into a pile of it. Glancing his way for a moment, his whole face was a mask of pure white, but it soon crumbled away, and he was at Merry again. Both of them laughed - a sweet song in the courtyard, it even rivaled the cold.

“I had hoped to teach these ones a little bit of old dwarfish snow customs, which are few and far between as it is - and yet, they turned it into a completely different game. But I suppose wrestling is not too far off from what I had in mind” Gimli explained, a few snowflakes melting in his beard and mustache. 

“Good thing you have plenty of time before the snow melts”. Gimli had shuffled for a moment, reaching inside his intricate and thick layers only to procure his pipe and a handful of green leaves. You wished not to linger on the question of ‘where’ he kept it all.

“Aye. And where is that Aragorn of yours now, stolen off to somewhere without us?” 

You look back at the dwarf, noticing the curve of his lips, a teasing coy look lit up his eyes. You sighed and shrugged your shoulders, giving way for silence to linger, knowing of Gimli’s lack of patience for such slow talk and subtle talks. But before he could get impatient enough to burst with another quip of his, you told him Aragorn had gone to oversee the last preparations for the feast tonight. And although you two had shared the load of planning, Aragorn insisted he does this last thing on his own. So you let him. The hardest part of preparations were done and that gave your mind some ease. 

After a little more talk you excused yourself on the behalf of your freezing toes, wandering off and back inside to the great halls within the fortress. It felt welcoming, yet no less odd in the most pleasing way, to see more of your old companions within, no doubt seeking the warmth of the great hearth in the dining hall. Boromir sat closest to the fire, Sam beside him and Frodo on the other side of the bench with Legolas keeping stand just a little behind them all, leaned against a pillar and dressed far more lighter than the others. If you could read the thoughts of others, you were sure you’d find a thought that ran along the lines of ‘I wish I had a drop of elf in me to bear the cold better’. 

“The Queen!” Samwise Gamgee called in a pleasant surprise of a tone, his eyes lighting up like gems in such ways it made you feel tender, almost unworthy of the praise veiled behind his outburst. The others turned to look, and alike Sam, they all smiled and greeted you warmly. 

“Come by the fire, warm yourself” The words were first told by Boromir, who was already rising from his seat to give it to you instead, but you insisted you did not need it. You were on the prowl, you told him, chuckling. “In search of Aragorn, are you?” he followed your line of thought and you nodded, making him scoff and look at the others and then back at you, almost as if sharing  a silent thought with them.

“Didn’t lose him, did you?” Sam quipped, with the scarce teasing, yet pure smile of his. 

“Oh, no. I hope not, otherwise I’d have no other choice but to call for the Fellowship again..” you mused. “Thankfully, that quest would be far less perilous, although perhaps a little bit dull, compared to what we had gotten used to”.

“Where do you think he’s hiding?” It was Frodo this time that mustered the courage to throw a jest your way, but no later did he try to drown his smile in the large pint of steaming tea only to hiss when he scalded himself, and in turn Sam hissed too for him to be more careful. “It seems I need not say anything, Frodo, the tea scolded you in my stead. Hah, but I think I might find him soon if I keep on searching. He is not the best when it comes to hiding, at least from me..” you told him as you watched Frodo reach for his burnt lips, no doubt he also burnt his tongue but the momentary flash of pain in his features was replaced with gentle mirth. And just like before, you had to excuse yourself, this time on the excuse of being too warm and in need of fresh air. Your heart felt full, knowing so many familiar souls had gathered together again, and you passed several as you passed through the grand halls alone before finally seeing that one face you were looking for.

You found him in the inner courtyard, a far smaller one with a glass ceiling. A green-house. He had it built for you not too long after his coronation, and he had planted many flowers and plants since then, some of which he got from Rivendell or Rohan. Now, amidst the many pots and in the soil underfoot lay several of your own works as well. It was warm here, or perhaps it was you who was too warm at the sight of his gentle tending to the plants. He was lone, his guards not posted anywhere near.

“My King..” 

His head turned at the sound of your wistful voice, his eyes reflecting a moment of surprise before a tender smile curved his lips. “My Queen..” It falls from his lips gently like a petal. 

“What are you doing?” Inquiring seemed innocently foolish after you glimpsed the flowers in his hands, the sensitive orchid and lilies bouquet tied deftly by a red ribbon and another one in your favorite color. The bows sat slightly lopsided, but they held the flowers together well enough. Perhaps hearing his response would make you feel less like a fool for asking, but fools in love do foolish things, so you couldn’t blame yourself for inquiring, nor him for his secrecy.

“Why, I am only hoping to prepare a good gift for my love” he began, looking back down at the bouquet, the dagger he used for cutting lay on the wooden work table placed in the middle of the green-house. “Once she told me loved these flowers but I failed to give them to her on time as they failed to bloom in my care. And now, as I hold them here, I am asking myself whether she would like them. What say you, my lady?” 

There was an attempt to hold your heart from squeezing out of the impact of his affection, but one skip of a heart and your lungs feel devoid of air, and your lips are all but helpless in the fight against a smile. ‘The green-house was always warm, but surely it wasn’t supposed to be this warm, was it?’ Your throat bobbed as you swallowed a word or two involuntarily, something which Aragorn shows his satisfaction in a form of a widening smile and for further measure he lifts the bouquet up for your inspection. 

“Have you counted the flowers?” you suddenly ask and you can tell it catches him off guard, his blue eyes flickering from you to each open flower. “..I have” he responded quickly, mid-count. You waited, letting silence grab hold of his cloaked shoulders and every petal of the flowers, your smile slowly widening as you watched the cogs and wheels turning in his mind, only veiled by his eyes. "I have counted them" He looks up at you then, after counting each flower, brows furrowed in one firm question that he dares not voice then.

Silence may have been a vice for him, but it was a challenge for you to not tease him further or begin laughing at the evident uncertainty. You let out a huff of laughter, breaking in through the silence that nearly suffocated his hope for a thoughtful gift.

“You..” he begins and you end up laughing more at the tremble his voice nearly clung on to, edged by gruffness of feigned anger. His feet suddenly carry him in a few  swift strides towards you. You can hardly look at him through your squinted eyes, failing to look serious. “My beloved, you will be the end of me one of these days” he softens his words, tempering them until the playfulness forms from his tongue and leaves behind lightheartedness. 

“One of these days, no, that’d be too soon. Maybe after you’ve learned to count the flowers, but that day won’t come for a long time yet, I reckon” now at ease and calmer than you were moments prior with giggles in your chest, you tipped your head backwards, only to peer into the learned blue eyes of your king husband. There was not a shadow of arrogance in there, but there was age and a thousand and some stories. 

“All your friends are asking about you, where you ran off to” you began after a moment of not one word being uttered. Years had made it so that words seemed like excess in some moments, a lot of them. 

“They’re getting a bit impatient.. We should go meet them” 

“Aye, yes, we should” Aragorn says and with one hand he seeks yours out, guiding it to take hold of the bouquet, and until you’re securely holding the flowers he does not let go. His hands are warm, calloused, and they leave a lingering feeling before he parts. The separation does not last long for he offers you his elbow, and without any hesitation you loop your arm through his after giving his cheek a kiss. 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[yeyinde]

Lev? Uncle Simon? I’m excited. I don’t even know what it’s about but I like the sound of it already

out of all the untitled documents to choose from who knew the uncle Simon one would stand out so much lmao this is super choppy but here's my little idea for the new version:

At first, she's a name on a piece of paper. 

An abstract concept. Black lines stamped into stark white. An idea—

(a phone call in the middle of the night that he wasn't expecting. 

"Mr Riley? Is this—right. Well, the reason I'm calling is because the adoption agency received a request from one of the adoptees about tracking down their biological family, and you were the only match.")

—a ghost. 

Out of everyone, he thinks he mourned her the most. This tiny, insignificant thing swathed in pale pink and cradled in the arms of her mother, his almost sister-in-law. Tommy leaning over her shoulder, eyes glazed in an artificial gloss (c'mon, Tommy) as they smile, vacantly, at the camera.

At the time, elbow deep in a shallow grave as he stared at the photo his mother sent him, all he could think was: she never stood a fuckin' chance. 

And she didn't. Her first night home from NICU was when his past came back for revenge. Bloodthirsty, vengeful. They sunk their claws into his family, tearing them into pieces. A nightmarish massacre they called him to discover.

(pinch me, Tommy, pinch me—)

Better off this way, he remembers thinking. Cruel. Callous. Staring down at a tiny grave—her name etched in stone; only days old before the monsters in his closet came searching for their due—and knowing that this was all his fault. And then: sorry, little bird. 

Sorry. Sorry—

But that little bird crawled out of the dirt. Made it out alive somehow. 

(better this way, the higher up said, resting a neat, unblemished hand on the folder marked Simon Riley. next to it, a mask lay on the table. generic. he hums around his grief, thinks of Tommy in the grave—milkwhite bones. "a clean break—"

he thought it was their attempt at humour. maybe an odd way to comfort him. but with the roaring in his ears, he couldn't hear much beyond the ache in his chest, and the ice-cold fury coiling in his belly.

"she's in a better place."

fuckin' hell—

he thought they meant some idea of heaven, not Salford.)

And now—

That name on a piece of paper has a face.

A pretty one, too.

And though he tries to find pieces of Tommy in the symmetry of her profile—and feels antsy, restless, when he does—she takes after her mother. Same complexion. Eyes. The slope of her nose. All of it the woman he met once—stumbling home to find them both passed out on the couch, heads knocked together as a dense cloud of smoke plumed around them. Her eyes, heavy lidded and red, gazing up at him uncomprehendingly.

"who're you?" slurred out in a smokey rasp. Tommy didn't even stir at the sound of her voice.

It's her but healthy. Youthful. Clear eyes. Hands that don't shake. Teeth that gleam white under the fluorescent light of the cafe she works at, not willow-brown. Stained yellow with nicotine. She's softer, too. The harsh, fragile angles of her mother tucked away under a thick pelt. Solid. Steady.

Happy.

He spends a lot of time just staring at her in the back of the dimly cafe, hood pulled over the black ballcap hung low on his brow. Medical mask in place of his typical knit balaclava. Barely blending in to the passel of the teenagers that seem to congregate, em masse, in the small coffeeshop.

Sometimes, she looks back at him. Catches his eye. Offers a smile that's only a little wobbly around the edges, brow pushed together as she tries to make sense of his presence here. With the chocolate trim and the cream walls, the heady scent of ground coffee in the air, chatter of schoolkids and professionals that skirt around him with a considerable dearth to reach the trashbin next to his table. It's clear he doesn't fit.

Doesn't belong.

It glues to the roof of his mouth. The passing, mean thought that neither does she.

Or—

She wouldn't.

If Tommy survived, she'd be leaning against the wall with him, listening to the distant echo of flushing toilets while the world seemed to carve out a steep chasm between them. Them and us. That's how it's always been with him and Tommy.

But she—

She fits.

Offers smiles as easily as breathing. Something that would have netted them a black eye from their raging old man, bellowing out that he'd give them something to smile at.

She doesn't look like anyone has ever raised a hand against her. And he supposes, thinking back on the information he managed to get the private detective hired by her new parents to squeal out, that she doesn't. Not her. No.

Grew up in Salford with her adoptive parents—much older than most looking to adopt, already in their late forties when she was just a year old. Lived a life on the right side of the tracks: spelling bees, private tutors. Vacations to Disneyland. They weren't rich. Not exorbitantly so, but they managed a comfortable lifestyle. Food on the table every night. Chores. Movie nights on Saturday where she got bring a friend for a sleepover. Pizza and popcorn and candy and her mother asking, want some more snacks, honey? Soft and gentle. That's what they were. Are. Doting. Kind.

Punishments were drenched in disappointment. Voices never raised. Hands never furling into fists.

She was a good kid raised by good people.

And he should be happy for her.

He is happy for her.

They raised her good and proper. Put food in belly. Never let her know hunger. Or pain. Neglect.

But he finds Tommy in her smile. The little dip of her chin, tucking her happiness into her collar as if she doesn't want it to be seen. It's all—him. Them.

Simon just can't seem to think around the idea of her belonging to someone else—

(she's his family, after all. his baby bird. his brother's daughter. his niece. his. his—

and maybe it's time baby bird—Baby Riley—came home.)

[steviewashere]

Look After You

Pairings: Steve Harrington & Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington & Steve Harrington's Father, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: Teen and Up CWs: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Violence, Blood & Injury, Implied/Referenced Homophobia Tags: Post-Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Whump, Platonic Stancy, Nancy Wheeler is a Sweetheart, Nancy Wheeler Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Injured Steve Harrington, Sad Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Minor Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, But Their Relationship is a Key Stone to the Whole Plot, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington's Dad is an Asshole, Use of Queer as a Slur (Steve Referring to Himself) Title from "Look After You" by The Fray

🫂——————🫂 The car crawls on the wet asphalt. It’s dark, cold, sprinkling now that the heaviest part of the downfall has subsided. And Nancy isn’t going to take any risks with driving tonight. Not after all she’s survived.

It’s hard to spot what’s ahead of her through the droplet covered windshield. She turns the wipers on—squeak…squeak…squeak. Turns up the heater another notch on the dial when her fingers begin to ache again from the cold. And lowers the volume on the radio—“Barracuda” by Heart begins to dwindle—the crackling through her speakers from a tape Jonathan gave her as a gift. “Fitted with the best tracks I could find that suited you, Nance.”

She has more tapes in the center console. One from Robin, a mash of Madonna and The Beatles that she suspects came from lingering Vecna anxiety. A short and sweet mix from Eddie—Dio becoming a new favorite band, surprisingly. And an old, tired tape from ’83, crafted specifically for her by Steve. She remembers the effort he put into it. How he nervously gave it to her, how his hands shook, his smile fond and lightly embarrassed. There were songs on it that he liked, noticeably Queen and Springsteen; but there was Bowie and Blondie, too—for her, genuinely just her. All in all, the center console is a good representation of love she’s had over the years—new friends and old. The only tape not in the car being one from Barb, dusty and lingering in a box of trinkets shoved far and deep into her bottom dresser drawer.

Barb is still honored among her things. Some of her clothes. There’s a pair of lenses she left, that Nancy has since fitted for her own reading glasses—ones that she wears when marking in loopy cursive in the same type of journal she always saw Barb writing in. It’s the principal of moving on, she thinks. Not quite leaving all of Barb behind, but honoring her in the small ways that matter—and in that, it’s forming new friendships while repairing ones formerly broken. To be loved; to be remembered; to be taken care of, even if it’s just music in her car.

Even if it’s pulling slow to the next red light and in the corner of her eye, on the left in the steadying rain, she spots a figure on the sidewalk. Hunched in, carrying a heavy sack on their back, hair floppy into their face—a battered face. And if they didn’t cross under a streetlamp, she probably wouldn’t have recognized them. But it’s the blue Adidas on their feet that she notes. With a crank, then two, and another that threatens to jam her window into the car door—

“Steve?!” She calls out. The figure stops. Startles frantically. Whips their head around, eyes darting, mouth frowning. And then they look at her. His eyes wild and scared and hazy. Her stomach drops low. “Hey! Where’s your car?!”

The rain pelts down. Heavy and heavier as she idles at the stoplight, now green. His hands are nervous in front of him, smushing palms together, fingers tangling with one another. Then, he just shrugs. But his face does something…complicated. It twitches like he’s thinking. It frowns like he knows she won’t like the answer. And so he settles for absence, like she’d ever think he’s actually stupid.

“Why don’t you get in mine, Steve?!” she shouts over the heavy rain, “I can take you where you need to go! You’re gonna get sick and we know how Robs is going to react to that!”

It’s the mention of Robin that makes him move. Slow and hesitant, hefting the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. Sluggish in a way that worries her—a reminder of concussions, of blood soaked shirt scraps, and the inevitable infection that had come in the aftermath. She thinks he looks—not exactly cowardly, but something so timid that it’s child-like. Small and shaky.

The passenger door opens with a soft click. And he climbs in, shoe making a gentle squish to the floor of the car, and the subtle squeak of his drenched clothes on the leather seat. His sack goes to the footwell, overflowing and tight against the glovebox, probably heavy on the tops of his feet. He shuts the door with his right hand, but she catches a glimpse of his left where it rests on his thighs. The contours of his knuckles are shadowed with blood, dried in the creases of his skin. There’s a jagged scratch to the edge of his palm that she wonders at, if it reaches down to the underside of his hand, where it ends, if it’s still bleeding. He scrunches his fingers minutely, but quickly straightens them again, as if it hurts to move them. And she’s sure it does. She’s very sure it does.

She looks back out the windshield when he settles into the seat. The light turns yellow, then red. Green light just missed, so she’ll stall. Fiddles with the knobs on her dashboard—cranks the heat high, turns the radio completely down. Shifts the air vents on her car so that they all point at him, rather than her. And soothes at the way he closes his eyes, soaking up the heat on his obviously cold skin—goosebump riddled and lips slightly blue. Wipers forced to their max capacity, fast and squeaking.

“So…where are you heading, Steve?” And she looks back, not head-on. Tilts her head, looks sideways and almost down her nose at him. 

He shrugs, eyes still closed. Even though they’re hidden from her, she can tell he’s forlorn. Tight wrinkles between his brows. A frown still sitting stubborn. “I don’t know,” he breathes.

Nancy nods. Taps her fingers on the steering wheel. “Can I ask about…about the face?” she wonders quietly.

The way his jaw tightens, she thinks there won’t be an answer. His throat works, muscles strained, veins protruding, Adam’s apple tired. But then, his lower lip wobbles and his eyes peel open half-lidded, and he’s looking out the passenger window. Even through the rain on the glass, she can see the tears he must’ve been trying to recede. Fast and plenty, some tinted pink from the bit of blood still caked around his eye, the others crystal clear and showcasing the rapid flush of his ruddying cheeks. “Not yet,” he whispers, “can we just drive for a little bit?”

Instead of pushing, like she wants to do, she just looks at the road—light finally green—and goes under the speed limit. Empty streets, still slick asphalt, she’ll oblige. “Anywhere in mind or do you want to just go sightseeing?”

He snorts wet and snotty. “You still have that constellation book in your center console?”

“Hey,” she scolds, mock-offended, “I told you that in confidence!”

His head thunks against the side of the door, hair rustling as he looks to her. She feels his eyes on him, but won’t look over again just yet. “There’s no one else around,” he murmurs, “and besides, I was kidding. I don’t know where I wanna go.” Steve sighs heavily. “Don’t know if my face is very welcoming right now anyway.”

She clicks her tongue. “Yeah,” she reluctantly agrees, “think the…the blood and stuff would put people off.” Her hands tighten on the steering wheel. Hesitantly, she broaches the next subject, “Taking walks at night with what seems like a load of hiking gear. Did you take on a new exercise plan or something?”

“Nope,” he answers quietly—he’s been weirdly quiet the whole time—“just seeing where my feet would take me, I guess. Out of town or…wherever.”

“Out of town,” she repeats slowly. “And your car wasn’t good for that?”

He shrugs. “Dad told me I couldn’t have it, since he tossed me out. Not like I can do anything about that, it’s in his name.” Then, at that, he inhales sharply through his nose, eyes wide—wider than she’s ever seen them. Catching up all at once to what he said. “I didn’t—You didn’t hear—Forget that I”—

“Did he do that to you?” She asks, teeth gritted. Chest tight.

“My dad? My dad’s an asshole.” She remembers all the times he’d say that. Brushing over the shit he’d been thrown. Trying to convince her to not meet his parents.

He doesn’t answer now.

“Steve, if he did this, you can press charges. You can…We can tell Hop”—

“And get everyone else involved? No thanks.”

Reluctantly, Nancy finds a spot on the curb that’s completely empty, and pulls over to it. He begins to reach down into the footwell, scrambling for his bag, panicked in all his gestures. She stops him with a soft hand on his forearm. He freezes, but doesn’t look over.

“Steve,” she whispers, “what were you going to do tonight? Where were you going to go? If…if your dad is after you or something, we can stow you in my basement, I can—I’ll get Jonathan to remove the stick in his ass for a night so you can”—

“I was going to skip town, okay?” He forces himself to speak, mangled and garbled as it is. “See if I could find a passing car outside of the limits, hitch a ride, maybe end up somewhere else. That’s what I was going to do. I don’t wanna…nobody else needs to know about all of this. I don’t want anybody else to get involved. This is between my dad and I, alright?” Finally, he looks up from the footwell. Still hunched over. Hands still shaking and gripping to the backpack straps. Tears streaming down his face again.

She makes a decision, stubborn as he is, and turns on the overhead light.

In the sickly yellow glow of the car’s light, she can see all the damage done to him. There’s a cut on his right cheekbone most likely formed from a wedding ring. Dark, plum bruising around his left eye. Swollen face, blood caked around his nostrils—hopefully not broken. A cut on his lip. Another cut on his hairline. There’s bruising on his neck, in the shape of fingertips. And when she looks down his arm, past the curled edge of his t-shirt sleeve, there’s bruising there, too.

“I should shoot your dad in the fucking face,” she finally says. “Why’d he do this to you? If anything, you’ve been out of his hair for years now. He has no reason to go after you. No fucking reason at”—

“It’s because I’m a queer, Nance,” Steve spits. Not venomous, something humiliated and heated. “Okay? I’m a fucking queer. I’m dating—Eddie and I are dating. Wayne should’ve been the only one to know, but somehow my dad found out. Went snooping in my room or…or maybe one of my neighbors saw Eddie leaving my house looking a little more rumpled than he arrived. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m a queer and my dad doesn’t like that.

“And if you’ll excuse me, I think I should get back on the road and get the fuck out of here before my dad can come cruising around, find me, and do me in worse than Vecna could’ve ever.” He rips his arm out from under Nancy’s palm. Struggles with hefting the backpack onto his lap. And reaches for the door handle.

Yet, he still stops himself when Nancy pulls him back in. Forces him back into his seat. Keeps sat and still.

He looks back to her, understandably upset.

She takes pause. Looks back and forth at his wet eyes—one half-shut, forced by the swelling of his face. Her hands are on his biceps, sat where those bruises are, and all she does is stroke her palms up and down. Soothing. “That’s okay, Steve,” she murmurs, “I don’t care that you’re queer. That you’re gay or—or something else. I care that you’re safe.”

“I’m not safe here in town,” he retorts, voice shaking.

Her hands move to his forearms. Where his skin is still cold. “You don’t even have a jacket on. You don’t…you don’t know who’s going to pick you up. What that person could be like. I can’t just let you step out of my car and walk back down the road.” In front of her, he begins to crumble all over again. Realizing, all too fast and all too much, that she’s unfortunately right. “Can I take you somewhere else? Maybe to Eddie’s? If you don’t want to explain all of this again to somebody like Hopper or my dad or even Robin, then at least talk it though with somebody who’d fully understand the severity.

“I can clean you up with my first aid kit. But I’m not letting you walk out of everybody’s lives. Even if I know you aren’t, you have no guarantee the next time you’d be able to reassure the people who care about you.” She squeezes his arms. Lightly, so gentle it could’ve been nothing. And when his tears come fast again, she holds his face between her palms. At least his face is warm, she thinks, and at least he isn’t fighting me.

Steve sniffles. Doesn’t and won’t make direct eye contact with Nancy. Forlorn, again, to the tip of his nose. “You won’t tell anybody else?” He asks, small, timidly.

“No,” she merely whispers, “it’s not my business. And I shouldn’t have forced it out of you. For that, I’m sorry. I just…I’ve seen you too close to death too many times. I’m not letting it get you because you think you’d be better off with strangers, with people who don’t care about you the way we do.” She strokes her thumb at a spot of crusted blood on his right cheek. Where it had burbled out of the cut. “If I hadn’t found you, would you have ever told anybody where you went? Would you have told Robin? Eddie?”

He sighs through his nose. Closes his eyes again. Swallows hard and shakes his head softly. “I don’t have enough cash for a payphone, so I guess I wouldn’t.”

“Right,” Nancy murmurs, “let me clean you up, okay? I’ll take you home, to Eddie’s. And maybe…one of these days, y’know, we can figure out a plan. A pact. Get all of us out of this shithole.”

“Shithole,” Steve echoes. Snorts. “Never heard you say that before.”

She grins, even though he can’t see it. “Blame Mike for that one. He’s uh…he’s creative, that’s all I’ll say.”

The clean up doesn’t take long. Some rubbing alcohol on fast food napkins. A tube of Neosporin. Band-aids. All done in relevant silence. With his head still in her hands, his throat working over and over as he can’t pinch his nose to prevent more tears. His hands slowly warmed in her grip as she wraps a bandage over the nasty cut on his palm. Where that particular injury came from, she doesn’t know, but knows better than to ask.

And in the drive over, they make the same small talk. About plans for college—for Emerson. Of Family Video, customers, minimum wage. She jokes that Eddie’s got her hair. And he just laughs, full from his belly and gravelly the way it always had been—even tells her that Eddie made a comment along the same lines.

When he disappears inside of the Munson’s trailer, she feels relieved, not satiated, but soothed. And when Eddie comes out, pajamas and all, wraps his lanky arms around her torso, pulls her in fast and hard, drops a kiss to her head of curls—she knows that Steve is in good hands.

“Wheeler, you’re a fucking hero,” Eddie remarks.

“I wasn’t just going to let him be miserable.”

“Seriously, Nancy, you’re my fucking hero. I don’t know where he’d be without you.”

Somewhere else, she thinks, somewhere else without us. Bruised and scared and small.

“Don’t think about it,” she says, “get him better though, please.”

“Will do, Nance. Get home safe?” Eddie breathes, arms still tucked around her body securely. He’s scared, she can tell, but half-relieved all the same.

“I always do.”

🫂——————🫂

[kradogsrats]

The last time Lissa cries is in Katolis.

As she rides away, she feels as if she'll weep forever—tears she can't stop flowing down her cheeks, ceaseless and steady—but when she crosses into Del Bar, her face and eyes are dry. Her parents welcome her back into their home. Her siblings and their children turning out to comfort her. Lissa smiles and thanks them, lets them embrace her.

None of them say, I told you so. Not outright, at least. She can tell some of them are thinking it.

Doesn't seem all that broken up about it, does she? Not a single tear.

Shush—let the poor girl be. Not all pains can be wept over right away.

But when her mother falls ill, she doesn't cry like her sisters do. When they bury her—when her father, always mountain-strong, is reduced to gravel in his children's arms—she has no tears to shed.

Nor does she weep for her brother's son—young and bright and brimming with promise—dead the instant his horse throws him, his neck snapped cleanly. He'd planned to marry his sweetheart, in a year or two. There's a funeral instead, the other boy's anguished tears a river of grief.

Lissa still does not cry. No matter the sorrow, her eyes sit in her head like stones, hard and heavy. Dry as bone, even as her throat closes and her chest burns like her heart is on fire.

There are no tears from her even for her second sister's husband, a sailor whose ship never returns from its last journey through the spring storms. Her sister holds her own shattered pieces together for the sake of their small children, and the family rallies to support her with food and chores and company. They cry with her, late into the night—all of them, except for Lissa.

Cold as the heart of Hinterpeak, that one.

You're surprised? She married a mage, she was cursed from the start.

Then she abandoned her children in the snake's den, when she'd had her fill of him and his poison.

I suppose it takes a monster to love a monster.

What could she tell them—that Viren had meant no ill? That she'd been the collateral damage of a miracle, a negligible cost for saving a child from death? That her children were better served by staying with a father who loved them so fiercely than by their broken mother dragging them away?

That when he'd stumbled in half-mad, his face scarred beyond recognition, ranting and raving his demands that she weep to save their son, she had refused? That she'd feared what he might take from her, as if anything she possessed could be worth more than Soren's life?

That when his hand twisted in her hair and the cold glass pressed against her cheek, she cried not for Soren, but for the man she'd loved and the monster he'd become?

That, most of all, she had cried for herself?

She stays quiet, and does not cry.

Her father finally passes, never recovered from her mother's loss, and her brother approaches on behalf of the family. We love you, Lissy, you know that—but we think it would be best if you didn't come to the funeral.

Lissa's heart burns, her throat clenched tight against any protest, and she nods. She leaves that night, vanishing into the mountains. No one comes looking for her.

She settles outside a remote village, in a tiny hut halfway up the mountain, more a hunter's seasonal shelter than a house. She busies herself with survival—tends a garden, hunts and forages. Down in the village, she trades the pelts of what she can trap, and sometimes plays the decrepit, barely-tuned piano in the tavern for coins.

That's where she hears of the great march on Xadia. King Viren of Katolis, leading the united Pentarchy to end the threat of dragons for good.

Lissa returns to the tavern every day after that, desperate for more news—it's barely a week later when she hears he's dead, his army broken by an alliance between the elves of Xadia and those loyal to King Harrow's son. There is no mention of her children in any of the garbled rumors.

It's almost a relief, that she doesn't cry for Viren.

But Soren would be old enough to have joined the Crownguard, just as he'd always wanted. With two kings dead in such quick succession—first King Harrow, and then, somehow, his own father—could she even dare hope he still lives? And Claudia, so fascinated by magic, even when it tore their family apart—had she succumbed to all its dangers? Would Viren have let her walk a different path, if she chose?

She imagines going back, demanding to know what happened to her son and daughter—if Viren remained in a place sufficiently prominent to somehow become king, someone has to know. She imagines seeing them again, being able to run to them and take them in her arms. She imagines crying, then—a decade of stolen tears released in a flood of joy and relief.

Then she imagines their revulsion at the mother who left them, should she be unable to shed a single tear of grief or regret.

Lissa stops going to the tavern. Her heart burns as if its falling to ash.

She doesn't cry.

[kkeidawrites]

Darkened Halls

Day 24 of Blacktober! Enjoy from your lovely sick writer!

CW: suggestive mature themes

The wind pushed and pulled the trees, some threatening to rip from their roots as the rain pelted on the branches, easily snapping them off the limbs to the wet ground below.

The cloaked body was taking the time to escape the harsh weather, boots crushing the mud from below their feet. It seemed that they were following a set path through the cluttered forest of trees and shrubs, their hands tucked away in gloves tightening the cloak around their more closely to their body.

Pushing back the brushes that were leading to where they needed to go were as high as their chest when they parted them to step through.

Their eyes look up to see the place that they were looking for and smile.

As the thunderstorm hailed in a heinous fury, it didn’t stop the individual from wanting to go to this magnificent hidden treasure that no mere human would ever think of approaching.

In the middle of the raging storm there it sat: a castle, so tall and jagged that one would think that by touching it they would be cut from the sharp edges it beheld.

The stone steps were not slippery enough to not walk on and the individual made their way up to the tall double doors that awaited the entrance.

Pushing the doors open, they were met with an opulent hallway, plush red carpets and lit candles that littered the ceiling and hanging candleliers. Two sets of stairs spiral to the next level of the castle and the individual makes their ascent to be met with a long dark hallway.

It would seem that the light here couldn’t reach this level of the castle as the person makes their way down the concourse.

Doors were closed as they passed, each one perhaps concealing a rare glimpse of the unknown but, to the exploring character it was not what they needed to look into.

Once they reached the end of the hallway, there was a thump sound that sounded from behind them and they stilled in place.

The thump is heard again, this time much louder and closer than the first but, they still don’t move a muscle.

“A visitor?” A baritone voice is heard as their voice slithers to the individual’s left ear and then a hand is cupping the undercut of their chin.

“In my castle? You must have not heard the stories of this place. Yet, somehow,” fingers dance under their chin and light grasps their neck, nails so sharp it could cut them without even flicking his wrist.

“You are here. I am quite impressed.” He chuckles as his hand quickly leaves their neck. A breath is left from the character’s lips and in turn they dig into their cloak, searching for something.

Pulling out a small pouch, they held it out for the voice behind them and heard a confused sound emit from him.

“I have received the spice that you were looking for, I can’t believe you made me go out in this storm and buy this.” The woman’s voice is revealed along with her pulling back her hood.

Black curls swish from side to side as she looked up at him with a pointed look. Her full lips were fully pouted and her hips were jutted in a stance that showed she was upset with him.

“But Y/n-“

“No, Alucard! Do you know that this entire sack costed ten pieces of silver? Ten! I had to haggle the shopkeeper to get such a cheap price.” She exclaims shaking the bag in frustration as her lover holds up his hands in defense.

The dhampir son of Dracula is rendered to a stutter as his little love fusses at him. He had promised to come with her to the nearby town for some ingredients for dinner that they were making together.

“I didn’t actually think you would go out and get it, and I also didn’t think it was going to storm so harshly either. I’m sorry Y/n.” He helps her pull off the heavily soaked cloak and folds it over his right arm.

“Fine. I forgive you,” she pouts and crosses her arms.

“But, to make up for it, you need to put this oregano in the pot and cook the rest of dinner. With MY supervision, I will not have another meal where everything I eat has no taste.” She scolds lightly and Alucard grabs the bag of spice.

“Very well. I really wished you had waited for me, dear I worry for your safety.” He says and takes her brown, hand in his, pulling her closer.

His lips find hers as they embrace and Y/n wraps her arms around his neck. Her hands roams through his long blonde hair and pulls away when she looked up and pulls on his blonde beard, rubbing the soft hair.

“So handsome, will you be getting rid of this anytime soon?” She asks.

“Not this week.” He says. Y/n hums and smiles wickedly.

“Perfect. Keep it a little longer, you look so pretty like this.” He smirks at her as she said this and brings her closer to his chest, a fanged grin bringing tingles down her body.

“Oh? Do I?” He asks his hands running down her back and cupping her bottom.

“Mmhmm, but right now we have dinner to work on and I am most certainly looking forward to eating this dinner.” She tells him and grabs his left hand pulling him in the direction of the kitchen and Alucard rubs his beard.

“Will you get on top after dinner?” He suddenly asks and Y/n abruptly stops but then makes her stride in high gear to the kitchen.

“After dinner yes I’ll ride your face.” She promises and Alucard is all smiles.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Short and sweet enjoy and be sure to like, reblog, and comment!

This is what Alucard looks like and I found this on Google so yeah…take this as you will I actually love this look on him. Like father like son😏😏😏 I couldn’t find the artist of who made this fanart but here is the link for it:

[cozzzynook]

Ansty Anon Back with part 5

Deep rumbles of thunder grew closer as rain began to fall and pelt their frames dampening everyone's moods. That would be case all except Starscream who had never been more thankful for the terrible weather, it meant losing Soundwave was a lot easier. Perfect. Letting out a sharp vent the seeker quickly dived bomb using the heavy rainfall as cover as twisted and turned in a unwaning patten.

"Try and keep up" Starscream hissed softly as he made another swift turn. The sky then light up in bright hues as lighting began to dance along the sky.

The young seekerling struggled to keep up as their dented wing hissed in pain at every drop of rain made it sting. They wanted to land to rest as the longer they stayed out in the open sky the risk of getting hit by lighting grew higher. Just then a bright blinding light filled the sky making it difficult to see and fly. Out of instinct the seekerling dived hoping to find some cover or ground to land. However land never came as someone had grabbed a hold their Alt-Mode and was guiding them towards a small hidden cave. Finally in some form of shelter the gold and white sparkling transformed back into their Root-Mode letting out a shaky sigh as they sat down on the cold stone floor.

Starscream then looked back at the cave's entrance checking to see if they have truly lost Soundwave in the storm. Pleased that they weren't being followed Starscream turned to finally address the young sparkling. His sparkling. "I suppose you're scared and confused to what's going on, correct?"

"Yes..." They lowered their helm as they pulled their knees close to their chest.

"I thought so..." Starscream muttered as he knelt down in order to check over the seekerling's dented wing. The damage wasn't sever and the dent could easily be fixed and with some rest they can fly in no time. "Well, I suppose you deserve to know the truth. I'm not sure what your Carrier told you but..." Starscream lowered his gaze as his wings flicked nervously as he just realised how long it has been since he last saw them.

"Don't worry, I already figured it out" The young sparkling perked up as they gave a tiny smile. "You're my Sire...right?"

"Correct..." Smart that one. Starscream felt pride fill his spark.

"But why did you take me away? Do you really hate my Carrier that much?..." The seekerling lowered their helm again as their wings flickered with worry and slight fear.

"No!" Starscream hissed as he flared his own wings. "I never hated him! I still-" Taking a deep vent he slowly stood up as he turned to face the cave's entrance again, he needed to calm down and explain his side of the story. "I don't hate your Carrier, I never did. I just wanted you both to be safe and yet...that seems impossible now"

The sparkling had fully raised their helm as they looked on curiously. Their wings fluttered as they slowly sat up straighter. "If you don't hate Carrier...what happened?"

Starscream sighed as he lowered his gaze. "When the war first started me and your Carrier conjunxed in secret. For a while everything was perfect and no one was none the wiser" He then crossed his arms as he leaned against the stone wall feeling regret wash over him. "But when you were just a new-spark, everyone found out about us and I was forced to make a difficult choice. I've regretted it ever since"

"Oh..." The sparkling hummed as they began to sit more comfortable on the stone floor. A weird sense of relief filled their spark as they listened to their Sire's story. "What's going to happen now?"

The seeker turned and gave a soft but regretful smile. "I'm going to make sure you and your Carrier get out of this mess. You might never see me again but as long as you are both safe, I don't care" He then pulled up his comm link and sent a ping. Starscream then flicked his wings before pulling something out of his sub-space. "Here take this, I wanted to give you it when you were still a bittie, before everything..."

The seekerling took a-hold of a plushie that looked like one of Earth's birds, its colours where a mix of reds and gold and blue. Their wings flutters gleefully as they hugged the plushie tight while a wide smile formed on their face. "Hehe, Thank you!"

Starscream felt warmth bloom in his spark as he gave a soft smile. "You're welcome"

An hour had passed and the storm had began to die down and move on. A soft cool breeze filled the cave drawing a soft shiver from Starscream as he kept watched at the cave's entrance. Letting out s deep vent the seeker got to his pedes and stretched both his wings and limbs to remove the tension from his wires and hydraulics. He barely had time to relax his frame before he was suddenly pushed and pinned against the wall. The seeker gave a confused squeak as he met the familiar gaze.

"Well, hello to you too Bumblebee" The seeker gave a smirk.

"Don't 'hello me', Starscream." Bumblebee hissed as he tightened his grip on the seeker's shoulders. "First you pull a stunt like that and now you want to talk as if nothing happened?!"

"look I can explain- just keep your voice down" Starscream whispered as he lowered his wings to seem less threatening. He then calmed his field hoping it would relax the yellow mech.

Bumblebee just let out a frustrated sigh as he finally let go of the seeker, his door wings flicked as he took a couple steps back. "Alright...what do you want? You seemed to be avoiding us as much as possible until now. What's changed?"

"I'll be forward with you..." Starscream muttered as he looked over to where their sparking was currently recharging. He then gave a worried look as he returned his gaze back to his former conjunx. "You're both in danger...Megatron is after our sparkling and if I don't bring them to him, he'll hurt you.."

"What?!" Bee hissed as his plating flared with both shock and anger. The yellow mech then let out a soft growl as his door wings flicked in rage. "You just bring that up now?!"

"Well I did try and warn you a few weeks earlier but you seemed so sure not to speak with me that night..." Starscream rolled his optics as he put a servo on hip.

"Ah...that night" Bee felt embarrassment and shame wash over. All of this could have been avoid if he didn't blow up at Starscream that night, oh well he can't do anything about that now. "Look I'm sorry I lost my temper that night, but you did just show up out of nowhere in the middle of the night..."

The seeker gave a soft chuckle as he flicked his wings in amusement. "Understandable. I should have chose a better time to speak with you in secret. As for now we have bigger things to worry about"

"Right...What do you want us to do about that?" The yellow mech tilted his helm as he crossed both of his arms. He gave a little wince as his still fresh wounds stung a little but he didn't focuses on that now.

Starscream then gave a soft hum as he pulled out a small data slug from his sub-space. He then handed it to Bumblebee while giving a sorrowful look. "I know a place where you'll both be safe, use this data slug to find it. It has co-ordinates that will lead you to a neutral planet far from here"

Bee's optics went wide as he scanned the data slug in his servo, a soft sigh escaped his vents as he shook his helm. "Star, I don't know what to say..." With his free servo he grabbed a-hold of the seeker's servo drawing a startled gasped. "You really do care. Thank you"

Starscream gave a soft smile as he felt energon beginning to prickle at his cheeks while his spark spun a little quicker. He then turned his helm to avoid gazing into those soft blue optics he loved so much. "You're welcome little bee, just be safe...that's all I ask of you both"

Bumblebee then turned his own helm as he felt his own cheeks beginning to warm. Flicking his door wings he pulled away his servo already missing its familiar warmth as he turned to speak. "We will, and Star?"

"Hm?"

"Please don't get yourself killed. That's all I ask"

Starscream gave a smirk as he fluttered his wings smugly. "Oh Bumblebee, you of all mechs should know that I don't go down easily" And that was a fact Starscream was hoping to keep. He just needed to stay around to keep Megatron's wrath away from his family for as long as possible, until he was sure they were safe.

I’m so sorry i took so long to read this master piece but i thank you for creating this and letting me read it 😍😭

[mama-ino]

Storm

The roar of the downpour struck fiercely on the stone of the cave entrance, "Stay here." He entered the cave, golden eyes taking in the cave. Straw was on the floor. However, it had likely been there quite some time.

Thunder boomed loudly, causing the small Rin to shriek. He returned to them, "Is it safe?"

He nodded, Shippo sniffed around, "People have been here before." Again, Sesshomaru nodded, "Is there anywhere mama can get out of her wet clothes?"

He seemed to think for a moment, looking her over. She was soaked. He pulled the tassles of his armor, pulling the large cauldron armor over his head. He took the long obi like bow from his middle tying it up, "Hang your clothing. This one will find something to burn," he removed his haori, placing it across the makeshift line like a curtain.

"How bad did the rain get you, Rin," she asked softly.

"Rin is pretty dry, Lady Kagome!"

Shippo shook his tail and pulled off his small fur. Her pointed gaze had him speak, "My fur kept me pretty dry, Mama."

Just about to round the would-be curtain his eyes met his, "Are you going far?"

"I will not." She nodded satisfied with his words, "Miko." His eyes pointedly shifted to the large pelt he'd set down, "it is dry."

However, when he'd returned, he found Rin wrapped up. His eyes met blue when she peeked around his haori, shifting nervously under his gaze. He built a small fire as Rin came to his side, "My lord?"

"Hm?"

"When Rin gets older," she began, "Rin wants big boobs like Lady Kagome!"

"Rin," she shrieked as Shippo choked on his own spit.

She beamed at him, "Rin." His voice seemed quieter, "That is not within this one's control."

She seemed to think a moment, bounding back over to Kagome, "Lady Kagome!"

"Rin-chan! I can't do that either!"

"Awwww," Rin pouted.

He pulled off his wet inner robe, setting it on a stone facing the fire to dry. He lifted the large pelt rounding the makeshift curtain, a soft gasp quickly escaping her.

Her hands cover her chest, eyes quickly darting away. His eyes briefly catching the boy's fur across her legs, "Rin." He pointed to the side of the straw, prompting her to stand and wait.

He settled by her, setting the pelt around her and across his lap. "Mama," he neatly curled up on her lap, quite the protective little thing.

He opened his arms, head nodding to Rin, who quickly settled onto the fur across his legs. Rin rubbed her small cheek against his wrist, settling.

The warm air, the heavy rain, and low rumbles of thunder quickly had the atmosphere calm. Her head bobbed as she fought sleep but ultimately settled on his shoulder.

His eyes darted to the sleeping woman. She was complimenting him like this. His chest swelled with pride. While it did take her longer, she did fall asleep. Trusting him to keep them safe.

He slowly reached, arm wrapping around the pelt and her pulling her closer. She was warm, and while he would never admit it out loud... she was beautiful.

At least not yet.

🫣💕

I love you guys!

I'm replacing the fan and ram (possibly more things) on my computer, so hopefully, I can get back to some digi stuff soon!

Also sorry am late!

[nimbusclan]

Moon 0

[Next]

After the dust settles, the silence that follows is deafening.

It presses against Moonpaw’s eardrums, suffocating her and sucking all the air from her lungs. The only other sound in the apprentice's den is the panting of her brother’s shallow, rapid inhales of breath, knocking hard against Moonpaw’s own ribcage. His body is warm against hers, his muscles taut and hard like the walls of rock that surround them. 

“Pitchstar?” Moonpaw mews into the dark. The blackness is so thick she can hardly see even with her pupils as wide as the boulder that’s blocking the entrance to their den. “Frostcrest?”

“The kits,” Fogpaw’s voice shakes in her ear. It’s utterly wrecked, twisted with fear. “Condorkit!” He screeches. “Whisperkit!”

There is no response. Only the deafening, crushing silence.

“Fogpaw, we have to find a way out of here,” Moonpaw mews. “We have to help them.” All of her fur is standing on end, fluffed out to twice her size. Despite the silence, the yowls of her clanmates echo in Moonpaw’s ears. The way their cries had cut off so abruptly– Moonpaw shivers. She can’t think about it. She can’t. 

Fogpaw leaps forward, claws scraping uselessly against the rock wedged into the entrance. All of NimbusClan’s dens are hollows that have been carved away by time within a cave set into the base of the mountain they call home. Home has always felt so safe to Moonpaw. Of course, she’s known the dangers of the mountain ever since she was a kit – older warriors and mentors would often warn that falling rocks are one of the deadliest threats to an unaware cat. The mountain is strong, protective, but can be deadly - just like any warrior. She could never have imagined it could harm the camp, despite the warnings she grew up with. Tucked away into its cozy little cave, this camp has lasted moons and moons, through many generations of cats. A tragedy of this magnitude is… it was impossible.

Moonpaw huddles in the middle of the den, shivering with terror as Fogpaw hisses in frustration and scrambles on top of the boulder, scraping at a few smaller rocks balanced atop it. Suddenly, moonlight streams in through a crack Fogpaw has managed to punch through the rocks, illuminating stripes of both cats’ pale fur.

“Keep going!” Moonpaw meows, leaping to her paws, but Fogpaw doesn’t need the encouragement. He’s already pawing with renewed vigor, scraping away at the rocks as they fall away and bounce against the floor of the den. Each clatter of stone on stone sends a stab of ice cold fear through Moonpaw’s heart. The cacophonous sound of rocks tumbling against each other as they filled the camp, shaking the ground and vibrating up through Moonpaw’s pelt as she was ripped from sleep, rushes back to her. She has to force down the bile that rises in her throat as the terror threatens to overwhelm her.

Soon, Fogpaw has cleared enough of the smaller rocks to squeeze his head and shoulders through, and he beckons Moonpaw with his tail. “Let’s go, let’s go– our clanmates– Moonpaw, hurry–”

Moonpaw scrambles up the rock after her brother, squeezing herself through the small opening after him. The sight that greets the two apprentices has Moonpaw’s blood freezing in her veins.

There’s not a single whisker-length of camp that isn’t covered in rubble. There’s barely any space left at the camp entrance, only a sliver between the arch of the cave wall above their heads and the boulders that crowd together beneath it that lets the light of the moon stream in.

“Locuststripe! Loudtalon!” Fogpaw yowls, leaping from boulder to boulder. The scent of blood is strong and sharp in Moonpaw’s nostrils. Grief constricts her throat. She can’t shout, can’t help, can’t move. “Pebblespore!”

��Stop–” Moonpaw chokes out, “Stop, Fogpaw– they’re– they’re gone. We have to– have to get out–”

Fogpaw is instantly at her side, his comforting scent wreathing around her as he curls his tail over her shoulders. “You’re right.” Even in the face of unspeakable horror, her brother remains strong. His voice is broken, and Moonpaw can tell he’s shaking from where he’s pressed up against her, but he stays strong for her. She draws strength from his and pulls herself up onto her paws. “We have to get out. We can’t– stay here. Not anymore. Let’s go, Moonpaw.”

His shoulders brush the ceiling of the cave as he squeezes his way out through the entrance, guiding Moonpaw with the touch of his tail against her back as they clamber over the uneven stones. They leap down from one of the boulders wedged into the entrance of their camp and turn to look at the devastation. Moonpaw wants to throw her head to the sky and wail, but her voice has disappeared. All she can do is stare in disbelief at the landslide of rocks and mud that has ruined her home.

“It’s all gone,” her voice cracks. “Our home, Fogpaw, it’s all gone.”

“It’s not,” he assures her. He presses his nose into her fur, voice muffled. “It’s not. We’re still here. You and me, Moonpaw. NimbusClan is still here.”

Moonpaw chokes back a sob and curls into her brother. They sit there for a while, in front of the remnants of their lost clan, underneath the gentle glow of Silverpelt. She feels shocked and filled to the brim with grief. There’s no room for anything other than despair within her.

“Come on,” Fogpaw nudges her eventually, coaxing her to her paws. Her legs feel stiff and cold from where they’ve been folded under her. “We can’t sit here forever. Why don’t we head to the border, see if our neighboring Clan will help us?”

With no other plan of action, Moonpaw nods. He’s right. They can’t stay here forever. She spares one last, longing glance at the mound of rubble that was once her home, and pushes down on her exhaustion and grief in order to follow behind Fogpaw.

[Next]