#the lupine sojourner

[hardygalwrites]

FanFiction.Net Link

Anime/Manga: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure (Part 3: Stardust Crusaders)

Characters: Noriaki Kakyoin, Dio Brando, and an Original Character

Synopsis: “Shhh… Easy, Kakyoin. There is nothing to be afraid of.” Two clawed hands grasped Noriaki by the arms in a shockingly gentle hold, and Noriaki could feel a cold breath caress his ear as the man spoke into it, saying, “Let’s be friends, shall we?”

One cold night in Cairo, Noriaki Kakyoin walks into an ancient ruin and is met with one of the most terrifying men he will ever meet in his young life.

Note: A gift fic for my best friend @the-lupine-sojourner, as a tie in for her fic, "The Ace of Wands and Her User" ^-^

—

Noriaki Kakyoin was not a careless person. He was attentive in his studies, observed the world critically, and was aware of his own limits, making his decisions with care. Even though he was still in high school, both he and his parents considered him to be mature. Naoko would be teasingly quick to point out Noriaki’s more petty tendencies, but she was his twin sister, so that was kind of her job.

The point was, when Noriaki left the hotel to wander about the streets of Cairo at night, he, his parents, and even his sister considered him more than responsible enough to go out alone. He had offered Naoko a chance to come with him, but she declined, the day having left her exhausted.

“Maybe I would be willing to come with if you looked less like a tourist,” she said with a yawn and grin as flopped backwards onto her bed.

“I look good in this and you know it,” Noriaki retorted good naturedly, straightening the collar of his uniform. “And besides–”

“No, stop, don’t give me that student bullshit, especially since we aren’t even at school right now.” Naoko laughed and sat upright to give him a genuine smile. “Seriously though, just go have fun. Maybe we can do something together tomorrow night.”

Noriaki nodded, returning the smile. “All right then. See you tomorrow, sis.” He closed the door to her room behind him as he left.

...That seemed like an age ago.

Cairo was a beautiful place on its own, but tonight, with the full moon shedding its beams upon the ancient city, it was truly breathtaking. Noriaki went from place to place, landmark to landmark, sketching what he could. He made sure he knew where he was so he wouldn’t get lost, and kept an eye out for thieves or other people who might look to do him harm.

Yet all of that seemed to fade away when he found himself drawn to a particular ruin.

“Noriaki Kakyoin…”

The ruin was exposed and open. The moon shone down uninhibited from above. The walls had many open archways built into them. And yet in spite of that, it was as though his name echoed through the ruin, sending chills down Noriaki’s spine.

His spirit appeared at his side, and Noriaki turned sharply. “Who’s–?”

The challenge died in Noriaki’s throat, catching behind his hitched breaths.

Thorny vines sprawled across the ground and walls of the ruin, decorated with many dark red roses. There was a glowing aura to them that lit up the already moon bathed stones with a faint sickly pink, and they almost seemed alive , growing and crawling their way towards Noriaki bit by bit. Two bodies lay on the ground not far from where Noriaki stood now - a man and a woman it looked like, unmoving and already claimed by the thorny vines.

A tree of ice stood tall and gnarled at the end of the ruin. It was from this tree that all the vines and roses seemed to emit, and at the top of the tree, Noriaki swore he saw the shadow of some kind of bird of prey. A falcon maybe, with its wings spread wide as though in challenge.

It was like something out of a story book. A dark, twisted story book.

That was hardly the worst of it, though. Any of this might have given Noriaki a pause, made him stutter, but ultimately not lose his composure. No, it was not the scene before him that had Noriaki’s words and breaths catching in his throat.

It was the man standing at the center of it all.

If ‘man’ was the right word… There was something inherently inhuman about him. He stood shirtless, skin shining like marble beneath the moonlight. There was no wind, yet his hair flowed out in a captivating mane of pale gold. The vines and roses looked to be coming from his body . And what a body it was - bigger and taller than Noriaki could ever hope to be, every muscle from the waist upwards accentuated by the moon’s beams. Yet the way the man held himself, the very aura he gave off, spoke of a power deeper and so much more terrible than just physical.

Even through the shadows obscuring the man’s face, Noriaki could somehow still make out a pair of golden eyes, fixed solely on him .

Noriaki couldn't speak. He couldn’t even breathe . He realized, suddenly, what it must be like for a prey animal to be caught within the sights of a predator. Every part of him wanted to run, wanted to scream, but he couldn’t .

A low chuckle echoed through Noriaki’s very bones.

“What’s the matter?” the man crooned. “You look frightened enough to vomit.”

Noriaki’s guardian spirit disappeared into the depths of his soul. Noriaki took one step back. That was all he could manage.

Oh, god… Oh, god, he really was going to vomit.

Whoever, whatever this man was, whatever his intentions were with him, Noriaki knew that he himself was nowhere near powerful enough to fight back. Even his guardian spirit knew that. Noriaki could feel him in the depths of his soul, amidst the horror and terror, cowering , a reflection of Noriaki’s own desires.

He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t even run. He was completely at the mercy of this– this monster of a man.

The man approached. Noriaki fought for breath. Sharp and desperate gasps were all he could manage. They did nothing to ease his reeling mind.

Oh, god, he was getting closer.

His only other option would be to beg for his life. But Noriaki’s mouth refused to work. Even his knees refused to buckle. All he could do was watch as the man approached closer, and closer, and closer…

Was this it? Was this how it all ended? Noriaki Kakyoin, dead at seventeen. Some people flashed across his mind, three people specifically, but their images and his feelings towards them were marred and muddled by the fear that had taken hold of his very being.

“Shhh… Easy, Kakyoin.” That same baritone voice echoed through Noriaki’s body, speaking from just behind him. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Two clawed hands grasped Noriaki by the arms in a shockingly gentle hold, and Noriaki could feel a cold breath caress his ear as the man spoke into it, saying, “Let’s be friends, shall we?”

And just like that, Noriaki’s fear dissipated.

This wasn’t the end. The man was willing to show mercy. He still had a chance to live���!

Like a child being reassured by their parents that they weren’t in trouble, relief filled every fiber of his being that had been left vacant by the fear that had filled him mere moments before. Noriaki gasped, an audible sign of his relief, and collapsed.

The man caught him as he fell, easing him down to his knees, hands still grasping Noriaki’s arms gently. “There we are…”

One hand left his arm, and Noriaki felt an ice cold finger brush up his face. “Relaxed now?”

Noriaki sighed and nodded slightly.

“Good,” the man hummed.

Good, good, the man was pleased. He still had a chance to get out of this. It was all going to be all right.

“Now, Kakyoin…” The finger pulled and tucked a bit of hair behind Noriaki’s ear. “Why don’t you bring your lovely sister here to see me sometime? I’m certain we will all be good friends.”

His sister?

His sister…!

Naoko!

“No…!” Noriaki gasped before he could even think to stop himself.

That sick fear was back in full force, but this time it was split in two. Noriaki still feared the man holding him in this sickeningly comforting hold, god did he still fear him. But the thought of bringing his sister into this dizzying nightmare, the thought of his sister being held by this inhuman being like he himself was now–

“Oh?” the man said, and the soft monosyllable was enough to make Noriaki want to vomit again. “You won’t bring her to me? Even after we have become such good friends…”

The hand on his ear caressed downward until it was around Noriaki’s neck, a gesture that held no threat to it, and yet sent chills down Noriaki’s spine.

“No, please, no,” Noriaki whispered.

Whatever this man wanted with him, whatever this man meant to do with him…

“Please don’t involve her in this, please, I’m begging you.”

The man gave no response.

“I’m- I’m enough. Surely I’m enough...! Whatever you want, I’ll do it, I swear, I’m all that you need, just please don’t bring my sister into it, p-please, I beg you–”

He was rambling now, grasping at anything to satiate the man. Noriaki would have already been pressing his forehead against the ground, groveling, if it didn’t mean pulling himself from the man’s hold.

“You ask for your sister to be left uninvolved,” the man stated, the fingers around Noriaki’s neck idly tracing the contours of his throat.

“Yes, yes, please,” Noriaki gasped. “Please, I’ll do anything…”

“Hmmm.” He was smiling, the man was smiling, Noraki could tell. “Very well. For as much as I can, I will allow you to ensure that she remains uninvolved in our little schemes. Will that be all for you, Kakyoin?”

Those words, crooned into his ear, were enough to bring back that overwhelming sense of relief and reassurance.

Noriaki let out another breath and nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Anything for a friend. Now relax…”

He did. Even as the vines and roses that had been acting as the twisted backdrop to this twisted exchange disappeared in favour of unfamiliar tentacles, even as the tentacles descended on him, driving something wrong and sick and invasive into his skull, Noriaki relaxed.

[promotionbnha]

BNHA/MHA BLOG LIST (Fall-Winter of 2024) (1/1)

This list will contain blogs that contain SFW CONTENT!

PLEASE RESPECT EACH INDIVIDUAL'S BLOG'S RULES THAT ARE PLACED. 

Here is the link to MATURE BLOGS

This blog list does contain Character x reader or Character X OC TO BOTH.

Do let me know if I got any labels wrong for anyone, do correct me.

Labels: 

[ ~~ ] = Fluff or Angst only (SFW pretty much)

[ …. ] = Haven’t posted NSFW/unsure of posting it

 ( ? ) = Trying to figure it out

Please let me know if you'd like to add a different label that wasn’t provided.

Label with Symbol, I am not sure what the label of your blog is. Please contact me if you have it. ♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡

B

@bbluefllame [ ~~ ]

C

@ceciliac4 [ ~~ ]

D

@dekustowel [ ~~ ] [ …. ]

K

@kateschi [ ~~ ]

@kitkat13001 [ ~~ ]

L

@lilacgaby [ ~~ ]

@lilbeatlebear [ ~~ ]  ( ? )

@littlebnha E

@loveriotss [ ~~ ]

M

@makethiscanon [ …. ]

@miyamoratsumuu [ ~~ ]

N

@newtthetranswriter [ ~~ ] [ …. ]

R

@redvdress [ ~~ ] ? 

@rueclfer [ ~~ ]

S

@seiwas [ ~~ ]   ( ? )

@simplybakugou [ ~~ ]

@sipsteainanxiety [ ~~ ]

@suksatoru [ ~~ ] [ …. ] 

T

@the-lupine-sojourner [ ~~ ]

W

@watu2ka [ ~~ ]

@what-the-stories-have-foretold [ ~~ ]

@whenanafallsinlove [ ~~ ]

Z

@z-iridest [ ~~ ]

♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡---♡

Commission(s) Recommendation:

Artist:

@54prowl (Contact them for more details.) (Closed at the moment.)

If they are not open or closed, DO CORRECT ME!

♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡

DO NOT TAKE THESE AMAZING CREATORS LIGHTLY!

They are creating in their own time.

They work really hard on their craft!

Comments or simple reactions (e.g., I love this!, etc.) can go a long way in brightening a creator's day.

Remember to show appreciation to your favorite creators!

AND AGAIN, RESPECT THEIR RULES!

[saintsenara]

Also would love to know what you think of Lily/&Sirius as well! I can totally see the slight resentment on his part you mentioned but i loveee the letter Harry finds in DH. AND tell me your thoughts on jilypad bc I just need to dig your brain

thank you very much for the ask, pal!

i know this was prompted by me saying - while discussing jily - that my preferred version of lily and sirius' relationship is one in which sirius resents lily for stealing the love of his life [and i don't mean lupin!] away from him. so i think it's worth clarifying what i mean by this:

because i certainly don't think that sirius' resentment towards lily would be overt - i don't think he'd ever be openly hostile towards her, i don't think he'd do anything to undermine james and lily's relationship, and i don't think he'd ever be anything other than sincerely delighted that james was so happy. he evidently values the relationship he has with lily - enough to have kept her letters somewhere he could retrieve after his sojourn in azkaban [the most plausible date of the letter harry finds in deathly hallows is august 1981, which means that we know sirius wasn't living at grimmauld place when it was written. this is something he's stored deliberately, rather than something he had just lying around.] - and i don't propose that he was pretending.

what i think, instead, is that sirius' canonical tendency towards suffering and abiding would make him actively want to cheerlead jily's relationship. he's someone who clearly believes that it's honourable to make sacrifices and that his own happiness is subordinate to the greater good. and while this is all very noble, it's also an enormous - and somewhat toxic - burden for someone like lily to bear.

i like the idea of sirius - much like his narrative mirror, snape - having an extraordinarily idealised view of lily which the real lily struggles to live up to [which provides an interesting watsonian explanation for why he only mentions her once in canon - the doylist reason is just that the series needs to obscure lily's centrality to the mystery for as long as it can, but it's much more fun to imagine that sirius actually knows nothing about the version of lily he didn't construct in his head]. i also like the idea of him struggling constantly with guilt over how he secretly would like to see james and lily split up, so that he could comfort james with tender forehead kisses [and much, much more...]

when it comes to lilypad as something non-platonic, then, my preferred version of the ship is one in which sirius and lily end up together after she survives voldemort's attack [and is, therefore, able to exonerate sirius by revealing that wormtail was the secret keeper] as an extraordinarily unhealthy way of dealing with the earth-shattering weight of their mutual grief. this doesn't mean that i think it would be an abusive or toxic relationship - nor that it couldn't last - but that it would be a... strange and quite melancholy one, haunted constantly by james' ghost.

which means, i suppose, that it's also my preferred version of jilypad. i don't like it as a triad when it's just written as really happy and flawless [well-functioning polygamy takes introspection, and none of these three strike me as possessing that ability...], but i do like it as a mess.

[the-lupine-sojourner]

Transformers: Honor and Loyalty [Prologue]

So this story idea is not mine. It comes from a friend on TikTok, Deckar Terdax. He came up with this plot, pitched as a movie concept in a slideshow on TikTok, and I liked it a lot! I asked if I could write the idea as a fanfiction and Deckar said I could, so here we go!

Deckar also came up with the title and created the cover picture!

This is the story of Deadlock becoming an Autobot and how he settled on Earth.

I hope you all like this idea as much as I do! :)

Btw, if you like my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi, or if you want, you can continuously support me writing stories by joining my Patreon!

Anyway, on to the story!

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

Deadlock ducks behind a decrepit wreck in the shipyard, gritting his teeth as he prepares to take out the Decepticon guard nearby.

He had been slowly realizing how tyrannical and oppressive the Decepticon cause is, but his sense of honor had demanded loyalty, so he had bitten his tongue and done as ordered as the war continued to wreak havoc on the planet.

His loyalty had begun to slowly come into question, however, after Optimus Prime had been forced to eject the Allspark to keep it from Megatron's hands. He had then led a mass exodus with as many Autobots as he could find ships for, leaving some of his troops behind to carry on the battle.

Deadlock had at first been angry at the Prime, thinking him a coward for dooming their planet and running away, but then he came to realize the extent of the damages done to Cybertron throughout the war and that Megatron had been the one to drive Optimus to that extreme.

Deadlock saw that Megatron was blinded by his hatred of the Prime, beating or executing any who dared question him or his pursuit of Optimus.

Things grew worse on Cybertron without the Allspark, but the few Autobots left on the dying planet bravely fought on despite overwhelming odds.

Deadlock grew to admire their courage and their valiant struggle to save their planet, hoping the Allspark could be restored to Cybertron before the planet completely died.

Then he and a team of Vehicons were ordered to take out a ship full of Autobots that were escaping Cybertron.

He could not carry out the order, but the troopers had seen no issue with the heartless and cruel command.

Deadlock had gone ahead to scout out the ship, which had been caught before they'd even left the atmosphere, and when he saw the desperate refugees huddled in fear he could not bring his Spark to harm any of them, so he lied to the team, going so far as to say he had eliminated the crew aboard.

The team had been impressed at the alleged show of brutality and returned to their ship, but Deadlock had hesitated, talking briefly with the leader on the ship, a Wrecker he didn't recognize.

Deadlock agreed to help them reach their destination, even pointing out a better route for them.

Then a Vehicon came back aboard and saw Deadlock talking to the Wrecker, and the refugees behind them.

Deadlock had been forced to kill the trooper there and then, feeling for the first time a flicker of disgust with the Decepticons in his Spark. If they were willing to slaughter refugees, they did not have any honor.

After lying that the trooper had been killed in a surprise attack by a survivor to the other troopers on the ship, Deadlock had to assess his loyalties.

He had killed one of his own side in defense of Autobots.

He took a long look at himself in the reflection of his ship's cockpit.

What he had done was the right thing, he felt it in his Spark. How could he kill innocent refugees?

But killing the trooper was dishonorable to the Decepticons and would be seen as treason if it were discovered.

He had covered his actions as best he could and hoped his deceptions were accepted as truth. It was too late to do anything else.

As the cycles went on and nothing came of the incident, Deadlock grew increasingly conflicted. The Decepticons had repeatedly shown dishonor in their actions, but because he had sworn allegiance to them, he felt stuck.

Defecting felt like a betrayal, but more and more of his orders made him see just how dishonorable the Decepticon cause is.

The breaking point occurred when there came a new order, pairing him with Bludgeon (who Deadlock considered a brother. They had joined the Decepticons together, even).

Spies had discovered a small refugee camp and Megatron ordered it to be cleared out with no survivors.

Deadlock recoiled, but his sense of duty would not let him protest in front of Megatron, so he kept it to himself until he and Bludgeon were en route to the camp.

"Why should we kill innocents?" Deadlock asks, frowning. "It is dishonorable."

Bludgeon, surprisingly, scoffed. "There are no innocents when it comes to Autobots, Deadlock. You know that."

Deadlock shakes his head. "They are merely trying to survive. They have done nothing to deserve such a fate." He insists.

"Way I look at it, any Autobot is an enemy, and enemies should be eliminated with extreme prejudice." Bludgeon retorts, frowning at him, the tension rising.

Deadlock knows he'd likely be reported to the Decepticon Justice Department if he continues protesting against killing Autobots, so he holds back anything else he wanted to say and when they arrive, he says he will monitor the perimeter and ensure none escape.

But what he really did is watch in horror as his friend slaughtered everyone in the few buildings that made up the camp.

Bludgeon had a grin on his face the entire time, which made Deadlock shudder.

The vicious attack was over soon, and to make his story believable, Deadlock moved further from their transport and spun on his heel to start walking back as Bludgeon arrived, his swords dripping with Energon.

Splatters of the glowing blue liquid covered Bludgeon, making him look barbaric.

"You make sure we got all of them?" Bludgeon asks casually, almost making Deadlock's Energon pump reject its Energon.

How could he talk about slaughter so casually? Does he have no sense of honor at all?

Deadlock could do nothing but nod and head into the transport.

His mind was reeling from what he had seen. He had never once seen that side of Bludgeon. Certainly, Bludgeon had been the more aggressive of the two, typically speaking, but Deadlock had never thought his closest friend and brother capable of such a brutal attack on unarmed refugees. This threw their relationship into a whole new light. Could he still call Bludgeon a brother? Deadlock shifts uncomfortably, staring sightlessly out the window.

His mind was whirling and Spark flared in outrage at the loss of innocent life, at the way he had simply stood by, DJD or no DJD.

He knew it had been dishonorable to allow that terrible slaughter, but the thought of being hunted and perhaps tortured by the DJD was too terrifying for him to commit to preventing the slaughter.

Deadlock resolved there and then that he will never stand by again.

He could also no longer deny that the Decepticons he'd thought on the right side of this conflict would continue to spread cruelty, fear, and tyranny throughout the galaxy.

He had no choice but to defect. He understood that clearly now.

To that end, he makes up his mind that, upon his return, he would gather whatever intelligence he deemed valuable (in the hopes the intel would convince the Autobots to allow him to join their side) and then seek out a long-distance escape pod to take him to Earth, where he'd find the Prime and officially join the Autobots.

Now, after finding intelligence he knew Optimus would find extremely valuable, downloading it and hiding the data cylinder, he had snuck into the shipyard, where a few guards had spotted him, but had quickly been disposed of before an alarm could be raised.

However, it hadn't taken long for the other guards to see the bodies, and now he was being hunted.

This will not stop me. Deadlock thinks cooly, turning the tables on his opponents and eliminating them one by one as he searches for a pod.

He soon has only one final opponent, cornered against a mostly functional ship.

"Traitor!" The guard yells, blasting at him, but Deadlock grits his teeth, dodging the blasts as he races forward, stabbing the unfortunate guard directly in the Spark Chamber.

Deadlock watches as the life seeps from the guard. "May you all find peace with Primus upon your return to the Allspark." He bows briefly in the general direction of his victims, acknowledging he had taken lives precious to Primus, before sheathing his sword and climbing into the ship.

There! At last, an operational long-distance escape pod!

He programs it for Earth and settles in for the long flight as the pod's thrusters ignite and start its journey.

He reaches out on any Autobot frequency he can find to let the Autobots know he had stolen valuable intelligence to give to Optimus, and that he is defecting and joining their side.

"This is Decepticon Deadlock. I am trying to reach Optimus Prime."

[the-lupine-sojourner]

Ok so I want to hop in here because this inspired me! If you want me to delete this, I totally can, and I'm sorry I did this without asking first, but I hope you don't mind!

So in my head this is a modern AU where the Demon Slayer Corps are essentially a vigilante group fighting Muzan and his gang, and also instead of Reader being kidnapped, I can't help picturing an idea I have for my fics with my OCs where one of Gyomei's orphans, Asami, survives and joins the Kakushi medical division, so I'm writing with Asami in place of Reader, if that ok.

Again, I couldn't resist this wave of inspiration!

Sorry again for not asking first, Peachdues!

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

=#=#=#=#=

I just wanted to finish my shift and go home, but no.

I should have known better than to try to walk home alone after those two strange men came into the cornerstore I work at to make ends meet with a girl from a shut-down orphanage to take care of and nursing school to pay for.

But here I am, stuck in a cell-like room, various bruises and abrasions all over my body, making me ache terribly.

Pretty sure my ribs are bruised or have hairline fractures, my ankle is nearly broken, and my temple throbs painfully after a hard punch that had nearly made me black out.

These guys won't even tell me who they are or what they want, but I know they've filmed their beatings (not that I know why of course).

At least they feed me, but it's barely anything and I get even less water.

If something doesn't change, if I can't somehow get out of here...I'm dead.

But there's always someone at the door with no gaps for me to try to run away, and there's no windows for me to try to open or break. Not to mention I can't move fast with my ankle, even if I could get out of this room somehow.

What the Hell do these guys want with me, anyway? All they seem to want me for are those videos...are they sending them to someone?

I don't have family and Sayo doesn't have a phone or any clue who the Kizuki gang are...so who the hell could they possibly be making those videos for?

=#=#= (Sanemi's PoV) =#=#=

As soon as the first video came through, Sanemi was pissed, but no matter how hard he looked for that dead man walking, that slimy gang member who put his hands on her, that cashier he befriended just starting nursing school (her name-tag says Asami) with eyes so similar to his mother's he can't help coming back to see her, he couldn't find any trace of the slippery gang member.

Then, roughly three hours later...another video is sent, this one a little more intense, leaving him so enraged he could hardly see anything but red or think of anything other than what he would do to those bastards should he ever find them.

The second man to beat Asami was different from the first and Sanemi makes sure to memorize his face just like the first.

By the pattern of three hours between beatings, Sanemi doesn't have much time to find his friend before she's hurt again, this time maybe...even...

However, it isn't until after exhausting searches and empty leads on possible hideouts that the Slayer Corps scouts finally pick up a new thread from security cameras (he has never asked how the scouts get access to cameras around the city, but he doesn't really care as long as the leads they find pan out and he gets to kill another member of the gang) and Sanemi feels wide awake as he speeds over on his motorcycle, unwilling to let this lead slip by.

I'm sorry you got caught in this, Asami, but I'll get you out, I swear it. He vows silently, praying he won't cut it too close.

=#=#= (Asami's PoV) =#=#=

I'm brought out of a sort-of half-sleep against a wall by the sound of distant commotion and I move back into a corner where at least I could buy a few milliseconds before they start beating me again.

Is it already time? Thanks to my watch, I've noticed they only beat me once every three hours, and I guess they're growing impatient. It's only been two hours and fifteen minutes.

However, footsteps walking closer to the door send shivers of terror down my spine.

No...please no! The lock clicking sounds like a death sentence and the door opens noisily.

The man who walks in looks almost scared, I note, as he sprints directly for me, grabbing my neck and hauling me upright. "I'm gettin' outta here and yer my human shield!" He snarls, his arm now around my neck as we start to move out of the room. This psycho has a gun to the nape of my neck! "Keep moving!" He snaps when I stumble, biting back a cry of pain. "Move, bitch!"

I try not to cry as we continue stumbling down the hall.

My heart pounds in my ears as the commotion gets louder. Are those...gunshots? I can't tell.

Regardless, I know if they move me to another location, I'm doomed, but I have no idea what to do! My ankle hurts like crazy as I'm forced to walk, but I have no choice.

Just as we make it to an elevator, there's the sound of a gun cocking and I cringe with a yelp, expecting him to just kill me here and now before escaping, but then I hear a voice I did not expect.

"You thought you could use her to get away, did you?" That's Sanemi! But what's he doing here? How did he--were those videos of me being beaten sent to him? But why? I don't understand... "Like Hell you're getting out of this, bastard! Let her go now and I'll at least make it quick." He growls, the most angry and threatening I have ever heard. And he always seems angry, which is why it was surprising that he and I became friends over the last few months.

The man who'd held me now thrusts me harshly away from him and I hit the doors before collapsing, too scared to do more than sit there.

But I needn't have worried; turns out, Sanemi doesn't just have a gun. He's also got a katana, one wrapped in white and green thread.

"Asami, look away!" He snaps as the man's gun is now pointed less than three feet from his face. "Now!"

Instantly, I curl up, plugging my ears in case of gunshots.

I can't help crying as I sit there, relieved Sanemi is here, but worried he's in over his head and will end up hurt because of me.

I must have plugged my ears better than I thought, because it's not until a gentle hand on my shoulder startles me so bad I remove my fingers that I realize whatever happened is over. All I see is Sanemi's face and I notice blood splatters on his clothes and face as he helps me stand, but he won't let me see behind him.

"You're safe." He says, uncharacteristically gentle, hitting the button for the elevator as he uses an arm to hug me to him. "Don't look." He murmurs softly as I try again to see what happened to the man Sanemi threatened and I nod. Maybe he's right...I don't really want to know. All I care about is that I'm rescued.

"Ok."

He looks me over and his eyes, though enraged, are also concerned. "You alright?"

"More or less, now you're here." I blurt, too grateful to be alive to be flustered. "Thank you...for rescuing me."

He shakes his head, hand cupping my unbruised cheek "I'm the one who got you into this mess. M'sorry."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "Later, ok?"

I find myself nodding again, too relieved at my rescue to press him. When the elevator arrives moments later, he scoops me up before I can walk into it. "You don't have to carry--"

"I want to, now don't squirm. I might drop you." He grumbles, his cheeks ever so slightly pink as he nudges a button to go back to the ground level.

Despite my own pink cheeks, I nod, smiling up at him. "You wouldn't dare."

He chuckles a little, raising a brow. "Oh yeah? Don't tempt me."

When the elevator dings and opens, there's police officers running around.

However, Sanemi walks right by them and outside the building to an alley where a strange men and woman dressed in black with facemasks and blank black nursing caps wait by a plain truck that looks like it has a small trailer in the bed.

"They're gonna take you somewhere safe to get treated, alright?" Sanemi says in my ear as he walks over to them. "They're with me."

"What is going on, Sanemi?" I ask, starting to feel scared and overwhelmed. "I don't understand..."

Sanemi sighs. "Not right now, doll. Once you've been treated, we'll talk, I promise, ok? Just trust these guys. They know what they're doing."

"...ok." I squirm a little as I'm sat on a gurney and settled in the trailer of the truck, but thankfully Sanemi climbs in after me and sits there holding my hand as the man and woman silently tend to my wounds.

What the Hell is going on? Sanemi better explain like he promised!

Hope you guys liked this little drabble! :)

🤫

Sanemi remains rooted in his horror until he sees the lower rank raise his hand and backhand you square across the face. Hard.

That’s the moment Sanemi’s head snaps away, his eyes screwed tight against the blow he can feel through the screen. When he forces himself to turn back, peels his eyes open and fixes them hard on the store monitor, Sanemi’s horror melts into cold rage.

He’d hit you hard enough to send you to the floor.

There’d been no reason to strike you with that degree of force; it had been done for no reason other than he could.

The moment you turn your head up to face your assailant, hand cupping your cheek, your eyes wide with fear as he looms over you, Sanemi pauses the screen. He leans in close, studying every grainy detail of the Kizuki; memorizing him. Only after he’s confident that he could identify the scum even in a crowd of a thousand does Sanemi resume the footage, the image of your attacker nothing more than another face he will add to the never-ending collage of lives he’s taken.

A dead man walking.

smh when are these gang members gonna learn the last thing they want to do is fuck with Sanemi’s emotional support retail worker —

[arcanepactguile-scribes]

𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 — Kinkipants

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — 𝘿𝘼𝙔 2 𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙔 𝘽𝙐𝙇𝙂𝙀 / 𝙎𝙄𝙕𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙁𝙁𝙀𝙍𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙀 —

𝐖𝐂: 8.4k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. Hellhound OC (anthro, Gay)

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐃: Silver Tongued, Con, Anthro HellHound

𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

Hiring an escort to spend a night indulging in debauched play, Alastor's bought more than he's bargained for. The hulking Hellhound who's going to be his Master for a full 24 hours, is certainly planning to teach the mulish Radio Demon a swell time — even if it hurts.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Anthro/Human, size difference, blowjob, wedgie, fingering, anal play, non-con spanking, breeding, rough sex, p in a, belly bulge, belting, Impact Play, jocks/bullies, training, D/s, mild BDSM, humiliation, degradation, Sheath/knot, overstimulation, forced orgasm, creampie, rimjob, tailplay, aftercare

Out of breath, the Radio Demon's resolve galvanised all the more once the towering HellHound he’d been scrutinising — convincing the bewildered sod that thisdeer was perfectly capable of much larger lovers.

Alastor's dismissive confidence waylaid his plans for what was supposed to be a night out of debauchery, spent indoors. 

Stumbling into the secluded bedroom, the threshold immediately became cramped as the imposing Hellhound stepped up behind him, turning briefly in order to shut and bolt the lock, in his tipsy state Alastor's amused chuckle ignited their passions —

Pulled into a hug by one arm, the immense wolf had wrapped one arm around Alastor's chest, pinning theRadio Demon's arms to his sides — dipping his head, the broad, smooth tongue flicked out to lap hungrily at Alastor's bared throat. 

The deer tipping his head back to sigh heavily, closing his eyes in contentment, losing himself in the ongoing scrape of the moist tongue licking his throat from adam's apple to the hollow of his collarbone, the Hellhound’s free hand was preoccupied fumbling with Alastor's jacket, searching for his suspenders’ straps.

Dressed up for the exquisite date, even though it was a chartered (or rented) contracted Casanova, the Radio Demon rarely chose his ensemble outside of his comfort zones. 

Whereas the recruited playboy was dressed all in a drab palette of black leather; pants, shirtless, jacket, bulldog harness -— the Hazbin Hotel manager was dressed in shades of predictable reds and blacks. 

An elegant three piece ‘Jazz’ suit; a jacket, skinny fit vest over shirt, slacks, leather wingtips. 

The jacket had mysteriously pulled a disappearing act at some point during the sojourn from the car to the appointed private suite.

Back pressed firmly into the lupine’s hulking chest, boldly angling his hips to grind his backside into the wolf’s upper thighs, the underside of his fluffy tail brushing the predator’s abs — their size difference did make it difficult to hazard a guess if the deer demon was capable of getting fucked by a beast who was so much bigger than him. 

This close, the wolf’s warm bulge was solid against the small of Alastor's back, the stag's antlers barely reaching the wolf's shoulders.

At his full height, Alastor stood tall at 7ft. Yet, the hired Hellhound stood at an overwhelming 9ft 6”.

Tilting his head back, nuzzling the wolf’s furry cheek, Alastor’s rumbling purr came low; lashing his own tongue out to trace his new Dom’s jawline, wetting the sleek fur in a shameless taunt...

Therefore, as the wolf finally slipped Alastor's suspenders down his arms and left dangling, and buried his hand down his front, fingers skittering all over the stag’s hips and thighs, blunt clawtips raking hardest over the Radio Demon’s boniest protrusions… 

Feeling the heat immediately gather in his loins, tempting his Hellhound with a salacious gasp in an attempt to incite rougher handling, Alastor's flippant doubts on their awkward coupling were too late confirmed.

Eyebrows lifting a little, Alastor's keen eyes had instantly spotted the bedroom’s opulent furnishings; notably, the carousel of various toys and accessories suspended from the ceiling, over the wide bed in the middle of the room.

He heard himself asking his escort just what exactly was the point of installing the ridiculous contraption overhead, presumably useless to clients or employees who weren't tall enough to reach, but his playboy continued twitching his fingers like the Radio Demon hadn't said one word. 

Fondling, tracing the lines of the deer demon's thin body, roughly unbuttoning and tugging off his vest and shirt first, the quietude diffused with their mingled heavy exhales, soft sweet-nothings uttered meaninglessly, the Hellhounds paws scrabbling at Alastor's fly.

It was too late to cancel his appointment, regardless of their estimated ill fit. Deeply attracted to larger Doms, the buck’s good conscience knew it wasn't worth the aggravation that came with backpedalling a business contract even if it were anonymous lewd commission.

Reflecting on bad historical escapades — rocking his pelvis into the warm hand, his hardening package eliciting an appreciative growl in his ear, Alastor's whispered ridicule drove the Hellhound to wring whatever he could out of the mischievous buck.

White hot, blinding pain coursed through the unsuspecting stag when all of a sudden, his Hellhound tugging his slacks down to pool around his thighs, shoved him forward to catch himself on the bed once they had awkwardly crossed the distance together in a tangled embrace, elbows locking as his weight abruptly dropped — the wolf had slipped a lone finger hooked under the waistband of his white briefs, impetuously hauling the recalcitrant Overlord upwards OFF his dangling feet for long seconds, the provocative wedgie driving the fabric of the underwear up into his cleft sharply, and crotch, unbearably painful.

The embarrassing yelp that tore itself out of the Radio Demon's chest resounded within the soundproofed suite: the husky bark of laughter he heard close behind deepening the harsh prank’s foreboding ordeal. 

Or foreplay, considering it was… 

Hot tears springing to his eyes, the saltiness stinging, Alastor felt a growing sense of pride, excitement that he had wrung such a rough response from somebody he had only known for less than an hour.

Left hanging in the air only for a blink, despite how it felt like it had  lasted for an excruciating overlong period, the Hellhound merely enabled the stunned Overlord to rest his weight predominantly through his splayed hands clawing at the bed — scarcely allowing the tips of his shoes ghosting the carpeted floor, the seat of the deer demon's white briefs disappearing into his cleft, splitting his cheeks. 

Lower, the crotch of the underwear pulled taut over his taint and balls, cupping him in a tantalising fat bulge the higher the bully hoisted him up. Alastor's tail wagging in jerky motions, the flash of the fluffy underside nearly hidden by the brief’s yanked up high.

Reaching low between the sinner’s legs, the Hellhound’s free hand turning over palm-up, he groped Alastor's squeezed bulge, running his thumb over the tightened seams of the stretching underwear to find the buck’s entrance. 

Sure enough, the Radio Demon's back bowing in a involuntary flinch as he whimpered, the thumb found it's target; thumbpad sinking into the shallow hollow to rub mockingly, circling the puckered hole through the fabric as if to say that the sub’s hole wasn't up to standard, there was something vital that was surely missing… 

Meanwhile, the fingers were preoccupied alternating from stroking the front of Alastor's crotch, to cradling and applying unyielding pressure to Alastor's sac, pushing the bulge further up into the narrowed valley separating his inner thighs.

Tone reproachful, talking over the ragged noises his sub was endeavouring to suppress, struggling to relieve the exacerbating torture assailing his privates without losing his grip on the mattress’s crumpled bedding, the Hellhound tsked as he studied his mate’s disrespectful, ungrateful behaviour — even though he knew it was part of the game, watching how the small deer’s pale skin begin to redden under the elastic’s stretch digging in deeper, the sight of his powerless mate appealed to the Dom’s penchant for tough love. 

Discipline.

“And here I found myself thinking, saying to myself, “If a deer's a prey animal, how come he came looking for trouble…?”

Hesitating, Alastor paused in mid-reply, distracted by the compelling way the burly Hellhound had promptly tweaked his briefs as if it could go any higher; the fabric cutting into his pinched skin, feeling like razorblades trying to slice through his tender flesh.

The question held cryptic undertones; confidence bolstered by the lupine’s comical question, Alastor underestimated his Dom’s forbidding demeanour. 

Dispelling every recollection of other plays that involved a strict regime of Reward and Punishment, the Overlord's answer came through another attempt to curb the white-hot pain that continued to scythe through, the buck curling his body to lean at least one knee on the bedspread, desperate for relief.

The gesture intended to thwart the ongoing pain, his hardening erection just making it even worse, an explosive huff of air was blown out through puffed cheeks all of a sudden — the Hellhound had interrupted the disobedient deer’s shrewd escape, bringing one of his own legs up to plant his foot on the bed, straightened to his full height — whirling the dangling Radio Demon face-first over his bended knee, letting him hang over his muscular thigh bent double, so he could teach the headstrong Overlord a lesson.

Pants pulling his thighs together close, the brief’s pulled up tight without a sign of weakening in the stern fist keeping the underwear taut, the Hellhound's free hand swung down in a smooth arc to smack Alastor's naked ass in a flurry of relentless blows, sending his cheeks bouncing beautifully, the strength behind each spank rocking the stubborn buck into his Dom's thick thigh.

The Radio Demon's first squeal was piercing — ears pricked forward  trembling, his tail upright in panic, his arms were caught hooked over the wolf’s immovable thigh; hanging down, the bed was technically within reach, but Alastor now understood the penalty for trying to finish the scene without permission first, so he kept his hands loose, shaking under each heavy smack to his raised ass.

Tears streaming down his blushing cheeks, the deer demon's protests dissolved into hiccuping sobs, jolted forward rhythmically as each punishing smack started colouring his naked skin.

No warm up, the pallid skin was turning a pink hue, the halos radiating over the sit-spots encompassing his upper thighs and lower buttocks. His asscheeks jumped upon every spank, the fatty tissue rapidly growing darker scarlet, the hardening skin glowing as blood rushed in to convert into reddened mounds. 

The wolf's large hand was closed-fingered, palm open, alternating swatting a singular buttock on every sixth swing. 

Keeping up the pace, the spanking outlasted the Radio Demon's thinning gasps; after the twentieth smack the Hellhound briefly paused — cupping his fingers to sternly knead each burning hot cheek, dipping his thumb below to press the bent knuckle into Alastor's covered hole, gauging the way the taciturn sub bucked hardest when his throbbing rear was fondled, yet not when his tight rosebud was probed.

The stinging smacks grew in intensity once the blows were coming faster, the deer's buttocks throbbing heavily. At first he’d been kicking a leg or both out in pain, his suspenders swinging, his shrill bleats preceding his bratty misbehaviour — swiftly corrected with another tweak of the stretched briefs splitting his searing buttocks, the dull throbs radiating out to engulf the crushing torment between his pressed thighs. 

The second flurry of smacks reached the count of the extra five per cheek; the briefs biting into his clenched entrance, the tightened material rubbing into the twinging muscle accrued humiliation over the existing level of shame Alastor was suffering.

His stiffening cock buried, pushed into the jock’s thigh, the conspicuous bulge enclosing his full ballsac and taint exposed becoming the concentrated focus of the Hellhound's.

Drawing in deep, shuddering breaths, unusually quiet, the subtle tiny nod he gave his Dom when he was asked if he’d had enough, does he understand now what happens to little arrogant Bambino’s who insist they're the apex predator? — it came no later after the Hellhound had finished the interlude, giving the wedgie another fiercer yank to make Alastor's limp legs kick out, and landing a further three wooden smacks to each scarlet-shining cheek, each additional seven in a row per buttock.

“You’ve been such a good boy, I think you deserve a little reward… “

Clutching the Hellhound's leg weakly, lest the movement send the wrong message that he was trying again to redirect the roleplay, Alastor's breath hitched as the wolf eased the briefs down, ending the torture.

Ears flicking, flattening in relief, the Radio Demonobediently arched his back — hobbled still by his pants dragged down to mid thigh, the wolf's hands remained at the perfect level to prolong fondling his willing prey.

Reaching up to squeeze something from the above carousel, Alastor's view limited, knowing better than to lift his head for a quick look — the buck's back abruptly stiffened, holding his breath at the cold touch of the Hellhound's slicked finger sinking into his clenched hole. 

The barely audible POP of the lube bottle thumbed open, the squirt of the gel into his Dom’s hand overhead, the heavy weight of the other firmly pushing into his back to steady him, were all processed too fast to register the significance. 

Holding the sinner down with his spread hand, the Hellhound slowly pushed his wet finger deeper inside his sub’s tight hole to the last knuckle. 

Crooking the digit, in drawn out strokes he took his time rubbing the buck’s trembling inner walls, for the moment keeping his thick finger buried all the way.

A predator's grin split the bully's visage; angling the digit in a particular way eliciting a low moan from Alastor, the wolf withdrew all the way before he added a secondfinger; now middle and ring together, the choked gasp the deer demon couldn't help stifle chased the sudden second penetration — digging his claws into the wolf's thigh and calf, clenching his jaw shut, the moans went on the deeper those two fingers slid inside. 

Lifting his rear higher in confirmation, Alastor's last groan quickly turned into a startled squeal — the stroking fingers had jumped from leisurely massaging to getting rapidly pumped in and out in shallow thrusts, unreserved. 

The irrefutable proof that the stag Overlord was definitelygetting off on the brusque stimulation lay in the way he had clung onto the Hellhound's leg, holding his ass up to encourage deeper penetration in desperation, using the momentum rocked by the pounding digits to hump his arousal into the muscular thigh supporting him. 

Panting wetly, the buck earnestly pushing back for rougher friction, heat radiating in his groin, the deer's erection held back by the escort’s hefty leg, the Hellhound’s stiffened fingers immediately stopped. 

Still inside, the fingers were surprisingly removed onlyhalfway — seated to the first knuckle, leaning over to murmur into the Radio Demon's attentive ear, the Hellhound spoke gruffly, picking his words around each decisive roll of his fingers grinding firmly into the stag’s fluttering hole.

“You’d best hope to Satan you weren't lying when you said you will be fine once I've finished with you.

This IS going to hurt, but I did catch myself a pretty little fawn, and this big bad wolf never backs down from his cornered prey…  It’d be a crime against nature, not seeing for myself what you're going to look like, your prized holes taken raw and stuffed, begging for a wolf to remind you that fawns are only good for breeding,”  the jock-playboy intoned slyly, twisting his warmed fingers on exit and pinching the demon's puffed taint, pulling another indignant bleat from the squirming hotelier.

Wiping his hand first on Alastor's arched back, the Hellhound ignoring his sub’s shortened excited panting, he gave the deer's backside a purposeful last spank, amused by the way those crimson cheeks flinched even after the prolonged break, battling the urge to bury his muzzle right in and give the humiliated buck a thorough tongue-bath.

Sweeping his broad tongue over his lips and nose thoughtfully, the Hellhound effortlessly scooped up his sullen client by the waist with both hands this time, to sit him upright on the edge of the bed. 

Alastor, determined to please his lover this time, kept silent: except for the hiss released through gritted teeth, Alastor's grimace in his evident discomfort alluded to the constant throb of his bruised ass heightened by the simple innocuous act of his rump dragging across the bed during the transfer. 

Lifting his butt to help the wolf finishing dragging his underwear and pants down and tossed aside, the red lines marked the junctions of his hips and loins where the elastic hems had cut into him for the prolonged punishment. 

Vest and shirt left, the incomplete look stirred the Hellhound's fascination with servicing the most celebrated Overlord of all time, the unique clothes an iconic feature of the illustrious high-class demon.

Keeping his eyes downcast, uncertainty clouding his thoughts, Alastor fought the urge to readjust his position, salty tears continuing to well up as the seared pounding covering the majority of his prepped rear deepened from the basic act of sitting. 

The sturdy mattress electrified the intense pain: shifting his weight from one side to the other had only made him visibly wince, prompting a mischievous grin from the observant bully.

All the while the Radio Demon inwardly chastised himself, shoulders drawn together and effectively making him appear even more sufficiently tame, just good enough to eat honestly, the Hellhound without haste had undressed. Removing his jeans and top, left in his silk boxers, the predator roughly combing one hand through the back of the subdued buck's head, he lifted Alastor's chin knavishly with the tip of one claw.

The front of the Hellhound's crotch had grown, a peek of the fat sheath lurking behind the gaping fly of the underwear had briefly drawn the Radio Demon's sincere interest before his Dom had commanded his attention.

Meeting the Radio Host’s hopeful gaze, a wry smile twitching the corner of his lips, the wolf chuckled softly: circling Alastor's chin with a thumb in reassurance, he scarcely gave the unsuspecting demon a chance to speak up — letting go, curling his fingers through the deer’s scruff he forced the demon’s face to mash into his groin. 

The fistfuls of hair stretching the sensitive skin making up the nape of his neck adding to the ever-expanding bundle of pain totalling his entire body, the persistent throb of his ass the prime focus, Alastor was gladdened to be rewarded for his resilience handling his spanking. 

Taking in a deep breath, soaking in the heavy musk hanging around the exciting bulge nudging the tip of his nose, Alastor briskly tugged the boxers down to uncover the treasure that awaited him.

Springing free, the wolf's monstrous sheath was swollen: fluid seeping into the fur lining the exterior, nothing in theRadio Demon’s ancient memory bank looked more delicious than the tantalising red slit pulsing fervently millimetres away from his blushing face.

A warning prickle of the wolf's clawtips digging into Alastor's scalp thawing his mesmerised curiosity, Alastor held onto his Dom’s muscular hips, thumbpads kneading the rockhard V line of his stomach, and took the jilted sheath into his waiting mouth, enveloping the furry bulge with his sealed lips.

Pulling it in deeper in rhythmic sucks, his cheeks hollowing, the guttural moan he extracted from his impatient Master he accepted as a sign of encouragement. Saliva matting the dense fur covering the throbbing sheath, Alastor worked hard at coaxing the hidden cock to emerge, focusing his effort on the immediate rim protecting the swelling member. 

Tongue darting forward to probe the tightening slit, Alastor pushing in harder, he lapped at the hardening flesh starting to greet his firm prods with returned resistance as it was growing faster in arousal.

Suckling enthusiastically, gulping down any pools of precvm collected on his undulating tongue, the buck's tail was wagging in a blurred frenzy — pulling the wolf closer by the hips, the buck tirelessly went on suckling the engorged cock — tucking his head back by degrees as he successfully drew the wolf's red cock outside of it's cocoon, the sheath shrinking away to bare the throbbing pinkness.

Although the deer demon could swallow the wolf's beautiful sheath, deepthroating the massive cock was just a pipe dream.

As the lengthening erection slid out, forcing Alastor to jerk his head backwards lest he choke, the full size of the intimidating organ was only appreciated once Alastor had paused his ambitious resolution to wholly please his Dom, even though the monumental task of the imminent blowjob was daunting.

Aspiring to see his strategy to the end, even if it meant a lacklustre finish, never in his unLife did the Radio Demonhad enjoyed (or suffered after a dubious start) a cock this magnificent, pitching forward Alastor suddenly found himself held back — tongue extended in mid-lick, eager to burrow the tip for a second time inside the gaping pisshole as that leaking slit contracted rapidlly in want, slick oozing, the Hellhound had unexpectedly hauled him back in mid-lick.

Confused, an open look of dismay creasing his features when he snuck an upwards glance, Alastor was surprised to see the canine struggling to hold onto his coolness. 

The stalwart, professional demeanour had swayed. then buckled under the weight of the Radio Demon sucking him off, expertly sweeping the drooling cock with the flat of his tongue and rubbing the pulsing veins, nursing greedily on the bubbling slit.

The Hellhound had casually looked down halfway through the passionate servicing, taken aback by the glorious picture of his pious prey, head bobbing as he sucked him hungrily, the swallows in sync with the deer's furiously wagging tail — the scarlet imbued swollen mounds of the buck's succulent ass sharpening his hunger to break the deer demon in; it was undeniably unbearable at this moment.

Envisioning what he’d feel like, from the inside. The tactile sensations; silken walls, a racing pulse, moist warmth, the deep plunges eliciting scintilating groans and breathlessness, freshly shed tears —

Those degenerate thoughts kept circling back, suffocating, tantamount to giving up early to straddle the unwitting sub.

The aftermath of the spontaneous spanking had aroused more than the Hellhound's lust for a really good mount — he wanted to see how tough it would be to silence that silver tongue of the great, acclaimed Radio Demon. Bragging rights, if he were suicidal.

Tail brush speeding up behind him, sweeping a cooling breeze rousing the deer's attention, the demon's momentum fleetingly slowed down when he had inclined his head to glance at the sudden movement, then returning to sucking feverishly on his lover's lengthening cock.

Tasting the luscious rump could be enjoyed at another time, the escort had thought; the thrill in breeding the prized buck was enthralling, the longer he was transfixed studying the subtle and not so subtle ways the Radio Demon's buttocks shone red, the spanked flesh round and emphasised the slender slopes of his effeminate body screaming to be penetrated, to be fucked hard enough and for so long to leave the cervine bedbound, unable to walk or sit comfortable for a month.

Looking down on Alastor like that, webs of drool hanging from his slackened jaw, his own brush tail beating erratically as he was nearing the edge of an orgasm too soon — the wolf abruptly grabbing Alastor by the antlers, easing up the blowjob, he used his free hand to scrabble for one of the accessories dangling down overhead.

Tugging free a silk scarf, letting him go briefly the Hellhound hurriedly tied the scarf tightly around Alastor's head, pulled roughly through his parted jaws and knotted securely at the back.

For the aesthetic, since gags of that nature didn't impact the sub’s noises, the visuals were all that mattered.

Alastor's tongue working at the sudden intrusion pushing it, taken aback from the unceremonious muzzling, the wolf was reaching up again to turn the carousel overhead to fetch another novelty.

Breathing hard, lips peeled back to grin toothily, the wolf clasped the buck's hands together to bind them with a hank of hemp rope — great for peace of mind facing escape , not so kind on supple skin. He knew it would chafe the Radio Demon's skin, leave his wrists with attractive red lines and bruises; that was the point.

Ventured to speak up, to question the duration he was expected to weather the confronting escalated playact; Alastor's entreating expression not cut out to get his answer quick enough. 

Searching his Dom’s face, concerned by the lack of transparency, Alastor's muffled question was interrupted by a simultaneous open-handed slap to one cheek — the blood blushing his paled skin aglow nicely, a trickling of tears rolling into the satiny gag. 

Grabbing him by the shoulders, the Hellhound spun the Overlord over to hit the bed on his back; the deer crying out in shock, kicking a clovenhoof out in alarm.

Wriggling to maneuvre onto his side, stabs of blistering pain blazing instantaneously up from his bruised backside, the acute heat intensified where he had landed hard, meanwhile the Hellhound had snapped his wrists out to seize the stag’s legs — grabbing his right ankle and left calf respectively, grappling with the struggling buck re-ignited the lust blossoming inside the wolf's belly, his engorged cock now fully erect with lust, his tail wagging idly now, forecasting the hungry carnivore’s lechery for their predator/prey role playing. 

Likewise, the deer hadn't gone one second without relishing the lewdness of their taboo play; his own arousal was growing, Alastor's member stiffened to prod his gaunt stomach, a trail of precvm messing his treasure trail.

Rolled onto his upper back, holding his bound wrists above his antlers, Alastor thrashed playfully, forestalled by the wolf's all-powerful grip, most of his energetic thrashing countered and absorbed back into his tired body. 

Legs and abdomen trembling, belly rising and falling rapidly, Alastor fixing his gaze on his leering partner’s grinning face, ears pinned back in emerging genuine panic, simmering fear underscored the tremor in the reluctant but nevertheless voyeuristic Overlord’s voice.

“Do you always play with your food before devouring them…? Why,” the Radio Demon interred with a quashed  grimace, shifting restlessly again to compensate for the incessant throbbing engulfing his sore buttocks, rocking his pelvis up to tease the wolf with a glimpse of that swollen rump, tail limp in surrender. “— speaking as a gourmet, you'll SPOIL your entertainment… A little advi——”

Broken off with a shrill BLEAT, the Overlord’s back bowing off the bed, features grown waxen then a reddened blush crawling up his neck — the Hellhound had without warning released Alastor's calf to glide his hand up Alastor's raised inner leg — encircling the Overlord's right buttock, scoring stinging furrows into the curves of that appetitising ass, he dipped his thumb into the deer's puckered hole, feeling Alastor's resistance at the brazen intrusion. 

The wolf's derisive snort told him all he had to know, talk is CHEAP.

Speculation was pointless. 

The apprehension almost tangible in the air, hanging over them both thickly, Alastor’s crooked smile, faltering the longer he studied his Dom’s resolute expression belying no hint of anything remotely joking — as his frisky mate dragged him nearer to the edge of the mattress after an educated guess the bed frame would NOT survive two bodies — hid the fact that the stag sub was stressed over the likelihood that this was definitely, plainly, going to hurt.

Muscles locked up, rolled onto his stomach, Alastor had the fleeting impression his hired help was going to at last penetrate him, ballsdeep — overcoming the obstacles, courtesy of the Radio Demon's insubordination, accepted without debate, behaving how he normally did with everybody, flirting and teasing, frequently critical and sardonic… 

The hotelier hadn't accounted for his professional escort’s intolerance for belligerence.

A natural sub in the bedroom, sexual intimacy the best catharsis, it set Alastor's teeth on edge to be treated with such insolence — until his resilient attitude was beaten into surrender, a willing sacrifice or not.

It was Alastor’s bratty misbehaviour that prompted the Hellhound to pick up from the floor, his leather belt looped over and folded into two — flicking his wrist out to a full extension of his arm, the Hellhound's icy fingers swiftly seizing Alastor's ears together into one fist, the shooting pain something terrible — he hauled the startled deer back to flop folded in half onto his knees and chest, ass up.

Bringing his arm up high behind his head, fixing his line of sight squarely on the buck”s blushed rear… Alastor's heart skipped a beat in the split second it took to briefly lock his wide eyes with the wolf's glassy stare over his shoulder, THEN he’d felt the slashing impact of the belt’s strap licking across a single buttock, the first strap of the real hiding the Overlord was excelled at establishing through every fault of his own making.

Holding onto the cringing buck’s ears tightly like a stage performer held the ears of his white rabbit when hoister out of his magic top hat, the Hellhound retained the numbing grip, the swings in his other arm jarring the demon's staggered body on the smacks’ recoil.

It wasn't like the first spanking was fair play, a light experience — snatching at the rumpled bedding, the rope rasping his wrists, the Sinner’s wails were curt and keening, each stroke of the thick belt striping a cheek at a time, wringing another desperate cry out whenever the leather strap bounced off.

The racking sobs shaking his defensive body did not deter the stalwart Dom from his mission; swinging the belt repeatedly, always landing each smack from the same direction accordingly to whichever cheek he was laying into; he was deliberately overlapping three blows in a row before moving onto a fresh area an inch or so outside the margins of the prior spank, in a vicious cycle.

Hot tears coursing down his cheeks, sobs dissolved into softened gasps as the stinging smacks were on the outset of abrading his tenderised backside, the intractable deer demon had finally sunk into subspace. 

Ears and tail sagged, rocking with the rhythmic smacks, Alastor's glazed eyes were brimming with tears, his choked cries almost systematic while he coped with the deserved discipline.

Whereas the first spanking collected fourty hits, in spite of the iron-hot branding the leather belt dealt, this second and last round had only lasted a count of nine blows. Per cheek. The tenth spank landed engulfing dead center, striking both buttocks.

Pangs of guilt, self pity, naturally berating himself quietly for not playing by the rules, Alastor's subverted reactions sweeping over him did not alleviate the rampant bombardment of grieving for the sinister deeds and misgivings he’d use his whole existence to protect his fragile, inner self from the world — convinced the world was hellbent on doing him harm.

The pressure from the punishment broke down the barriers that prevented him from reevaluating his methods interacting with the world at large, forced him to recognise the social cues and repercussions that led to disaster, real hurts. The Radio Demon wasn't untouchable, inspite of convincing himself that lie was a hard fact, irrefutable.

Letting the belt fall to the floor, it's use done for the night, the Hellhound didn't feel any guilt as he studied how Alastor's breathing had quickened, the tension in the lines of his slim frame completely loose and vanished, swathed in sweat.

Greatly enjoying the delicious view of the buck's warmed ass glossy and cherry-red — distinctive dark red stripes marking the individual cheeks darker and firmer than the adjacent skin, the Hellhound's affections despite the severe corporal punishment wasn't dampened.

Cocking an ear, straining to pick up any clues, Alastor's attention was battling the undercurrents striving to break his concentration. The incessant throbs bone-deep magnified the vicious rebuke his Dom wilfully divied out across both cheeks, the underlying humiliation in failing to behave appropriately not receding, but inescapably throwing over what other senses were left to him.

The deer's addled brain only managed to conjure up a rough idea as to what the Hellhound was preparing for — the mattress sinking under the additional weight, the silent brute resting the heels of his palms into the bed, dipping the bed as he lowered his face.

The reprieve was merely transitory, needless to say.

Strangled, the buck's hoarse voice got stuck in his strained throat when he felt himself very purposely pushed further flat to sprawl on his stomach, strong hands aligning his swollen backside for a couple of minutes before the same fingers moved to pry his quivering thighs apart — the only sign of wakened life from Alastor noted absently by his fluffy tail flicking up to present his reddened rear in servility, rolling his pelvis back in a dutiful admission of desire.

The wolf's thumbs rubbing his exhausted but trained prey's inner asscheeks gently, increasing the pressure until he had pulled an aroused whimper from him — zeroing in, pushing inwards he spread the buck's fluttering hole open — residual lube a sheen coating the pinched entrance, the wolf's wide tongue lapping at the clenching ring drew a better, comforted sound from the sulking hotelier.

Satisfied, the Hellhound continued to lap at his lover's spasming hole, firm licks dragged over the wet rosebud undoubtedly out of possessiveness than rewarding Alastor, a stern reminder to the disconsolate Overlord that he belonged to him. 

The bully finished prepping him the third time the buck had bore down on the sweeping muscle, heartened moans coming more frequent, more needy; the wolf slurping the inner rim greedily before sucking his hot tongue back out, Alastor's musk aggravating more intrusive thoughts crowding the Dom's lurid mind.

Holding onto Alastor's slender hips, the Hellhound heaved the light demon backwards with a harsh growl, the quintessential sound sending a cold shiver down the buck's spine, tail’s trembling unintentionally attracting his Dom’s vulturine instincts.

Alastor had to summon up energy and stifle the pained noises his body was trying to realise, burying his contorted features into the rumpled sheet; substituting the suppressed loud protests his instincts wanted, settling for tilting his pelvis forward enthusiastically, grinding his bruised ass into his Master's animated maw.

Thumbs spreading him, the wolf was busy feverishly slurping the buck's trained rear, hot tongue licking short and firm licks in anxious strokes. 

Fascinated by the other man’s apparently endless threshold for severe pain, engrossed as he was in licking the deer clean of sweat and left over lube, daring to press the hard outline of his teeth into the deer's sensitive skin just to feel him cringe, the wolf avoided spoiling his client's night warning him about the imminenttorment... 

Half the fun involved taking the domesticated Overlord by primal lust, see what paths his feral desires lead him to…

The buck's sharp claws scored rips splitting the bedsheet when the wolf had leaned in and mercilessly dragged Alastor into him, oblivious to the way he had wrung another wretched bleat out of his wincing lover.

Closing his eyes tight, until white stars were dancing before him, his Master's hot and moist breath huffed over his head, ruffling his fur, sent a jolt of exhilaration down his back. The Radio Demon's ambitions for a feral fucking went awry, not surprisingly. 

Aspiring to maintain his composed decorum, eager to impress, the long drawn out wail plucked out of his volatile sufferance was proof he didn't need much to break him. 

Courage ripped apart into two, the shreds of consciousness Alastor clung to were slipping out of his shaking claws — gasping loudly, the Hellhound's nails were dug into the buck's porcelain skin, pinning his waist to the bed as the Top carnivore had rested the tip of his monstrous swollen cock between the deer's inner cheeks, before rolling his hips to violate that enticing hole in a hastened plunge, bottoming out heretofore his lover grasped just what in Hell was transpiring.

Struggling to breathe accordingly, the feel of the massive length sliding into his spasming hole frayed his coherency, Alastor fisting the sheet as he feebly thrashed, ears pinned back in fright.

The sixteen inch cock felt like it was seriously tearing him apart; mentally and physically. 

The plump head splitting his snug core opened wide, the unyielding stretch was pure agony — the pain surpassing that of his aching cheeks, the smacked deeper muscles’ scorched pulses restarted as the wolf pressed his thighs deeply up against him, burying himself to the root inside his begging mate.

Retreating further into an internal sanctuary to be able to cope with the intensifying pain, flaring as the Hellhound's engorged tip edged inside deeper, Alastor's beseeching cries circumvented reproach — there wasn't any lack of conviction in the deer's voice, his sincerity harboured no hostility.

Wriggling ineffectively, the Radio Demon's succinct pleads deteriorating, instead of imploring the Hellhound to stop, he searched within the buried reservoir of valiancy — lifting his hips to help, face down, the stag's groans indicated he was draining his dedication to endure the sustained penetration quicker than he had surmised.

The intense heat risen off his swollen backside surging, the wolf cherished his prey's waning endurance, appreciating the elusive and eye-catching cues expressing his controversial arousal fostered by their depraved roleplay. The over-long bottoming out irrevocably chiselled into their overwrought minds.

Seated fully, his heavy balls came to rest atop of Alastor's tightening sac, the Hellhound jerked his hips to pull a distraught moan from the dejected stag, savoring the multitude of contractions gripping his throbbing cock.

Looking down over him, the suggestive body language implying Alastor's change of mind, was conflicting. In spite of the Overlord’s discomfort understated, the constant motion of the deer demon's twitching ass, tail wagging erratically, his long tongue lolled out to drool over the scarf gag. 

Abandoning his grip, the Hellhound encircling Alastor's throat with one outstretched hand, stroking his jawline with his thumb, the other hand stiffly holding onto one of Alastor's antlers for the convenient leverage.

The subjugated buck’s daze was primarily fuelled by primal lust — urgency in his pleading moans, bolts of intense pain radiating out from his tortured rump, Alastor overcame the exceedingly painful entry and diabolicallyclenched his burning ring around the wolf's hard shaft, daring him to breed him hard with all his might.

Entranced, thinking his choices over whilst he cockwarmed; the wolf's thickened, absolutely divine cock stretching Alastor full like a pregnant doe at the end of her motherhood, the behemoth’s member had distended the Radio Demon's belly — a swell of the buck's slender anatomy showed easily how TOO big the Hellhound was as a Top, the cock stuffing his core to produce a mouthwatering bulge protruding above his navel, the change more dramatic closer to the base of his junk. 

The skin blushing a glazed pink, twinges of numbness forking out came in waves, Alastor's fretful squirms mitigated as soon as his overbearing mate had drawn back to the tip — thereafter the ensuing, rhythmic SLAMSback into the deer's tight passage met with a raucous merger of a fawn’s bawling, radio static frequencies, and euphoric whimpers, the demon's reedy timbre climbing higher, trailing off into hoarse grunts.

Thrusting rapidly into the limp buck, pounding that delectable ass the brawny Hellhound had been yearning to claim for himself ever since he had received the call explaining his new assignment, the intoxicating allure was impossible to resist. 

Hips ruthlessly rutting in rhythmic pumps, the blushed patch of skin spanning the Sinner’s stomach flourishing into a stunning shade of rouge, the underlying bruises spreading where the wolf’s pulsing cockhead tirelessly battered Alastor's inflamed prostate.

Gasps coming faster, wanton cries rolling off his extended tongue, Alastor's inner walls were cramping all around the bulging shaft as it's persistent throbs mounted, contractions milking the canine cock.

Ramping up, the buck's subsequent violent shudders quaked his delicate body, bathed in cold sweat — groaning, lids conversely stretched wide rather than shut tight, the stag Overlord's succeeding climax’s arrival was greeted welcomely, the demon's cock stiffened to shoot ropes of white cream spurting onto his stuffed belly and the messy bedding.

Riding out the orgasm, the formerly white stars turned to a rainbow kaleidoscope of indistinct shapes with his lids now at half-mast, hooded in bliss; the rush of dopamine washing over him, Alastor's arousal lingered, sporadic spurts of seed laving the buck's bisque-comparative body in quick bursts.

The wet slaps of the lupine heavyweight’s balls striking the deer's throbbing sac and taint, an enlargening bulb was filling out the bully's shaft — the huge swell of engorged flesh struggling against Alastor's swollen ring, the obstinate pumps into the resistant entrance making progress on every other roll of the pelvis. 

Slick seeping out, residual lube a thing of the past, the obscene squelching of penetration was in line with the throaty growls and panting the muscular Hellhound voiced, the fur raising along the middle of his tensed shoulders and scruffy mane.

Growling lower, the deepest rumble in his chest heralded the supreme objective — chasing the series of grueling pushes, the next pushes breaching the Radio Demon'sfluttering rim a fraction at a time, at 

long last the Hellhound's inflated knot stretched Alastor's overstimulated ring — rammed in, the almost four inch in diameter rigid knot POPPED through, stretching the buck's bleeding sphincter in unprecedented agony. 

Gripping the vast base like a velvety glove, with no room in shrinking back to pre-locked knot, Alastor's core commenced the contractions preluding the second orgasm as his hips rolled in the throes of climaxing, jaws parted and askew, renewed drool soaking the gag and his chin a sticky sheen. 

The buck's indomitable spirit refusing to concede, rekindled ripples of phenomenal pain rolled over the sagged buck in pulsating waves, Alastor's subspace in every respect enveloping the tamed Overlord. 

Softened grunts of pleasure panted, huffs flicking droplets of saliva, Alastor basked in the glory of getting taken so primally, so brutally, without caution. Nothing about the sex was safe or sane.

Just about pancaked, Alastor's tall languid frame stretched out from his chest to flung out arms, head down and ass up to accommodate his Master's goliath of a bulk, the Hellhound had closer than bent-double to crush his captive’s shuddering body chest-to-back and rocked incessantly -— the predator's brutal pumps were coming faster, shallower, angling his hips to hammer Alastor's throbbing prostate, that knot of muscle inflated in spent arousal — overstimulated, the deer demon's walls timely milking the wolf's growing length sent him over into the cavernous void of inexplicable, unbelievable rapture.

Aftercare of course imperative to a job well done — brilliantly so, that line of thought was kept at bay, for a while.

Head thrown back in a trailing howl of unbridlec ecstasy, satiated, ears flushed to his handsomely sculpted skull — pinning Alastor's jolted body harder into the mattress by his antler and throat combined, he wanted the deer to register the full extent of his Dom’s strength claiming his body, hands-free.

Cervine tail squashed under the wolf's undulating abs, the stag’s fluttering hole swallowed the lupine knot pumping him full of the piping hot cream, stretched and bleeding snug around the pulsating knot plugging his hammered entrance.

Jets of pulsating seed streaming forth to overflow, however nowhere, audibly sploshing inside the deer's embattered core, spurts of the cream entering the Radio Demon's upper guts. Inducing another wave of nausea, a harsh reminder just how deep the escort had stretched his body — the distended stomach bulge exaggerated by the copius volume of cum breeding him full what felt like and probably succeeded, an estimate of four times the load Alastor was capable of holding with a plug inserted.

The Radio Demon hyperventilating now and again, feeling lightheaded, the torrent of hot cum shot inside his pulsating guts pulled another round of bucking, in fits and starts, no matter the additional pain invoked being pinned and skewered under his beefy lover’s absurd weight.

The sinner’s throbbing hole locked onto the inflated knot tightly, nothing escaped to dribble, and so the anticipated cramps were burgeoning, the spent buck grinding inadvertently into his Dom’s groin as he squirmed arthritically, cravings for the severe pain to at leastalleviate faster than he suspected the wolf would allow.

The sub’s wanton, albeit bone-tired, sloppy panting alerted his Top how steamy, impassioned, he had found their feral claiming. Tensed shoulders relaxing, Alastor's frantic huffs were all he could manage to verbalise his gratitude for the sorely needed punishments and mindblowing fuck. 

Apt to give his thanks and obliged commendations whenever he could find his voice later, most likely after the particularly heavy sleep to recover sure to overtake him, his afterglow had rendered his subspace to tarry. Distant gaze glassy, drying tears streaked down his sanguine puffed cheeks (out of mingling self-contempt and lust), the tired Overlord was conspicuously predisposed to unwind at his leisure.

Contrary to what his hired personal tyrant wanted.

Sitting upright slowly, catching his breath after all that energy consumed, the Hellhound released Alastor's antler to tenderly stroke the bulge of his bony spine through his clothes with the back of his fingers — the other hand still clasping his throat, gently pressing into his thrumming pulse to revel in the buck's heightened overstimulation, and quickening dread.

Leaning back, another enfeebled bleat wrung from Alastor when his Dom's buried knot had tugged on his vulnerable hole, the playboy watched how Alastor's tendons and muscles braced, his vest and shirt adhered to his fevered skin with sweat, the white shock of fluffy tail fur flipped up in protest when the migrating hand descended to pat him on one cheek. 

Heaving out a ragged sigh, watching the automatic bunching of muscles tightening his subdued prey’s buttock in recoil, ta resentful sob choked back from Alastor’s heaving chest at the defiant second rub of Alastor's flinching backside.

Rubbing the crimson cheek lovingly, enjoying the heat, the wolf slipped his other hand underneath the deer demon's jutted hip to find his weeping  cock — half-softened, although swamped with cum. 

Thumbing the head, coaxing a superficial squirt, feeling the gaping slit spasming, the soothing hand above in a flash gave a quick smack to the aforementioned kneaded buttock, Alastor stiffening in shock with an incensed yelp.

“Good boys don't spill their cream in the middle of their meal. We might have to rectify that…

I think you're up for another lesson in table manners, my darling buck...”

Rubbing the Overlord’s sore stomach bulge, feeling his own cock swell, incited by Alastor's aghast moan, the jock pulled back to stretch the reluctant buck’s hole in quick back-and-forth pumps, the spent seed inside flooding to relube the abused orifice on the flowing suction. 

Meanwhile pinching the base of tbe Radio Demon’s own reawakened length to hold in his arousal, that other hand seizing Alastor's antlers one more time to compel the dissenting all-mighty stag to hold position.

Controlling the Sinner’s fluctuating orgasms was a game: holding the buck's hardened erection inside his meaty fingers, fingertips skimming the delicate underside of Alastor's pulsing shaft, in due time the Hellhound let the deer have his pleasure after he’d taken his time edging the poor man, teasing gasps and curses out of him.

Milking Alastor's spasming cock with brisk squeezes, the thickened jizz splattering the Radio Demon's full belly — the hard outline of the buried wolf cock facilitating the deer”s swollen stomach bulge.

Panting huskily, sultry growls putting the accent on just how satisfied, overwhelmed, the strapping Dom was undone, professional escort expertise checked by a notoriously stubborn Overlord out of all the possible clients he could have been spoiling. 

Strings of saliva dripping over his enervated mate's back, inclining his muzzle the Hellhound sought to reassure Alastor again, how good he was, how perfect the scene came about, taking pains to lap and lick all over the Radio Demon's head and neck, showering the stricken buck in as much affections measured up when he had dished out the two spankings and negative reinforcements pulling him in line.

Thick tongue gliding up the nape of the groggy deer's nape, slicking his fur and hair standing on edge in repetitive licks, he paid equal attention to the Overlord's drooping ears, tousling the perspiration-bathed fur, the fervent licks grown erratic on the random occasion the Hellhound’s hips rutted forward, shooting another couple of ribbons of waning seed into the stuffed recesses of Alastor's pulsing core, milking himself effortlessly whilst his prey's enervated body still had energy left to spare — the hot squirts of seed milked by Alastor's passage spasms unrelented.

Rotating his pelvis pulling a wretched bawl at long last, the escort had judged enough was enough. Play time’s over.

“Attaboy,” was whispered gently, the Hellhound nuzzling tbe side of Alastor’s neck; releasing the exhausted stag’s wilted cock carefully so as not to unintentionally bump his full stomach.

Slowly untying the scarf gag’s knots, leaving the wrists bound, he tilted the floppy deer’s head over to press a steamy kiss to a fevered cheek.

A drooped ear sweeping back out of his peripheral vision, Alastor’s scarlet hued eye rolling back to study the wolf for either another grim scolding or renewed lust…

“What say you about enjoying a nice, hot bath — I have all the creams and ice, booze, everything you could ever ask for…? Everything necessary to soothe your sublimeass.”

The drying scarlet eye blinked hotly in indignation, another fat tear spilling forth to re-moisten his reddened lids, Alastor's pupil shrinking into a slit of suspicion — his persistent Top had abruptly patted him on the bum again, sliding his broad paw down and rubbing the buck’s inflamed inner cheek between his buried knot and his swollen flesh, slick squirting out under the sudden compulsion to clench his ass as a reflexive stimulus.

The relentless throbs inside his worn out core worked at his declining resolve to remain awake, the strong heat of his escort’s hard cock packed into his convulsing passage. The stinging fissures of ruptured flesh a relentless ache, the Radio Demon's spent body was unabashedly snuggled intimately in their afterglow as if he wasn't busy preoccupied worrying over the internal damage. 

The Hellhound was still standing hunched over the buck, slicked skin against skin, his expansive knot plugging Alastor’s leaking hole — excessive spunk a thick film covering the Radio Demon’s reddened backside and trembling body, cervine legs folded at the knee on the bed very much in the same position when the overbearing playboy had taken him fiercely — to be fucked like the prey animal that he was.

The cunning gesture pulling a reticent weakened curse, faded into an involuntary moan; apparently the brawny Hellhound was testing his tenacity for another round — hopefully he was only kidding. 

The burly wolf had curled a muscular finger and thumb around the base of Alastor's tail, to arouse a parting flowering of intense overstimulation. Pulling his sodden tail upwards savagely, it had tugged like a marionette puppet’s strings, his inflamed hole loosened to jolt the buried knot — the overflowing seed squishing into the fleeting gaps awarded by the impulsive manipulation.

Mulling over the array of options left open to them, watching and listening to Alastor pant raggedly, luxuriating in the unwavering feel of Alastor's inner walls hugging him tight, the steady throb of his full body.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

And Myrtle Beach goes Canadian!

Heavens to the Dionne Quintuplets ... it happens to be no less than that mid-winter spectacle of the Grand Strand, otherwise known as Canada Week, coincident with the Winter Halfterm Schools Break Week in Ontario, and probably Quebec, even! And if it's all the same to you, gentle fan and Old Hanna-Barberian, that oh-so-merry, chuckleberry even, Huckleberry Hound and yours truly are not just continuing our winter's sojourn here on the Grand Strand, but also using the opportunity to "meet-and-greet" the many Canadian fans and old friends of ours!!

Even though, admittedly, the Canadian Broadcorping Castration, and its commercial rivals, CTV and Global, has been under Canadian Government pressure to include more Canadian material on the box, in the interest of "promoting Canadian cultural identity," or so the patsy from Ottawa hath it ... but still, Teletoon Retro, the Canadian equivalent of the old Boomerang here stateside, can sometimes air the old Hanna-Barbera schtick.

=============

"O Canada! Our Home and Native Land!" ... and all that jazz!

And you just couldn't believe all the Canadian number plates on the cars of visitors, especially from Ontario and Quebec, and maybe a few from the Maritimes, on the South Carolina coast ... and trying to find one as doesn't overdo it on the Canadian equivalent of a "vanifesto" in its sheer tackiness of prolefeeding along Ocean Boulevard!

But still, with Canada Week on, many Canadians of an older generation couldn't resist spotting our presence as unofficial ambassadors of The Funtastic World of Hanna-Barbera, and even posing for selfies to share back in Hamilton ... Etobicoke ... Parry Sound ... St.-Jean-sur-Richelieu, even! (Oh, and let's not forget Sault Ste. Marie; we can't forget Sault Ste. Marie....)

And for some reason, Canadians can't resist the old donuts and coffee as a stimulant to get through the day, caffeine and sugar in a somewhat quixotic energy boost--even if it's more likely to be Dunkin rather than that Canadian stalwart, Tim Horton's. In fact, a middle-age couple from somewhere near the Ontario Cottage Country stumbled upon us in a Myrtle Beach coffee shop early one morning, sharing donuts and coffee--and a couple of Nanaimo Bars (which, know, are named for the town of their creation--Nanaimo, British Columbia, on Vancouver Island even!)--as well as some conversation most unpredictable. Which, for some reason, had to include a French-Canadian wolf by name of Loopy De Loop.

"The whom," as I explained it, "was trying to correct all manner of negative publicity long directed at wolves by example."

Huck chimed in, "He liked to call himself 'ze good wolf.'"

"Only," I added, "to become his own worst joke. Getting the proverbial last laugh, even!"

Which had the couple asking what had become of Loopy of late, to which I noted that he had become one with a SCUBA-diving crew led by Peter Potamus. "You may have seen their videos," Huckleberry Hound remarked.

"I think I have, on occasion," explained the husband.

To which I mentioned where Loopy had become, along with Hokey Wolf and Mildew Wolf, "breakout" stars of the diving world, even with their own diving escapades. "As well as Loopy's somewhat cheeky nephew, Bon-Bon," added I, "and Hokey's stepson, Ding-a-Ling."

The wife of the pair was somewhat stunned.

But none the more so when "ze good wolf" "himself," Loopy De Loop, turned up in his trademark tuque and scarf, forever trying to look a little sophisticated for a wolf originally from the Saugenay-Lac-St.-Jean region of Quebec. And even Huckleberry Hound was quite surprised when such a crazy lupine sat himself down close to us, the Canadian visitors not even being scared at such a presence.

"So who did you expect exactly, Mildew Wolf?" was how Loopy made himself known. "Anyhow, care for a poutine party later on at my beach house?"

"Not a bad idea, Loopy" was how Huck replied.

"Likewise," replied I.

"The reason I decided to so invite you," Loopy remarked, "was for the sake of inviting you to join our motley little lupine diving company over spring break."

"And let me guess," asked I, "down in the Keys."

"However did you know?" was how Loopy rejoindered.

After shrugging our shoulders in suggesting that the guess was just dumb luck, Huck and I were glad to accept the invite. For which more will be laid on in the next such missive.

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @restroom @theweekenddigest @railguner34 @archive-archives @themineralyoucrave @joey-gatorman @princessgalaxy505 @thylordshipofbutts @screamingtoosoftly @warnerbros-blog1 @jellystone-enjoyer @tallcharlie @xdiver71 @warnerbrosent-blog

[elite-guard-hardygal]

Dragon Treasure (Fantasy!Eijiro Kirishima/OC) - My Hero Academia gift fic

FINALLY! A super late Christmas present and birthday present for @the-lupine-sojourner! A Takara Yamada (OC)/Eijiro Kirishima fic! Yes, that’s right, I buckled down and actually wrote something at least somewhat romantic! And because I can more easily do anything I want in the Fantasy!AU, this is set in the Fantasy!AU.

A few heads up. Lupine, I know you have your own Fantasy!AU for KiriKara, buuuuuut, I set this fic in my own version of the Fantasy!AU… Hope you don’t mind >.<

Also, everyone is still fifteen/sixteen, because this is a fantasy world, and I imagine age-restriction on quests and other dangerous stuff isn’t exactly all that strict. By that age, you’re probably expected to start doing something with your life… It’s not that different from real life, really.

Double also, in terms of dialogue and speaking, I view the fantasy!MHA as being kinda like Avatar: The Last Airbender. Meaning the world has this old, traditional look with lots of fantasy elements, but people still talk like people do today, a’la “My first girlfriend turned into the moon.” / “That’s rough, buddy.”

Anyway, enough rambling, let’s get to it!

—

"Aww, that's really cool, Eijiro!"

"Really?" Eijiro looked down at the tiny collection of gems and coins inside his coin purse. "Bakugo thinks it's kind of a dumbass tradition."

Takara scoffed, pulling the drawstring on Eijiro's purse and hiding the little valuables from any potentially greedy villagers. "What does he know? He's not a dragon. And I think it's kinda cute, you having your own personal little treasure trove."

Eijiro laughed bashfully as he tied the coin purse to his belt. "I don't even know why I do it. I mean, yeah, I don't really plan on giving any of those shiny things up, but I don't think I'm gonna go full on beast mode if someone tried to take them either."

"Well, is it, like... a dragon rule to go beast mode when someone tries to take your treasure?"

"Not exactly…?" Eijiro said hesitantly. "I mean, we're pretty territorial, but I think it's all up to you what you're willing to call your 'treasure.' Like, the thing you've sworn, as a dragon, to protect."

He glanced at Takara. "Heh, sorry, still don't know nearly enough about dragon tradition as I should."

Eijiro was one of the very few dragon-people to pretty much reject dragon traditions and instead embark on a life of questing, which meant he was missing out on a lot of his people's coming-of-age teachings. He never seemed that upset about it, just a little embarrassed that his knowledge of his own people's traditions only went so far.

"Oh, it's fine…!" Takara said sympathetically. "I think it's sweet of you to keep that tradition going."

Eijiro grinned. "Well, if there's one thing I know makes a both a man and a dragon, it's protecting somethin', even if it's just a purse full'a shiny things."

Takara returned the grin. Heavens above, did she love this boy.

Takara and Eijiro's questing party had set up camp a few miles away from a rather large, well off village earlier that evening. A few people, like Ochako, had questioned why they didn't simply book a stay at the local inn, but that would have been problematic for a number of reasons.

For one, it was almost guaranteed some of them would have to share a room, and very few of them would have been happy with that. For another, a party of young quest-goers tended to attract unwanted attention - questing was a competitive line of work, and many older quest-goers did enjoy hazing younger ones, especially those coming of age. Finally, it would have just been expensive.

After their party had set up camp, Momo compiled a small group consisting of Takara, Eijiro, Izuku, and Tsuyu, and the five of them went off to the village to get some supplies. They had each split off in their own directions after they arrived, agreeing to rendezvous at the center of the village after nightfall. Takara and Eijiro, of course, remained together.

They spent a significant amount of time just enjoying the liveliness of the village before finally buying some bread. Having barely had enough between the two of them to purchase enough bread for the whole party, Takara had jokingly asked Eijiro if he had a dragon's treasure trove, like in the stories. As it turned out, he kind of did.

Some time had passed by now. The sky was dark, and the two of them were heading towards the village center, when bells started clanging in the distance. Takara and Eijiro both froze and exchanged a look. Even a child knew what those bells meant.

The village was being attacked.

The villagers were scattering about, frantic to reach the safety of their shops or homes. Eijiro and Takara stayed were they were. The former drew his knives, eyes piercing the edges of the crowd for anything that looked like an attacker, while the latter crouched down, eyes closed in concentration as her fingertips brushed the ground beneath her.

"Whadda we got?" Eijiro asked tensely.

Takara's eyes snapped open and she stood up straight. "Raiders, I think. A freakin' army, coming in from the east and fanning out."

Opponents located, the two young quest-goers sprinted against the flow of panicking villagers.

"Where're the others?" Eijiro asked, trying to be careful not to accidentally stab anyone rushing past him.

"I don't know," Takara replied as she rested one hand on her water pouch. "I didn't want to spend too much of my magic on that one earth spell."

"Guess we'll have to hope they'll find us. Or that we beat our guys fast enough to go find them."

Takara wasn't looking at Eijiro as he said that, mind much too focused on searching for the raiders, but she knew he was smiling, trying to set her at ease. It worked, of course. It always worked.

Someone screamed. A man dressed all in black had grabbed some fleeing villager, a girl not much older than Takara or Eijiro. She kicked and flailed, shrieking as the man dragged her backwards, his reflective eyes - indicating he was probably of the beast-people - alight with sick desire. Hot rage filled every muscle in Takara's body, and she yanked the stopper out of her water pouch.

Within seconds, the man was on the ground, those sick eyes rolling back dazedly as Takara called back the water whip to form a mace, which she then pointed at the man's bestial face. The girl, who Takara had pulled back the second she hit the man with that surprise attack, grasped Takara's hand.

"Thank you, thank you!" she cried, only now clearly on the verge of tears.

"It's okay, it's okay, you're welcome," Takara said calmingly, giving the poor girl a smile. "Now go, quickly! Get to safety! We'll handle this!"

The girl nodded and rushed off after her fellow villagers. Takara watched her go, just to be safe.

Suddenly, something yanked on her weapon. "You'll pay for that…"

In that one moment of absence, Takara failed to realize that the attacker had regained his senses.

Takara had not come this far as a quest-goer without having first developed some quick skills, though. She loosened her hold on the water spell, and the mace dissolved in the man's hands, Takara leapt back, calling the water back to her as a floating stream. The man snarled, but Takara gave him no time to even curse, for the second he jumped to his feet, she whipped the water around his body and swung him into a nearby house.

It looked like she and Eijiro had caught up with the raiders.

And it was chaos.

There were still plenty of hapless villagers who had not managed to hide themselves away before the raiders caught up to them. They ran around frantically, screaming, begging their neighbors to let them into whatever home or shop they happened to have barricaded themselves into. It wasn't like the homes or shops were safe either, because it was these places the raiders were mainly looking to break into, stealing supplies, valuables, or even people. Some villagers were brave enough to fight back, only to be struck down by one or two significantly more experienced raiders. Night torches were being toppled over, setting structures ablaze.

Through it all, Eijiro and Takara remained focused.

With her water magic, Takara chose to focus much of her energy on damage control, dousing out the fires that were at risk of becoming catastrophically destructive. If she didn't immediately see a fire that needed dousing, Takara turned her water spells on the raiders. Sometimes the raiders attacked her while she was focused on fighting a fire, but Takara was not so easily taken down.

And besides, Eijiro was always there to watch her back. Even as he focused mainly on fighting off the raiders or rescuing other captured, about-to-be-dead villagers, Eijiro would frequently call out to her with warnings or words of encouragement.

"Takara, watch your side!"

"Wow, nice move!"

"They're coming straight for you!"

"Still lookin' good, babe!"

It was less a way of protecting and more a way to let her know, "Hey! I'm still here!" Takara would be remiss if she didn't respond in kind, keeping one eye on her boyfriend and one eye on her surroundings, shouting words of warning or encouragement right back in between fighting fires or raiders. She did have to give herself some credit for having achieved this level of multitasking.

Soon enough, most to all of the fires were managed. Now all she had to do was fight the raiders. After using a focused stream to take out four raiders who had attempted to jump her all at once, Takara stepped back and bumped into something warm and solid.

"Hey, babe." Eijiro gave her a sideways grin. "Holding up?"

"I'm doing just fine," Takara reported, returning the grin. "Wishing more than ever that I was better at earth magic, but, y'know, whatever." She parried and countered another attack.

"I could go beast and maybe end this a little faster," Eijiro ground out, now struggling against a significantly taller raider. "But…"

Takara lashed a water whip around the ankles of Eijiro's opponent, turned, and pulled their feet out from under them. "Damage control and already frightened villagers would definitely become a problem."

"Right..."

"Hey, don't start angsting on me…!" Takara gave her boyfriend a quick peck on the cheek. "You're doing great!"

Eijiro shook himself, that optimistic demeanor returning. "Aw, you always know what t' say."

"I know." Takara smiled teasingly, and the two of them split to return to the fray.

All that said, Takara was beginning to feel the strain of the fight as it stretched on. Though she and Eijiro had been making quick work of the more cocky and less battle-smart raiders up to that point, that just left the cleverer and more experienced fighters for them to deal with. Not to mention, Takara's magic levels were steadily depleting.

As Takara just barely avoided a sword to the face after being blinded by the light magic of one of the raiders, it dawned on her that she and Eijiro were definitely outnumbered by the this point.

"I think we need back up!" Takara exclaimed.

"Sure, but where is everyone?!" Eijiro shouted, pushing back another raider.

"I don't know, but I can try looking for them…!" Takara called the water back into her pouch and retreated some feet away from the fight. "Cover me a moment!"

Without losing a beat, Eijiro planted himself firmly between the raiders and his girlfriend. At this rate, though, Takara knew she would only have a few seconds. She closed her eyes and dropped to one knee, placing her palm against the ground. The chaos ensuing throughout the entire village rattled through the earth and into her palms, showing itself as only blurred images clashing against each other. She could barely tell one person from the other, but that wasn't acceptable.

Furrowing her brow, Takara clenched the earth beneath her fingertips and concentrated all her magical energy on finding even the slightest bit of meaning in the chaos.

There!

Three people, not retreating from the chaos but going against it! She couldn't afford to look deeper and identify who was who, but they were there, scattered throughout the village and likely about to be just as overwhelmed as Takara and Eijiro.

"I–!" Something slammed into Takara's waist, pulling her off the ground and away from three separate elemental attacks.

"We gotta retreat!" Eijiro shouted. He turned and barely managed to block a massive axe with one of his knives, arm still around Takara's waist.

"Right!" Takara quickly removed herself from her boyfriend's hold - she would have to thank him for the save later - and stepped back.

"I think I found everyone!" she said, called back her water into the form of a sword. "The closest one is only some hundred metres to the north-east!"

"Awesome, let's go!"

The two of them pushed back against their descending opponents, turned, and ran.

Takara lead the way, water sword gripped tightly in her hand in preparation for any unexpected attack. It was true, their closest party member was not all that far away, but that didn't mean she and Eijiro could make a straight beeline for them. The village was full of now more experienced raiders, and with the mental image of nearly everyone's position in the village still fresh in her mind, Takara did not want to waste any energy on literally bumping into another group of raiders.

They burst into the village center, and there Takara froze as she came face to face with a tall man bearing clawed hands and a mammalian bestial face.

"Oh?" The man focused his reflective eyes on Takara, spending chills down the girl's spine. "A village wench who's run the wrong way?" Too late, Takara thought to raise her sword, only for the man to grab it by the blade and raise his other hand in preparation to strike. "How unfortunate."

'Shit, shit, shit, what do I do?!'

Takara watched the hand coming down on her as though in slow motion. In a flash of panic and inspiration, she reeled back, about to slam her heel against the ground. Then, something red and roaring caught the corner of her eye. Eijiro had launched himself at the man, knives drawn and teeth bared in a snarl.

Takara had just enough time for two words to split across her mind - 'Oh, no…' - before her heel met the earth.

The earth swelled in response to the spell that had sent through it, throwing back anyone within Takara's immediate radius. It wasn't that powerful a spell, just a simple earth tremor, but Takara felt the consequences. She collapsed in tandem with the falling dust, magical energy very nearly spent.

"Interesting…"

Takara looked up, and her blood froze. The man was on top of Eijiro, knees pinning down the dragon boy's wrists, one hand embedding its claws in Eijiro's chest while the other released Takara's sword as it dissolved into water. He looked over at Takara.

"Not just a village wench then."

Swords, axes, maces, and spells all found their way aimed in Takara's direction as some of the raiders not currently attempting to break into the village houses sought to keep her down. The man looked down at Eijiro.

"And not just a foolish village hero."

Eijiro grit his teeth, arms tensing as he attempted to move. "Get off–!"

The claws shifted in his chest, and Eijiro cried out in pain. The man simply tilted his head curiously as he observed the patch of red scales his claws were currently gored into. It looked like Eijiro's defense mechanism hadn't been activated quick enough.

"Let him go!" Takara shouted, attempting to get up, only to be pushed back down by one of the surrounding raiders.

The man ignored her, instead speaking to Eijiro as both of them were also surrounded by a few cautious raiders. "You're a long way from home, dragon-child."

"Yeah," Eijiro ground out. "I left to find and take down assholes like you."

"And yet you haven't, despite your naturally immense bestial power. The ideals of a quest-goer are so constricting." The man began to search Eijiro's belt.

"Hey–!" Eijiro once again tried to fight back, only for the claws to be pushed a little deeper, prompting another shout of pain.

"Stop it!" Despite Takara's cry, she could do nothing to enforce it as the raiders surrounding her raised their weapons and/or prepared attacks in warning.

"I find all quest-goers, especially you young ones, to be an inconvenient irritation," the man continued. "But I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed I can't truly say I fought a dragon. Surely you're a disgrace to your people, being beaten like this."

"Shut up…!" Eijiro growled through grit teeth.

"Perhaps– Ah, here we are!" The man pulled Eijiro's coin purse - the coin purse - from his belt, the valuables contained within jingling distinctly. "No dragon would be without something of value!"

"Give it back!"

The man scoffed - "Oh, please." - and stood up. Eijiro immediately attempted to attack, only for several of the surrounding raiders to beat him down.

"Eijiro!" Takara screamed. She lurched forward, only for the flat of a sword blade to smack her in the face.

As she lay on the ground, clutching her face, Takara was vaguely aware of Eijiro shouting her name in between grunts of pain.

"You couldn't protect your lady friend, you couldn't defeat me or my raiding party, and you couldn't keep me from stealing your little valuables…" The man laughed mockingly. "You are a failure as a man, a quest-goer, and a dragon."

Something awakened in Takara, a rage similar to what she had felt when she had saved that village girl earlier.

"You…"

Digging deep into her nearly depleted reserves of magical energy, Takara stretched out her hand. The puddle of water that had been her sword rushed upwards, forming into a knife.

"...shut up!"

Takara pulled her hand back sharply. The water knife immediately obeyed her call, arcing downwards and neatly slicing open the back of the man's hand. The man dropped the coin purse with a shout of surprise and pain, and Takara caught her knife, only for it to instantly dissolve in her palm.

Slamming her now wet hand against the ground, Takara screamed, "He's more than you'll ever be! What the hell do you know?! You're just a thief who can't be bothered to take the hard road!"

"Takara…" Eijiro grunted, straining against the raiders and weapons now keeping him pinned down and appearing largely uninjured despite the beating he had just taken. Patches of red dragons scales covered his body, protecting him from any real damage, but doing little for him as he fought to escape.

The man bared his sharp teeth as he examined the slice on the back of his hand, and he turned on Takara, reflective eyes glowing in the fires still smoldering throughout the village. All of a sudden, Takara was very aware of just how vulnerable she was.

"Little wench. Why the hell is she still here?" the man snapped at those who were surrounding Takara. "Kill her or take her, I don't care."

"No!" Eijiro yelled. "Takara!"

Several pairs of hands grabbed Takara by the arms, pulling her upright. Fear shot through Takara's very bones, and she frantically called on any spell she had at her disposal, only to find herself completely devoid of magical energy. Well, that said nothing of her physical energy.

As the raiders dragged her back, away from the village center and away from Eijiro, Takara kicked and thrashed and screamed. "Let go of me!!"

"Takara!" Eijiro's voice sounded strained and frantic, and Takara could see him struggling in earnest against those who were keeping him down. "You take your hands off her!"

"Ah, it looks like another pretty thing has been stolen from you." The bestial raider, having regained his composure, scooped Eijiro's coin purse off the ground with a snide chuckle.

"Let her go!"

"Eijiro!" Takara cried out, fear becoming overtaken by panic as the distance between her and her boyfriend grew.

"You couldn't even be bothered to defend your little trove with every power at your disposal," the man said mockingly, pressing the sole of his shoe against Eijiro's head. "We might as well help ourselves to everything."

The raiders weren't dragging her away to kill her, Takara knew this, so that only left the one other option, the option that came with all manner of horrifying scenarios. Her whole body felt repulsed just thinking about it, and a sob escaped Takara's throat.

"Eijiro!"

Eijiro snarled, eyes flashing yellow. "I said let! Her! GO!!"

The boy's cry of rage deepened and gutturalized, until it lengthened into a bestial roar. Takara gasped, and even the raiders dragging her away froze and looked back.

They were met with the roaring maw of a large, red scaled dragon.

The raiders instantly went on the offensive, releasing Takara in the process, but the dragon made quick work of them, batting them aside with a flick of its claws.

"Eijiro…!" Takara said breathlessly.

The dragon curled around her protectively, knocking the roofs off a few houses in the process, and roared at the remaining raiders.

"Shit!" The man who had proven himself to be the head of the raiding party scrambled to his feet. "Take him down, quickly!"

All manner of long range attacks were thrown at Eijiro, only for all of them to bounce off his leathery wings as he draped them over Takara. The instant the attacks faded, Eijiro quickly spread his wings, knocking most everyone back with a wind gust. A few raiders were stupid enough to attempt charging Eijiro next. Takara, standing at Eijiro's chest, felt the air around her grow hot.

"No, Eijiro, wait!" she cried, but it was too late.

The charging raiders were met with Eijiro's firey breath, forcing them to retreat frantically. The flames instead relit the already smoldering remains of the houses on the edge of the village square and scorched the fountain in the centre. Takara was about to sigh in relief, only for something to whizz past her ear, and Eijiro to suddenly pull back with a sharp bellow.

"I got him!" one of the raiders shouted triumphantly.

"Eijiro!" Takara shouted in alarm, seeing that an arrow had, by some miracle, found its way into Eijiro's chest.

But that didn't make sense! A dragon's scales were veritably unbreakable, even at a young age, so how…?

'Oh, no.'

The claws embedded in Eijiro's chest earlier. They had left five wounds bored through his scales, still present even in his dragon form.

Eijiro shook himself, growling as his scales flared in an effort to release the unwanted intrusion. An automatic response that only left him that much more vulnerable.

"Now!"

Takara didn't know who shouted that, but the next thing she knew, she was engulfed in darkness and heard Eijiro release a guttural roar as he was hit with every attack at their opponents' disposal. The light returned when Eijiro retreated a little, pulling Takara back with a claw that was much more gentle than one would have expected from a dragon.

"Eijiro, are– Oh my word!" Takara exclaimed as she looked up at her bestial boyfriend.

Several knives and arrows stuck out from beneath Eijiro's scales, which flared and tensed sporadically, scorched and smoking in some places or just straight bleeding in others. Eijiro huffed and shook his head, crouching down defensively, teeth bared and eyes narrowed. Takara turned back and saw an army of raiders approaching. It seemed like every raider still standing had come to this fight now.

"Stay back!" Takara screamed, voice cracking slightly, either due to exhaustion or emotional strain. "Leave him alone!"

Eijiro pulled her a little closer, jaws snapping at the approaching raiders, but neither Takara's words nor Eijiro's aggression dettered the raiders. The man at the head of the group, the leader, wiped a bit of blood from his face, eyes flashing with annoyance and hatred. He didn't even say anything before he launched himself at Eijiro, claws out and teeth gnashing.

Takara could barely process what was happening anymore. She was aware of the constant clang of metal on scales, the flashes and rumbles of many magical attacks, the various shouts of alarm, warning, and, most frighteningly, triumph. She was aware of Eijiro's every shift in movement as he hovered over her, never once exposing her to the ensuing attack even as he attempted to fight back their ruthless opponents. He was slowing down, she knew it, she could practically feel it, and she could definitely hear it as his roars lessened in power, becoming guttural with pain.

"Stop it!" Takara yelled. "Stop!"

Who she was asking to stop, Takara didn't know. But with Eijiro so focused on protecting her, she didn't know how long he would actually be able to hold up…!

Then, a wonderfully familiar voice broke through the chaos.

"Get away from them!"

Metal clashed against metal, sounding almost dissonant in Takara's ears after having heard Eijiro's scales take the brunt of every attack for the past… minute? Five minutes? How long had it been since Eijiro had gone beast-mode? Hell, how long had it been since the raid started?

"Takara…!"

The one spoken to jerked back in alarm, hands instinctively looking to cast a spell despite her depleted magical energy levels.

"Oh, Tsu…!" Relief flooded Takara's every nerve.

She had been hopeful when heard Izuku's voice, but actually seeing one of her friends standing in front of her... Takara pulled Tsuyu into a tight hug, drawing a 'ribbit' of surprise from the frog faced girl.

There was a harsh huff from above, and Takara pulled back from the hug to look up at Eijiro. He definitely looked worse, scales quivering and pupils dilating as he stumbled a litte, still hovering defensively over Takara. He began to shrink. Red scales faded into tan skin, bestial features favoring more human ones, until soon an injured boy stood in place of an injured dragon.

"Eijiro!" Takara darted forward, and she and Tsuyu caught him before he collapsed.

"H-Hey, Takara…" Eijiro lifted his head, a weak but genuine grin on his face. "I just realized…"

He winced as the two girls eased him onto the ground. Takara wrapped a gentle arm around Eijiro's shoulders, careful not to aggravate his wounds or let him fall back onto the knives and arrows still sticking out of him.

"What's wrong?" Takara asked timorously.

"I just realized…" Eijiro looked at her through the one eye that didn't currently have blood dripping over it. "You're literally a treasure."

"...What?"

Eijiro laughed a little, sounding inappropriately dopey for someone who was bleeding everywhere. "It's, like, in your name right? 'Takara.' 'Treasure.' So you're literally 'treasure.' It's crazy how much that fits, considering– Ow!"

"Ah! Eijiro, I'm sorry!" Having momentarily forgotten the situation, Takara had swatted Eijiro on the shoulder, right where a burn marked his flesh. "I'm so, so, so sorry! I–"

Takara waved her hands frantically, unsure of whether to risk touching him again even as he began to fall back due to lack of support. Fortunately, Tsu caught him with a 'ribbit', taking Takara's place in supporting Eijiro. Takara buried her face in her hands.

"You idiot…!" she groaned, voice cracking. "You nearly died! Are you seriously trying to flirt with me right now?!"

Eijiro chuckled, prompting Takara to lift her face even as she felt tears spill their way down her face.

"Sorry. But look, I'm all right…!" He gave a thumbs up, only to tense with a hiss of pain.

"I disagree," Tsu said concernedly, making him lower his arm. "You look way worse than you should for someone who's a dragon."

"Hey, I'm a dragon…!" Eijiro exclaimed in faux defensiveness. "I'm sworn to protect my treasure, right?"

He turned his good eye on Takara with a grin.

"You're flirting again, Kirishima," Tsuyu pointed out.

Takara let out some sound resembling both a laugh and a sob. She rubbed the back of her hand over her face and moved a little closer to her boyfriend.

"It's fine…" she murmured, taking his face gently in her hands a planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Oh, woah, Kirishima…!"

Takara looked up to see Izuku running up to them, with Momo not far behind. They both appeared a little worn and tired, but otherwise perfectly fine, especially compared to Eijiro.

"You look terrible!" Momo exclaimed, sheathing her sword as she dropped to her knees in front of them.

"That's a little harsh," Eijiro said with a tired chuckle.

Though wanting very much to continue holding her boyfriend, Takara forced herself to move aside a bit so Momo could get a good look at him.

"Did you two deal with the raiders?" Tsu directed her question at Momo and Izuku as she let Takara retake her place in supporting Eijiro.

"We managed to fight them all off," Momo confirmed as she spread Eijiro's vest a little to get a better look at the injuries to his chest.

(Takara felt an irrational spike of jealousy that she quickly stomped down).

"What, all of them?" Eijiro exclaimed in surprise.

"We probably wouldn't have been able to do it hadn't been for you, Kirishima," Izuku said, voice high with admiration and encouragement as he sheathed his own sword. "Your fight left them all too weak to really fight back against me and Yaoyorozu."

"Ah, I didn't do much, I was just tryin' to protect Takara and kinda gettin' my ass handed to me while I was at it…"

"Shut up, you were doing just fine," Takara muttered, resisting the urge to hug him and instead pressing her head against his.

"And it was worth it," Eijiro concluded, returning Takara's gesture.

"You're lucky to have those dragon powers of yours," Momo said with a bite of admonishment. "These injuries would have likely killed a normal person ten times over…!"

"I don't go down easily."

"You were just talking about how you were getting beaten by those raiders," Tsuyu said.

"Well…! Yeah, but still…!" Eijiro tried to laugh off his embarrassment, but the laugh quickly turned to coughs.

"Kirishima…!" Izuku exclaimed concernedly, stepping forward.

"He will be okay, right?" Takara asked Momo as she tried to keep Eijiro steady.

"We should get him back to camp," their party's second in command asserted with poorly hidden concern. "I just hope we have enough supplies to–"

"Is that the dragon-person?"

The question had everyone except Eijiro, who was trying to catch his breath, looking up. The villagers were emerging from their houses and shops. They approached the young quest-goers, many of their eyes on the injured boy on the ground.

"I didn't think I would ever see one all the way out here."

"He managed to fight all those raiders…!"

The murmurs of the villagers mostly seemed to revolve around Eijiro and their awe at his power as they essentially surrounded the small group.

"Um, hello," Izuku said nervously.

Eijiro finally looked up, eyes a bit cloudy. "Oh, hey, where'd all these people come from…?"

A village girl that Takara recognized as the one she had saved from that one raider at the start of the battle (wow, that seemed like forever ago), emerged from the crowd, eyes bright as she exclaimed, "Thank you so much for protecting our village, quest-goers!"

"Especially that dragon kid!" another villager shouted.

"Who, me?" Eijiro blinked.

"You did manage to fight almost the entire raiding party single-handedly, and if it hadn't been for your conspicuousness, I don't think the rest of us would have been able to regroup with you and Takara," Tsuyu said.

"How could we ever repay you?" one of the older villagers asked.

Everyone's first instinct was to say that it was no problem, that they had only been looking to help, that they didn't need a reward…

"But maybe some medical supplies…?" Takara said hesitantly.

"And some food and other supplies..." Tsuyu added.

"And something to help us carry our friend back to our camp would be nice," Momo finished, playing bashfully with the tips of her gauntlets.

Despite their embarrassment and hesitancy, they received just that and more. Takara soon found herself sitting in the back of a small horse-drawn wagon, surrounded by supplies of various sorts, watching over Eijiro as he slowly began to doze off on her shoulder

"C'mon, stay awake," Takara pleaded. "I don't want you falling asleep until we know you'll be all right."

"I'll be fine, babe," Eijiro murmured, words slurring a little. "But if you really want me to…" He blinked hard and turned a little to look up at her, some concern in his eyes. "Are you all right…? Those raiders didn't…"

"I just have a few cuts and bruises, but it's nothing I can't walk off."

'Unlike you,' she thought, though she didn't say anything more on the subject.

Instead, she squeezed one of his hands and sighed, "I'm sorry about your little treasure trove. I know it meant a lot to you."

There was a small stretch of silence.

"I guess, but I'm honestly more disappointed that leader guy bolted with the rest of his goons. And after all that big talk he was throwin' around…" Eijiro scoffed, then smiled a little. "'Sides, you're worth way more than a purse full'a shiny things."

Takara returned the smile, then hugged him as close as she could without hurting him. "That's sweet. But please don't hurt yourself like that ever again, okay…?"

"Hey, you're my treasure," Eijiro said, still a little cheeky despite his slurring words. "And I'm a dragon."

"My dragon," Takara asserted, voice both lighthearted and genuine. "I'm swearing to protect you too, y'know?"

"That's fair. Okay. Let's protect each other."

He clumsily shifted his arms to bump his fists together, and Takara couldn't help but laugh. She turned to press a kiss against the side of his head.

"...Thank you," she murmured.

There was more in those two words than she could ever hope to express.

[hardygalwrites]

I actually do not recognise this character 😅

So here is the list of characters I did actually recognise/know, picked out of the top 20

Pam Beesley (The Office): 88% - Character 6 out of 2000

Jane Bennet (Pride and Prejudice): 88% - Character 7 out of 2000

Peeta Mellark (The Hunger Games): 88% - Character 11 out of 2000

Meg March (Little Women): 88% - Character 12 out of 2000 i sure hope this gif is of meg look i only ever watched the winona ryder movie

Eliza Hamilton (Hamilton): 88% - Character 13 out of 2000

Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the Rings): 87% - Character 15 out of 2000

Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender): 86% - Character 20 out of 2000

According to my sister, these all track, so there’s my personal confirmation lol Anyway, @the-lupine-sojourner, I think you would like this!

this quiz sorts through characters from like dozens of fandoms and finds the one you’re most like. I’m not even a little bit surprised by my result

[hardygalwrites]

Saw @thatsgonnaleaveamark and thought, "yes, I'd like to do this."

Rules: pick four of your favorite characters from four pieces of media and let your tumblr people decide which one most suits your vibe

It was actually rather difficult for me to choose only four characters out of my admittedly small roster of "most favourite characters ever of all time," but I tried my best to at least keep it varied by only picking each one from a different form of media (western animation, web show, video game, and book series, respectively)

Tagging: @the-lupine-sojourner

And anyone else who may still be following me! I know it's been a hot minutes since I engaged with pretty much the only tumblr community I actively engaged with (the whump community), but I hope you're still around!

[the-lupine-sojourner]

The Other Autobot, Season 1 [Prologue]

Hi!

I love Transformers: Prime and have been rewatching it, so prepare for a new journey lol.

Also, I'm also putting Mayfly and Robyn into Bumblebee/Rise of the Beasts, potentially, so be on the lookout for that fic if you're interested (please let me know if you're interested cus I have a few chapters ready to go).

Now, here's the prologue and my theory about how the Autobots came to Earth, factoring in my OC.

It stands to reason that the military/Agent Fowler would be among the first responders when the Autobots crashed to Earth, so that's why I wrote it the way I did.

If there is a canon version of their meeting, I am not aware of it, so have taken liberties.

Anyway, without further ado, here y'all go! If you have questions don't hesitate to ask!

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

"Uncle Will, when you said I should serve my country, this isn't exactly what I had in mind." I muse as we drive to yet another base.

"I know, but I promised."

I sigh.

Ah yes, the infamous promise. When I was born, Mom and Dad named Dad's best friend, William Fowler, as my godfather (and my mom's best friend as godmother, but she's…no longer around. KiA…), so when Dad was killed overseas and Mom succumbed to grief and cancer, 'Uncle' Will became my only legal guardian and even now I'm nearly 23, we're still very close.

He never let me enlist as an active-duty soldier despite my many protests, but he did get me various army contract jobs as an inspector, weapons tester, etc.

Now, he'd gotten me a job as basically an archivist digitizing and organizing reports out of a base near Jasper, Nevada.

Joy.

"I know, hun, but you know how I feel about any other service."

I roll my eyes. "Too well. I'm too young and innocent for politics, too inexperienced to be a soldier-"

"That's not why, and you know it."

I sigh. "I know. I'm sorry. I know you're just looking out for me."

"Always."

Soon, I'm shaking hands with my orientation officer. Then it's setting up accounts and employee files, learning how to enter information, getting my clearance badge to be able to handle the confidential material in the reports, on and on, all while Uncle Will got to go home.

Ugh. At least we can be under the same roof when Uncle Will isn't out on assignments.

Finally, I shake the officer's hand once more and am dismissed.

I head outside to where Uncle Will is waiting to pick me up.

"Thanks, Uncle Will." I murmur. "I realize I haven't been as grateful as I should to you for all you've done. It's not fair of me to complain about the one thing you won't let me do. I'm sorry."

"I appreciate that, sweetheart." He replies, patting my leg without taking his eyes off the road. "Apology accepted."

Unsure what else to say, I fall into silence.

We get home soon enough and I cook us up kielbasa and potatoes for dinner. Uncle Will likes it, and I figure I owe him dinner after he got me this job.

=#=#=#=#=

The first day at my new job both dragged on and was over quickly, somehow.

Regardless, I find myself yawning as I grab my keys from my purse.

The rest of the week went by in a blur of boredom and repeating files (most of which I cleared to be deleted or compartmentalized).

Ugh! I want to do something that will actually matter! Like Uncle Will!

But until he says otherwise, I'm stuck on library duty.

So I race myself to see how fast I can get a stack done, but even that doesn't do much for me.

Finally, my first week is done and I sign out to go home and see what Uncle Will is up to.

On the way home, however, I notice a star in the sky, a really bright one.

The sun wasn't set enough to see stars, so I pull over, curious.

That's when the star grew brighter and bigger…and closer!

I hastily drive perpendicular to the meteor (or whatever was coming down to Earth in a hurry) and see a large unmistakable smoke trail as whatever it is continues a crash course for the desert.

On instinct, I drive after it, surprised at the distance it goes before finally crashing.

I pull my car behind some trees and turn it off, trying to think of what to do.

I automatically grab my phone to call Uncle Will, but for some reason, I decide to investigate first.

I mean, I shouldn't report til I have all the facts, right?

So I take a deep breath and grab my taser, just in case.

The meteor is huge! Easily the biggest I've seen. Only…why does it look like metal?

And why is part of it opening?!

I scramble behind a tree and have to stifle a scream as…something comes out of what I now realize is a spaceship! An actual spaceship!

More things come out and I have to make myself take a peek. They look like robots, each of them taller than me.

I'm trembling as I snap a picture on my phone and get a better look.

They seem to be communicating, but it's not in any language I can understand.

I try to get closer, but end up kicking a rock and alerting the robots to my presence.

Before I can get behind any cover, I'm grabbed by the waist and hoisted up.

That weird language sounds from the being holding me (a small-ish female-looking robot compared to the other taller male-looking robots) as I'm hauled into the middle of the group.

"Let me go!" I scream, panicked, beating at the metal hands, but I don't accomplish anything but probably some minor bruising against the metal. "Put me down!" The grip is strong, nearly bruising my ribs, which does not help my current panic at all.

The robot's head tilts as if curious, her glowing blue eyes (something I note in every face) flickering for a moment, as do the others, I note with a glance.

The one holding me smiles. "Hey there. I'm guessing you're a local?"

I go still. "You speak English?"

"Now we do." She replies coyly.

"Easy, human." The tallest robot, painted red and blue with some metal left unpainted, intones in a deep, serious, but ultimately trustworthy voice. "We mean you and your planet no harm."

I squirm. "Then put me down!"

The one holding me does at a nod from the tall one.

"What is your designation, human?" He asks, kneeling to get closer to my level.

"Uh…my name is Robyn. Robyn Burns."

"Robyn Burns, we are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron, or Autobots."

I swallow, trying to wrap my brain around being the first human to encounter aliens.

"So, uh, you're…not gonna have to kill me cus I saw you, right?" I whimper, the thought occurring to me.

"Wouldn't be that hard." A second male, this one not as tall as the first who'd spoken, painted white and red, grumbles. "No protective shell."

I back up nervously, but the tall one puts a hand on the other's shoulder.

"Easy, Ratchet."

I swallow, still incredibly nervous as yet another male, with a black and yellow paintjob, looks at me, excited beeps and whirring the only sounds he makes.

"They're hardly that interesting or exciting." 'Ratchet' snorts. "They can't even transform!"

"Regardless, they are a species we have not encountered before, old friend. We must be open to the possibilities on this new planet."

"Um…" I hold up a hand, unsure how to go about talking to these massive robots. "How do you guys speak English so well so quick? You were speaking a different language a second ago! And what do I call you guys, anyway?"

"Autobots, obviously." Ratchet snaps.

"There is no need to make her more uneasy than she already is." The tall one replies patiently and then turns to me. "Robyn Burns, my name is Optimus Prime, the leader of the Autobots. You know Ratchet's name, and this is Mayfly, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead."

I nod, feeling at least a little better now I know they're not gonna hurt me. "H-hi."

"You asked how we speak Earth's languages, Robyn Burns." Optimus continues.

"Yeah, and, uh, just Robyn is, er, is fine."

"Very well." He nods. "We learned Earth's languages through what you call the Worldwide Web or the Internet."

"That fast?" I ask automatically, slightly taken aback.

"They're hardly complicated. Mere data." Ratchet puffs irritably.

"Ratch, c'mon. Ease up, would you?" The one called Bulkhead (a rather, uh, rotund robot with green paint that makes him look almost like an Army soldier) chuckles. "I gotta admit, she's got spunk. I figured she'd freak out." He starts walking around, taking in the scenery. "If we're done with introductions, I figure we should start recon."

"A wise idea, Bulkhead." Optimus notes.

Almost before I know what I'm saying, I'm jogging up to Bulkhead. "Hey, uh, I can help you with that, if you want."

"How could-we hardly need a guide!" Ratchet splutters, but Optimus and Mayfly come to my defense.

"Oh, c'mon! Cut the human some slack!"

"We are strangers on this planet, and have yet to acclimate. I believe it is in our best interest to take Robyn at her word."

I smile, feeling oddly steady the longer I talk to these robots. "Great! So, um, this state is Nevada, on the North American continent in the country of the United States of America. We're outside a town called Jasper, near a military base, in fact." I start rambling.

"Military?" Bulkhead asks. "They won't cause any fuss, will they?"

"Frankly, I dunno. The base is more of an archive, really." I shrug. "As a matter of fact, I work there."

Ratchet starts to speak, but at a stern glance from Optimus says nothing as Optimus addresses me. "Perhaps, then, you can help us assure this military that we mean no harm."

"Maybe! My uncle is a Special Agent who could probably help, too, but, uh, he might not take to the idea of aliens super well." I shrug. "He's a bit old-fashioned."

I lead the way toward my car (unsure what I am going to do when I get there) when Mayfly catches my eye. Her iridescent green paint is beautiful!

"Mayfly, right?" I ask.

"Yep."

"I like your, uh, paint job." Is that weird to say?

"Um…thanks." Yeah, that was the wrong thing to say.

"Sorry. It's just that I like that color is all."

She smiles. "It's alright. I like it, too."

Finally, we reach my car and I pull out my phone. "I should maybe call-"

The sound of a helicopter reaches my ears.

"What is that? 'Cons?!" Mayfly snaps, and her hands change into some kind of gun! In fact, all their hands form guns!

"Wait, hold on!" I cry. "Don't shoot! I think I who it-" As if on cue, my phone rings. I instantly pick up. "Hello, Robyn-"

"Are you out of your Star Spangled mind?!" Yup. Uncle Will saw the Meteor and is probably inbound. Maybe on the chopper…or in the trucks I can see coming in. Either way, it's clear he sees the robots and me.

"Uncle Will, please! I need you to listen! They're not dangerous!"

"I'll believe it when I see it!"

"Trust me! They could've easily killed me, but they didn't! Trust me, please! I can explain!"

The few military trucks pull up, and Uncle Will gets out, hanging up his phone.

"There had better be a darn good explanation, young lady!" He snaps, coming right up to me.

Optimus motions for calm as the Autobots tense.

I lick my lips. "There is, I promise. I was going home when I saw what I thought was a meteor, so I went to investigate, wanting to be able to report all the facts before we jumped the gun. I found these guys. They're friendly, Uncle Will."

"What she says is true." Optimus speaks up preemptively, causing Uncle Will to flinch as he slowly crouches closer to Uncle Will's level.

"It can talk?" He whispers.

"Yup. In English, thanks to the Internet, apparently."

"My name is Optimus Prime, and we are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron, or Autobots for short. We mean this planet and it's people no harm. Our ship was damaged and we crashed here. We have no hostile intent."

"...Robyn, I don't think the Pentagon is gonna like this." Uncle Will sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I know, but we're gonna have to tell at least someone so the military know not to attack them. We can say they're prototype weapons or whatever, just let them stay. I mean, it's not every day we get visitors from space."

"No…no it is not." Uncle Will sighs, orders the troops to back off, and turns to the gathered robots-er, Autobots.

"Uh…welcome to Earth, I guess."

[fluideli123]

Hi lovely! Saw you reblogged the emoji ask game! My question is this: 🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Hi lupine, it's been so long since we've interacted it's good to hear from you!!! <333

I must be honest that Leonardo and Raphael from ROTTMNT are my two favorites to write! Both are not only my favorite characters but also my favorite to explore! Plus, both characters have aspects I project onto and love to analyze a lot for fun!

[residentbunburyist]

Actually yes! I've been asked this question by multiple people now, and so I think I've streamlined my thoughts on a few good steps to start out with--

So I fell off of reading for like a decade. And then it took some work to get back into it. because like. you think about reading as something you just -do-, rather than a skill that you develop, but reading and understanding a narrative is a practiced skill like anything else. So if you want to get back into reading, don't pick up that literary classic that's been sitting on your shelf for years that you told yourself in college you'd read, or that really dense theory text. You don't get up off the couch and run a marathon. if you try to read some 19th century brick, you're going to get caught up by the linguistic and narrative conventions, the pacing differences, the cultural shorthands that take time to interpret, and you're going to be like 'wow fuck this'.

So my first tip-- find a popcorn pageturner. Something easy, fun, and gripping, rather than something dense or challenging. Genre fiction is good for this. All the better if it's a series, because the second thing that sucks is when you finally get the gumption to read a single book, and then you finish it, and then get frozen in that post-game/post-book/post-tv series ennui where you don't know what to do next.

alternately: you do in fact want to read something older, but are still overwhelmed or easily distracted? i personally got a lot of use out of an app on my phone called Serial Reader. It has a pretty decent catalogue of classic lit across multiple genres, time periods, and cultures. You pick a book, and the app gives you only a single chapter of it per day (or however it decides to break up a 'chapter'). It pings you at the same time every day, and you get about 15 minutes' worth of reading opened up to you. The app itself is actually kind of a scam in that you can in fact read more immediately if you pay for a subscription, on a catalogue that is entirely made up of literature that's out of copyright. Some freemium bullshit. BUT because i just kept the free version, it was actually a really good way of being fed easy, bite-sized pieces of books, in such small portions that it was really easy to just knock it out. I read a series of essays on anarchism by Emma Goldman, some really interesting autobiographies by Geronimo and Fredrick Douglass and Sojourner Truth, the original Arsene Lupin serials by Gaston Leroux, multiple Mark Twain books, Dracula, and the entirety of Moby Dick

Second, and more importantly really-- find a consistent time for it. I finally got back into the habit by reading before bed. Not every night, but enough that it finally got drilled into my head that reading was an Option as a before-bed activity rather than just... Phone scrolling. Otherwise, you're not going to block out time in your day. You're just not. That time's already filled. Read a few pages before you fall asleep! I liked having physical books as well for this, because it stopped me from giving into temptation on my phone and pulling up something else. Plus you get to see the progress you're making. Which for me at least makes my brain go brr and makes me really pleased to keep reading. Love those progress markers. (OH! which also reminds me-- are you a person who likes Lists? get yourself an account on Goodreads or Storygraph or anything like that. Update it every time you finish a book, or start a book, or are working on a book. Being able to update my List is a reward in itself for me. And since we're on the autisms georg website, I'm certain I'm not the only one. lol.)

sorry, that was really long. but yeah-- 1-- start with something low stakes and easy, whatever that means for you. 2-- read before bed. or on the toilet. or while you're drinking your coffee in the morning. just so long as it's a specific and easily repeatable time. not a time of day! 3pm will come and go without fanfare. you won't redirect what you're already doing in order to pick up your book for ten minutes. but you won't skip pooping. start associating pooping with reading time. 3-- profit!

Genuine question: anyone have any strategies or advice or what-have-you on how to get back into making a habit of reading when you've fallen out of it for a long time due to mental health/burnout reasons? I miss books.

[divorcedcaejose]

Can I request shitty Kakyoin headcanons? 😅😅

Let’s talk about Kakyoin’s scene phase

Now Scene wasn’t truly a thing until the early 2000s

However, Kakyoin was one of the first true scene kids circa 1985 when he was in middle school

The phase did not last long, less than a year

While his parents were confused, they still supported him

His mom helped him dye his hair noodle with black stripes

She also brought him to Hot Topic to help him look for trip pants and t shirts with dinosaurs

Remember jelly bracelets?

Yeah, he had a whole arm full

Didn’t take them off, even to shower

He owned a pair of Chuck Taylor's that he wrote/drew all over in sharpie

In fact, he had a ripped pair of jeans that he also draw anime characters all over

I guess you could say he was OMG sOoOoOo rAnDoM

Anyway, Kakyoin invented Scene

[elite-guard-hardygal]

OKAY YOU LIL BUTT, HOW BOUT THIS!? Izuku Midoriya OR Smokescreen!?

Well.

I guess that’s a fair question considering what I did. And by fair, I mean really difficult and yet so easy and thus so “uuuuuuugggghhhh no I feel terrible for doing this.”

Which again, considering what I did to you, is fair ^-^’

Dammit, I love them both of course! Two of my top three most favourite characters ever of all time? I can’t, in all good consciousness, choose just one of them to love more…! With Smokescreen’s upbeat and headstrong personality constantly being undermined by an insecure want to please, and Izuku’s overwhelming emotions just being an unashamed part of who he is, I relate to both of them…!

I really can’t love one more than the other. However, I CAN choose between them - or rather, due to the question, I HAVE to choose between them. And in the end, the choice is sadly easy >.

Feeling horribly guilty, I have to say answer is easily Izuku Midoriya…

I am so sad how easily I came to this conclusion! Especially since Smokescreen was the first character I EVER loved more than any other character in media! But… in the end, Izuku has the advantage of being a series protagonist, while Smokescreen was a supporting character introduced rather late into a series.

Smokescreen had maybe ONE arc in Transformers Prime before being kind of… forgotten. He is, sadly, a VERY underutilized character. Izuku, on the other hand, has a WHOLE SERIES focused largely on him - we get to see him overcome a challenge in one arc, only to face NEW challenges in a following arc, and overcome that too, allowing us to watch him grow with every story progression and/or learn something new about him in the process!

Now, if Smokescreen had had more than ONE story focused on him and/or his growth as a character, then this choice would probably be a lot harder. As it is though, I’m choosing Izuku - NOT because I love him more, I love both him and Smokey equally…! But rather because, as a character, he is utilized a lot better and a lot more.

Huh… Thinking through WHY this choice was so easy actually made me feel less guilty about my decision. Kind of. It has nothing to do with who I love more, who I prefer, or who I think is a better character, but rather with who I think is a better UTILIZED character. And yeah, sadly for Smokescreen, that character is easily Izuku.

im so sorry smokey i still love you i blame transformers prime being cancelled on your stunted character focus

[the-lupine-sojourner]

The Story Traveller Saga [Book 1: Martin the Warrior] [Martin/Rose included]

Hi there!

I had this idea for Ayana as a 'Story Traveller' for a while and I'm finally starting the journey!

For those not familiar with Brian Jacques' Redwall series, it is a very wonderful (in my opinion) series of 22-ish books set in a really fun area called Mossflower. The titular Redwall is an abbey made of red sandstone and is populated by peaceful woodlanders such as mice, hedgehogs, otters, sometimes shrews, moles, etc. The villains in the stories are always foxes, weasels, stoats, ferrets, etc that threaten Redwall in some way.

Another location is Salamandastron, the mountain stronghold of warrior badgers and the Long Patrol hares.

In general, the plot is bad guys decide to attack Redwall, the abbey had to defend itself, someone is named Warrior of Redwall (picking up a famous sword wielded by Martin the Warrior, one of Redwall's founders), and the day is saved eventually. That's a really rough oversimplification, but hopefully you understand what I'm trying to say.

I will point out that this is Martin's origin story, with the story of how he helped found Redwall coming right after I finish this book! :)

Btw, if you like my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi, or if you want, you can continuously support me writing stories by joining my Patreon!

Anyway, I will let you guys read the prologue for now, and I hope you guys like it! Any questions are welcome! (or if you wanna be on a taglist, please let me know!)

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

My life was changed by four little words.

"Ayana…it's your grandmother." My heart dropped to my toes as my aunt sobbed over the phone, telling me my ailing grandmother was gone, passing quietly in her sleep.

It was the ideal way to go, but that doesn't dull the pain of her loss at all.

All too soon, I sit at her funeral, tears a steady stream down my face. Then, we all went from the memorial (held the day after the funeral) to the will reading.

It was fairly standard, really. My uncle and his wife got the house, and the grandchildren were to split my grandmother's clothes and other belongings among ourselves…except, apparently, her books.

"The personal library of Elizabeth MacBurrow is to be given to her granddaughter, Ayana MacBurrow, in its entirety, along with the enclosed envelope in its entirety."

Murmurs rang through the room. I myself was shocked. Nana and I had always been close but I hadn't expected this. No one had. 

She'd always say I was the only one of her grandkids that would really listen to her bedtime stories (wonderful stories about heroes and villains, told through woodland animals) or let her talk to me about those books she loved (her bedtime stories were probably inspired by those books), but I never thought this would happen.

Now I have more books than I know what to do with, and a weird envelope. What was inside, I have no idea.

But, I have to go up and get the envelope, trying to ignore the murmurs still ringing around the room.

Strangely, it felt like there was something in it. Some small object, most likely made of metal as well as whatever paper was clearly inside.

I walk back to my seat, where my siblings tried to look at the envelope, but I tuck it into my purse, refusing to open it til I was alone.

I shrink into my seat, wishing this will reading was over already.

=#=#=#=#=

My mom, bless her, knew I wanted to be alone, so she didn't let anyone stop me from going to my room.

There, I lock the door and flop on my bed so I could finally open the mysterious envelope I'd gotten from Nana.

In it, as I thought, was a letter, and…a ring?

It was a lovely silver ring, looking like something an ancient king would wear, patterned a bit like a snake with an emerald for the snake's eye.

I frown. Why would Nana give me this, and her books? This makes no sense…

I open the letter, hoping that would clarify things.

My dear Ayana,

I'm afraid I don't have very long left in this life. I've made my peace with that, as sad as I know you and your family will be.

I've always felt that you were the most like me out of all the grandchildren. You are the only one with stars in your eyes, eager for an adventure. So I left my library to you, along with this ring.

I stumbled on this ring at an estate auction I attended years ago with your grandfather before his passing.

It took a long time to discover its wonderful ability, as I'm sure you will discover for yourself.

It may be frightening at first, but if my instincts are correct, you will grow to love the adventures the ring will unlock for you.

Remember always, dear child, that I love you. I will always be thankful I got to nurture your love of reading and adventures. I hope that passion continues to flourish in you.

I love you always,

Nana

Tears blur my vision. What does all this mean? What does this ring do? What does Nana want me to do?!

Not sure what else to do, I try the ring on my fingers. Turns out, it fits best on my left pointer finger. I twist it on my finger absently. Nana's books would be given to me tomorrow, more than likely. We lived fairly close to Nana's house, and we were planning on going through Nana's stuff tomorrow anyway.

I flop on my bed, sighing heavily. Nana had always been a bit eccentric but I loved that about her. I could listen to her stories for hours! I always felt like she and I sort of understood each other…

Now…I'm not sure what she's asking me to do. Does she want me to read her whole library? Or just…whatever I want to read from it? And why give me the ring? This makes no sense! Couldn't you have written a clearer note, Nana!? Why'd you have to be so enigmatic about something like this?

Feeling helpless and unsure, I fiddle with the ring as more tears flow.

=#=#=#=#=

Dinner had been awkward, and I wasn't looking forward to the trip over to Nana's house, or the influx of questions I was sure to get.

I'd been grilled about the envelope at dinner so much that Mom and Dad had to step in and tell them to leave me alone. Dinner ended up with me finishing my meal alone in my room, the door locked. Eventually, I fell asleep, still feeling awful I couldn't decipher Nana's note.

True to my prediction, my cousins are eager to know about the letter, so I hid in one of Nana's spare bedrooms to try to calm down as my parents explain the situation.

They'd knocked on my door last night and I let them in, letting them read the letter. They were as confused as I am, and agreed to not talk too much about it.

Eventually, the conversation grows quiet so I come out to find a few boxes of books ready to go and my parents boxing up more of Nana's library.

There were a lot, and I go to help them.

My parents had sent my cousins away to start looking at Nana's glassware collection, which I wasn't interested in at all.

"You ok, honey?" Mom asks gently as we close up a box of books.

"I dunno. I still feel…numb, I guess." I confess. "And a little overwhelmed with all these books and this ring business."

"We're here for you, Ayana. You know that, right?"

I nod.

"I know. I really appreciate you keeping the vultures away." I quip, trying for a smile.

"Couldn't let them munch on my baby!" Mom also tries for a smile, but neither of us can quite manage it.

One of my cousins, Rosemary, walks up. "Hey, Annie." She greets. It was a nickname my family had started, and I never minded it.

"Hey, Mary." I retort, using her nickname.

"I'm sorry for bombarding you with questions earlier. I just got so excited by what might be in that letter and I didn't even think of how you felt about it." Rosemary murmurs, sitting beside me. Mom and Dad move away to oversee what was going on in the basement.

"I can understand that curiosity. I am still trying to figure it out myself, I guess as a distraction from how I got the ring and letter."

"I get that." Rosemary chuckles a little and rubs my back. "Hey, um, we females are going to go over Nana's other jewelry if you want to take a look."

"...Ok."

We go into Nana's bedroom, where her jewelry had been spread about the foot of the bed, a few pieces already on my cousins' hands, wrists, or necks.

"Hey, Annie." A few greet, no one wanting to awkwardly apologize for their behavior, but I could see the remorse and regret in their eyes, so I let it slide and start peeking at jewelry.

The rest of the day passes fairly uneventfully (my wardrobe a little fuller with some sweaters, cardigans, and coats of Nana's with a few trinkets wrapped up in clothes, a small box of pins, a few necklaces, and a few pairs of earrings) and soon we were unloading the many boxes of books into our living room where my parents were partway through making some bookshelves to house my new books.

I open a box of books Nana seemed to have read a lot, judging by the wear to the outside. I reach inside and grab a random book, heading to my room.

I barely get three pages in before I fall asleep, feeling like I was falling, but I wasn't scared as the darkness envelopes me.