#the body of a stag took his place

[arthursfuckinghat]

"You are not who you think you are, sir."

"Which is lucky."

[beloveds-embrace]

based on this, in which reader gets herself a pet. human reader x fae poly 141

Masterlist

It arrived on the windless night of a blood moon, when the palace gardens groaned beneath the weight of twilight and the fae refused to speak its name.

Hooves like thunder cracked through the sacred grove- guards scattered, maids screamed, and even the birds took flight. A monster, they had called it. An omen. A curse carved in flesh and antler.

It stood twice the height of a man, its coat the color of grave-ash and bone. Its antlers, sprawling, twisted branches, curved like cruel iron and dripped with a red too thick to be dew. And its eyes- gods, its eyes. Hollow pits of starlight and sorrow, as if someone had scooped the soul clean out of it and left only the husk of judgment behind.

A nightmare. A spirit of the dying woods.

And you- of course, you- had followed the trail of unease and found it standing alone in the frostbitten clearing, still as stone.

Simon was the first of them to find you. The maids had burst into his chamber in a flurry of panic, dresses half-tied, hair undone. “She’s in the gardens- with it!” one had shrieked. And though he would later claim it was the sense of duty that dragged him down the hall and into the trees, it was something more base that curled in his gut.

Fear.

He had thought it might be too late.

But there you were, soft and quiet and terribly unafraid.

The creature loomed before you, its head dipped low, antlers mere inches from your throat- and your hand… your hand was stroking its snout like it was nothing more than a skittish hound.

“There now,” you whispered, thumb rubbing a slow circle just below its glowing eye sockets. “You’re alright. You’re not so scary, are you, sweetheart?”

Simon’s body went taut, every muscle locked as he stepped from the trees, blade drawn, breath like winter in his lungs.

“Step. Back.” he’d have barked- only he didn’t; the words curled up and died in his throat.

Because the stag didn’t move.

Didn’t growl.

Didn’t even blink.

It merely stood there, regal and terrible, allowing you to fuss over it like you were some holy creature instead of a too-small, too-human queen with a ribbon loose in your hair and your gowns flowing freely.

And your voice- gods, your voice- was the softest he’d heard in months. Not the clipped elegance of the court-mask you wore, not the sharp-tongued wit you wielded to hold your place among serpents and silver smiles.

Just you.

Calling the monster a good boy.

The bestest boy.

After that, it never truly left.

The court howled. Lords and ladies twisted their pretty lips into horror, whispering stories of famine and madness wherever a Hollow Stag appeared. It had been centuries since one last walked beside fae- or anyone. But this one did.

It followed you, and you named it Thrain, and Simon wanted to curse you for you did not know that by naming such a terrible thing, you had allowed it close.

He huffed at the guards, growled at the courtiers, and once kicked a sconce clean off the wall when Johnny whistled at you from across the hall.

He tolerated your husbands, but only just.

Simon couldn’t look at it without remembering your hand brushing over death’s brow like it was silk. Kyle swore the thing glared at him every time he touched your elbow. Johnny made jokes, tried to offer it dried fruit, only to have Thrain snort directly in his face and blow his mohawk-braid loose.

But never you.

Never once did it bare its fangs to you.

Thrain was silent at your side, looming like a second shadow in the throne room, ever behind your chair, because no one had the courage or audacity to say it shouldn’t be allowed inside. When you took solitary picnics- because even with jewels and titles and sharpened fae smiles, you were still lonely- he followed.

You’d sit beneath the weeping trees, skirts spread across the moss, fingers tangled in the vines as your voice hummed old, human songs, and he’d curl his massive body around you. His head, crown of dripping antlers and all, would lower into your lap. You’d scratch behind his ears, resting your cheek against the dry velvet of his muzzle like he wasn’t made of nightmare and ruin.

Sometimes you’d whisper to him.

Your secrets.

Your weariness.

The truth you wouldn’t dare breathe to your husbands.

Because even now- even with John’s gaze growing hungrier by the day, even with Kyle’s hand brushing yours too long beneath shared parchments, even with Simon’s brooding presence lurking protectively near and Johnny’s restless, nervous laughter softening when you were tired-

You didn’t know if they loved you.

The human you; the one who had no glamour in her blood, no ancient fire in her bones.

But Thrain did.

And sometimes, that was enough.

[straykidsnerd255]

yeasgesdgyy

I love you so much !!!!!♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

So...~ can you do a headcannon for saja boys ( like all of them ) x solo flirt idol s/o Who really likes pop mart ( separately ) ... please

Awwwww! You are so freakin sweet! I love you too!!<3 Thank you so much for requesting, and I hope you enjoy these head-cannons! I definitely didn’t have Your Idol on repeat blasting in my headphones while writing this<3

Jinu:

We know how dorky this man is, so when he first met Y/n during a concert of hers trying to secure the honmoon, he noticed the way her voice filled his mind, drowning out the voices he so desperately wanted to disappear. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to lock eyes with her. Watching her lips pull into a smile as she moved closer to him.

Or the way her hand seemed to reach out towards him, drawing him closer. The moment he touched her hand, her fingers moved up his arm and towards his chin.

She held his face in her palm as she sang, her eyes going from that cute doe look to the look of a siren. 

His face went bright red when she backed away and winked at him. He had to run away or he would have steam coming out of his ears from how much he was blushing. 

When Jinu saw her again, she was standing in front of a pop mart, dressed in black sweats, and a grey hoodie. 

Walking over to her, making sure he would combust from being hopelessly in love with her, he gently tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Want to go in with me?” He asked, staring into the store. 

“Are you sure you are ok being spotted in a store like this?” She asked. 

Jinu shrugged and finally looked at her. His eyes widened at how even without makeup and all the lights, she was still beautiful.

After the time spent in the pop mart, Jinu and Y/n spent the rest of the day together.

When the day ended and Jinu walked her home, she turned around and took his hands in hers, leaned forward, and pressed a simple kiss to his lips. His eyes widened before he leaned into the kiss, a smile on his face.

Jinu totally asked her out after the concert. He’s too cute.

Abby Saja:

Abs and you have been dating since the moment he and the others of Saja Boys became a group. 

Yes he knew you were a human but something about your ability to love him even as a demon made his “heart” swell. 

He ignored every order from that point on. His arms were always wrapped around your waist when you were visiting his group, showing you off at concerts and signings. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to be a solo idol. The first time he heard your voice signing, he was hypnotized. 

He went to a concert of yours, (forced the rest of Saja Boys to go along too) of course he was in his human form but when you knelt in front of him, your eyes hooding to give off a siren look, he knew he was done for. 

Your flirty smirk appeared on your lips as your fingers brushed under his chin (One of his favorite things you do) and his body felt light. 

You get extremely flirty when on stage he notes when you start dancing in a way that he has never seen you dance before. 

On a rather hot summer day, you were practically tugging his arm and begging him to go to a pop mart with you, for what reason, he didn’t know. 

When he gets to the mart after breaking his resolve (He can never say no to you) he is immediately blinking confused. 

“What is this place?” He would ask, turning to you for an explanation but you are already staring at a little doll with stars in your eyes and the brightest smile on your lips.

You and Abs left the mart with at least 5 bags each.

Mystery Saja:

You are the only person that is allowed to see his face with his hair up. That’s how special you are to this man. 

In return, you told him everything about yourself, your fears, insecurities, your pain. If he could, he would erase everything that hurt you. 

The day the rest of Saja Boys were out scouting the different groups to see how they could destroy them, Mystery felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach when he saw you on the stage.

No one else around you, but your eyes held the power of three people to complete the golden honmoon. You looked absolutely stunning in his eyes. 

The moment you began singing, everything around him vanished. The voices in his head, the chatter of fans, the rest of Saja Boys. It was just you and him. 

Your personality on stage was a 180 flip from what he gets in everyday life. Your flirty on stage, your doe eyes shifting to a hypnotizing siren as you sing with the power of gods. 

He slowly makes his way towards the stage, his body moving on its own. Jinu and the others watch with wide eyes as you dip your hand towards him, holding his face with such care.

Days after that concert, Mystery is watching your every move. Your morning routine, the way you talk around him and the rest of Saja Boys. He wants to see if that personality from your concert slips out but it never does. 

“Why can’t you act all flirty like you did at the concert?” he suddenly asked everyone in the room. 

You turned to him and your doe eyes morph to the siren he saw that night. He swallowed as you moved towards him. 

Standing in front of him, you cup his jaw, a smirk appears just as fast as it disappears and your doe eyes are back. 

He never asked for your flirty nature again, he almost passed out from how long he held his breath.

When you took him to a pop mart, he understood why you hid that flirty siren-like personality when off stage. 

You and Mystery spent the day in the mart for hours before Saja Boys had to come and drag the two of you out of the store.

Romance Saja:

Romance was always labeled the “PlayBoy” that he didn’t take love seriously. Granted, it would have been true considering that he was a demon but when he started dating you, everything changed. 

The voices that lined his head disappeared. He felt like his life was finally his thanks to you. 

Jinu had said that they were going to a concert in a few days for a soloist that just popped up after Huntr/x took a hiatus for a bit and wanted to check it out. 

Thinking nothing of it, Romance shot you a text saying he was going to a concert and that he would be back late. 

The day of the concert, Romance and the others got there extremely early so they could be in the front row to see who the singer was. 

Their jaws dropped to the floor when they saw you, your once soft doe-like eyes narrowed like a siren, your voice booming around them. 

You danced like you had been trained by a dance god. Romance could only stare at the way your hips swayed, the way your voice sounded so good in his ears as you sang. 

Your eyes drifted them, your eyes becoming more of a siren as you walked towards the edge of the stage, your hand dropping towards Romance, your finger mentioning for him to come close. 

He did, not sure what came over him. He felt your hand press against his chest, your fingers dance over his throat before you gently but firmly grabbed his face pulling him even closer. 

He was surprised he didn’t actually faint right then and there. In his mind, that was the hottest thing you could have done to him. 

When you and Romance were walking around town a few days after the concert, he took you to a pop mart and watched your face light up. He smiled softly and followed you around like a puppy and got you whatever you wanted, with the promise that you will do the same thing you did at the concert to him more.

You were a mess when he asked for you to do that again, but you did, randomly, when he least expected it and as a result, you had to call the rest of Saja Boys to your house to help you get your passed out boyfriend on his bed so he didn’t wake up in pain.

You vowed to never do that again when he least expects it.

Baby Saja:

He was the least likely to get in a relationship but when he pushes open the door to Saja Boy’s dorm and introduces you as his girlfriend, everything goes into chaos. 

Your favorite spot to lay your head is on his chest. Baby doesn’t mind it in the least, in fact, he will just place his hand on your head and pull you towards his chest when he wants to feel your weight on his chest. 

Sneaking into a concert wasn’t ideal for them but they needed to figure out who this new solo artist was and why she was so strong when it came to getting the honmoon up without two other people.

Baby’s jaw dropped when he saw you on that stage, your doe eyes he fell in love with, narrowed to that of a siren ready to steal a soul. He noticed the theme of your song happened to deal with larger canines and that made him smile. 

You smiled, showing off the custom-made fangs and his heart thudded against his ribcage. 

Noticing him in the crowd, you smiled dangerously and motioned for him and the rest of his group forward. 

She pointed to 5 empty seats and returned to her performance, the honmoon glowing the brightest gold they have ever seen. 

Baby was entranced. He watched as your body swayed and moved to the beat of the music. How you seemed to be in your element as you danced. Your eyes holding such a flirty but gorgeous look in them when you looked at him. 

The ended with everyone, including Saja Boys screaming your name, tears falling down baby’s face as he watched you blow him a kiss before disappearing off stage. 

A few days after that concert, Baby always begged to see your siren eyes. Saying that he loved everything about them because they were a part of you. 

You agreed as long as he went with you to a pop mart. You both got what you wanted. 

He took you to the pop mart and bought you whatever you wanted, whether it was big or something small. 

You showed off your siren eyes more and watched as Baby would go absolutely bright red if you directed those siren eyes towards him when angry with him.

You both would sit and listen to each other's songs, don’t even get me started. When his group is on hiatus for a bit, he has your songs blasting through his speakers in his room. 

He would sing along to them or start rapping the parts that you rap.

He loves that you rap, just like he does. 

You caught him one time dancing to a song that was tamer than the others and couldn’t help but take a picture of him. It's your lock and home screen now.

Baby has you smiling with a butterfly that landing on your nose while lying in the grass as his home screen and lock screen. He loves you so much it's not even funny.

[scoutswritingcorner]

A Stag And His Deer.

Alastor x GN!Deer!Reader

TW:Alastor being a silly creature and not knowing how to flirt.

A/N:I saw an amazing prompt from Anon and art by @aboyscriminalrecord KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK POOKIE <3

He had been glaring you down ever since you had arrived in the Hotel. He hated not being the only deer now, he had half a mind to kill you where you stood. 

Yet, Charlie beat him to the punch. Now he was standing five feet away from you as you locked eyes with him. It had been like this for an hour. Why weren’t you backing down? He needed you to back down, he was the superior deer here. You were just a newcomer. He could settle this like a gentleman.

He was not settling like a gentleman, you were not being kind to him. He growled and lashed his head as he tried to get his horns unstuck from yours, you started the fight. (You didn't, you looked down for a second and he took that as an invitation to fight.) Your hands wrapped around his antlers making him jump before pushing back against yours twisting his head as he ignored how his tail was wagging. How dare you make his heart flutter and his tail wag! This was not okay!

 His hooves (yes he has hooves sue me) dug into the carpeted floor as he started to easily push your body back. The look of fear in your eyes made his smile widen but quickly enough you had regained your composure and started to push back. Oh this was not supposed to go like this AND LET GO OF HIS HORNS THEY ARE SENSITIVE.

~~~

Angel sat at the bar drinking his martini as he watched for the fifth time that hour, you getting your antlers unstuck from him before Alastor immediately tangled them back together with what he could say was a sadistic smile. He has yet learned how to read Alastor’s grin.

“Are they flirting?” Angel asked, leaning against the bar as Husk looked up from the glass he was cleaning. “Yeah..well..Alastor is, I don’t know about the new kid. They seem to be just wanting to go to their room.” He hummed, placing the glass down, “He’s a bad flirt.” Angel snickered, taking one last sip of his martini before cupping his hands around his mouth, “GET A ROOM!” Husk froze watching as Alastor promptly ignored the spider in favor of chasing you around the hotel lobby. He needed to win. 

He needed to show you who was the rightful Deer in this hotel. And totally not because he was trying to show how good of a boyfriend he could be. Nope. Not at all.

A/N: LITERALLY NO ONE ASKED FOR THIS BUT I WANTED TO WRITE IT DOWN CAUSE ITS A CUTE PROMPT

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ CATCH IT ON CAMERA ]

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This was originally a silly little fluff piece that turned into….well, this. I hope you all got the vibe from the song cause it doesn't get more straightforward than that…

WARNINGS: [ MDNI ] + [ NSFW ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ BUBBLY READER ] + [ IMPLIED SMUT ]

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Taking a polaroid picture with Alastor!!

That was the goal when you stroll into his room with the brightest smile as he sits reading alone late one night.

Your lover doesn't initially suspect what you're up to.

He’s very content with reading as you go about your antics as quietly as possible.

Alastor was perfectly unbothered by your presence at first, used to your soft giggles filling the room and quietly enjoying the jovial aura you emit.

It's only when he hears a distinct ‘click’ of a camera that he stiffens in his seat.

The sharp and quiet sound caused his ears to twitch, claws digging into the leather cover of the book he held, and his red eyes peered over the edge to see the source of the interruption.

You peer back up at him, smiling softly from your spot on the carpeted floor.

The tiny polaroid camera in your dainty hands holds his attention, probably combusting into flames in another universe by the look on his face, but you grasp it tight in hopes it'll stay intact.

“What's that infernal thing doing here?” he snarls quietly, attempting to stay calm as your eyes soften on him, silently begging the stag to be kind.

Though his patience is thin, he withholds his hateful rant about technology to hear you out.

“A little imp sold it to me, and I just couldn't say no, Allie! It takes wonderful pictures too and…and I've always wanted one..” your voice trembled a little, afraid he'd outright scold you.

Alastor seriously considered doing so until he spotted the array of Polaroid prints you'd already taken and left to dry on the carpet.

You had some of yourself. Posing freely in each one, and every frame he laid his eyes on was strangely adorable, with a few mildly scandalous, in his opinion.

Alastor then caught sight of the few you'd taken of him, all off-guard shots, clearly taken at a distance as if not to disturb him.

Those, in particular, had your lipstick print on them, tender kisses you'd placed there as a silly add-on of affection for him, and his tail twitched in amusement at the minuscule detail.

“Let me see it, darling,” he held a clawed hand out, book now resting in his lap, and his posture more relaxed than a moment ago.

Hesitant at first, you hand him the camera, silently hoping he'd refrain from destroying it. You are pleasantly surprised when he shows no indication of doing so.

“Hmm..”

Alastor inspected the device thoroughly, eyes narrowed as he searched for any signs of the Vees’ technology, but there was no evidence of their tampering whenever he looked.

He still took the precaution of asking you directly, “It's not one of their devices, is it?”

You shift to sit on your knees, not having to ask who he's referring to, “No. Not that I know of…” you answer truthfully.

Alastor hums, seeing no trace of deceit in your expression and having no reason not to believe you; he hands the camera back.

You take it with a gracious smile, absolutely over the moon that he let you have it back, “You may keep it… but any picture you take is only shown to me. Have I made myself clear, dear?”

You nod eagerly, happy to have the camera back and not bothered by his stipulation.

”Okay, Allie!” You chirp, contently fiddling with it again, giggling as you take more silly pictures of yourself.

Alastor watches as you do, following your body as you roll around the floor leisurely, posing provocatively here and there.

It almost annoys him how good you look, acting childish and carefree, barely trying to keep his attention, and moderately unaware of how badly he wanted yours.

The book in his lap was no longer enjoyable, lacking the entertainment you provided, and his focus was permanently on you.

If only you'd put that dammed camera down….

Alastor narrowed his eyes, smile tightening as you rolled onto your back to take a particularly racey photograph of yourself, sporting a rather lewd expression he'd only seen you make amid pleasure he induced.

His eye twitched as you snapped the picture, unable to look away as you stuck your tongue out and winked seductively, tilting your head to get a better angle and inadvertently directing your face towards him.

The stag grunted an obscenity as you eyed him innocently from below, head cocking to the side in curiosity as to why he seemed so stiff.

“Am I bothering you?” Your gaze softens, twinges of shyness seething in at the thought of annoying the overlord, and you braced yourself for him to answer with a curt ‘yes.’

That answer never came.

Alastor remained silent, staring intently at you before reaching a hand out to caress one side of your face.

His touch was cold, a chilled contrast to the heat rising on your cheeks as his claws trailed down your skin, stopping once he reached the curve of your jaw.

Your lips slightly opened, a soft gasp escaping them as his sharp nails ghosted over you. He gripped your chin and chuckled as your instinct to relax in his hold kicked in.

“You're not bothering me at all, dear. I have a request in mind. That's all.” he lowered his voice, unconsciously lessening its static as you hummed quietly in response.

Your eyes fluttered closed, face nuzzling into his palm as you rolled to lay on your front, leaving the camera on the floor near your waist. Your feet kicked up, lace stocking-clad legs lazily swinging as he cupped your face gently, careful not to scratch your soft skin with his claws.

For a brutal overlord to be so tender was unfathomable to most, but you counted yourself lucky to have encountered one.

You basked in his touch for a moment, slowly lifting your gaze to his heavily clouded one, “Is it somethin’ I can help with, Allie?” you asked him quietly, giving a small smile as he scratched his nails under your chin affectionately.

Alastor chuckled, seeing your blush intensify at his gesture, a reaction he'd yet to tire of bringing out of you.

“Yes, you can help, but you'll have to promise to keep it a secret between us, little one. Can you do that?”

His deliberate cooing made your heart melt, every bone in your body buzzing with delight as he coaxed you into secrecy.

“Okay…I won't tell a soul. I promise..” you nearly whine, dying of anticipation and needing much more physical touch than he was giving you now.

“Come to me then, darling,” he barely finishes the command before you slide onto his lap with a giddy smile.

You settle down on him comfortably, straddling his lower half and unafraid to relax against his chest.

Alastor grunts as your body meets his, momentarily distracted by the pressure you impose on his hardening cock, but quickly averts his attention back to his previous train of thought as you tug at the lapels of his pristine overcoat impatiently.

You pout while he raises a brow at you, clearly unamused by your bratty gesture, “I wanna know now…” your expression turns sour, a dramatic showcase he can't help but laugh at before snapping his fingers to conjure the item you left on the floor.

“I'd like to take a picture with you, dear,” he explains causally, and you blank at the statement, having to process the bizarre concept of the Radio Demon of all beings wanting to associate himself with a camera…

Willingly at that…

“R-really,” you squeak out, confused but gradually excited by the prospect.

Alastor peered at the camera in his hand, pricking the newly printed photo you took a moment ago from the bottom slot, holding the picture up to admire its details.

You blushed seeing him study your downright slutty behavior taken in one snapshot.

Though you were a little embarrassed, he seemed amused rather than disgusted.

“I'd like to recapture you making this exact face. You wouldn't mind posing like that for me again, right little doe?”

He articulates the demand as a light-hearted question, fixed grin shifting to a closed smile as he hummed lowly at your timid nod of agreement seconds later.

Your silent compliance isn't enough for the stag, his hips rutting up into you forcefully to prompt a verbal answer, and you give it through a trembling moan.

“N-no, I don't mind at all…”

The pitch in your voice rises, shocks of pleasure igniting in your core from the feeling of his prominent hard-on brushing against your clothed slit.

An immediate patch of your slick forms on the thin fabric that keeps your mound hidden.

Alastor snakes an arm around your waist, holding you close with a toothy grin reappearing on his face, sharp teeth grazing your ear as he whispers into it.

“You’ll put on a show for me, yes?” you nod quickly, unable to help yourself from grinding down on him for more friction,

“Yes..” you purr, helpless as ever, when a deep laughter thunders in his chest at your reflexive response.

“Then smile, my dear! I don't want to miss a single second of your darling reactions..” he held you still as his free hand lifted the camera, capturing the split second his head shifted downward, finding the most sensitive area on your neck and marking it with ease.

You shivered against him, feeling the smirk on his lips as the crisp click of the camera’s flash going off mixed with your startled moan.

He‘d certainly have a grand time with you and your new little trinket.

And you'd accomplished much more than achieving your goal of getting one picture with him…

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Sometimes, I think I'm incapable of writing fluff. It's almost a curse at this point…

NO TAGS: 🚫

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

The song in this edit used to annoy the shit out of me but ill let it slide this ONE time cause its Alastor…. Credits to creator ❤️

[hihomeghere]

Desperado | Charles Smith x f!Reader

Word Count : 1.2k

Summary : Set four months after Charles leaves with the Wapiti. You and Charles try to figure out what to do after the gang falls apart. Comfort fic

Warnings/tags : Mention of dead bodies, death, shooting, Established realtionship. Let me know if I missed any

divider by @saradika

Unfortunately for you, you found yourself in this situation more than often. Cupping your steaming cup of coffee watching as the sun turned the magenta sky a burnt orange hue.

It was a beautiful sight, something that should have spread warmth throughout your body, like the near boiling liquid you forced down your throat. Instead, it left a bitter taste in your mouth. You should be back in your bedroll, curled up in Charles' warm embrace. Feeling the soft puff of his breath against your neck, the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back. 

You pulled your shawl tighter around your body, although there was no chill in the air. The Wapiti were settled, as settled as they could be. Forced off their land again, and again. As much as you hoped they would not be displaced again, you knew it was mostly wishful thinking. You grit your teeth, a spark igniting in your belly that had been smoldering for months.

It had been four months, and you knew what Charles would say if he was awake, four months isn’t a long time. Four months since John got shot, four months since the last time you had seen Arthur alive, four months since you took the grieving Wapiti north, farther away from their lands. Four months since you last saw the gang, or what was left of it. If you could even call Dutch’s ramblings and whatever fools Micah brought along the van der linde gang. 

That’s not what it had been when you had joined, when Hosea had caught you stealing from him in that saloon back in Wyoming. A small chuckle left your lips, shaking your head as you recalled his crooked smile as he cornered you leaving the bar. Your smile faltered, just another one of your family buried under the ground. Another one you and Charles buried.

At least he wasn’t alone, poor Lenny next to him. You always thought his sickness would catch him before a bullet did. But you were always the dreamer. More like Dutch in that regard. 

Dutch.

You threw your cup as far as you could, swallowing the sob that threatened to break past your lips. 

“What did that cup ever do to you?” Charles' groggy voice asked, pulling the tent flap back. The bright morning light illuminates him, like your own personal beacon. 

“Burnt my tongue.” You mumbled, crossing your arms.

“And that’s the cup's fault?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he strode towards you. He stood beside you, his dark skin glowing in the dawn. 

“Yes.” You said, a deep rumbling chuckle worked through his chest. 

“Stubborn.” He said softly, shaking his head. You hummed, tearing your eyes away from him. A deer, a stag, broke across the plains. Pausing for a moment as he caught sight of you and Charles, before he ran off. 

“Was it the same one?” His voice broke the silence, your stomach sinking into the pit of your stomach.

“What do you mean?” You could practically hear his eyes roll in his head. You knew what he meant, was it the same nightmare that had been plaguing you since you came across Grimshaw’s body, Arthur’s body. “Yes.” You said, your lip twitching as you sighed.

He hummed, nodding as he crossed his arms. He didn’t speak, didn’t talk just to fill the air. It was another thing you loved about him. He was comfortable enough to just… be.

Something that had drawn you towards him in the first place. He was calm, quiet, and collected. Someone like him didn’t come along often in your line of work. Men who ran in gangs were normally brash, loud, abrasive, sometimes down right intolerable. He wasn’t a man without a few faults, you had seen that flash of anger spike through him once or twice. But it was healthy, having passion and morals wasn’t a crime. Shooting fellas who didn’t was but you had committed worse crimes in your lifetime than killing a poacher or a racist. He was… helpful, kind, maybe a bit cold at times. You didn’t mind, you liked just being in his presence, sharing his company without having to worry about coming up with something to say.

It happened quickly, falling in love with Charles. Like the way cold spreads through your body after dipping your toe into a river. It overtook you, he overtook you. 

You avoided it at first, avoided him. Took odd jobs from Dutch, spent as little time around camp as possible. But it was like he had crawled under your skin, infiltrating your every thought.

He took a different approach on his affection, one that involved cornering you once you returned to camp. You were glad for it, glad that he had the balls you lacked.

Since then you were inseparable. Like two halves of a whole, you felt complete around him. He felt like home, that in itself was a dangerous thought. After spending your whole life running from place to place, your ‘home’ being wherever you laid your head at the end of the day. It was strange, running towards someone instead of away. He allowed you to speak of your dreams without the fear of being told they were foolish. Looking back, he shouldn’t have indulged you so. Shouldn’t have allowed you to dream. Where did it get you? 

Where did your loyalty get you?

“You’ve got that look again.” He mumbled, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“What look?” You asked, as you turned to look at him

“That look.” He said softly, pressing a finger between your furrowed brows. “Talk to me.” 

“I can’t.” You swallowed thickly, hating how your voice broke. Hating how damn confusing everything got, your words were a constant stream in your mind that you couldn’t make sense of. 

Sean, Kieran, Hosea, Lenny, Molly, Eagle flies, John, Miss Grimshaw, Arthur.

He softened, frowning as he moved to cup your cheek. 

“Y/n,” He said gently, running his thumb over your cheekbone. 

“I can’t.” You whispered, blinking back the tears as you looked into his eyes. He let out a sigh, pulling you into his embrace. You buried your face into his chest, letting the tears fall. Hiccuping sobs wracked your frame as he gently shushed you, running his hands up and down your back.

“Breathe darlin’.” He said softly, holding you tightly against him. 

“I keep seeing them- seeing them lying there, rotting-“

“Shh,” He shushed, pressing his lips to the crown on your head. “Tell me what I can do.” He pleaded gently, petting your hair.

“Just- just hold me.” You mumbled, sniffling as you pressed yourself deeper into his embrace if that was even possible. He held you, his arms strong and secure around you. In that moment, no matter what had happened or what was to come, you were safe. You knew you would always be safe in his arms. You would always have a home with Charles.

So let the nightmares come, the law, it didn’t matter. You had all you needed as long as he was beside you.

[the-fiction-witch]

Beauty Often Hides… Such Fury

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Aemond Targaryen (Regent Post Rooks Rest) Couple - Aemond X Reader Reader - Y/n Baratheon Rating - 17 Word Count - 1136

Plans and politics of the realm were always complicated, with alliances and allegiances taking precedence over all other matters, needs and desires. So when Aemond received the scroll from his mother, bidding him to take flight to Storms End and proclaim his brother Aegon king, and to ensure that house Baratheon aligned with the crown by offering up his own hand to one of the Lord’s daughters.

Regardless of his distaste for such an idea, he obeyed.

Once the babes were slain, and Aegon and Sunfyre fell from the sky, the throne sat without an obvious heir.

The wedding was needed to be a far quicker and less grand afair. Their wedding was fast and simple, in the sept below the grey rain. And the two were husband and wife.

Aemond was, of course, thrilled to have captured himself a little doe, to make her beg and obey. However, he was unaware he had, in fact, released a true daughter of a stag into his bed. Aemond turned down the bedding ceremony, wishing to have the sick joy himself. He brought Y/n to his chambers, slammed the door, and turned happily to his new wife, a wicked grin on his face.

Y/n stood in her long black wedding gown embroidered with gold thread. Her hair was in a long braid with yellow ribbons. She held her hands together at her waist as she looked around the chamber that was to be her home.

The fire crackling, the candles flickering and a soft gentle silence filled the rooms. The place was well prepared for their wedding night, even if a table of plans was still laid out but pushed aside for tonight.

"Finally, my little Doe, I have you all to myself." he slowly stalked towards her, his eyes raking over Y/n's body.

"Does such a concept being you joy my prince? To know we are alone?" She asked innocently, her face turned away from him, looking over the maps and tapestries,

"The idea of being alone with you in our chamber, my little Doe, yes. That does bring me a a great deal of joy." he licked his lips and stared at her as he would at a piece of succulent meat. “Mother says I am to do my duty to you. And I will.” He smirked, moving closer almost against her back, “And I will… seek to enjoy myself as much as possible.”

Y/n turned in a flash. The only sound was the fabric of her wedding gown shifting,

Aemond let out a quiet gasp as the cold steel touched his throat, the edge of her blade against his neck, and he froze immediately. His eyes glared at her, surprised anger burning in them. He stayed still, not making a sound. "My, my, what a clever girl," he said between gritted teeth.

"Always hide a weapon in your wedding dress." She nodded. "My mother taught me that."

Aemond laughed, his eyes still glaring at her. "I suppose I shouldn't have been shocked; such beauty often hides… such fury."

"If you hurt me. I will hurt you too." She warned him,

"Of course you would little Doe. I'm not foolish enough to think otherwise." he smirked and raised his empty hands up in surrender.

She slowly lowers her knife. Returning it to a holster sewn into her dress's cleavage,

Aemond watched, his hand coming to rest at his neck where her blade had touched him. Drawing his hand back, he noticed that there was a droplet of blood. "It seems my little Doe made me bleed." his eyes turned back to her, looking at Y/n, and he took a tentative step forward. Almost like a predator testing the limits of his trap. "Little Doe," he growled, "What does this marriage mean to you?"

"This marriage means, I understand, it keeps me alive."

“It makes you my queen.”

“I do not care to be queen,” She shook her head, “I care to survive. And as a woman in this world, that is all I can ask the gods for.”

Aemond grins, "You are a true Doe, my little wife, no doubt. Very smart." he brushes her hair from her face, gently running his fingers over her chin. "So my little Doe, tell me. Is your loyalty given, or will you continue to plan on stabbing me in the back while I sleep?" his fingers lightly traced her neck, almost teasing his fingers down her throat allowing her to feel the strength in his fingers.

"… I will give my loyalty." She nodded. "If you give yours."

Aemond's fingers continued to trace down her body, over her shoulders, moving across the material of her dress, "My loyalty is yours, little Doe." he said the words softly, as his fingers gently traced the line of her cleavage. “You and I are in this together.”

"Truly?" She asked. "If you wish me to be loyal, then be loyal to me. I will not harm you, so long as you don't harm me. Be my husband… And I'll be your wife."

"I shall give you what you want.” He said, “But understand, this will not be easy, nor will it be clean. There are things… You and I shall have to do things that may make you wish to weep, may make your stomach turn.”

“You underestimate me.”

“I’m sure I do,” He smirked. "You will have me as a husband, I shall be a husband, and you my wife. I will be loyal to you, and you will be by my side. Always. So long as you understand that I am your king. You are my queen. And the rest of the world is below us."

“Below us?”

“I will lay kings landing low for you. And I would expect no less from you.”

“But you are my king. You ask me then to lay myself before the flames for you when you would not do so for me.”

“My sweet Doe.” He growled. “I would let the world burn for you,” he whispered. “You and I are above all else, and I would walk into the flames to show my loyalty to you. Now? Are you my loyal Queen, or not?”

She nodded and slowly untied the lace of her gown, letting it hit the floor and leaving her naked. "Then I am loyal, pet the Doe as long as you desire. But don't be surprised if you invoke my rage and find antler spikes lodged in the dragon’s throat."

Aemond stared as her gown fell to the ground, drinking in her form, watching over her naked body. His lips curled into a wicked smile, and he felt his desire burn as he gazed upon his wife. He raised a hand, tracing it over her bare skin, feeling the warm flesh. One hand gently held her hip, pulling her into him. The other hand ran over her back. “Perfect.” He growled,

[grandlinedreams]

Hiya! Thank you for all of your fics! 🫡 They really make my day everyday! If you are still accepting requests, may I please request anything angsty with a fluffy end for Azriel 🥹 Whatever you can think of! ☺️

Hiya!! I sure can hehe, I hope this is to your liking!!

|| warnings: angst, blood, the war camp Illyrians are jerks, fluff

Illyria is fucking cold.

Wind whips at your face, unforgiving chill biting at any exposed skin ㅡ not to mention the steady crush of snow beneath your feet. The sun is already sinking past the snow-covered line of pines that makes up the steppes ㅡ making you grimace and attempt to hurry your pace.

This was not how you'd expected to spend your evening ㅡ but then again, you suppose freezing to death is more ideal than whatever fate your supposed "group" had intended for you. Made of Illyrian males and wholly unfamiliar, they'd made it clear that you weren't welcome on this expedition when you'd started ㅡ even more so when they'd had the audacity to grab at you with enough force to bruise your skin.

You aren't Illyrian, and so perhaps the thought had been that you would be weak, made more vulnerable in unfamiliar territory ㅡ but you'd proven them wrong when you'd sank your dagger into the gut of one of them, wrenched yourself free, and promptly taken off with the speed of a frightened stag.

You know they could track you if they really tried, but with the snow that pelts from above and the darkening sky, you doubt they'll risk it. But you're facing a bigger problem now ㅡ you have no idea how to get back.

"Fuck," you whisper to yourself, teeth clenched to keep from chattering. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

If it weren't so goddamned cold, you would've been paying better attention. If you hadn't been chased off by a handful of alphahole males with superiority complexes, you wouldn't even be out here in the first place.

Which is why, you suppose, all you can feel is surprise as the ground underneath you gives way with the cracking snap of loose rock and earth. It doesn't give you time to react as you lose your balance, plummeting gracelessly down into the abyss below what'd apparently been a drop off.

Your body bounces once, twice ㅡ then your head rebounds off sharp stone, impact making your ears ring before silent black consumes you.

Something is wrong.

Azriel can feel it, an undercurrent of tension that thrums in his veins like a second heartbeat. This entire place makes him uneasy, the churn of memories from his own time here as a child that reminds him why he avoids this place at all costs when he can.

But Rhysand had been adamant that he and Cassian make sure things were going well here, and you'd gone along to offer what support you could. Azriel appreciated the intent, but the way you'd been eyed by more than a few of the other males had set him on edge even further.

Cassian eyes him with a mixture of amusement and sympathy at the fact that he's just shy of pacing. Movement at the edge of his peripheral catches his attention, and he turns ㅡ it's the group you'd gone to scout the steppes with.

And, he notes with a fresh spike of fear to his stomach, you're not with them.

Azriel is moving before he truly registers it, eyes flicking from one face to another, fury rising like the maelstrom howling in the moutains beyond. "Where is she."

One of them has the audacity to scoff, and Azriel's blood boils as his shadows writhe, clamoring for bloodshed. Right now, he'd have no qualms about ripping every single one of them to pieces. His siphons blaze. "Tell me where [Name] is. Now."

One of them sneers. His arm is slung over his stomach, stemming the spill of blood from a wound to his stomach. Azriel hopes that you're the one who gave it to him. "She took off."

Azriel snarls, wings snapping out before he throws a rough, "Deal with them before I do" to Cassian before he's in the air and off in the direction they'd come from.

The only reason you know you aren't dead is because everything hurts. Pain radiates from everywhere, from the tips of your toes to your scalp ㅡ but you're alive.

You're not certain if you're relieved or not. A quick tentative flex of your hands is first, then your neck, your back ㅡ and you hiss a sharp curse when white-hot agony starbursts from your left ankle.

It takes longer than you care to acknowledge to sit up enough to assess it ㅡ grimacing at the swollen flesh, bruised an interesting shade of purple.

Fuck.

There's no way you're going to get out of here, not like this. Frustration mixed with fear prompts the rise of tears to your eyes, and you grit your teeth against a sob.

You're going to die out here. And there's nothing you can do about it. You doubt those alphaholes told anyone what happened and while you know Cassian and Azriel will look for you, they won't know where to look.

You stifle another choked sob, then still at the sound of movement. Of course some wild animal would take advantage, you're an easy meal ㅡ

"[Name]," a voice calls from behind you, so Cauldron-blessedly familiar that it has you struggling to turn, raw hands scrabbling for purchase to haul you upright.

You don't know how your ankle bears your weight or how you don't immediately collapse back to the ground ㅡ all you care about is lurching into the Illyrian male's arms with a ragged call of his name. "Azriel."

How he found you is beyond you, but his arms are around you, warding off some of the chill as he takes on most of your weight. He doesn't ask what happened, and you don't ask what you look like. The way his grip tightens on you answers how he feels about both.

He's still gentle as he lifts you up, flinching when you still hiss in pain. And then you're airborne, cradled carefully against him. Pain and exhaustion make your eyelids heavy as you nestle against Azriel's neck, the subtle shift of his head against yours following you into sleep.

When you wake next, it's to the crackle of a fire and the warmth of dry clothes. Sitting up is still a challenge, and dried blood flakes beneath your touch when you bring your fingers to the tender throbbing of your temple.

"You're awake." You look up to see Azriel standing in the doorway. You've been around him enough to read him, the unspoken relief in his eyes as he approaches. "You don't have to worry about that group of warriors," he tells you, "Cassian and I handled it."

The gleam to his eyes turns wicked and cruel, and you have no doubts how he and Cassian handled it. It doesn't make you feel better. You look away, studying the blanket over your legs.

"They had a point," you mumble, hating the weak rasp to your tone. "I shouldn'tㅡ"

"Give people like that any kind of weight to the words they say," Azriel cuts in sharply. "Because they're wrong. Just because you aren't Illyrian doesn't mean you're not strong."

When you still won't look at him, Azriel approaches you and reaches, calloused fingers coaxing your head up to meet his gaze.

"You still deserve better, Az," you mumble. Azriel's eyes narrow, flashing before he's leaning down to press his lips to yours. The kiss is rough, demanding ㅡ and then he pulls away enough to look at you, eyes blazing.

"I don't want better," Azriel answers, voice low. "Because there isn't. I just want you."

Your lips tremble before you're kissing him again, softer and sweeter. "You have me, Az," you mumble.

"And you have me," he answers, quiet enough that only you can hear him. "Now and forever."

[lulublack90]

Prompt 3 - Operation

@wolfstarmicrofic May 3, word count 351

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Remus cried out into the darkness as he began to transform. His boss snapped, and his muscles ripped as his entire body shifted into the shape of a wolf’s. It was horrendous. He was just inside the trees that made up the edge of the Potter's property. He just hoped that all the wards they’d been putting up over the last week, that Sirius had dubbed Operation Keep Moony out of the house and away from Lily and Harry, worked. He knew Padfoot and Prongs would stop him. He’d given James instructions to deal with him any way he deemed fit if, even for a moment, he put any of them in danger. A fresh wave of pain shot through him, and he stopped thinking. 

He opened his eyes, the world so much clearer in the dark with his wolf eyes. The great wolf sniffed. He recognised this place. He hadn’t been there for a while, though. He sniffed again and caught a scent he’d know anywhere. Mate, he thought. 

He got to his feet and turned to find the black dog waiting for him. He shook out his fur and bowed his head to rub it against the dogs. The dog barked happily and began bounding around him in circles before he took off into the trees, and Moony was after it. 

The sound of hooves thundering behind him alerted Moony to the stag catching them up. He was so happy when he realised his other friend had returned. He hadn’t seen him for so long. Moony forgot all about Padfoot and skidded to a halt so he could greet Prongs. 

The mighty stag trotted the last few feet to him and snorted heavily through its nostrils as a way of greeting. Moony whined happily as his tail wagged. He bounded over and sniffed along Prong’s back, looking for his other friend. 

A thought in the back of his head made him stop. The little one was gone. He’d never see him again. Moony sat back on his haunches and howled up at the moon, mourning the loss of Wormtail. 

Part 13

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: (Part Ten)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Fluff and bonding, Monster/human relationship, Miguel is rutting, Reader goes into heat, Rough PinV sex, Spontaneous outdoor sex, Slight voyuerism/exhibitionism, Mouth covering, Rough biting, Creampie & web sealing, Little bit of angst at the end? CW: Mentions of & brief depiction of deer hunting.

Word count: 6060

One Week Later

‘Are you ready, arañita?’

Miguel’s voice drifted up and into the nest, turning your head towards the entrance. You were halfway through getting dressed and the distraction nearly toppled you to the floor.

‘AH- Yeah! Yeah, I’m- almost ready! Just a minute!’

You struggled into your new outfit; a suit made entirely of silk which Miguel had painstakingly crafted for you. It was super soft and strangely warm, but it clung to the contours of your body a little more than you’d have liked. You kept wondering if Miguel had consciously or perhaps unconsciously made it so form-fitting. After all, this was your third suit of its kind, as he’d ripped the other two to shreds during extremely passionate and wet sex.

You felt your face grow warm at the memory and physically shook it away. No, no time for that. If you slipped back into the heat again you’d never get to go on the trip, and you were excited to go.

As you rose to your feet you took a moment to admire how the nest was coming along. The first thing you’d done was make it homely by adding a window and doors, with the entrance now covered by a crude cut oaken circle that swung outward on a hinge and the walls now adorned with little wooden shuttered holes.

You admired the half-made fireplace in the centre of the room, next to the DIY wooden table and the slowly burgeoning food prep area, before turning to the bed.

The mattress was completely drowning in silken blankets and silken pillows, and the floor beside it was now adorned with the pelt of a stag he’d killed. You knew autumn was approaching and it would only get colder, hence the focus on conserving heat, and while you didn’t want to jinx the relationship you enjoyed planning for the future.

You did feel a little bad since almost all these changes were only for your benefit. You had to preserve heat in this empty forest, but Miguel with his soft fluffy abdomen could remain shirtless all year round.

Your eyes softened affectionately at just the thought. Such a beautiful creature. He was a sight to behold when he stepped out into the cold dawn, where the heat of his muscles created a misty sheen of steam and his white breath curling around his fangs.

‘Arañita!’

You jumped in place as Miguel’s voice echoed from below for a second time. Shit, you’d been daydreaming about him so much you’d forgotten to go down. With fumbling hands you grabbed your bag and rushed out the open door.

‘COMING!’

Where once there was only a short sticky rope to descend from his home there was now a generous ladder, allowing you to easily clamber down to the floor.

Miguel was waiting, patient as ever, his legs gently tapping on the dirt as you approached.

‘Alright! I’m here, sorry. Had some- difficulty with the suit’ you called.

‘Ah, arañita. There you are.’ The joy that lit up his face every time he saw you never failed to make your legs weak.

‘Yep! Here I am.’

‘You look wonderful in that suit, by the way’ he noted as you rushed to his side. You took the time to scoff as you grabbed handfuls of his fur, using it as leverage to drag your body onto his back. His fluff was soft where it brushed your skin, and he smelled like grass dew and wet hair.

‘Oh my god- I knew it, you designed the suit to be too tight on me, didn’t you?’

‘I- well, yes. Is that an issue? Is it uncomfortable?’

You landed on his abdomen with an ‘oomph’ and shuffled forward, settling on his back like a great horse. Your hands wrapped themselves tight around his broad waist.

‘No, but- come on. Little bit pervy.’

‘I thought that was the nature of our relationship’ he argued. He tried desperately to catch your eye but in doing so began spinning in little circles, chasing his back as you continuously ducked out of the way. You took great pleasure in making him spin. ‘I like to look at you, yes. I get great physical joy from admiring your form. You are my mate. I thought this was normal. Is that not normal?’

‘Oh my god Mig—alright, come on! No more wasting daylight hours! Go! Go! Git!’

You gently and playfully kicked his side, urging him onward like a horse, but a firm glare from his bloody red eyes quickly brought you down into an apologetic cower.

‘Sorry! Sorry, uh- shall we, shall we go, darling? At your own discretion?’

He gave a curt nod and began strolling upward into the forest.

Today, he was finally taking you hunting.

The woods, once terrifying and unknowable to you, were slowly becoming a comforting norm. You gazed up at the dizzyingly high pines as Miguel walked upward to where the trees grew sparse and wide.

The early morning daylight trickled down in thin rays, their glow highlighting the tiny specks of dust and flitting little bugs as they passed you by.

This place felt old, untouched. It was cool beneath the heavy canopy above. You could hear nothing but the distant chirps of birds and the occasional creaking of an old tree. As you passed beneath those silent giants you clutched Miguel a little tighter.

‘You were talking in your sleep last night’ you whispered. Mig jumped. You’d been walking for almost ten minutes now in abject silence, so your voice was a surprise.

‘Ah- what was that, mi tesoro?’ he whispered back once he’d regained his composure. You bit down the urge to giggle.

‘Oh, sorry, um- you were talking in your sleep last night. That’s all I said.’

‘I was?’

‘Mhm. It’s very cute. You kept kicking your legs, kicking them and grunting, then you said something like don’t run so fast little one or wait for me and um- I think then you just kinda settled and went back to sleep. Like I said, very cute.’

Miguel rolled his shoulders as he continued strolling onward. You couldn’t tell from here what he was thinking.

‘Mm. I don’t- remember my dreams anymore, but, I know that they’re vivid. I remember the feelings but not the events. So- huh. I wonder what I dreamed about?’

‘I should stay up and keep an eye on you, try and sus it out’ you teased. He managed a breathy little snort of a laugh in response.

‘Ah, I’m not sure about that. What if I say something in my dreams that I shouldn’t?’

‘Oh, pft- like what? You gonna say someone else’s name? you don’t know anyone else, well except Miguel maybe, and if you said his name my first thought wouldn’t be that.’

‘I could still- imply something embarrassing’ he said with a shrug. You’d broached the top of the hills by this point and behind you the view was extraordinary, with small windows in the canopy giving you a perfect view of the city in the distance. Mig paused to turn and look at it with you mid conversation.

‘I could- I don’t know, admit some, sexual fetish I hadn’t even realized yet, some- deep interest in the back of my mind.’

You sighed as you rested on his bicep. With your arms still tight around his waist you gave him an affirming little squeeze. ‘You idiot’ you teasingly chided, ‘you admit everything to me anyway. This morning you immediately confessed that you designed my clothes for your own delight, and- wait, yeah, literally the FIRST day you started rutting you sat me down and told me in great detail your sexual fantasy. You are too honest to be worried about this.’

Another guttural choke escaped his throat, his strange little laugh that now filled you with joy to hear. ‘You are right, as always, my tesoro. I suppose it’s just my anxiety. I- suppose I’m just not used to anyone else being around when I sleep. It’s strangely vulnerable, no?’

‘Yeah, yeah. It’s weird, but, It’s nice though, right?’

You felt his fur bristle beneath you, the strands brushing your leg. Oh, you thought, that meant he was upset about something, right? But, why?

‘Is it?’ he murmured.

You turned and leaned around his torso to try and see his face more clearly, but right as you did so he turned himself and began walking deeper.

‘Hey, is something up?’ you gently pushed.

‘Ah, it… Sometimes- you pull away, at night, when we’re… cuddling.’ The way his voice dipped on the word cuddling, like he was embarrassed to be saying it in front of you. God, he was so sweet. ‘You shuffle away and I wake up without you. I- was worried you were uncomfortable with me.’

‘Oh, I love cuddling Mig! But doesn’t it bother you when you’re trying to sleep? I keep waking myself up because when I roll in my sleep you’re there and I keep thinking I’ll wake you up too.’

He let out a soft ‘humpf’ sound in response, clearly surprised by your response. ‘Ah- I don’t believe so. I haven’t slept any worse since you arrived, except, occasionally waking to check you’re okay.’

‘Oh. Huh. Well, you are… Big? I suppose is the best word? Big ol’ guy, you probably don’t feel me as much. But, like I was saying, I’m just not used to feeling something beside me when I sleep. I’m adjusting my brain to it, that’s all. it doesn’t mean I dislike you or dislike cuddling. We’re just uh- finding boundaries, now we live together.’

He seemed to perk up at the reminder that you were, technically, living together. Living together as partners, a concept he thought he would only ever dream out. He did a little rustle before bounding through the trees.

‘Alright, well, we’re almost there. Let me get you something to eat, mi arañita’

True to his word Mig became utterly focused on the hunt from that point onward.

He bayed you to settle down in the roots of a tree while he got into position, somewhere far enough to dampen your scent but close enough that you could see. He seemed desperate to have you witness him being productive, and you were curious enough to go along with his whims.

In this part of the forest the trees were sparser, allowing more vegetation to cover the dry earth. Miguel had said this gave him more cover for ambush, but you were still stumped as to how this giant man was supposed to hide himself even in the thickest growth. Even when pressed to the floor he was huge, as wide as he was long, covered in bright red and black fur.

Surely a deer would see that, right? Curiosity got the better of you, and you settled down in the roots to watch.

Mig started by feeling the vibrations in the dirt. He tapped at the floor, shuffling back and forth as he listened for something far beyond the scope of your own senses. You saw his eyes widen a few times, indicating that he’d felt something in the distance, and once he seemed sure he began the next unusual stage of this dance.

He dug. He dug into the earth with his enormous legs, filling out a small burrow in which his body could just about fit. He used his legs to drag foliage over his head, masking his scent and his body, until even you could barely see him at all.

And there, he waited. He waited, and waited, as clouds came to cover the sun. He waited in the gloom while you picked at your nails, waiting with a patience that frankly scared you to your core, until you both heard it.

A snap. A twig breaking.

A stag had entered the woods. Immediately you shuffled downward, lying as still as possible in the roots. Mig didn’t move an inch.

The stag was sniffing at the ground as it approached. You were certain that it would smell the enormous spider lying in wait, but somehow it just kept drifting closer and closer. You could see its head dipping to push through the grass, its snout flexing and snorting. Its breath condensed hard in the cool air.

Every muscle in your body tensed. You watched, your heart racing, as the stag went to sniff right over Migs head.

CRACK.

You jumped in your skin as he pounced.

It was terrifying. It was pure, primal, a spectacle of undiluted power. He moved with a speed that seemed impossible for something of his size, so large and yet so nimble, as his legs propelled him out of the dirt and onto the beast. It tried to run but his claws caught its neck.

With the sheer weight of his body he brought the bleating giant down. You saw a flash of his eyes, blood red with a single white pupil, right before he clamped his jaws on its neck.

It was over in seconds. The moment the deer stopped moving you scrambled out of the roots to join him.

‘Holy- shit, you’re so fast!’

Mig unclamped the catch with a soft grunt. You could see the blood on his jaw and neck which he immediately smeared with the back of his hand before facing you. He had such a strangely shy smile on his face.

‘Oh- you saw! You saw it. What did you think?’

‘It was… terrifying! Wow! You are- so, strong!’ you said with an awkward laugh. You left out how weirdly enjoyable it was to see him at full strength, to have witnessed the power and carnage he was capable of.

His grin widened as he took your comment at face value. ‘Thank you, arañita. That- makes me happy. I like showing you that I can be of use.’

‘Oh, Mig you idiot.’

You leaned in and affectionately touched his hair, gently brushing back the thick curls. He almost purred at the touch. ‘Now- jesus, let’s get you cleaned up and get home.’

You used a strip of silk from your back to try and clear his face, though he kept nestling into your hand which made it difficult to finish. Something about hunting for you seemed to make him especially soft. He would tap his feet for attention and rustle against you, and you would tut at him while secretly enjoying his touch.

That peaceful downtime did not last long though. As you were brushing yourself down, preparing to head back down, you noticed that Mig had stopped pacing. When you turned to check on him his eyes were wide.

‘Mig?’ you said softly. He didn’t move. You watched with ever growing curiosity as he began to dart his gaze across the forest line, almost as if he was looking for something. You followed his line of sight but could see nothing yourself.

It was only then, on the cusp of your lips parting to question Mig on what he was doing, that your senses picked up the same thing he had.

Your eyes locked in a moment of shared terror.

Footsteps. Distant footsteps, growing closer with every step. Idle chit chat that echoed in the trees, something about being lost and forgetting the map. You sensed a flask on an overstuffed backpack slowly clinking against a metal keychain.

‘Hikers’ you hissed. Mig gave a silent nod.

No, no, no. This was bad, you thought. What were people doing this far out? Why today of all days?

You didn’t want to risk a run in with civilians. You knew Mig was safe, but you also remembered how you’d acted the first time you saw him, and more importantly you remembered his distress at being seen.

Without another word you jumped into action, hopping his back in one fell swoop while he grabbed the kill by the nape of its hide. He lifted it as easily as a cat carrying a kitten, a feat you barely had time to appreciate, as he broke into a canter the moment you were mounted.

In silence you hurried back down the way you’d come.

For about half the way down it seemed to be smooth sailing. Mig made easy progress through the woods, his eight legs silently tapping back and forth on the mulchy earth as you descended to home. Your senses could feel the hikers getting further and further away.

In no time at all you saw the glade appear at the bottom of the hill, a tiny little circle in a sea of evergreen pines slowly sinking downward. You let out a contented sigh.

But then you felt it.

You felt It.

That foreboding tug in your gut. The gentle throbbing that sank down through your insides, the pulsing of blood as your heart sped up. The yearning, the need, the subconscious addictive pleading for satisfaction.

No, no, no, NO. You couldn’t stop here, right? The hikers weren’t far enough away yet.

You shuffled, trying to secretly suppress it, when Miguel abrupted stumbled to a halt himself. You heard him drop the stag with a thump.

Shit. You could smell it. It was heavy in the air, a smell you couldn’t describe with words but which you felt in your loins. He was rutting too.

Your eyes rolled. Oh that smell, it gave you goosebumps. That smell alone dragged you to him like a magnetic force.

‘Arañita?’

His words were soft as he spoke. Those were dangerous words, hungry words.

‘Mig?’

You felt so small on his back as his shoulders arched. You had to tilt your head to see his face, to see the bright glow of his eyes as his head instinctively tilted sideways. You balked. Those eyes were fucking starving.

‘Mig’ you breathed.

His abdomen vibrated softly, rustling against your skin in a way that sent pleasurable shivers through your thighs and spine. You shuddered against him. ‘Mig, don’t—careful—’

He breathed out hard, his breath condensing in the air. ‘Ah… Arañita …’

It curled like smoke around his bloody maw. His full lips parted and he breathed in through the mouth, releasing a dark and foreboding growl. ‘Ah…’

‘Mig—we need to get back—’

He was breathing heavier now. You could see his enormous spider legs quivering as he fought the urge slowly infecting his mind. The urge to pin, to fill, to penetrate, to feel. The urge to claim. The urge to see your pretty form, naked and sweating and shaking as you struggled to take him, as you were fucked to the brim with his very being.

When he huffed smoke for a second time a breathy moan escaped his throat. It was a mating call, plain and simple, echoing through the trees.

‘Mig… Mig…’

It was pitiful; your pleading had gone from genuine concern to depraved praise as you whispered his name over and over again. While you pleaded Mig struggled to focus on his senses. His body was begging, screaming even, to take you now, but he could just feel the hikers still approaching their location.

‘We need- to get back- to the nest’ he panted. You didn’t even respond.

At this point you were broken, involuntarily grinding your hips into his fur for any semblance of relief. Your body was burning to the point that sweat was sticking your suit to the contours of your skin, highlighting every little dip and curve.

‘Miggy—’

‘Arañita!’

His bark of an order made you mewl.

‘We need- to get back—’

‘O-Okay’ you whined. Slowly, painfully, Miguel began to continue his walk down the hillside towards the glade.

It was agony. You’d gotten so used to instant gratification that pushing through the need was now hellish, especially combined with the need to run.

It was an itchy heat, a prickling heat, and as your blood began to pump you felt your insides begin to pulsate. Throb after throb, each harder than the last, as every muscle inside you twitched and tensed around a cock that wasn’t there.

You could feel his body beneath you. You could sense him, feel him in every part of your body. All you could think about was feeling more, tasting more, as that desperate curdling need to feel his cock inside you flooded all of your senses. It was physically unbearable.

‘Don’t’ your mind screamed as you pulled at his fur.

‘Don’t do it’ his mind pleaded as he forced himself forward.

But you were no match for each other’s potent smell. No risk, not even death, felt important compared to that burning ache.

You collapsed from his body and into the dirt with a low moan, unable to maintain yourself any longer. Miguel descended on you in seconds.

You squeaked and squirmed as he gripped you in his claws. He pounced like you were prey. He flipped and thrust your body down onto its back, his gruff hands immediately pinning your arms to the floor. The frail little bones in your wrists screamed out at the pressure.

‘Mig!’

He hissed and flexed his teeth on your neck, hot breath cascading over your skin as the smell of musky hormones and blood filled your nose.

‘I can’t- wait—’ he panted. You could already feel his abdomen rubbing and grinding on you, his slit unable to contain his erection any longer. You could feel the thick, warm shaft smearing your new suit with his thick, pearly pre-cum. ‘I need- you, please- I need it- it hurts—’

You knew it was dangerous, but your brain was a melted pot of red hot lust. You couldn’t fight it anymore. With a soft whine you lay back and turned your head to the side, frantically nodding for him to continue.

‘Okay, fuck—I can’t wait, fuck—just, be quick, please’ you panted.

He didn’t even bother to fully undress you. With a hiss he bent and ripped a hole in your suit with his mouth, a dangerous tactic as his teeth brushed your pussy lips as he tore the silk aside. He took one deep sniff of your pheremones before physically dragging your body into position.

He forced your legs into a mating press, his hefty torso straining the muscles in your thighs to bend to his will. He rustled slightly as he pushed into position, roughly edging his bulbous member against your slit, and as you felt the first inch spreading you open you knew it was over.

‘Okay, okay’ he panted, ‘shh- sh, stay still for me arañita, let me just—fill you—’

He thrust, hard, and with one excruciatingly tight stretch he was inside you again.

‘M-MM--!’ Your hips bucked and tensed, rocking from side to side as you struggled to adjust. Miguel gasped like he’d just avoided drowning.

‘Ah—ahh—that’s it, that’s it. I’ll be- quick, just- stay still, mi tesoro, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

The moment he entered you he started to frantically rut to completion, his abdomen jerking back and forth as he fucked you into the dirt. Your fingers dug into his arms.

‘MM--!’ It was painful to hold back your screams. You had to bite your tongue until it bled, until the taste of iron filled your mouth and nose, all in a vain attempt to not be caught. He was so fucking rough.

‘Sweet little spider’ he whined. You felt him thrust a little deeper and squirmed with joy at the familiar mixture of ache and pleasure.

‘It’s… ‘S so good’ you whispered in a needy, whiney breath. ‘So—good…’

Desperate now to finish quickly, Miguel angled himself a little further back. He needed the one thing that he couldn’t resist, his most primal indulgence. He wanted to see it. Your small, soft, sweet human body, perfectly impaled on his enormous shaft. The sight sent full body shivers through his spine.

‘So… tight…’

He looked utterly pussy drunk, mesmerised almost. He watched your slick coat his cock as he drew back, those translucent sticky strings hanging between his abdominal fur and your pretty little slit. They made his black veins glisten as they pulsed against your swollen cunt.

‘Mi… aranita…’

He stared, unblinking, as he moved his hand and began touching the spot where he’d entered you. He brushed his thumb down and across your swollen clit, those wet and messy folds, until it came to rest where his shaft was splitting you open. He watched you swallow him whole.

‘Pretty, pretty little spider’ he whispered. ‘F-fuck…’  

He watched your hips jolt as he gave a few short pumps about halfway in, fixated on the way you stretched and wriggled with pleasure. His previous seed was now oozing out at the sides as he pumped in and out, just adding to the absolute mess you were making.

‘So, so… pretty…’

You felt his claws suddenly hit your neck, pressing you down until you were forced to be still. He continued to watch with wide and unblinking eyes as his thick rod squished back and forth, back and forth, filling you until you bulged before slowly slipping out with a wet pop.

‘Mm- mm—’

He was grunting hard as he moved.

‘So, fucking, pretty—’

‘Is it this way?’

Your whole body went rigid at the sound of unfamiliar voices, but you didn’t even have time to process your shock, because Miguel didn’t stop.

Even as the voices got louder he continued rutting you into the floor, his breathy grunts just barely audible in the rustling undergrowth.

You silently slapped at his arm but he couldn’t bring himself to pause. He impulsively clamped his hand over your mouth, his eyes deadly and starved as they stared down at your panicked expression.

‘Stay. Quiet’ he mouthed. Despite your fear, you were just as needy. You let him have you.

He bent your legs into your ribs just to slip deeper, his thick shaft eagerly kissing and smearing your cervix with pre-cum. Your breath was hot on his calloused hand as it muffled your desperate moans.

Despite his rational mind knowing that he needed to be quiet, Mig’s carnal desperation was driving him towards risky behaviour. You could hear the clap of his skin between your thighs echo with each wet pop as he pushed in and out, a symphony just as terrifying as it was erotic.

You watched him savor the feel of your body. You watched him as he experienced you.

‘Ah—ahh—ah—’

He flexed his jaw until it hurt trying to suppress his cries of pleasure, and in a second moment of impulse he bent down and sank his fangs into your shoulder. Your squeaks were silenced.

Now clamped by the terrifying power of his maw you were utterly surrendered. You could feel his teeth moving in tandem with his cock, filling and shifting inside you, flooding you with that same potent mixture of pain and pleasure.

You raked your fingers down his back, drawing red lines into his rough scarred skin. He dug his claws into the dirt.

The footsteps got closer, but there was no breaking free. You were trapped together. With a muffled grunt Miguel sped up to completion.

‘MMFF—’

He came inside you silently, with all his gutteral noises muffled by your skin. You felt it all the same. The heavy spurts, the hot seed flooding in and squirting against his soft underside when your cunt ran out of room. You were filled until you bulged.

In the high of that release you were nearly dizzy. Your eyes fluttered shut as your hormones overpowered any rational fear about being seen. All you could do was lull and whine, relishing the sweet gratification of being filled again.

‘Mig’ you whispered. ‘My Mig. You—’

Snap.

Your eyes shot open.

You tilted your head, slowly, just enough for your eyes to roll and spy the woods behind you. Two hikers were frozen in place, their bodies just barely obscured by the trunk of a pine.

They were staring at you. You, your body pinned beneath the torso of your half spider mate, still fully impaled on his monstrous cock, with your head in his neck and your flesh in his maw.

Your blood ran cold as your body tensed. To say you were mortified was an understandment, it felt like your heart might give out. You felt Miguel’s breath steaming against your shoulder as he panted into it. Did he know? Had he realized?

You opened your mouth but no sound spare a painful squeak escaped. Your brain was utterly fried.

The one to break the tension then was Mig, who decided to release your shoulder and stare directly at the two strangers. Mouth bloodied, eyes red, his naked body straining and panting for air.

Their reaction was swift.

‘FUCK!’

The two hikers almost fell over each other as they ran, both frantically fleeing for their lives into the overgrown brush.

‘JESUS- CHRIST, WHAT WAS THAT?!’

‘WAS IT EATING THEM?!’

‘F-Fuck, FUCK! I DON’T KNOW JUST- GO!’

‘We have to call for help—’

‘JUST RUN JUST- FUCKING RUN!!’

As the screams grew distant, you felt Miguel slowly pull out. His hands were quick to plug you up and carefully stitch your suit back together at the crotch, but you were too exhausted to move.

‘Shhiittt.’

It was the only thing you could think to say as you lay back in the mud, your head still a little woozy from the whole experience. Mig just grunted.

‘Shit, shit, shit. Ah…. I’m- I’m sure it’s fine. It’s fine. I- fuck, are you okay Mig?’

He grunted again as he lifted you up into his arms. His spider legs hooked the stag’s carcass and carefully manoeuvred it onto his back, allowing him to begin the short final trek back to the clearing with you still in his arms. The longer he went without saying a word, the more you began to worry.

‘Mig?’

You patted his cheek as he walked, trying in vain to get his attention. His only response was to sigh.

‘It’s okay’ you said, your voice now rather timid. ‘It’s fine, they- we probably won’t ever see them again. And hey, we didn't have to fight them! That's good, right? They just- left.’

‘It’s not that.’

You were surprised when words finally left his mouth, especially when they were delivered so sadly. He was blunt, yes, but not usually this melancholy, especially after sex.

‘What is it then?’ you asked. It took him a few more seconds to reply.

‘They thought… I was eating you’ he murmured. ‘If I’d been anyone else, they wouldn’t have screamed. We would have been- yelled at, perhaps, or chastised for being perverts. Maybe they’d have just, awkwardly moved away. But they would never have assumed I was eating you.’

The sombre reality sank in slowly. Somehow, you’d both forgotten the reality of what this was. What he was. You tried to shrug it off. ‘Wait, that’s what you’re worried about? I mean… If you were just, purely human, they might have still assumed you were murdering me. People can do murder too yanno.’

He managed a small, throaty chuckle at your light teasing, but it was strained. He looked distant, distracted, alone in his own mind. You gently shook his arm to drag him back down to reality.

‘Hey. It’s fine. You’re fine’ you repeated.

‘Does it not, bother you? The way they reacted?’

‘Mig I would have been mortified to be caught like that whether you were fully human or not’ you scoffed. He seemed unconvinced.

‘If they’d- seen us, holding hands’ he said, slowly musing over the theoretical aloud, ‘if they’d seen us… kissing, or even just sitting together, they would have run. They would still be terrified.’

It was hard to maintain a smile in the face of his dour prediction. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to simmer in that pool of despair, and you didn’t want him to wallow in it either.

‘People- when they see something they don’t understand, they, react like animals. Sometimes they run, sometimes they fight. They squash it so you don’t have to think about it. It’s easier.’

That morbid thought made him wince, but you refused to let go. You leaned in and tilted his head back towards you.  

‘And it’s horrible. It’s horrible, and it hurts, but then there’s other people. Other people, who- know what it’s like, to be the- scared little spider on the wall. And they know, Mig. They knew. I know. And I’m not scared of you.’

To your joy he managed to shoot you a ghost of a smile, just the barest tilting of his lips. It was enough for you, even if you’d only managed to distract him for a bit.

‘Besides, who do we have to disappoint?’ you said in an attempt to lighten to mood. ‘I don’t have friends to introduce you too, or family, or co-workers. You’re alone. We don’t need to worry about what people think.’

‘You say that now, arañita, but… I don’t know, I don’t feel like that will remain true forever. I also don’t appreciate you indulging my possessive nature.’

‘Awh, what? How, what did I do?’

‘Implying we’re all we’ve got’ he said softly. ‘It makes me- happy, but on some level, I know it shouldn’t.’

‘Well, hey! You know it shouldn’t, so- you know, that’s a start.’

Mig ducked his head beneath a row of branches as he re-entered the clearing. In the clear, bright light of the burgeoning sun he looked glorious.

‘Yes, but—I also know that I willingly ignore that fact and, pretend it is acceptable’ he confessed with a slight shrug. ‘Because- well, it comforts me, especially when I’m reminded that we are… different, to put it nicely.’

‘Well, as long as you’re not getting feisty, huh? I’ll just be sure to let you know if it ever gets annoying’ you offered. You pressed your face against his pec, right over his heart, and tapped it like you were making a promise. He gave you that sweet little ghost of a smile.

‘Very well, mi tesoro. I will hold you to that.’

You allowed Mig to drop the kill near the base of the nest before climbing back in with you still in his arms. You lulled a little in the sudden warmth, placated by the warm orange rays of sunlight warming the floor, and the moment he slid you onto the bed you collapsed into it.

‘Mmm… Yanno, that was the first time we were under such pressure from the heat that you didn’t make me orgasm’ you noted with a yawn. It was more a dry observation than a real problem you had, but it immediately caused Mig to bristle in horror.

‘I- oh, no you’re right. You poor little spider.’

‘It’s okay! I don’t blame you, it—HEY!’

You squealed with delight as he dove onto the mattress, his weight flinging your body a few feet into the air before landing back into his already outstretched arms.

‘Let me fix that’ he purred, his breath brushing your ear. ‘Please, mi aranita, let me taste you again.’

With an eager grunt his lips met yours, his abdomen rustling with excitement as his tongue went down your throat. You were smothered in seconds.

You gave in to his whining need to please and relished in the chance to scream again, your wet lips quivering his name with each breath as he tore your third new suit to pieces for just a lick of your cunt.

You were too focused on his mouth to notice anything as you tossed every item of clothing to the floor. Between his whiny moans and your own panting, you couldn’t have possibly heard anything else.

You certainly couldn’t have heard your society watch as it buzzed against the fur rug, the name ‘Jess’ highlighted in clear orange light. It was left to ring to voicemail instead, with neither of you aware it’d even gone off. Link to next part!

[polo-drone-001]

The Awakening of Freyr – Preparing for the Ice Hockey Match

Ezan was a beast on the soccer field, a force of pure dominance, but ice hockey was another battlefield entirely. The skates, the ice, the need for fluidity instead of brute power, it frustrated him beyond words. He trained harder than anyone, pushed himself past the limit, but something wasn’t clicking. Even with advice from Briar, the Ace of Ice Hockey, and Icelander Daniel, the breakthrough never came. He hated feeling like this, hated the uncertainty, the stagnation. Ezan was unstoppable, but now he was stuck.

After another brutal practice, he stormed into the Golden Army headquarters, dropping into his chair. His golden eyes flicked to the match schedule. The Golden Army vs. Pachy Pack. The toughest team they’d face this season. His jaw clenched. His fingers drummed against the desk. He skipped practice the next day, not because he was giving up but because he couldn’t stomach the frustration anymore. Instead, he showed up as Percival, the team’s head office manager. He strategized, analyzed, watched every move, but even Percival couldn’t fix what was missing.

After another crushing session, he sat alone in the locker room, head in his hands. Daniel walked in, saying nothing, just placing a steady hand on his shoulder. That quiet presence said more than words ever could. Percival exhaled deeply, leaning into it, and in that instant, Daniel was gone. Fenrir stood in his place, silver-white fur shimmering under the dim lights, golden eyes filled with knowing. Percival didn’t resist. He let himself collapse into the warmth, the strength, the raw presence of the wolf god. No talking. No thinking. Just acceptance.

The next afternoon, Percival left the Golden Stadium, walking until the world around him turned quiet. The Eldingr Woods stretched before him, the scent of pine and fresh earth filling his lungs. The Vetrgull River shimmered like molten gold in the fading light, and there, at the edge of the tree line, stood the stag. Massive. Watching him. Its antlers gleamed like polished gold, eyes locked onto him with divine weight. He followed without hesitation, deeper into the untouched parts of the forest, until they arrived at a massive rune stone, golden inscriptions glowing along its surface.

At its base lay a cloak, The Shimmering Golden Stag Cloak. It pulsed with something more than magic, something more than power. It was a calling. Percival reached for it, and the moment it draped over his shoulders, his body ignited. Energy surged through every muscle. His mind expanded, memories of past lives crashing over him. His form shifted, golden eyes burning with an icy-blue fire, hair braided into Nordic patterns, veins glowing with divine strength. He was no longer Percival. No longer Ezan. The stag had not just guided him. It had awakened him. He had become Freyr.

When Freyr stepped back onto the Golden Army’s field, the entire team felt it before they saw him. The air shifted. The energy changed. The players stopped mid-motion. The drones froze in place. The golden bros turned, eyes wide. He walked in, golden veins pulsing, power radiating from his very existence. Ezan had been a powerhouse. Percival had been a strategist. But Freyr was something beyond both. He did not just command strength. He granted it. He did not just inspire loyalty. He was worshipped. The Golden Army had a new force among them, and now, they were ready for war.

That night, when Ezan stepped onto the ice, there was no hesitation. No doubt. He moved with effortless precision, each stride fluid, each movement calculated. He was faster. Sharper. Unstoppable. Briar smirked. "Looks like you finally figured it out, bro." Daniel grinned. "Took you long enough." Ezan rolled his shoulders, his golden gaze gleaming under the arena lights. "Nah. I just remembered who the fuck I am." The whistle blew. The puck dropped. And with the power of a god fueling him, Ezan dominated the ice like he was born to rule it.

@polo-drone-050 @danielgold-16

@polo-drone-070

🔥 Ready to embrace gold? 🔥 Hit me up @polo-drone-001 or reach out to our Caps @goldenherc9 & @brodygold to join the brotherhood. 🏆✨

[aegon-targaryen]

Blue & Gold

Oneshot | 7.5K words | Post-TP zelink | read on AO3

The shadows are growing long, and someone is following him.

Humans make so much noise, no matter how hard they try to move with careful grace. Link crouches low beneath a bush of witch-hazel, yellow as a goldfinch this time of year but slightly dull to his limited vision, and he listens to the footsteps crunch across a carpet of dead leaves.

It must be Rusl. With any luck, he’s hunting for ordinary game, not the same quarry that still eludes Link. He left home without telling anyone about the corpses—foxes torn apart outside their dens, stags slaughtered at a stream’s edge—or about the creeping wrongness he never expected to sense in Faron Woods again. Rusl has come out here a couple times since. Link evaded him once, but this is the man who taught him to hunt. A few days ago, they locked eyes across a clearing, and Link wasted a few heartbeats hoping for recognition before Rusl reached for an arrow.

He'd rather not face that again. Link straightens silently and is about to slink away when a breeze rustles through the forest, smelling of soap richer than any villager could obtain and of the ink that always smudges her fingers. He’s frozen in place as the hunter comes into view.

Fine leather boots. The hem of a dark cloak. A longsword sheathed at her hip and a bow in her left hand. She’s gloved against the chill, but Link knows the back of her other hand bears a mark identical to the one on his shackled paw.

Foliage obscures her face, and he’s grateful, because he knows he’ll break the moment he sees it. He’ll come running the same way he pounded up that hill, heart hammering in his throat as the sun set over the stranger who had replaced the imp he’d known. It only took one crooked grin for him to realize that she was no stranger; she was his shadow, she was everything, she was—

Link presses his chin to his paws. That princess is gone. Why is this one here?

It can’t have anything to do with him. Not after that moment of instinctive contact in the castle’s shadowed hallway, the taste of coffee on her lips, the heat of her breath on his neck, the way she slammed open the door of her bedroom with a fervency he never expected. They fumbled to shed layers and layers until all Link could see were the scars of lightning splintering across her body, scars he inflicted. Then came the cold crash of clarity when they met each other’s eyes and found blue instead of Twili red, and the cracks in her composure widening with every step he took towards the door.

No. It can’t have anything to do with him.

One more step brings Zelda into full view. To his muted vision, she’s all contrast: white gloves beneath her black cloak, dark eyelashes downturned against creamy skin. There’s no crown on her head, no jewelry flashing at her neck or ears, but regality isn’t so easy to shed. Mistaking her for an ordinary woman would be like mistaking a wolf for a lamb.

She’s still studying the ground. Link realizes his mistake—on the way to his hiding place, he skirted around the muddy edge of a puddle that will advertise his trail as clearly as a painted sign. Zelda lifts her gaze to search the tangled undergrowth, and though he can’t perceive the flush of cold on her cheeks or the exact hue of her tunic, only death could blind him to her remarkably blue eyes.

She drums her fingers against her bow, then says tartly, “You’ve stained enough rugs for me to recognize your pawprints, Link.”

He creeps forward with a sigh of defeat, allowing the jangling chain to announce his presence. Zelda watches coolly as he emerges, shakes the leaves from his coat, and comes to sit at her feet. Close study shows him that while her grip eases on the bow, tension still lingers in her shoulders—secrets and subtleties, as always. She never makes herself easily known.

All three of them have that in common.

Despite the way they parted, despite everything that lies between them, Zelda kneels on the forest floor. Not for the first time, Link wishes she wouldn’t lower herself for him, but when she stretches out a hand, he can’t stop himself from pressing his head into her palm, can’t stop his stupid tail from wagging.

“Before you ask,” she says, “Rusl sent me a very concerned letter about how Faron’s wildlife is being slaughtered by some unnatural predator, and the only sign of you is a note that says to take care of Epona.”

Link huffs.

“It absolutely is my business. There’s talk all over Hyrule of a swordsman hunting down monster dens and roadside terrors, and I’ve left you to it, but the Resistance aided Hyrule when I could not. That makes me indebted to all its members. I may not rule this province, but I know the Twilight, and I know you. Rusl pins the killings on a wolf he encountered, Link. One he saw the same night Ordon’s children were taken.”

There’s humor in the irony, somewhere, but his throat constricts at the memory of his first night in this form, of Uli’s terror and Rusl’s vengeful grief as he swung the torch at Link. No one could fault them. Yet from the very start, Zelda saw the truth, and the people who raised him saw only the beast.

Link dips his head to avoid her gaze. Her fingers dig deep into the thick fur at the back of his neck, and she murmurs, “I am sorry, Link.”

She said that the day they met. If the apology was unwarranted then, it’s devastating now. He plants all four paws in the dirt, feeling her hand slide away as he begins to tease out the magic he’s meticulously learned to counter since Midna left him the shadow crystal without warning or instruction. Pain blooms beneath his eyelids and floods his mouth with copper, but it’s over fast, and then he’s running a hand over his face to brush away the disorientation.

Zelda waits, her lips pressed together inscrutably. If there’s anything good about being human, it’s the full-color shine of her rich brown hair in the sunlight.

“Whatever the killer is, it moves fast,” Link says at length, voice rough from disuse. “There’s no sense to the trail, so I keep losing it. I haven’t found anything but the corpses, and…”

“I know. I sense it too.”

Fear of a nameless evil, she called it during her captivity. Strange light and stranger shadows with a thousand eyes peering out of them. Considering that the last vestiges of Twilight disappeared months ago, he’s half-wondered if this dread is all in his mind, nightmares bleeding into waking hours. Zelda’s confirmation comes as a relief.

“How long have you been out here?” she asks.

Link stretches his arms over his head. “A week or so.”

“You haven’t considered returning to Ordon for help? A search party could cover much more ground.”

“A search party could also get killed.”

She narrows her eyes, stripping him bare just as he feared, reminding him of all the things that seem distant here in the quiet woods. “And you can’t?”

He would roll his eyes if Uli hadn’t raised him better. He gets to his feet and sticks out his hand, trying not to wince when Zelda rises without taking it.

“Show me the trail. If magic is at work here, I’ll be able to help.” She sees something in his face and adds, “If you are about to send me home—”

Link points across the clearing. “It’s that way, and no, I’m not stupid enough to try.”

Zelda’s lips twitch. She turns as though to conceal the smile, and Goddesses, he’s missed this: the intricacy of her, the way she challenges and surprises him. And beneath all that lies the safety of being with someone who faced the same enemy he did, who rode into battle wielding that bow like a slice of sun in her hands.

Her aid is probably more than he deserves, but she’s here. Even if has nothing to do with him, she’s here.

Link falls into step at her side and returns to the trail he was following before he caught wind of her approach. It’s a furrow of crushed undergrowth and snapped twigs, as though something charged through at top speed—sloppily, though, without the logic one would expect from an animal. The thick carpet of dead leaves keeps him from guessing exactly what the creature is, without any distinct prints left in the dirt. Still, there’s a clear enough lead for now.

“How’s court?” he asks after a while.

“Far better than it was a few months ago,” Zelda replies. Always the wry jokes. Always the implication that she owes him something, even though she fought for Hyrule as hard as she could.

“So…it’s terrible?”

“It’s tolerable.”

Only for someone raised to tolerate anything and everything, snarks a voice that sounds a great deal like Midna. With the castle lying half in ruins, the vultures have wasted no time in descending to pick its corpse clean—noblemen who spent the Twilight cowering in their estates, foreign princes looking to acquire a bride and a kingdom in one fell swoop. Zelda faces it all with cool austerity, guarding her scars with high collars and hardened eyes. Link can barely face his own village.

“You came alone?” he wonders, trying to keep his tone light.

“You know as well as anyone that my guards are more liability than asset. I left my horse with Epona.”

“With…oh.”

“Yes, I stopped by Ordon in case anything had changed since Rusl’s letter. He and Uli were very hospitable.” Zelda sneaks a glance at him. “And very worried about you.”

He tries to picture her sitting at that old wooden table with a bowl of Uli’s pumpkin stew, surrounded by the clutter and kindness that Link has taken for granted all his life. How callous he must seem to someone who has no family and very few people she can trust.  “They know I can take care of myself,” he mumbles.

“Is that so? Rusl wanted to accompany me to Faron, in case the beast had mauled you and was going to do the same to me.”

“How’d you talk him out of it?”

“I told him,” Zelda says archly, “that wolves do not frighten me.”

Link falters mid-step. So does she, but for a very different reason: there’s a dead thing at her feet, a mangled bundle of blood and bone hardly recognizable as a hare. Zelda crouches beside it. Golden light flares beneath her right glove, sparking something familiar in the mark on Link’s own hand.

“Is that how you found me?” he asks.

“That and your pawprints. You host a great deal of magic, Link. As does our killer.”

He surveys the gouges that ripped the poor hare apart and brushes away the leaves that surround its corpse. There are a handful of vague prints in the dirt beneath.

“Deer prints, or…maybe boar.” He tries not to recall the nightmarish beast he faced in the castle throne room. “But it’s probably a coincidence. Deer aren’t predators, and a boar wouldn’t leave the corpse uneaten.”

Zelda presses her glowing hand to her chest absently, tilting her head back to watch a cluster of leaves the color of Midna’s hair flutter down to earth.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” she answers quickly. “Only…whatever this thing is, I’d rather not face it after nightfall.”

Link glances up at the orange light that’s spread across the sky, matching the autumn forest. Darkness is no challenge for him, but not everyone has the senses of a wolf. “Back to Ordon, then?”

“All that way? If we spend the night here, we can start again at dawn before the beast gets too far away.”

“You don’t mind?” It’s strange enough to see her outside the castle, alone and unadorned. He heard enough complaining from Midna to know that wilderness is not a princess’s natural habitat. “It’ll be cold tonight.”

“My magic can keep me warm.” Zelda fiddles with her gloves for a moment, then adds quietly, “My mother used to take me camping.”

Link tries to conceal his surprise. She’s never told him anything like that, never handed him a piece of her past. Though he can’t fathom what he’s done to deserve her trust, he’ll be damned if he makes a mess of this too.

The sun has nearly fled by the time they reach the creekside cave where he’s taken shelter the past few nights. It keeps out the wind and the damp as well as anyone could hope for, though it feels abruptly cramped and shabby when he leads Zelda inside. Link has been a wolf more often than not since leaving Ordon, but he never adjusted to the idea of eating like one, so the goat cheese and pumpkin rolls that Uli gave to Zelda come as a delight after days of foraged berries and game cooked over a campfire.

They sit at the cave’s mouth and watch the last traces of daylight slip away past the black branches. He doesn’t have to ask what occupies Zelda’s mind at this hour. More than once at the castle, dusk would drag both their gazes to the windows, or to each other. Some days, the sheer sight of her cut like mirror shards. The nights, though—the nights were always easier.

“You can take my bedroll,” he tells her quietly. “I’ll be warm enough as a wolf.”

“You’ve gotten rather good with the shadow crystal,” Zelda says. “Quite the feat for someone with no magical training.”

Link shrugs, fiddling with the string on his neck, where Ilia’s horseshoe whistle rests beside a far more dangerous tool. When he touched the shadow crystal to his skin on one of the unbearable nights that followed Midna’s departure, he didn’t know if there was a way back to humanity without her help, or whether he wanted a way back. It took hours alone with the watchful moon and the crickets’ songs before he realized he couldn’t spend the rest of his life as a terror to everyone he met.

A terror to everyone but Zelda, at least.

His chest aches with a sudden, fierce gratitude towards her. That night, he did manage to brace himself against the magic and shake it free, and now he can step between forms in a way that feels entirely right. But even if he hadn’t been able to help himself, he knows where he would have gone—right to her door like a dog scraping to be let in, knowing she would always answer, knowing she would treat him with the same exasperated kindness no matter what he looked like.

Link still lacks the words to fix what broke that day in the desert, but he wasn’t alone when the Mirror of Twilight shattered, nor in the deafening silence that followed. Zelda came all this way. He owes it to her to try.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, grateful that darkness cloaks them. “It wasn’t you. It was everything except for you. Still…there’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Wind sighs through the forest, and Zelda sighs with it. “Think nothing of it.”

His spine stiffens with incredulity. “I walked away from you.”

“I remember.”

“I kissed you and I saw your scars and I walked away, Zelda.” Now he wishes the shadows weren’t hiding her expression, that he could understand her the way Midna did. “It—it wasn’t nothing.”

“But it was for the best, don’t you think?”

That stings more than it should. She’s entirely right. For a thousand different reasons, they never should have opened this door. Link is sickened by the idea of her marrying one of those noblemen circling the castle—it would be like chaining a golden eagle to a carrion crow—but that’s her choice to make, not his to jeopardize.

Besides, Midna took so much of him with her, and he barely knows what to do with all that remains.

With a sigh, Link pulls off his cloak to offer Zelda an extra layer of warmth. He’s met with silence and shadows too deep for his human eyes to pierce, but eventually she accepts it with a murmured, “Thank you.”

There’s a glimmer of gold as the Triforce lights her way to the bedroll. He touches the shadow crystal, gritting his teeth through the transformation—if only all pain passed so quickly—and turns a circle before settling down in front of her, making himself a shield against the wind and anything else that might risk entering his den. They lie there cradled in the quiet arms of the night, but it’s a long time before either of them falls asleep.

.

.

.

Link opens his eyes to a cloudy grey dawn and Zelda’s fingers tangled up in the thick fur between his shoulders. He holds himself very still, listening as the woods come awake around them, until she wakes too and twitches away from him.

Breakfast is a pumpkin roll split between them and goat cheese spread over his last apple. Link will have to hunt if they’re out here much longer, but for now, there’s more important game. He’s a wolf again when they set off, partly because it’s easier to find and follow the killer’s trail like this and partly because he has no idea what to say to Zelda.

He didn’t expect her to accept his apology so easily. He didn’t expect to spend another night in her company at all. It was always shadows that brought them together at the castle, long after everyone else was asleep. Link would stumble upon her in his wanderings, a thin wraith haunting the ruined castle with the same restlessness that infected him. The first few nights, they passed each other by with nothing more than a murmured greeting—but later, they fell into step together, climbing the ramparts to see the stars or walking the gardens in moonlit silence.

Only once did they come together like gravity, tentative in the first kiss but starving by the second; only once did they break apart in breathless terror. And once will have to be enough. He can’t allow that hunger to swallow them both whole.

The morning remains chilly and bleak, and their quarry’s twisting trail makes Faron seem twice as large as it actually is. A growl of annoyance builds at the back of Link’s throat when he realizes they’re going in circles. It’s one thing for his time to be wasted, but how much longer can he drag Zelda around? He watches her strong shoulders, the long waterfall of her hair, all the things he missed without realizing it, and he knows she can only resist the call of the castle for so long.

She stops in her tracks suddenly, and the glow emanating from her hand makes him halt as well. Link follows her gaze downhill to a stream that trickles through the forest.

There’s a shadow at the water’s edge. Only when it shifts does he understand that he’s looking at a boar, bristling with unnatural darkness and twice the size of those native to Faron. The saddle on its back marks it as a Bulblin’s mount, but Link always knew those creatures to be natural, if brutish. There’s nothing natural about this one. He can hear the slow drip of blood from the boar’s pelt and the snuffling irregularity of its breath as it guzzles from the stream.

Zelda grasps at the fur between his shoulder blades with a trembling hand. “Twili magic. The beast is half-mad with it. I suspected as much when we found the hare yesterday, but…”

I know, Link wants to say. Sensing it from afar doesn’t prepare you for seeing it in the flesh.

Midna made sure their worlds would never intersect. The presence of her people’s magic here makes no sense, yet there’s no denying the taint that fills the air, a pulsing wrongness that forces him to remember vermin-infested waterways, towns full of guileless spirits, and a world with no sun or moon. Even the rising wind can’t sweep away the malaise.

“I can hit it from here,” Zelda whispers, nocking an arrow to her bowstring. “It’s likely to flee in the opposite direction. Perhaps we should split up to limit its chances of escape.”

Link nods, creeping downhill and downstream. The angle gives him a glimpse of the boar’s long tusks, blackened by the power that curses it and sharp enough to have killed all those poor animals. He’s glad Zelda is staying up there in the trees, kept safe by higher ground.

The wind picks up, hinting at rain—but more than that, he smells rot, and he smells the Twilight. A shiver rips through him from nose to tail, jangling the metal cuff he’s worn since the first day he woke up as a wolf.

The sound might as well be thunder. The boar raises its head and fixes him with a gaze that weeps blood.

Zelda’s first arrow strikes its shoulder. The creature wheels around with a spray of sand and an awful cry. Link takes off to give chase, but his quarry doesn’t flee as any self-preserving animal would, even when a second arrow pierces its night-black pelt. The boar’s massive head swings towards the slope, powerful muscles bunching beneath its thick hide, and Link thinks, No.

The boar charges uphill at a pace he can barely comprehend, crushing everything in its path. A third arrow flies through the trees, missing by a hair. Link’s paws devour the distance, but he knows it won’t be enough. Not her. Not this. Not again.

Gold light blossoms through the foliage, a shudder of power greater than anything he’s felt in a long time. There’s another frightened squeal, and then the trees part to reveal the boar trapped in a column of light, Zelda’s arms shaking with the effort to hold it there.

Link closes the gap with a leap, his fangs finding the beast’s shoulder and his claws raking through whatever else he can reach. Hot blood drowns out the taste of decay and everything else—he hates this, he’s always hated this, even though a part of him digs in deeper and exults while the enemy screams. The boar bucks, making his vision tilt wildly; Link jerks his head back with a snarl and parts his jaws to go for the throat.

He catches a glimpse of Zelda, a flash of wild eyes and radiant light—blue and gold, the only colors in his world of greys—and in that moment of distraction, the boar thrashes against her hold. Tusks arc through the air and collide with the border of Zelda’s spell, shattering the power that once stood against Ganondorf.

There’s a cry that breaks his heart. Link launches himself at the boar’s face, raking his front claws over its eyes. The creature buckles beneath him, hooves slipping on the leaf-littered ground, and the world somersaults as they tumble down the slope together.

Link springs free before he’s crushed. The boar struggles upright with a pitiful wheeze and staggers away from him, finally remembering its survival instincts. He pays it no mind; he’s already scrambling uphill.

Zelda is a shivering huddle on the ground. There’s blood everywhere, on her and on him, and rain has begun to fall. A memory clamors for attention, dark fields and flooded tunnels and Midna dying on his back, but Link shoves it away and wrenches himself back to humanity faster than ever.

“We have to stop that thing,” Zelda gasps. “We—”

He tips her chin up—no blood—and runs his hands down her shoulders before pausing at her elbows. The boar’s tusks tore open those lovely white gloves and the flesh beneath.

Link fumbles through the pouches at his waist until he finds gauze to press down on each of her forearms, holding it there even when Zelda gasps and clutches him with shaky fingers.

“It’s getting away,” she insists.

He spares one glance for the boar, limping away in the opposite direction. “I don’t care.”

“Link, there’s something—”

“Zelda.” Cold raindrops slide down his neck and trail clean paths through the heat of her blood. He can’t loosen his grip, so he presses his forehead to hers and says firmly, “I’m not leaving you.”

She shudders against him. Maybe it’s pain. Maybe it’s disbelief; he’s left her before. But instead of pulling away, Zelda closes her eyes and breathes him in. This close, Link can see the edge of a scar peeking out from beneath her collar.

This close, he can’t help but remember what it felt like to kiss her.

He’d linger in this moment for much longer if his throat wasn’t burning with the scent of her blood. They backtrack up the slope to a cave that caught his eye earlier, not much more than a hollow space formed by the roots of a great tree as it cracks through the rocky outcropping beneath it. They have to hunch and keep bumping into each other on their way inside, but at least they’ll be out of the rain.

He gives her a red potion, then sits across from her to peel off the ruined mess of her gloves. She’s biting her lip, shoulders bunched up as she resists the instinct to pull away from the pain. A hiss escapes through her teeth when Link rinses the wounds off with his waterskin.

“Your left arm’s not too bad,” he says, bandaging it swiftly. “But you’ll need a couple stitches on the right. Don’t worry; I’ve done this plenty of times.”

“I’m not worried.”

You should be, he wants to reply, because right under his fingers is the network of scars that climbs up her wrists to disappear beneath her sleeves, a jagged reflection of the lightning Link redirected at her in the throne room. It’s everything he’s been running from—the memory of her corrupted amber gaze, the blood of countless other creatures under his fingernails, the reason he can’t bear to stay in Ordon for more than a few days at a time.

But he can’t flee again, because she needs him. That fact keeps his hands steady enough to thread the needle and bring her arm over to rest on his thigh. “Ever had this done before?” he asks.

“No.”

“Hurts like hell, but I’ll make it fast, okay?”

“I will be fine,” Zelda replies evenly, because of course she will; she had no choice but to hold her head high through the collapse of her kingdom and everything else Ganondorf did to her. Link grits his teeth and tries to seem half so composed as he starts the stitches, tries not to listen to her shaky breathing.

“She was awful with blood,” he finds himself saying. “I learned early on not to expect her help. Towards the end, though…she wouldn’t stitch me up, but she would talk to me. Make herself a distraction.” An unwilling smile tugs at his lips. “She was a good distraction.”

Zelda gasps out a laugh that makes him suddenly aware of how close they’re sitting, his knee pressed against her calf. “What did she speak of?”

“Simple stuff, mostly. What she thought about whatever corner of Hyrule we were in. How different it was from her realm. What she wanted to eat that day. Food was the only thing she really liked about our world.”

“Not the only thing, Link.”

Her voice is tight with pain, both from the needle and, he suspects, from a hurt that runs much deeper. At the castle, they tiptoed around the broken glass Midna left behind as if silence would bring her back. Link is surprised to find that he can have this conversation without wanting to scream—surprised to find that it’s a relief to remember her with the one person who will understand. Yet another strange but immutable burden he and Zelda have in common.

“She did talk about you, sometimes,” he adds. “After what you did for her…we thought you were gone, at first. But from the second she realized you were alive, she never gave up on bringing you back.”

“She never gave up on anything,” Zelda agrees wistfully.

“Were you…what do you remember from back then?”

She tips her head back to watch water drip through the cracks in their shelter. “Only the vaguest things. Saving her. Being her. Being with you. I was not fully aware of myself until the throne room.”

He shouldn’t have asked. Grateful for the excuse to keep his head down, Link ties off the last stitch and trims the excess thread, then dampens a cloth to wipe away the remaining blood.

“Thank you,” Zelda says, searching his face. “Was there something else you wanted to ask me?”

Lightning crackling through the air, her face twisted into a sick grin, the sword wavering in her grip during the brief lapses in Ganondorf’s control—Link will remember it as long as he lives. But does Zelda? There’s something in her expression, the same weary grief she wore the day they met, that makes him think she does.

But the question burns like ashes on his tongue. He can’t confront what the enemy did to her, what he did to her, and still meet her eyes afterwards. So instead he asks, “What was that thing? A miniature Ganon?”

She chuckles dryly. “No. The boar was tainted by a piece of the Fused Shadows.”

“What?” Link shoots up so suddenly that his head smacks the nearest tree root. “Ow! I mean—how?”

“I wish I knew. Midna and I sought out the fragments in Hyrule Field and disposed of them while you were sleeping off your injuries. But if I had to guess…even the smallest shard, one easily overlooked, would be capable of corrupting most living creatures. Especially one that already served the enemy.”

He sighs, tucking his hands under his knees for warmth. That boar isn’t evil, any more than Epona is. But he remembers the beast’s rotting stench and bleeding pelt and knows that it’s been suffering since it came into contact with the Fused Shadows. That’s reason enough to finish the job.

“Okay,” Link decides wearily. “It won’t get far with those injuries. Why don’t you rest a while? I’ll wake you up when it stops raining.”

Zelda purses her lips, but the exhausting effects of blood loss negate whatever objection she wants to voice. She curls up under both their cloaks and lays her head on his legs. He doesn’t remember moving, but his fingers are carding through her long hair, a touch as instinctive as that first kiss in the hallway. Even though all the reasons he left the castle are still wedged between them, everything seems so terribly simple out here in the wild—no thrones, no broken mirrors, no scavenging noblemen.

Maybe she feels the same way, for her eyes drift shut without a word of protest.

Link leans back and listens to the rainfall. Hopefully Fado brought the goats inside before it started; being wet and cold makes them twice as ornery. Everyone else will be welcoming the excuse to take a break from the endless harvest work. This time last year, Ilia would have knocked on Link’s door with a book and a blushing smile, and they would have sat by the fire in comfortable silence, stealing a few rare hours away from prying eyes.

He looks down at Zelda—dark eyelashes fluttering against pale cheeks, hands tucked under her chin so that he can see the new stitches layered over the old scars. He wonders if she, too, yearns for things long gone. If she feels like she’s walking through the ruins of a life she no longer recognizes.

And she’s tethered to that life. Link, at least, has the luxury of freedom.

Yet the boar’s blood still burns at the back of his throat. The Twilight followed him all the way home.

It’s time to stop running from it.

Link pulls off his thick overtunic of Ordonian wool and balls it up, sliding it under Zelda’s head. In only his chainmail and undershirt, the damp air has a bite to it, but when he squeezes out through the tree root and pads away on four legs, he no longer feels the cold.

In a few minutes, he’s down the slope and back to the pebbled stream where they encountered the boar. The rain has washed away most of the blood but given him fresh mud that captures the boar’s hoofprints, to say nothing of that unmistakable stench. Worse than the castle sewers or reekfish; if anything, it brings back the parched decay of Arbiter’s Grounds.

He finds the boar lying at the base of an elm, its sides shuddering with unsteady gasps, its dark pelt soaked through with rain and worse. Death drips from the two arrows buried in the boar’s flesh and the gouges made by Link’s fangs and claws. Movement brings his eyes up to the branches overhead, where half a dozen crows are silhouetted against the grey sky, waiting for nature to provide them a feast of flesh.

The boar must smell him too, but it makes no effort to rise as he creeps to its side. If it was ever capable of speech like most animals he’s met, it’s mute now. His earlier attack may have blinded the poor thing, but even so, there’s a look in its eyes that Link has seen so many times. Not fear. Not acceptance. Just exhausted resignation. Even Ganondorf looked that way at the end.

Trying to run was foolish. He will never forget how it feels to deal out death. He can only bare his fangs and end it as quickly as he can.

As the boar breathes its last, Link knows he can’t leave it to the crows. Not just because whatever remains of the Fused Shadows could latch onto them too, but because this never should have happened in the first place. Because he knows how it feels to be twisted beyond recognition by forces so much bigger than him.

He's digging between the tree roots when the sound of Zelda’s footsteps reaches him. Even when they come to a halt in front of the grave, he doesn’t look up until she says, “Link.”

There’s an edge to her voice he’s reluctant to face, but she just stares at him and drums her fingers against the bow in her hands until he jumps out of the hole, spraying her with mud in the process.

“You said you wouldn’t leave.”

Link dips his head towards the boar’s corpse.

“Yes, I know it had to die. That does not mean—” She stops abruptly, her face bloodless beneath the hood of her cloak, and heaves out a great sigh.

He’s never seen what anger looks like on her face before today. Watching her piece together what remained of the castle and its cowardly soldiers with nothing but serene patience fascinated him, especially after months with Midna, who was so full of fury that Link practically became immune to it. Zelda’s ire feels different, though, because he’s certain he deserves it.

So he shifts, feeling mud soak into his trousers before he pushes himself up to face her. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was coming back, I swear.”

“That is not the point. It was one thing when you were wandering all over Hyrule, helping strangers, but here…do you realize what you have in Ordon? An entire village of people who would do anythingfor you, because you’ve done everything for them. Yet you spent days out here in the cold instead of asking for their help.” She tightens her grip on the bow. “For mine. A wolf needs a pack, Link.”

“I told you before, I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. This…” He gestures vaguely at the dead boar. “This is my…”

“You already did what fate asked of you.”

“And now you’re telling me to just walk away?”

“I’m not telling you to do anything. But tell me this is the life you want and I’ll call you a liar.”

“I don’t—I’m not suited for herding goats anymore.” Link brushes rainwater from his brow so he has an excuse to look away and adds all in a rush, “I would keep your hands clean, Zelda.”

She laughs, knife-sharp and far more bitter than anything he’s ever heard from her. “It’s years too late for that.”

He finds himself wondering how the old queen and king died, how long Zelda has been alone, and why he’s never asked her any of these questions before. She’s always seemed so distant, so perfectly indestructible—but she kissed him as desperately as he kissed her. How did he overlook that?

“What I meant was…it’s not like you can walk away,” Link says. “You have your role. And I have mine.”

She stares at him through the rain, shaking her head slowly. “This is exactly why Midna broke the Mirror.”

He flinches back a step. “What does thatmean?”

“She wanted you to be free, Link. She spent months in your shadow, watching you carry all these things that—”

“That I was meant to carry.”

“Does that make them any easier to bear?” Zelda counters, locking him in place with those relentless blue eyes. “When I said it was for the best that you left the castle, this is what I meant. Midna was right, and I owe you everything, and I will not be another thing that weighs you down.”

“What is it you think you owe me? If you mean Hyrule, that was Midna as much as me, and you’ve been taking care of it much longer.”

“Of course I mean Hyrule. But not only that.” She pulls up her sleeve, unveiling the red scars that branch out along her veins. “You saved me.”

Link’s heart sinks like a stone into bottomless depths. His gaze falls on the boar’s carcass, dripping blood and water into its bed of leaves. The crows are still waiting in the branches overhead. He digs his nails into his palms and chokes out, “I hurt you, Zelda. Don’t—don’t pretend otherwise. I heard you scream.”

For a long time, the only sound between them is the rain pattering down over the forest. She comes forward slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. “You heard Ganondorf scream. Every part of me that matters was with Midna. I felt no pain.”

“Your body did.”

“Perhaps. But it was necessary.” Zelda inclines her head towards the boar. “It’s always been necessary. It doesn’t make you what you think you are.”

Link shudders out a breath. She reaches for his hand and turns it over to inspect his palm, callused from a lifetime of ranch work and covered in plenty of his own scars. Only an hour ago, he was stitching her skin back together. They’ve ridden to war, loved and lost the same woman, tasted each other’s lips and gotten halfway to doing much more than that. But somehow, the gentleness of this touch is what unravels him.

Zelda has been nothing but honest with him since the day they met. It was one of the first things he appreciated about her—that in a world turned unrecognizable, there was at least one person willing to tell her the truth. Link has no reason to start doubting her now.

He runs his fingers over the scars that climb up the inside of her wrist, careful of her new wounds. That day in the throne room, her skin was marble and her eyes amber. He can feel the heat of her breath now, see the blue of her gaze, feel the thrum of her pulse, all of it a reminder that they made it through alive.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay. Thank you.”

Zelda allows herself a small smile. “Of course.”

“I want you to know something, though. You’ll never weigh me down. And I’m still not leaving you, not for good.”

“Link…”

“A wolf needs a pack, Zelda.”

She holds his gaze for a long time, as if waiting for him to change his mind. When he doesn’t, she brings a hand to his cheek, touching him the same way Midna touched them both: with a tenderness that almost defies belief. One by one, the crows fly away, and Zelda closes her eyes and kisses the rain from Link’s skin.

.

.

.

After the boar lies buried beneath the elm’s roots, they make their way home—because whatever else changes, Ordon will always be home. They’re greeted by fussing from Uli, questions from Rusl, and food piled high on their plates. Zelda sneaks that subtle smile across the table at Link while he explains that Faron is safe and apologizes for making them worry.

When they finally extricate themselves, the rain has given way to bold rays of late-afternoon sun that filter through the trees. Their horses are grazing in the clearing by his treehouse, Epona’s chestnut coat a brilliant mirror of the autumn foliage beside the quiet grey of Zelda’s gelding.

“I’d best be on my way,” Zelda says reluctantly. “They could overthrow me any day, after all.”

Link laughs. “Wait…that was a joke, right?”

“Of course it was.” She lifts the saddle onto her horse’s back. “Midna’s influence, I suppose.”

He circles to the gelding’s other side to cinch the girth. He’s half-tempted to saddle Epona up too, but he’s not quite ready for that, and maybe Zelda isn’t either. He’s spent months searching for an end that will never come, running from the inevitable truth of who he’s become since the Twilight. The forest will regrow and die and regrow again, but it won’t be the same, and neither will he. He needs to come to terms with that. And to stop looking for Midna in every shadow.

“I’ll visit you soon,” he says, coming back around the horse. “I just need a little more time.”

Zelda smiles at him. “We have all the time in the world. She made sure of that.”

“She did.” Link draws her into an embrace, smelling the rain in her damp hair. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t keep patching everyone else up while you bleed.”

“Only if you promise to do the same,” she murmurs against his shoulder.

“I do.” He presses his lips to her temple and pulls back, memorizing her in the sunlight, tucking the sight away until the next time they see each other.

Zelda takes her horse’s reins, and instead of mounting, leads him past the treehouse on foot. Link follows her down the dirt path and past the Light Spirit’s glittering spring until they come to a halt at the bridge.

“Link, shift into a wolf,” she says, tethering her horse to one of the bridge posts.

“Huh? Why?”

“Trust me.”

And he does. Reaching for the shadow crystal, letting the pain pass over him—briefer every time, as much a part of him as the mark on his hand—and shakes his coat out, nudging her hand with his cold nose. The horse throws his head up in alarm at the sudden appearance of a predator, but Zelda pats his neck and kneels in front of Link.

She touches the iron cuff and severed chain that have been fastened to his leg since the day this all began. “Would you like this gone?”

Yes. Goddesses, yes. Link bobs his head, his tail wagging enthusiastically of its own accord.

“All right, then. Hold still.”

He sits back on his haunches and forces his ridiculous tail to stop moving. Zelda slides her fingers along the edge of the metal, and again comes that familiar golden glow, that call reaching out to the core of him.

With a rattling clankthat Link never wants to hear again, the cuff drops to the ground in two pieces leaving behind a pale band of fur that never grew properly beneath it. He picks up his paw, marveling at the weightlessness, and puts it down so he can nuzzle Zelda’s cheek, coaxing a laugh out of her.

He wonders if he should shift so that he can tell her thank you and I’m glad you came and I’ll see you later. But when Zelda kisses the soft fur between his ears before rising to her feet, he knows there’s no need.

She understands him in any form.

.

.

.

[scotianostra]

September 2nd 1724 Maggie Dickson climbed the gallows in Edinburgh's Grassmarket, ready to take “The last drop”

Her downfall came when she got pregnant and tried to conceal the fact. Maggie’s husband had deserted her to work in the Fisheries in Newcastle in Northern England.

Consequently she had to leave Edinburgh and moved to Kelso in the south of Scotland. Whilst there she had an affair with an innkeepers son.

As the Innkeeper was her employer she felt compelled to keep the pregnancy quiet as she would lose her job. Tragically the baby died after being born prematurely and she decided to dispose of the body. She intended to cast it into the River Tweed but instead left it on the riverbank. It was soon found and the authorities quickly determined that Maggie was the mother. At that time such an action in Scotland contravened the 'Concealment of Pregnancy Act' of 1690 which made it tantamount to murder.

"Her reason for concealing the birth of the child was for fear of being made a public example in the church, and a laughing-stock to all her neighbours The legal and religious institutions were severe on women concerning matters of their pregnancy. Even the natural occurrences of miscarriage or still-born infants could incur the wrath of the law.

And so it was, Maggie was tried, convicted and sentenced to hang. The execution took place on the 2nd September 1724 in the Grassmarket area of Edinburgh. This was the favoured location for hangings at that time and normally took place on market day to ensure a sizeable crowd.

Her body was then taken in a coffin for burial to the town of Musselburgh which was east of Edinburgh. Apparently this was only after an unseemly scuffle between her family and local medical students keen for a young body to dissect. The corpses of the condemned were regularly passed to the Schools of Anatomy in the name of science in the 18th century.

The family had their way and took possession of Maggie's remains for burial. They set off on the journey and on the way stopped off at a pub for some refreshments in the Peffer Mill area. All of a sudden there came a knocking and banging on the coffin lid from the inside. Astonished, they opened up the coffin to discover that she was not dead.

Miraculously it seemed that Maggie Dickson had not succumbed to the gallows but had cheated death at the hands of the law. She was alive and well as confirmed by a local gardener on the scene who cut a vein to check for a flow of blood. After spending a night to recover Maggie actually walked back to Musselburgh the next day.

But what would happen next? As the death certificate had already been issued it was impossible to re-execute Maggie. This was because Scots Law is based on Roman Pandects and in this case it prohibited further action. Therefore the King's Advocate could not pursue the matter any further.

Instead he filed against the Edinburgh Sheriff in the High Court of Justiciary for not efficiently conducting the public execution. The ruling also meant that as Maggie was technically dead then her marriage was dissolved.

Furthermore, the prevailing opinion amongst people in Edinburgh considered her survival to be the result of divine intervention. Local people believed it had been 'God's will' that had spared her from an early grave.

Rumours persist that she actually seduced the ropemaker and convinced him to make the noose weak enough not to kill her. We will never know if that's the truth.

Whatever the facts of her hanging Maggie lived for another 40 years and had many children. Her husband remarried her despite that fact that she now sported rope burns and her neck was permanently crooked for the rest of her life. She is said to have ran an alehouse in Musselburgh for the rest of her life.

If you have ever visited Edinburgh’s Grassmarket you will have no doubt seen the names of the bars have a historical connection, The White Hart connects with King David I and his encounter with a White Stag, The Last Drop is of course a nod to the execution place and Maggie Dickson is for our erstwhile subject today, who the people of Edinburgh remember as “ Half-hangit Maggie “

[presidentogekiss]

A Mess

This is my first attempt at writing some fanfiction (at 26 years old no less!). I honestly never thought I would, so much so I don´t even have an Ao3 account. But this game really inspired me to write, so I wanted to give it a shot. I´m sorry for any gramatical and spelling mistakes (english spelling will always be one of the greatest enemies of anyone learning english as a second language lol). I hope it´s not too bad, and I accept any feedback! If this becomes a habit I´ll figure out a more pleasent format hehe.

____________________________________________________________

Henry groaned a little, something between a growling badger and a baby deer. He was experiencing a very strange sensation at this very moment.

"You know, I was a little worried this wasn´t going to work, you know? I did this plenty of times on wenches, but I never tried this before in a man. I´m glad to know it works! - Hans said, in his usual cheery tone, as he went back to suckle Henry´s nipple.

It was clear he was being honest in his experience in the matter, because the movements his tongue made on Henry´s poor pap were full of intent and technique. Henry´s body felt it could melt as Hans slowly sucked on his chest, all the while slowly stroking his member under the heavy furs they were both in.

Of course, Henry wasn´t completely unexperienced in the activity. He had suckled on many a maiden´s tit. But he always thought that they allowed it mostly to indulge him, not because it felt particularly good.

But apparently, his body was way more sensitive than he had expected. He bit his lip and growled slowly with pleasure, and it seemed like Hans enjoyed hearing that, as he held Henry´s body even more tightly beneath the heavy furs that covered them, and he felt Hans´ own hard member pressing against his leg.

"Was this the objective of this 'hunting trip' all along, my lord?" - he said sarcastically - "So you could use me as a bed warmer? We barely caught more than a few hares today." - He was quite enjoying what Hans was currently doing with his mouth, but he couldn´t resist the urge to provoke him.

Hans took his mouth out of Henry´s poor sensitive nipple and looked up at him with his characteristic mischevious smile: "Of course not. We came here to take down a few stags. We´re not going home without at least a few trophies, I assure you! But it´s also very nice to be able to enjoy your company without any prying eyes nearby. A win-win!"

"Aye. And also because you enjoy fucking in the woods!" Henry provoked. "After all, isn´t this the same place you bought that girl Karolina? I sense a pattern."

"I do not! Well, maybe a little, heh" - he conceded with a softer smile. "It´s just so nice to feel the fresh air, isn´t it? No walls, no expectations for me to remember, just me and my very favorite peasent in all the lands" - he said as he laid his head on Henry´s chest.

It still felt a bit odd, he had to admit. Him and Capon. Not bad, but odd. He didn´t know the correct way to act around Hans sometimes. How does one treat a male lover, anyway? Like a typical courtship with a fair lady? No, that didn´t feel right. But it also felt strange to behave like two regular mates. Still, Capon wasn´t wrong. The furs were very soft, the candlelight was pleasent, the weather was calm and Hans´ body warmth was quite pleasent. He hugged the taller man tighter around his chest.

"So that time that we ran into those soldiers, the ones from Sigsmund´s army. Before Suchdol. Was THIS a part of the plan back then too? To seduce me like you did Karolina?" - he again provoked with cheeky smile.

Hans looked at his face and answered in a somewhat embarased tone: "I mean, not REALLY. At least not counciously. I really just wanted to spend time with you. I just thought, way in the back of my head, that maybe, after we got properly wasted, maybe, just maybe, SOMETHING could have happen. Some happy acident you know, that we could choose to forget the next day if needed. So as you can imagine, I was properly miffed when those fuckers showed up"

For some reason, when he said those words, Henry´s heart sank a little. The... thing that happened to them at Suchdol was very unexpected. He was caught quite off-guard for a second in fact. But hearing what the other man was saying made him realize how unlikely it was to happen at all. It could have simply puffed out of existence, like gunpowder without a flame.

And while he knew it would have made the current moment a lot less complicated, he felt sad at that idea. The idea of not having what they have now, even though Henry didn´t even properly know how to classify it, made him really sad.

"Well, no need to waste the opportunity a second time" - he said looking at the blond man´s face. He turned so his body and Hans could face each other directly, and kissed him softly, which Hans greedily accepted.

"Dully noted, my friend. I shan´t contain myself any longer" - he answered in between kisses, and gripped Henry´s body tighter. And it was a tight grip. Hans was a very fit man, the purest example of a warrior, and he could sense all of his muscles under his hands as he gripped him back.

Their bodies were now tight around each other like a knot, and their members were rubbing against one another and leaking, creating rather slippery and pleasent sensation, as they begun moving faster and faster.

"H-Henry, Fuck, I´m, I´m gonna..." his voice begin stuttering, as he struggled to form sentences.

"A-Already? T-That was quick" - he was also very close, but he couldn´t help but get one last barb in - "I hope Sir Hans isn´t so quick with the wenches in Kuttenburg. They´ll talk!"

"F-Fuck you, cunt" - he smiled from ear to ear and put his hand behind Henry´s neck, and pulled him for a kiss.

As they were kissing, Henry could feel his member throb harder and harder. And then suddently, he felt the orgasm come strong and hard like a punch, and he covered both of their chests with his cum, followed soon after by Hans.

"S-See? I won, hehe" - he said in a breathless voice, their bodies covered with fluid that belong to both of them, with no way to separate one from the other. A veritable mess!

"I guess you did, hehe" - and he kissed the other man. It was a confusing mess, ALL of it. But it wasn´t an altogether unpleasent mess, and Henry of Skalitz was happy to have made it.

[adoregojo]

1967 ➡︎ isagi.y x reader

IM ALIVE!! YAHOOOOO!! btw i have an exam in a few hours, and here where my sudden passion for writing comes back. anyone enjoy this isagi x reader fic here. btw readers gender is unmentioned.

something was always missing from isagi yoichi's life.

the symbolizes dull blue man remains in his place, examining the disgustingly rich guests passing him with the priceless cologne reeking to his lungs and everywhere making it impossible to ignore and trying to not block his nose holes was a challenge itself.

it was in the fact that he didn't want to be here, the urge to isolate himself eventually loses against his duty. being a man, a soldier who was protecting nothing but the greediest class poor excuse of a human beings.

Isagi would've like to say he was one of hundreds who excepted this job, but he wasn't unfortunately. more like he was pushed into it so his so called comrades could take a free ride out of their job.

he let out a breath, it was just to guard the gate until the show ends, right? he'll just go with the flow for now. like he always does.

half of the shows were ridiculous if you ask him, what was so funny about a man beaming his loathing into dark jokes, isagi could never get the rich humor, not like he ever wanted to. he was sure half of these laughs were focused on and he couldn't find it in himself to even spare a smile.

the other display was a musical performance, a tribute by a group of people spreading imitation melody his ears were abhorrent by. this song was so dusty he couldn't believe that some actually clapped for that. affluent were easy to impress, he guessed.

and for the end and final play was about to begin, and finally he'll be done with this crap and leave this stump of a place. go to the bar and have a drink or two will do that,,

there he could see a somone who was he could guess in is age on the stag peeking nervously behind the curtain, clung to it for your dear life. he couldn't get a good picture out of you nor your face before the show started,,

#1

you took a deep breath in and out, something you do every time to keep yourself at bare minimum of sanity. peeping through wouldn't hurt, but it hits so hard how countless of people were there caused you sudden stomach aches.

the worst part that all of them came out obviously disinterested! not even paring down a glance to the stag you were gonna stand up at in the next six minutes. you were in you twenties and feeling this anxious should've been in the past, well guess old habits die hard.

you told yourself that your were here to give off a show that non of these cheap moneybags that'll never escape one's mind.

even if you felt your soul leaving your body as you step out to everyone's eyes judging from your body to your face and appearance whole, fighting the urge to melt out of humiliation was strong yet you were far capable.

it was now or never.

a dose of confidence washed over you as the music played, it was meant to be a soothing melody that made the audience feel the pure emotion out of every movement you made.

this was your life, to dance. not for others, but for yourself. humans were nothing but just the witnesses to your purpose of existence. this is where you felt alive, closing your eyes to the endless void that grasped you tightly than any other creature could.

guiding the tips of your feet in it meant placement of the dance, where the gravity is losing against you and floating was viable. where no one could tell you what to do with the occult place you rot into.

let them see since that'll be the only thing they can do.

#2

this wasn't like anything isagi saw.

it was not about the music, the audience, it was about the person who managed to take his heart and soul to their performances. every movement made his heart swirling in endless fondness.

he couldn't take his overset eyes off, he couldn't find it in his heart to even blink 'cause if he did so he'll miss it and it'll end before he knows. the depths of his obscure soul felt pure something you only feel when you watch people on the big screen yet it lifted your heart to it.

isagi's mind doesn't process the fact that the melody was long gone and echoing sounds of clapping and cheering were unheard, this is where the world, the universe itself were at a halt.

you raised up from your bowed state. something called, it was begging you to turn around and spare it a glance. and you did unintentionally, there you were meet by the most beautiful set of an eyes adoring you ceaselessly.

you were sweaty and definitely had a few flying out of place locks, but that man tenderly gaze embracing you says otherwise. out of all those people, out of them all he outshined them.

yet the locked eye contact doesn't last, it had to end before you had any chance to talk to him. to even approach him before being dragged out.

#2

well, isagi did end up at the bar he wanted to be in. and it didn't feel this empty before. caressing the glass of hallway wine with his thumb, until he sees his sad reflection on then persuades to hide his face in his arm's elbow. he looked like an old man grieving over his youth. and most of all he felt hopeless.

isagi was mostly selfless, putting others needs over his. but this one time he felt like this is what he needed the most, what his heart yearns for and you were taken away from him in a brief second.

maybe if he wasn't so damn busy memorized he would've managed to move his legs instead of rotting in his place while watching you go.

and what the worst of this all was the so little chance of meeting you again was making him go insane! and above all you were gifted and so, so dazzling and isagi was just.. him. a guy that was way beyond where you stood, just watching you should be a blessing itself.

but that wasn't it, this feeling of deep despair all he wanted was to run back to the stage and look for you. this weirdly strange passionate about someone he just saw was foreign.

all this thinking was making him a madman, ruffling his hair in frustration.

"need a company? looking a bit lonely."

a bit taken aback, isagi's shifted towards the voice. oh, oh. oh fuck, it was you.

he could faint right here and now.

#1

you could faint right here and now.

shit- you couldn't get a grip on approaching the guy, the same guy that you kept thinking about all day living in your head rent free. you were real smooth with your words, weren't?

to be surprise, the man was quite popular. being one of the famous men in his squad, and basically a man of a noble while you were just you, a dancer who travels around the world to achieve your dream.

you figured his name was isagi, isagi yoichi. you burned that name over your head. trying not to call him by his name, to try it out sliding down your mouth. but he would definitely see you as a creep, especially for looking around asking about him.

meeting him again had to be a miracle itself, at first you didn't even want to take a step towards his path. but seeing his drink his sadness away, and deep down you felt if you don't take a step he'll float away forever.

and now he was was sitting there while staring at you aimlessly, did you say something? a bit seconds before he finally spoke. "oh- yeah, i mean sure if y'know, you wanted to. no pressure." isagi stuttered.

you sent him a pleasant smile before taking a seat beside him, as you asked for a cocktail. the heavy feelings of the isagi's eyes pouring on you like he could believe you were actually there. you were glad that the man wasn't drunk yet.

"drinking a lot tonight, huh?" you said, dragging him back out of whatever dreamy place he was in. just then he quickly fixed his posture, it was cute, you thought. he looked like a dork as he cleared his throat.

"i think this is my last one." isagi says, pushing away the glass to get potty over you instead. "um, your performance. it was.. amazing."

"glad you like it, you also did a good job in guarding me." you laughed a bit, it a nervous one since this man words held so much more of a meaning in them you just couldn't handle such words as a little of red creeped into your cheeks.

"psh, it was nothing worth mentioning. i was just standing there while you were, just so breathtaking."

"really?"

"really, really. I couldn't stop staring." isagi cooed, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. his eyes remained away from you as he said these words, he really hoped they sounded genuine as he felt and not come out as a creep. to his surprise he heard you chuckling, and if it wasn't the loveliest thing his ears are hearing.

"you're just so charming aren't you, isagi?" you didn't even realise the name slipping out, it felt so natural like you were the innate one to chime it.

isagi eyes widen, your rhythmical voice flow which captivate his emphasis of a soul over you. this spark swirling around his entrails making his breaths at halt. when did he become such a nervous wreck? yesterday it was isagi history of spurning the slightest hints of getting in a relationship, due for him finding it difficult to let his feelings flow freely. and the missing flicker was now found by someone who spoke his name once, and he couldn't find his heart to stop pounding so rapidly.

"you know my name?" he somehow managed to let out despite the regarding fact the air ran out from his lungs, yet it came out breathlessly.

you rolled your eyes playfully, "you're kind of popular around here so it wasn't so difficult to find out." said you, twirling the straw of your decayed cocktail, you glance back to see the man huffing a small laugh. he utterly and completely handsome with that carefree smile that you felt like a teenager girl with her silly crush.

"and it's, yn. if you were interested." you added.

if he was interested? like hell he is, the man was down on his knees if that meant getting to know you. fuck, he was so interested that he could drain his soul for you to tell him everything you please. but truthfully, putting a name to such a pretty face felt like a piece of puzzle was getting connected to it perfect place.

"interested? i am honoured i must say, miss yn." isagi had no idea he had this kind of sappy side within him, especially when he made you giggle coyly, and all he can feel is his heart racing. what was he? a teenage boy going all giddy with his crush? he blamed you for making him feel this young again, and damn if it didn't feel good to feel this bloom once again.

and before you even realise it, it was time to end this bright moment. peeking at the clock, you had another show tomorrow and it hits you like a rock. isagi had his own magic to make time go by the blue. standing up slowly you faced the face of a confused man, "i must take my leave. i have a show tomorrow night, and it was lovely talking to you isagi yoichi."

part of you felt dumb, the man was probably just lonely and he'll soon forget about by the day. as much as loving you felt next to him, you were no mind reader to see how he truly felt. you wished you weren't so bad with these things, especially when the wave was telling you that the man ahead of you was a man of a name. how could all your confidence wash away with a small tear of thought.

you could feel the disappointment taking over the soldier's face, as if his face was begging you to stay longer even for a brief second. you were gonna give in, but honestly, would he have approached you if the roles were reversed?

you didn't even let the man finish his sentence before walking fast out of the bar, suddenly the air was suffocating and you took a deep breath. and here it was again, the black void sky hinted by the stars with the moon outshining it. a wave of air hits you making you shrivel, perhaps it was the cold, perhaps it was the shallow you felt.

you wished would turn around and see him, running after you. but what did you expect from this, were your standards truly that high? you were a traveler, you shouldn't connect your heart with anyone's. soon you'll be leaving and be left heartbroken just like every other person did.

what now? you were just standing in the middle of a bar, cold and shivering. that was stupid, you should just go home and get drunk to sleep.

"wait! lady yn!"

you falter at the voice of isagi, did he actually came? were you imagining this? turning around, and in fact you weren't imagining a thing. it was actually isagi huffing and puffing for air, he actually ran all the way here, he ran after you. with his hands on his knees. a last breath before he met your eyes, and all you could think was how his eyes could take over the sky itself.

for a while he just stood there awkwardly, like he doesn't even know why he ran here. before he took off his black coat, taking a hesitation steps towards you. gently warping it around your body, the man handled you so steadily like a you were made of glass he could break by any wrong move.

you grip on the warm fabric, it was slightly bigger than you and so, so balmy. it felt like a hug. you glance back at the man who was staring instantly at you, you felt hot under his strange gaze, like he was eating you whole. you couldn't help but shrinking yourself. quickly he jolted back to his usual self, coughing there and there trying to hide his embarrassment.

"it's cold outside, take this to keep you warm." said isagi, avoiding your face with all costs. you nodded your head. trying to calm your raging heart.

you watch as isagi take a final breath, like he finally decided to what to say next. "um, if you like. i could be your guardian at your next show. whatever it is, I'll be there by your side." he spoke firmly, this time he stood bravely. like a boy confessing his feelings.

you don't know why but you found yourself laughing, laughing so hard you had to cover your mouth. this is what you wished for, the one you waited to follow you whatever you go is standing right in there. a one that'll held on to you for the everlasting. your wish to perform with your most loved one by your side was no longer a beyond reach dream but a meant destiny.

"you have to take me out to dinner first, mister isagi yoichi."

you see as a beam draw it way to isagi's face, you spoke the words he couldn't. he took your hand in his gloved once, it was a perception fit, the missing piece of puzzle, pressing his lips lovingly against your cold knuckles, "only if you wouldn't run away this time, miss yn ln." he chuckled.

and here where your life was completed

have a nice day everyone! wish me luck for my exam ;)

[aita-blorbos]

Am I the "asshole" for wanting to have a body again?

Context: I was once a powerful demon, but an attempt was made to seal that demon's soul inside a cursed object. The sealing didn't completely succeed, and the demon's soul was torn to pieces, with only the part currently known as "me" ending up inside. I don't remember much about this part of my life, but as far as I can recall, I almost certainly didn't do anything to deserve it.

I (immortal, pick one) have been trapped in this object as an incorporeal spirit for so long I've lost track of time. My prison has changed hands many times, but was most recently acquired by an extremely ambitious student at a nearby magic school (13M, we'll refer to him as "K"). K all but demanded I lend my power to him and teach him some of what I knew. As I quite literally have nothing better to do, I agreed, and the arrangement has been mostly tolerable.

Except a short time after we began working together, a new student "S" (also 13M) showed up at K's school. And what did he have with him but the other part of my soul?! I don't know how he came to have it, if he's some sort of reincarnation of my original self or a distant descendant, but all that mattered was that if I could get to him, I could have a body again. It was the best opportunity I'd ever had to get my life back. So I got K to perform a ritual that switched our places and put me in his body (and before I'm called the "asshole" for that, it was supposed to be a TEMPORARY arrangement, and besides, he's the one who wants to mess with dark magic. I taught him a very valuable lesson about dealing with demons! Not that he actually learned anything from it…)

S came straight to me, but someone must've realized what was going on and put a protection charm on him. Then he beat me in a duel, and after that he just…walked away. Like he didn't have a care in the world! He hadn't come to deal with me, or even to save his classmate, no, he just wanted to steal one of my ritual components because some stranger had asked him to, otherwise I don't know if he'd have bothered showing up. I don't think he even listened to a word I said.

Needless to say, that plan didn't work out. I'm still working with K, but now both his teacher and the most powerful warlock on this side of the planet are watching me like I'm some sort of criminal. And what's worse, no one involved took me seriously, and aren't willing to so much as mention the incident. It's like it didn't even matter! I'm pretty sure even S has forgotten the whole thing, he's got a memory like a sieve for anything that isn't the scientific name for a stag beetle.

It hasn't been all that long, but it feels as if it's been decades since I've gotten to do anything. Is it so wrong for me to try and escape this pitiful existence I've been unjustly forced into? Am I going to spend the rest of eternity in here being the butt of some kind of massive cosmic joke? I really don't think I deserve to be either treated like a reprobate or outright ignored.

EDIT: THIS IS FAKE NONE OF THIS HAPPENED my device must have been stolen moderators please delete!!

EDIT 2: To everyone saying K should get rid of the demon, if any of these events had hypothetically actually happened (WHICH THEY DIDN'T), I would definitely have the situation COMPLETELY under control by now!!