#wild manes oc

[adostume]

Aurora in Wild Manes art style! ♡

[ilovethetalkingclock]

TRYNA GET BACK TO THIS AGAIN

i felt the previous set of redesigns were a bit underwhelming when it came to their wolf forms, so i decided to do an overhaul with tweakings to their mare forms. i also wanted to go wild and added additional features to each for "rule of cool" and all that-

i honestly dunno if i should redo the comic or instead release the story in animated/colored animatic format. we'll see.

(do not tag as w*ndigo when referring to nightshade's wolf form)

Reblogs > Likes

[snarlyanimal]

a doodle a day keeps the artblock away

[harley-kwinn]

— Winter‘s Storm: Chapter I

pairing: cregan stark x fem!cerwyn!reader (oc)

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), mentions of blood, short description of a death person, lots of heartbreak/grief, loosely hinting at a friendship/love triangle, mentions of being in love with another woman’s husband, grammar (english isn’t my first language)

word count: 2,844

taglist: @cregan-starks @gotranting @deltamoon666

•••

Late summer snow fell quietly on the still green lands of the North, slowly wrapping it in its white cloak. The increasingly harsh winds heralded the approaching winter. The quiet crunch of the frozen grass giving way under the heavy hooves of the black stallion shattered the silence of the dusk day. The castle towers of Winterfell loomed on the horizon. Its rider pulled the grey cloak further around her body and spurred the animal on. Half a day's march already lay behind steed and rider.

Their arrival was already expected as the Lord of Winterfell sat patiently outside the gates on his own steed, his black cloak attached to his broad shoulders. His deep grey eyes mirrored the soon approaching storms winter would bring. The corners of his mouth twitched barely noticeably at the sight of his expected guest. His otherwise grim expression seemed to soften, a sight the northern lands had not seen for a long time. The black steed slowed down at the sight of him. "You live dangerously, Lord Stark. Without the protection of your loyal bannermen, all alone at the gates of your castle. I could have planned an ambush and within moments —", his guest carefully ran a finger along her neck before a cheeky smile spread across her narrow lips. "You wouldn't dare, Lady Cerwyn.", he pointed to the long sword sitting on his broad back, "You'd be dead in the blink of an eye." Her almond eyes narrowed as she softly tilted her head, "Don't underestimate me."

He did not return her smile and dismounted from his steed without a word. The animal snorted softly as he let one of his calloused hands glide almost lovingly over the light brown coat. Turning his gaze back to the black stallion, he took a few step forwards and grabbed the reins made of leather close to its head before allowing the horse to sniffle his hand. After a short moment, the animal lowered its head and let him pet its mane. "I would never underestimate you.", he spoke, his voice hoarse and low, before he offered a hand and helped her to dismount. The man was now towering over her. His hand, which had been on the leather reins only mere moments before, softly gripped her shoulder and he lowered his head so their foreheads were touching. Dark strands of hair fell across his face. A gesture he had already cultivated in their childhood. "It is good to see you, Wylla.", Cregan spoke softly. A gloved hand cupped his roughened cheek, "It is good to see you, too, old friend." She took in his familiar scent of pine needles, dirt, firewood and a hint of wild berries mixed with his sweat. Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand and cleared her throat. He released his own from her shoulder and straightened up before taking the horses by the reins and leading them through the open gates inside the castle. Wylla caught up to him and grabbed the fabric of her light grey dress to keep pace with her friend. "Feed and water the horses.", Cregan barked at the stable boy as he pushed the reins into his hands. The boy nodded in fright and quickly retreated to care for the horses. She sent an apologetic glance at the poor boy before hurrying after Cregan through the courtyard again who already set a heavy foot to disappear inside the brick Great Hall. "Can I not visit her first?"

Her request made him stop in his tracks. Wylla noticed how his hands formed to fists and his body tensed up. A short, dark glance towards her made her almost regret her question. "Supper is already awaiting us." His scowl would have intimidated her but she knew his grumpy moods were due to the occasion of the day. Her own heart grew heavy at the thought. She didn't want to imagine how he must have felt since the death of his wife. "Please.", the girl begged him.  A sigh left his lips before he gave in. "Then at last let me accompany you." Cregan stalked past her and she followed him to the crypts. It was a dark place, lit only by torches. The place was stuffy and cold. It was the first time Wylla had entered this place after her funeral. A cold shiver ran down her spine and the powerlessness that had almost driven her out of the mind a year ago threatened to take hold of her again. She clasped the cloak around her shoulders and pulled it further around her slender body. Tears took her vision and the deeper they went into the crypt, the more short of breath she became. An icy hand wrapped around her heart and squeezed until it hurt. She wanted to scream in agony. One of her hands found the safety of the wall to her right as they reached the grave of their childhood friend. Cregan's gaze was blank as he stared at the statue that was the spitting image of his wife. Neither of them said a word. The image of Arra laying in her own pool of blood, her teal eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling and the cries of small Rickon born mere minutes before, still haunted her to this day. "I am so sorry.", she whispered almost inaudible. It was a tragedy what had occurred to her.

He did not answer anything in return, but kept staring at his late wife's face carved in stone. Quiet sobs shook Wylla's frame as hot tears burned her from the cold winds reddened cheeks. A hand pressed to her mouth to silence the sobbing yet she miserably failed to. Cregan pulled her silently into his embrace, one hand soothingly resting on her back. She clung helplessly to him and pressed her face into the hard leather of his chest-plate. His scent along with the leather filled her nostrils. Several minutes of a comforting silence passed before her tears had dried up. The girl reluctantly broke away from him and looked at the statue. "I miss her every single day of my being.", the Lord of Winterfell cut the silence quietly. She did not take her eyes off the woman that had turned to stone. "As do I." Silence filled the air between them.

Half an hour later they decided to leave the crypts into the chilly night air and returned to the Great Hall to dine the prepared food. The hot fire in the hearth lighted up the Hall and fought off the chill inside her bones. Their cloaks were brought to their chambers by the servants when they had arrived. Fresh vegetables and potatoes along with venison was served. Wylla thanked the servants for the dished food before she loaded her plate and took a bite of each as a cup of clay filled with rich ale was placed in front of her. "It tastes heavenly.", her eyelids fluttered as the taste coated her tongue. Little Rickon was sat next to his father as a maid was unsuccessfully trying to feed him yet the small boy declined the vegetables served to him. Cregan watched him out of the corner of his eyes and decided he's had enough before picking the boy up and putting him on his lap. "He's grown so much.", Wylla spoke softly as she watched the boy. His dark hair and storm-grey eyes resembled his father yet his snub nose and full lips resembled his mother, a perfect mix of both of them. "Unfortunately he has inherited the boisterous thick skull of the Starks.", his father jested as he unsuccessfully tried to bring a slice of potato to Rickon's mouth. The boy knocked the fork away and tried to wiggle out of his father grip before he began to wail. One of the maidens quickly hurried to grab him but Cregan waved her off . "He has to eat before bed."

Wylla put her fork down and pushed the chair she was sat on across the wooden floor with a loud scrape before she stood up and rounded the table. She knelt down and bent slowly towards Rickon. "You have to eat or else you will never be as strong as your father.", his big eyes watched her as she softly spoke to him. "One day you will be Lord of Winterfell and all of the lands in the North will be yours. But if you won't eat, you'll never become big and strong.", she jested quietly before she began tickling him. The boy squealed and giggled before stretching towards her and Cregan let him climb into his friend's arms. Her rosy lips pressed a kiss to his temple before she arose and carried him towards her chair on the other end of the table to take a seat again. "Now eat, Rickon. If you behave yourself, I'll read you a tale before you go to bed.", she promised him and shortly glanced at Cregan, silently asking for his approval. A short nod of his was enough and she glanced back to the boy sitting on her lap. She carefully brought the fork to the child's mouth, who looked at her with wide grey eyes before reluctantly opening his mouth. Quickly shoving the vegetables inside, she told him to close his mouth and chew. The boy obeyed and swallowed the food down his throat. Quickly opening his mouth again, Wylla was just about to spear a piece of meat on her fork as he slid restlessly back and forth on her lap. She quickly shoved another bite down his throat feeding him until he fully refused the food. "Are you fed?", her voice was soft and sweet. Rickon nodded and buried his head in her chest. She put an arm around him and gently brushed over his side. The sight of the little human snuggled up to her warmed her heart. She hurried to finish eating and then pulled the boy up onto her shoulder to carry him to bed. "Do you mind if I put him to sleep?" Cregan nodded shortly before he arose from his chair and planted a kiss on his son's dark hair. "Good night, boy. Sleep tight." The child reached out to him sleepily before letting his hand hang loosely again. "Do not fall asleep next to him. We have still have a lot to discuss.", Cregan's breath brushed her ear as he leaned in not to startle to boy in her arms. His sudden closeness caused her body goose bumps. She nodded shortly and left the room with Rickon's handmaiden.

While the handmaiden, Gilly, prepared the boy for bed, Wylla laid down on the furs on the bed with a book in hand about the mythology of 'The Children of the Forest'. She opened the book and looked at the drawings. Children with disproportionately large and expressively like green eyes and a pale gray-green skin with apparent rough to wrinkly texture, similar in appearance to plants. The tale was already read to her when she had been a child until she could read it herself. Rickon was placed next to her, covered into the furs and she moved over to him so he could see the drawings. Gilly lit the firewood in the hearth to keep the chamber warm before she left them alone inside. Wylla opened the first page and began reading to him, showing him the drawing as he pointed to it from time to time. After a while, the boy fell asleep cuddled up to her. She watched him for a short moment before she closed the book, planted a soft kiss on the crown of his head and tried to detach herself from the boy as gently as possible. The book was placed back on the shelf on the wall next to the wooden door before she left him in his peaceful slumber.

Cregan was already awaiting her in the Great Hall as she joined him an hour later. She shot him an apologetic glance before she took a seat next to him on the wooden table and took a sip of the ale she had not touched earlier. "Apologies, Rickon wanted to know everything about 'The Children in the Forest'." A deep chuckle rumbled in Cregan's chest and took a long sip of his cup of ale. "Wasn't that our favorite story when we were children?" She smiled gently and placed the cup of clay in front of her. "Yes, of course." A comfortable silence filled the room before she set to speak again. "What was it you wanted to discuss earlier?" The man next to her sighed heavily and sternly furrowed his thick brows. She noted he had taken off his leather chest protection and had rolled up his tunic sleeves to his elbows. His muscles were drawn visible underneath the thin fabric and she had to press her legs together in order to ignore the aching throb under her garments to concentrate on their conversation. She quickly took another sip of the ale to hide her heated cheeks.

"My council urges me to remarry. Yesterday, a raven from King's Landing has arrived reporting of the death of King Viserys I. and the usurpation of the throne through his firstborn son, Aegon II. The rightful heir, his daughter Rhaenyra, is said to be residing on Dragonstone. There is talk of war. Without securing my bloodline and position as Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell my council fears that the lords of smaller vassal houses sworn to House Stark will turn against me and peace will be destroyed.", he paused shortly to take another sip of ale, "Besides, the harvest of this summer must be taken, winter's coming."

She swallowed thickly, fright began spreading through her. "The King is dead? Why did the Hightowers put an usurpator on the throne when your father and nearly all lords of Westerosi noble houses have sworn their loyalty to his heir Rhaenyra?" Cregan sighed deeply as he locked eyes with her for a moment. His stormy grey met her deep brown-black. "They must have been planning it for a long time. The King was already ill during my father's time as Warden of the North." She turned her gaze back to the cup of clay in her narrow hands so as not to drown in the depths of his grey. "Arra is dead for barely a year and they're already forcing you to remarry." His features darkened at the mention of her name. His heart had only begun healing itself when it was already supposed to belong to his next bride. Wylla watched him out of the corner of her eyes, the warm light of the fire dancing across his handsome features. It was improper of her to desire the husband of another woman; regardless of the woman dead or alive, loyal friend or hated enemy. Yet she had been secretly in love with him since he had reached manhood seven years ago at the age of four and ten.

"I have mourned long enough. I must make my decision wisely. This marriage must be chosen political strategically.", his voice firm and yet broken. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You should probably discuss such matters with my brother. I am in no position to —". He interrupted her rather harsh. "You are to help me to lead the lords of our vassal houses back onto the right path. Bind them to us again by offering them gifts and my hand in marriage to their daughters. Find me a suitable bride while my council and I plan the defence of the North." Wylla had to digest his words firstly. He would obviously never consider her as a bride. Confusion and embarrassment spread through her. She was ashamed to ever have formed the thought he would ever see her as anything more than the little girl she used to be. "Cregan, I am not sure if I am the best choice for this. I am not part of your council and —". Once again the man interrupted her, this time a little softer as he cupped her narrow hand with his own big, almost massive, hand and stared at her with an intensity she wasn't sure she would be able to withstand. "You are, who knows me best." Her eyes flickered between his before she pushed his calloused hand away in anger and arose from her chair. "I am not your fool riding across the north to pick the next best woman to warm your bed while you and your stupid council plan the war.", she spat angrily before she turned to leave him. Just as her hand touched the wood of the large door leading to the courtyard, he arose from his chair. "I need you as an ally." Anger made her tremble yet she didn't turn to face him. "Acknowledge me then as an ally." With that she pushed the door open and left into the icy embrace of the night.

[lokirulzart]

WILD WEST AU!!!!

You ever notice that when fools do a western AU, they cheap out on the horses or ignore them entirely??? WELL NOT HERE, FOLKS. ONLY THE HIGHEST QUALITY HORSE CONTENT. BECAUSE I LOVE Y’ALL AND ALSO HORSES.

Frank has a snooty Appaloosa because he’s fancy, but also appaloosas are reliable trail horses, so that means he can go bug collecting without worrying much. His insect collection is the envy of all the rich collectors in the whole county.

Wally ended up with a chestnut Arabian mare, because Wally is too small for a bigger horse and I just think it’s funny. HANG ON THERE, PARDNER!! SHE’S A WILD ONE!!! Luckily, Wally is usually unaware of his own horse acting up, and the mare ends up tiring herself out just because Wally simply doesn’t even notice her… he’s too busy spacing out. But he’s one of the best Bronco Busters around thanks to her!

Hunter/trapper/fur trader Barnaby has himself a lovely Shire mare with a sweet and patient disposition. She has no trouble carrying whatever Barnaby has hunted as well as big ol’ Barnaby himself… but he still feels bad about making her work, so he only ever hunts what he needs to in order to get by.

Julie and her mustang are BOTH wild. Julie had the chance to tame her, but instead she just fed off of her spirited energy and now the two of them just tear around being crazy together, getting into trouble, rolling in the dust… Julie wouldn’t have it any other way.

What better steed for a Pony Express postal worker than a sure footed mule?! Seriously, mules are the mountain goats of the equine world. Eddie’s mule might not be as fast of a sprinter as some horses, but this animal can trek over ANY terrain, ensuring that all of the mail gets delivered on time. They have yet to miss a single delivery.

(Snake oil) Salesman Howdy Pillar has a general store in town as WELL as a covered wagon to travel around, ensuring that everyone gets the best deals on their pork ‘n’ beans, biscuits, tobacco, and tonics. You want it? Howdy’s GOT it… and his team of 3 dapple gray Connemara ponies, and one brown one, will make sure that you can get it… also the tallest character having the smallest horses makes me giggle.

Poppy doesn’t have a rideable horse yet, which is perhaps for the best. She spends a lot of time at Howdy’s general store or riding in his wagon. She is his best customer. But she has recently come by a thoroughbred foal that she is now raising from a bottle. So perhaps one day very soon Poppy will have her own tall and elegant steed to carry her around… let’s just hope he’s not too fast for her.

Sally is a performer at the local saloon by night and helps out with cleaning during the day… she knows NOTHING about horses… but one night, after all the local drunks went home, a poor American Paint got left behind. Nobody came back to claim the animal, so Sally boards him at the local ranch and visits often. She hopes one day to learn how to ride him, but it’s slow going. She is, after all, a singer and actress first.

AND THEN HOME THE SALOON!! YOU DIDN’T THINK I’D FORGET HOME, DID YOU?? He has a small stable in the back and a second floor, where Wally lives! Wally gets to spend all his free time hanging out, meeting up with his friends, and drinking all the apple juice he wants! (Just don’t tell him it’s apple juice, he’ll get confused. He thinks he’s just drinking whiskey like everyone else. It’s easier this way.) Also Home is the only saloon that can kick out belligerent drunk people itself!

Also Bonus OCs, Luna O’Hare the bilingual cartographer (created by @m0stlygh0st) and Simon, my boy, the ranch hand! Luna has an Andalusian that she likes to dress up, braid it’s mane, and stick flowers in it-… as snacks for later. They’re also grazing buddies and Luna can often be found eating the horse feed because it’s so similar to rabbit food. Simon has a gelding Quarter Horse with golden retriever energy and not a single braincell to his name. Poor Simon… but at least his horse loves him.

YEEHAW!!!! 🤠

[gouraminnow]

Birds of a Feather

(Entirely platonic | SFW | Marco & OC) Marco the Phoenix is found by an orphaned harpy child that mistakes him for one of their own kind. It takes less than a day to commit to adoption- he really is taking after his father.

Warnings: Past world government/celestial dragon related incident, drugging/sedation. This is self indulgent fluff catered to me and exactly one other person she knows who she is. Hi <3

Marco had just wanted to stretch his wings. The winter island they’d all stopped at was beautiful- sloping hills, valleys and deep forests blanketed in thick snow, with the soft orange lights of the small town that had only recently sprung up. They weren’t going to be here very long- at least they didn’t plan on it. Apparently, there were some nice hot springs in more remote areas, and some of the others had asked him to see if he spotted them on his flight. Whether or not his brothers actually wished to commit to the hike when there was booze to be had in town was another matter, but he enjoyed the airtime anyway. The clear wintery skies were quiet and refreshing.

Cresting over a hill and peering down into a valley, he spots the stacked hot spring pools overlapping like fish scales.

But he also spotted something else.

When he swooped lower to get a look at the layered pools of the springs, he also noticed a small white shape- scampering through underbrush, between trees, trying to keep up with him despite being grounded. He can’t get a good look from up here- but whatever it is, it’s awfully little and makes no attempts to conceal itself. He dips again, going lower in an attempt to catch a glimpse of this thing- aiming for a clearing between some pools up ahead, he turns in a wide arc, flaring his wings out to catch the frigid air and slow his descent. He kicks up a healthy plume of snow when he lands, and takes a second to shake himself off. He stands still, arms still transformed into wings as he searches for any movement- though he doesn’t have to wait long. Something white and fluffy with bits of gray and black darts right toward him with a loud trill. He steps to the side, the tiny thing skidding right past him with an undignified squawk. 

The fluffy mess shakes itself off, and he’s met with the confused face of… some sort of little bird creature. It can’t be much taller than his mid-thigh. It wears no clothes, but it does have a leather shoulder bag. It’s covered from head to taloned toe in thick, downy feathers. It has wings instead of arms, but longer, more dextrous phalanges form three functional fingers at each wrist. Little black talons poke through a generous amount of unkempt plumage at both the feet and pseudo-hands, and the face- large, black eyes rimmed with orange, with bright blue circular markings on the cheeks, framed by a wild mane of… well, feathers, but it takes the place of hair. Two little tufts stick out on top of its head, not unlike the “ears” of a great-horned owl. They’re covered in gray and black stripes and speckles- impressive camouflage. He’s sure if the little beast had actually tried to be stealthy, he never would have noticed them. 

But it wasn’t. It was dead-set on getting his attention. It didn’t take a genius to be able to guess that it mistook him for its own kind. He furrows his brow, watching it shake itself off and look back up at him, releasing a quizzical chirp. His mouth presses into a firm line. This was… probably a harpy chick. While harpies were typically depicted with bare faces and torsos, this was a cold environment. Probably just a climate-specific adaptation- or maybe they’re completely feathered as babies and they’ll lose coverage as they age. It chirps at him again, taking a tentative step forward, and he sighs. He’s not sure what to do here. He’s unfamiliar with whatever this species is, and he doesn’t want to inadvertently upset some territorial parents. While the little one seems to think he’s one of them, it’s entirely possible the adults would know better. He looks around- scanning the treeline, the clearing, the sky- and finding no hint of any other presence, he turns back to the creature before him, who has been inching closer and closer. He holds their gaze for a moment. “Where’d you come from, little one?”

They blink up at him. One of their little ear tufts twitches.

“... Can you understand me at all?” He tries.

They tilt their head at him, a little chrrr chrrr chrrr sound bubbling out of their throat.

Inconclusive, but probably not.

With a low chuckle, he crouches down- and that’s when they strike. They launch themselves forward, tackling Marco with a shrill cry. “Woah there,” he says as they cling to his coat, little feet scrabbling frantically as they struggle to get themselves up on top of his bent legs, sitting themselves right down on his lap. They’re not shy at all about getting settled, curling up and nuzzling his chest with a sweet trill. Marco huffs. “Well, aren’t you affectionate, yoi?” he muses, shifting his wings back into arms. Gently, he wraps an arm around the creature, supporting their weight by pressing them against his chest as he sits down cross-legged, settling them back into his lap.

They don’t really react, just continuing to nuzzle against the man. They’re awfully happy to be here, aren’t they? His hands run through the downy, speckled feathers on their back and his mouth presses into a firm line. Checking them over, he finally realizes just how dirty and unkempt they are- specifically in spots they wouldn’t be able to reach on their own. There’s an uninterrupted strip of grimy, disheveled feathers interspersed with the waxy sheaths of developing pin feathers down their spine- when he pulls his hand away, there’s a thin layer of grime on his fingertips. 

“... Who’s taking care of you, kiddo?” He murmurs, only met with the happy, idle twittering of the creature in his lap. “You’re real excited to see me huh…” He’s not sure what to do. They very well could be an orphan, or even a case of a hatchling being ejected from the nest by a stronger sibling. Or they could just be very, very lost. Gently, he pushes the creature’s shoulders back, so they can look each other in the face. “Blink three times if you understand me,” he says, voice firm. They just stare, tilting their head a little bit. Marco sighs. The language barrier is a problem. He takes a second to think, letting the kid snuggle up again. How much this creature takes after regular birds was unknown but some things could be inferred. The eagerness with which they latched onto him suggested a social species- the state of their feathers suggesting flock members assisted each other in grooming. At least at this age, anyway. If this creature had parents, he needed to figure out how to locate them- but as of right now, he had no way of telling if that was the case or not.

 He’s pulled out of his thoughts when the creature begins to rummage through their little bag- producing what looks like two small, dried pieces of meat and then holding one up to his face. They chirp, smiling brightly, practically shoving it against his chin. He looks at the creature's wide eyes, then at the shriveled, burnt looking scrap they’re offering. When he doesn’t accept it immediately, their little face scrunches up, mouth settling into a pout. They pull away, maintaining eye contact, and pop one into their mouth. They make a loud, exaggerated display of chewing(with their mouth closed, thankfully) and swallowing with an audible gulp. Marco huffs, a lazy smile spreading across his face. As unappetizing as it looks, he can smell the char on it, so at least it's been thoroughly sterilized at this point. Not that contaminants were something he worried much about with his particular devil fruit, but some things are just a matter of principle. Dubious meat is dubious. But the display was awfully cute, and he’d hate to disappoint them, so when they slowly hold it out to him again, he plucks it from their talons and swallows it whole. He does briefly taste the char he suspected, but the big grin from the hatchling is worth it.

He ruffles their hair, and they eagerly lean into the gesture. But when he tries to pull away, they grab onto his hand, hopping to their feet and gently trying to tug him along with them. “Oh? Got something to show me?” He gets a series of chirps in response, and they keep tugging. Well, he’s got plenty of time. Might as well see where they want to take him- it's probably his best bet at answering some of his questions.

-

Marco casually follows behind the little bird as they lead him through the snow. He’d gotten them to let go of his hand- they were so short he had to awkwardly bend down in order for them to reach it, and walking like that was very uncomfortable. At one point during their little walk, they had turned back to him and twittered with a quizzical tilt to their head, before flaring their wings out. He raised a brow, and they just repeated the gesture. “Sorry, kiddo, not sure I get what you mean…” they huff, stomping their little feet- before pointing to him and flaring their wings out a third time. A light goes off in his head. Ah, that’s what it is, huh? With a dramatic flourish of blue flame, his arms bloom into wings. He flares them just like they had, flapping a couple times for good measure- disturbing the pristine snow around the two of them in a ten-foot radius. He seems to have gotten it right- they cheer loudly, hopping up and down and twirling in a circle. He can’t help but soften at the sight- he wasn’t a conceited man, but appealing to his ego certainly didn’t hurt. After the little display he just followed along, listening to them chirp and warble endlessly. They may not understand each other, but there was no doubt they were a chatterbox. 

It isn’t long before they come upon a sort of crevice between two tall pools, hidden away by some simple foliage. The little one slips right in, but it’s a bit of a tight squeeze for Marco. The first thing he notices is just how warm it is in the little cave. Makes sense to him- perfect place to make a den. The walls are a soft, reddish brown, working with the pleasant warmth to directly contrast the bitter chill outside. There are a few old wooden crates and cracked, scavenged pottery shoved against the walls of the cavern- the former of which store a variety of pilfered knicknacks, most notably packs of crayons and paints along with what looks like a coarsely-bristled brush tied to a long stick. There’s a nest further in, made of loose furs and old rags primarily- but just beyond that, on the far wall, countless drawings have been pinned up, rows of wobbly child-like sketches displayed right next to their bed. Stepping further, eyes gradually adjusting, he notices something else:

Tally marks.

Hundreds of them- tiny, shallow tick marks etched into every wall of the cave, reaching only a little higher than his knee. Something in him twists, as he crouches down to run his fingers against the clumsily scratched lines. These ones are organized in groups of seven, rather than five. 

He hears another trill, the rustling of papers- and he looks back to see the little one bounding toward him, holding a drawing up above their head with a grin. They shove the paper towards him with an excited cry, earning a chuckle from the man, who graciously accepts it, raising the yellowed material up for a closer look. He goes still, a tightness blooming in his chest. In a childish crayon scrawl, the colors bleeding past the wobbly outlines, are three figures. One is the child standing before him, who is currently excitedly hopping from foot to foot in silent anticipation. They draw themselves as little more than a speckled puffball with big eyes, blue cheeks and their distinct ear tufts. The second figure is bigger, standing to the left of the child. The stripes on this figure are darker, with some browns mixed in with the black and gray stripes. The markings are similar to the child’s, with the blue cheeks and orange-rimmed eyes, but with a few key differences- namely the large tail feathers, black tipped wings and feet, with a hint of that same blue on the undersides of the wings.The drawing is actually… really good, for a kid- there’s an impressive amount of detail put into recreating the distinct markings of their family.

The third figure… confirms some of his suspicions. It’s slightly smaller than the second, but still larger than the child. And the plumage of this adult is primarily a bright, brilliant blue, save for white patches on the belly and face. There’s a tightness in his chest as he holds the paper, eyes flitting to the ever-hopeful face of the child. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. If these harpies matched up with the same types of sexual dimorphism as many bird species, the brightly colored ones are probably the males. This is clearly a family portrait, but the little one’s parents are nowhere to be seen. And the tally marks on the wall don’t reach very high, nor do the drawings they’ve hung up- if they had someone older looking after them, more of that wallspace would probably be utilized. Do they think he’s just another harpy, or their dad specifically? Probably not- if they were able to draw out the markings their parents had, then they’re probably able to see the difference.

“Kid…” he starts, taking a step forward and crouching down. They seem to view this as an invitation, because just like last time, they launch forward and flail their way onto his lap. He sighs, circling an arm around their waist and standing back up. They barely weigh anything at all. He wonders if their bones are hollow.

Now carrying the child, he approaches the wall featuring the rest of the drawings. His steps reverberate around the small cavern, the harpy purring against his chest. He steps into their makeshift nest, settling down in the various pelts, blankets and cushions. It smells a little musty, truthfully… reminds him of the few times he’d entered Ace’s room.

He shakes the thought out of his head, instead focusing on the drawings the little one had made. It’s… a lot of drawings of other Harpies, some scribbly mountains and trees… one seems to depict a gathering of twelve, with a bonfire in the middle and the bird people taking turns roasting nondescript lumps on sticks. He’s sure it’s meant to be meat, as two of them do almost look like rabbit silhouettes. Another depicts the child in his lap playing in the springs with other harpy children- all drawn with sweet little smiles and those big, black dot eyes. All the drawings they’ve pinned to the cave wall are happy scenes with a loving flock that is nowhere to be seen. Many figures celebrating, playing together, hunting and cooking game… none depict a Harpy by itself, all of them groups of at least three. Going off of these, he was right in suspecting they’re part of a highly social species, raised as part of a crowded and attentive flock. Abandonment seems out of the question if these idyllic little pictures are to be believed- but regardless of the circumstances behind their isolation, this was clearly some sort of desperate coping mechanism. Hanging pictures of the family they missed dearly, right by where they sleep? Examining another drawing of adult harpies fending off some large, fearsome thing- mostly black scribbles, big sharp teeth and eyes- while the chicks watch from behind them- the idea of abandonment at the talons of these bird-folk feels like nonsense. He doesn’t want to say anything for sure when all he has to go off are these pictures, but some deep, small but sharp sting of instinct within him makes the suggestion of neglect feel utterly wrong. Something worse had happened, the phoenix was all but certain. His mouth presses into a thin line, and he can’t help but hold the poor kid a little tighter. 

They’re completely oblivious to the inner turmoil welling up inside him, interpreting the slight squeeze as deliberate affection. Their eyelids droop and their feathers puff up as they settle against his warmth. It isn’t long at all before they’re snoring softly in his lap… Marco sighs, idly petting the little bird monster as they doze. “You make it real hard not to get attached, huh, yoi…” He mumbles, gently scratching their chin. Hmm. He wants to check something. Thinking back to their little family portrait, he leans them back and gently unfurls one of their arm-wings. Most of the feathers are still soft and downy, but he catches hints of those iridescent blue patches the mother in the drawing had right under her armpits. Checking their wings, gently detangling as he goes, he catches no further glimpses of those vibrant pinfeathers, and concludes that the child is most likely female- though he is unfamiliar with the child’s age and how quickly their species develops, so he wouldn’t know for sure until all the baby feathers were gone. Judging by the little blue sprigs, it wouldn’t be long-

Marco blinks, stopping his train of thought. When had he started thinking as if this kid was going to live with him? He hadn’t even known them for a day. Suspicious circumstances and heartstring-pulling be damned, it’s far too early to be acting this way. The ideal way this all turns out is that their real family is located, and they’re left with their kind. In the best-case scenario, he’d never even see their adult plumage, having sailed on with his family after reuniting the child with their own. If he did take them with him, he would have to figure out their specific needs on the fly, such as diet, exercise, hygiene, sleeping habits… though at least the size of the crew was unlikely to bother them once they’d integrated, if the large social groups in their artwork were anything to go by. 

Marco sighs. It’s simple- he just needs to know more. And now is the perfect time, seeing as the little one is sleeping like… well, a baby. He sits up, hands raising to their shoulders to gently pry them off from where their claws dig in to the fabric of his coat- and god is the little puffball tiny, one splayed hand covering the width of their speckled back- but as soon as he tries to pull them away, he hears a sleepy little whine and their three-fingered hands bunch up the wool. He frowns- taking in the way their eyes move behind their lids, and the drooping of their ear-tufts. Ugh. Damnit, they’re far too cute for their own good.

With an exaggeratedly resigned sigh, he pulls them back in, the little one cooing contentedly as they snuggle back into the warmth of his chest. He takes a second to adjust, moving the sleeping chick up to a more comfortable position before swinging his legs over the nest’s edge and standing up. He'll just... carry them while he has a look around, since they're so attached. So, with the little chick tucked against his chest with one arm, he begins his search. Starting with the wooden crates off to the side, he’s careful- sinking into a crouch and resting the harpy in the gap between his chest and the tops of his thighs. He picks through- this one is primarily art supplies, as he observed before. Packs of wax crayons dumped into a smaller box, paintbrushes- most in poor condition, he observes, the chipped handle of one resting against his palm as his thumb rubs over the frazzled, uneven bristles spiking outward. There’s a ripped canvas with a broken frame slotted into the box- when he goes to lift it, some chalk falls from where it had likely been resting on the wooden struts. The soft clatter makes the hatchling twitch, but nothing else. There are a few paint pots at the bottom as well, but they’re mostly empty or dried out. Curiously, he finds a couple small rectangular boxes with hinged lids as well, no bigger than his palms. They’re made of a thin, light colored wood and they remind him of Izo’s makeup- a thought that proves its merit when he flips the lid up to reveal the brightly colored chalky substance they have packed away inside. This one has three colors- yellow, orange, and red, and there’s a small mirror tucked into the underside of the lid. Snapping it closed, he opens the other- a sky blue, a darker cobalt pigment, and a deep purple. Hmm. He puts the palettes back where he found them, and turns his attention to the sleeping kid again. Leaning back, he rubs a thumb against the bright blue cheek spot, then pulls it away. Nothing. Those markings were natural, then. Well, it was left at the bottom of the box. If it was something they used with any regularity it would’ve been easier to reach. But the idea of birdfolk adding a little extra pigment to their plumage is one that tickles him.

He doesn’t find much else of note. He examines the brush on a stick he had seen earlier, finds some tools such as knives and scissors. One box has netting, rope, and fishing line- a broken rod laying at the bottom in two pieces. There’s a hole in the floor closer to the entrance of the cave, covered with an old pot lid- when he opens it, he finds a rabbit, two wrapped fish, and a handful of berries in a cheesecloth resting in a bed of snow.

But then, looking back to the inside of the cave, his eyes catch something he’d missed, somehow. Peeking out from under the nest, are more scraps of paper- the crinkled, triangular corners overlapping each other. More drawings… moving back toward the nest, he crouches slowly, careful with the child as usual. Reaching out, he tugs the crinkled papers out from under the furs they’ve been hidden under-

His heart leaps into his throat. His hand, tightening its grip, further crumpling the thin material.

The first picture is of a ship bearing the familiar emblem of the world government, scribbled navy blue and white trim topped by the golden figurehead all world noble ships have. He doesn’t need to look at the rest to know this poor child really is alone. The rest of the hidden drawings, pulled out from where they’ve been shoved and unfolded by his deft hand, are devastating- not just because of the contents. All of them less precise, more frantically drawn, indents or even tears where the kid had applied too much pressure while coloring. Tiny pinprick stains of water damage, if he looks close enough. One drawing is just a large fire. In another, adults and children alike trapped under nets. One shows suited men shooting some of the creatures as the ridiculous bubble-headed celestial dragon oversees. And there was yet another, depicting the familiar bright blue-plumed male flying away with the baby in his talons, little dots as tears falling from their eyes.

No wonder they were so happy to see him. No wonder they could overlook the glaring differences between him and their own kind.

The little one shifts, and Marco realizes how hard he’s breathing. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a moment to calm himself, for their sake- but it’s not easy. Well. He’d already wanted to take the little one with him. He didn’t see a world where Oyaji would say no, especially not once Marco told him everything. And if anyone else had an issue (though he doubted anyone would, other than the typical rational concerns when it comes to having a small child on a pirate ship), they would just have to deal with it. Marco was a commander, he did what he wanted.

But of course, he still has questions. In the brief time they’d spent in town, nobody had made any mention of harpies. He knows the small village is a very recent development- four years old, if he remembered right- is it possible that its presence is younger than the tragedy that befell the birdfolk? When visiting a new place with his family, local urban legends were quickly picked up on. Proud, hardworking folk like these often want others to be impressed with the places they call home- that’s why they’d put so much emphasis on the springs. It seemed odd that nobody had mentioned that this island once contained at least one whole flock of mythical creatures.

But looking at all the tally marks on the walls, the small, clustered groups of seven, seven, seven- he hadn’t counted them, but over four years of living alone looked very plausible if he assumed the kid counted accurately. Did… the kid know there was a human settlement? He would assume they did, but then again… the distance is a lot for someone so small. He only spotted the remote cluster of pools from the air, before he swooped down for a closer look. And all of their things look old, held together through improvised fixes- nothing new that would suggest they had stolen from town. Though if they did know of its presence, it was possible they avoided it on purpose. They only wanted Marco’s attention because he was a giant blue bird. They might not differentiate between world nobles and humans in general. With that in mind, he should be cautious with crew introductions.

Well, regardless of the kid’s relations (or lack thereof) with the other locals, they were coming with him. As well as he can using one hand, he gingerly stacks the previously hidden artwork, tapping it against the ground to line them up. He wishes he had some sort of folder… tucking them into his coat will have to do for now, so he slowly leans them back- prying their little fingers out of the grip they hold so he can unbutton the front enough to slide the papers in. Something to show the others- some sympathy for his cause wouldn’t hurt.

And with that, he lets himself partially transform- Wings, feet, tailfeathers. with a flourish of healing fire- that he washes over the child, just in case. She blinks, yawning- and he watches the flickering of his own flames in their dark, glassy eyes as they widen. They smile up at him with a chirp, and he returns it. “Have a nice nap, little one?” He croons. “How would you like to go on a little flight with me, yoi?” They twitter up at him, feathers puffing up. He sets them down on the floor- which they whine about, earning a laugh from him. He shifts from foot to foot before holding one up and making a grabbing motion with his talons. They perk right up- and sprint outside. Marco blinks, moving after them and squeezing himself through the jagged opening to their little hideout. That’s something he wasn’t looking forward to when he came back to pack up their belongings.

Out in the snow, the hatchling calls out to him- they’ve laid down on their belly, sinking into the powdery substance. He’s amused and impressed they got the message so fast. He thought he’d have to take a leaf out of their book and draw a picture of himself carrying them away. He approaches slowly, holding out one foot again- and when she doesn’t move, he slowly, gingerly wraps his talons around their midsection, the first of his three front toes resting just under the armpit. He tests his grip first, lifting them up while balancing on the other foot, which earns a giggle from them. It feels secure enough, and they don't seem uncomfortable. So using his free foot to propel himself upward, he flaps once, twice, and they’re off- Marco smiling widely at the excited trill they let out. While a little awkward to carry, they’re tiny and weigh nothing to him. They soar over the trees, and Marco climbs higher- even through the sound of the air rushing past his ears, he doesn’t miss the little gasp that escapes them once he’s gotten enough air to reveal the pinks and oranges of a horizon at sunset.

It doesn’t take long. His jaw clenches when he can feel their little body growing more and more tense, the closer he gets to the Moby Dick. When he begins his descent towards the deck, Oyaji and a few others in view- they emit a loud, piercing whine, starting to wriggle. He pulls up, wings flaring out to slow himself, and sticks the landing on one foot, balancing himself before gently setting the kid down with the other. They immediately latch onto Marco’s legs, feathers bristling in agitation. Whitebeard raises a brow, leaning forward in his seat. He’s still shirtless, despite the weather. “Marco,” he rumbles out in greeting. “What’s this you’ve brought to us?” He asks, gesturing to the cowering child clinging to Marco’s legs.

Some of the others have started to gather around, wanting to see what this is about. Marco sighs. First, he reaches into his coat for the bundle of artwork. “Tate, would you mind looking over these with Oyaji?” He asks, extending his arm to the nurse, who approaches slowly. He hands them off to the nurse, who is thankfully dressed for the weather unlike his father, and crouches down to try and dislodge the kid. They whine at him when he grips them by the shoulders, peeling them off of him to the amusement of his brothers. He flashes a quick glare to the men and their chuckling quiets down. “Come on kid, you’re fine, yoi” he chides, opting to lift them into his arms. They bury their face in his chest as he sits them on one arm, turning the other into a wing which he carefully folds around their trembling body. Hopefully, hiding them from view gives them a little security.

He looks back up to Tate, and to Oyaji- he’s leaning over her shoulder as the blonde woman examines each childish drawing, her face growing more troubled with each one. Oyaji keeps the same stony expression the entire time, save for the subtle narrowing of his father’s eyes. “This one spotted me flying, Oyaji. Chased after me from the ground.” He says, watching his old man’s eyes raise to meet his own. “... They think I’m one of them. They’ve been alone for a real long time, yoi. What you’ve got right there, that’s what happened to the rest.”

“These… these are awful,” Tate breathes, still fixated on the foreboding artwork. Marco nods, mouth set in a firm line. 

“Hmph. So you’re saying we’re keeping them, I take it?” the old man says, plucking one of the drawings from Tate’s hands and leaning back to examine it closer. 

Marco nods. “My responsibility, of course. The kiddo’s already… attached.” He sighs, feeling them shift against his chest. “They don’t speak any… human languages. I have no way of telling them that I am not what they think I am, yoi.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over the deck, Whitebeard’s stern gaze sinking to the wing concealing the tiny creature. “And you are certain there are no others of their kind left here?” He asks, the unspoken meaning clear. He is not unsympathetic- it’s the same thought Marco had. It would be better to reunite them with their species, if possible.

Marco nods once again. “They’ve been living in a small cave, and they’ve scratched hundreds of tally marks into the walls. I didn’t count, but it’s been years, yoi. I think…” he sighs, pausing for a second. “None of the townsfolk said anything about bird people. I think this event predates the existence of the village, and this child has managed to remain hidden all this time, yoi.”

His father regards him from a moment, a warmth in his eyes few others would have recognized. “Let me get a look at them. Only for a moment.” Marco nods, retracting his wing. The little one sits with their face buried in his chest, trembling. He nudges them. They whine. He sighs, leaning them back, patting their head with his free hand and gesturing to Whitebeard. They hesitantly turn their head, and he feels them tense when they meet eyes with the Yonko. The towering man gives them a small smile, but it doesn’t help much. They recoil into Marco, pitchy squeak leaving their throat. The Phoenix sighs, letting them latch onto him and covering them from view once more. “Well, that’s it, then.” Whitebeard grunts. “What d’you need?”

“Somebody find Thatch- I need him to whip something up for ‘em. Some meat, add a sedative- I’m going back to their little hideaway to pack their things while they sleep.”

-

Thatch is located, and is reportedly happy to assist. Marco had moved the little beast to his own room, since being around so many humans all of a sudden had utterly terrified the poor thing.He swaddles them in blankets, and intends to leave them in bed- but his face softens when a hand shoots out to cling to him once more. He sighs at the little one glaring at him from the bundle of fabric. “I know, I know,” he coos. “I wish you understood me,” he laments, lifting their swaddled form into his arms. “But this is a good thing, yoi. We’re going to take care of you.” He makes his way over to his desk, opting to at least read over some reports while he waits for Thatch. Settling the child in his lap, he picks up some papers and leans back. 

A bit of guilt creeps up the back of his throat- the poor thing is still trembling. They aren’t being deliberately affectionate like they were before- no chirping, no squeaking, no nuzzling. Just laying where he put them. He sighs, using his free hand to rub their back. They don’t do anything, other than shift slightly. 

It doesn’t take long before he hears three knocks at his door- making the kid flinch. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, patting them softly before speaking up louder. “Come in.” Thatch enters, carrying a  covered platter on one hand.

“Hey, Marco!” the chef beams, strutting inside and setting the food down on the little corner table. The child clings to Marco’s chest tighter, at the sound of his voice. “Heard the big news- fatherhood is gonna look great on you, papa bird~” he teases in a sing-song voice. Marco rolls his eyes, adjusting the kid and standing up to face his crewmate. Thatch’s face softens when his eyes fall onto the bundle in Marco’s arms. “Aw. Still upset, huh?” He says, considerably more subdued now.

“Yeah,” he affirms, patting the bundled creature on the top of the head. “Can’t blame the poor kid- they don’t understand a word we say, so it’s not like I can do much to reassure them, yoi.”

Thatch sighs. “Well, I got the message,” he says, one hand on his hip as he removes the lid with a flourish. The child doesn’t move, but Marco can hear them sniffing. Thatch prepared various types of meat, cut into thin strips, arranged almost like a charcuterie board. There’s a peeled orange and some mixed berries as well. “I’ve got some cured meats, fruits, and I grilled a bit of pork- that’s what's got the sedative in it. Thought about doing chicken, too, but y’know…” He gestures vaguely, and Marco snorts with a shake of his head.

“Thanks, Thatch. And don’t leave just yet, alright?” He says, sliding into a chair. Thatch pulls up one of his own right across from them.

“Don’t have to tell me twice. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of ‘em, anyway. Everyone up top is gossiping.” He smiles, leaning back and propping a foot up on the opposing knee.

Marco returns the smile. “It’s your lucky day, then. You’ll be the first crewmate I introduce, yoi.” If he wants the kid to learn that the others won’t hurt them, the chef is a good place to start. He pries their little talons out of his shirt, shushing the undignified whine the action draws from them. He pulls the blanket down so it’s bunched around their waist, and spins them in his lap to face the tray of food. Thatch’s eyes widen, and a soft gasp falls from his lips. 

The kid regards him warily, leaning back against Marco’s chest. Their ear tufts are drooping back, and their talons find their way to the arm around their waist. “Hey there, little one. Oh, aren’t you cute?” Thatch greets, offering a small wave and a reassuring smile. “I heard all those brutes upstairs gave you a scare, huh? Poor thing,” he coos, before pushing the platter closer. They tense, but lean forward, sniffing the air. “Go ahead, kiddo, all yours.”

The hatchling is hesitant. Their little hands rise from Marco’s forearm, and both men watch their fists clench and unclench. When they turn back to look at Marco, their little face is scrunched up in worry- even if he can’t see their eyebrows through their thick, messy hair, he can tell they’re drawn tight. He gives them a relaxed smile, and slowly reaches out to pluck a piece of salami off of the plate. He makes sure they’re looking when he eats it, chewing slowly. He nods to Thatch. “You eat something too, yoi,” he says. The other man nods, opting for an orange slice. The kid’s little ear tufts perk up, just a little, and they lean forward. Some of the apprehension is beginning to melt away, but they still aren’t going for it. They look nervously back and forth between both men, head swiveling on their little neck. So Marco reaches out again- another piece of meat in his hand, holding it to their mouth as they had done to him. Slowly, they lean forward, biting the edge, and Marco lets go. It doesn’t even take a full second for the kid to realize how good it tastes, snapping it up instantly. They chew, swallow, lick their lips, go to reach for another-

And they freeze, just shy of touching the food. Marco could groan, but he doesn’t. Thatch gives the kid a nod, and when they look back to Marco, he does the same. Their dark glassy eyes go wide for a second. They pick up a blackberry, looking at both men for any reaction before eating it. This repeats a couple of times before they finally give in and start eating like the damn place is on fire, much to Thatch’s delight. The cured meats and fruits are snapped up in a flash, the thin prosciutto torn to shreds as they indulge. The pork is a bit chewier, taking them a little longer, but they eat everything before the drug even starts to set in. They’re licking their talons clean when Thatch pulls the platter back, and stands up. “Well, that was impressive,” he muses, smiling down at the child. They don’t cower against Marco anymore, instead leaning forward to chirp quizzically at the tall man. “Yep, I’m talkin’ to you, honey,” he laughs. “You’ll give Ace a run for his money, I know it.”

“Hope so. All of this is fluff, they’re a scrawny little thing underneath, yoi” Marco chuckles, rubbing the top of their head, relaxing when they lean up into his touch again. He was right. Food is a good way to help most creatures feel secure. 

“What do you need hope for? You know I won’t disappoint! They certainly seemed to like it, didn’t they? Oh, just look at them,” Thatch coos, watching as their eyes squint in satisfaction. 

The two speak a little longer, Thatch telling Marco that word had spread quickly. Oyaji had already given them a nickname, referring to them as “Pipsqueak” and sternly instructing his sons to leave them be for now. Marco told Thatch more about his encounter in turn- the way they’d exuberantly tackled him, the cave, the way the happy drawings had been pinned up by their bed- that particular detail had him dramatically slapping a hand over his heart. “Sent off to find some hot springs, and you come back with an orphan. You’re really taking after the old man, Marco.” He says with a sly smile. It doesn’t take too long for the kid to start nodding off- after around five minutes, there’s a big yawn, and they’re snuggling up to Marco again. He wraps an arm around them, gently preening their wings with his fingers. The speckled little creature all but melts against his chest.

“I think that’s your cue to get going, yoi,” he says.

Thatch sighs, dramatically slapping his hand over his heart. “So it is… how cruel.”

“Oh don’t pout about it, yoi. I actually let you see ‘em didn’t I? And you’ll be bringing them plenty more meals, I’m sure.”

“Of course I will! I’m aiming for the title of Favorite Uncle, after all!”

“You’ll have some stiff competition, yoi.”

“I’m a chef, my dear brother,” Thatch beams, spreading his arms. “Kids love food. Everybody loves food. I like my odds.”

Marco wouldn’t say it, but he did, too. Instead he just smiles, lifting the child into his arms. They rub a blue cheek against his chest, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, yeah. Now go, yoi. Shoo. I’m sure I’ll be up shortly.” Thatch chuckles, gazing tenderly at the child before shaking his head. As his weathered hand grips the brass door handle, he shoots his brother a knowing smirk.

“You sure you’ll be back in time for them to wake up? I’m a busy man, but I’d be happy to keep an eye on-”

“I said shoo, yoi! Get on with it!”

Thatch laughs, the door swinging closed behind him with a creak. Marco sighs, shaking his head, but he’s still smiling. Turning his attention back to the kid, he holds them closer and stands up from his seat. He listens to their soft breathing, trying not to let the patch of drool seeping through his shirt bother him. He sets them down on the bed, carefully unwrapping the blanket to tuck them in properly. He lays them against the pillow, huffing at their drowsy face, their mouth still hanging open. He pulls the blanket up to their chin, patting them on the head. They nuzzle into his pillow, sigh, and quickly slip into slumber.

He stays for a moment, warm hand resting on top of their head as they doze. “Big day for you hmm?” He muses. It didn’t take long at all for him to commit to this, did it? He wishes they understood him. That he didn’t have to do things like this. But at the very least, his intentions were altruistic, and the child suspected nothing. And when they woke up, they’d have all their drawings hung up within view of their new nest.

[thewhitewitch-bitch]

In Astris Supra (Chapter 5: Circulus Insutus Fato, Portas Abditas Resera)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

October 1710

There is no amount or combination of words sufficient enough to capture the true horror of war. Even those who avoid the front face of conflict are subject to the cruelty and tragedy that befalls men at arms. There is heartbreak, sorrow, and a pain so immense that it blankets the battlefield and all that surrounds it like a straitjacket, constricting everything until it chokes both sides of the conflict and creates suffering. 

I had not truly known suffering like that. Not even when I left Salem behind in pursuit of a nobler calling, one that would hopefully allow me to one day return to Agatha Harkness and offer her a solution. At the time, I could only assume that she had remained in Salem, carving out her own place in the town and wreaking havoc on those who dared to get in her way. From what I could gather, based on the cries of newsboys from Boston to Philadelphia, the Witch Trials had come to an end, the town nearly destroyed by their own paranoia. It made me wonder just how much influence Agatha had gained in just a few short months, made me try to recall if I could have had the opportunity to see the signs of her inevitable descent into power mongering. 

But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I could not bring myself to think that she had done so willingly. The love that I had for her remained, despite my best efforts to suppress it. At night, I dreamed of the days we spent together, when there was no barrier between us, no coven driving a wedge between her and her potential for good. Those memories would bring on what ifs that were as blissful as the feeling of her touch on my skin. What if we had left Salem before her mother had found us out? What if I had told her of my love for her before it was too late? What if we could have been happy simply being together, with no magic to get in the way?

"Lots on your mind this morning, eh, Ms. Stuart?" 

My thoughts were abruptly cut off by the voice of the man I was traveling with. Looking over at him from the back of my horse, I smiled wistfully and nodded. Dr. Rupert Kingsley was a rather handsome and kind young man, who came straight off the boat from London proper, with wide, dark eyes and light brown hair the shade of molten bronze. Had my interests been aligned with his, I likely would have married him as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but he was well aware that our paths were parallel to each other, never meant to cross but rather to guide each other to the right destination. So, as a talented young physician, with no ward or servant, he accepted me as an unofficial student and permitted me to travel with him as he moved from Boston northward along the coast of the colonies and into the wilds of French-controlled Acadia. 

"There's always a lot on my mind, Dr. Kingsley. Today though, the thoughts are just a tad bit louder than usual." I replied, tightening the grip on my reins. My gaze fell from the doctor to my hands, buried in the black mane of my mare.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Rupert said solemnly, "But I'm afraid you're going to have to silence them. There's no place for loud thoughts on the battlefield. If you want to be a doctor, and I know you do, you have to calm your mind and senses. Leave no room for distractions, they only lead to mistakes, and mistakes lead to death." 

"Of course."

We did not speak again after that, instead allowing the silence to be filled by the beat of our horses' hooves beneath us as we urged them forward to a lively trot and continued on the path northward. It had been a week since we had crossed into Acadia, and with Lieutenant-General Nelson on the move with nearly 2,000 men intent on laying siege to the French at Port Royal, we had little time for dawdling.

The troops were meant to make landfall at their destination any day now, a cohort of doctors and their associates not far behind. From there, it was simply the task of removing the French, an objective that had proven surprisingly difficult for the British forces as of late. But the British were unwilling to cave, which was why Dr. Kingsley thought it the perfect opportunity to 'break me in' to the world of mortal medicine. I was thankful that he remained blissfully unaware of my magic, the late nights spent practicing healing spells on wounded animals or patients that had come into his Boston office seeking extended treatment.

In combination with his medical prowess, I found that my magic was sufficient enough to reduce treatment time by nearly half, even with the most basic of spells. And while my power continued to fluctuate with the phases of the moon, I came to the discovery that at different phases, my spells reacted differently with the wounds and diseases they came into contact with. During a dark moon, I might be able to stop a person's vomiting with a simple digestive potion, but the same potion would have no effect on a patient with the same symptom if the moon was waning or it might make matters worse if administered during the full moon. Trial and error, as crude as it may sound, was the only way I was able to make any headway. The results of said experiments were all jotted down in a small black leather book that was tucked in the belt around my waist, a protective rune hidden just under the cover, making it impossible for anyone but myself to read its contents. 

Kingsley thought nothing of it, mostly because he didn't know that I had anything to do with sudden improvement or worsening of conditions amongst his patients. I intended to keep it that way for as long as I could, or at the very least until the end of this war that Queen Anne was so insistent upon waging. 

We trotted onward, surrounded on either side by pine trees and fog, dense and chilling in the early autumn air. The sun was hidden behind a heavy layer of gray clouds, the smell of petrichor hung over us warning of the impending autumnal rains that were sure to hit the shore at any time. The encampment for doctors and their associates was just past the bend in the road ahead, supposedly nestled amongst the pines beside the sheer cliffs of the Acadian shoreline. The not-so-distant sound of crashing waves roared and receded in its powerful, natural rhythm as we trotted on.

As we moved to the right of the road to take the bend, I felt a sudden presence, ancient and dark, reaching out to me from within the darkness beneath the trees. I tugged on the reins, bringing my mount to a halt as I scanned my surroundings. Under my breath, I muttered, "Mater divina me defendat hodie." 

A seductive chuckle echoed in my ear, though I couldn't tell what direction it came from. My head began to swivel back and forth, trying to find the source, only stopping when I came face-to-face with a woman dressed in hues of black and green. The cloak she wore seemed to fade into wisps of smoke as she stood not but five feet from me, a crown that appeared to crafted from fossilized thorns and obsidian resting atop the hood she wore. She had an entertained half-smirk upon her darkly painted lips, her eyes deep brown as the earth as they met my hazel gaze. 

"Prayers aren't going to get you anywhere, princess. Not here, at least." she said with a bit of a laugh. My horse snorted and began to spook, shuffling away from the woman with a frightened snort. Not wanting to agitate her further, I slid from her back and let my boots land softly on the grass, keeping the reins in one hand as I tilted my head at the woman before me. 

"You seem... familiar to me, and yet I know I've never seen you before in my life." 

"I get that a lot." 

There was a change of the light for only a moment, but in that brief time, I saw that the attractive face of the woman in front of me had changed. The lower half of her skull was exposed, no sinew or flesh to cover it, no blood or muscle to keep it living and the exposure spread down to her throat, where her esophagus sat nestled between two walls of cartilage. Just as quickly as the change appeared, it reverted back, and recognition hit me like a wall of stone. 

"Lady Death." I whispered. 

She smirked again, "In the flesh." 

I should have been terrified, scared to... well, death. But there was something about her that told me there was no need for fear. She wasn't here for me. So why was she standing in front me now?

"Why reveal yourself to me?"

She shrugged and began to circle me and my horse slowly, "There's something about you... you're important. And as much as I hate having Lunar witches walking around, you need to stick around for a while."

"That’s not an answer."

"Are you sure?"

I glared at her. She continued to smile back. When I wouldn’t relent, her grin dropped and she rolled her eyes. 

"You do know that most Lunar witches don’t live longer than a century, right?"

"I’m aware I’m on a doomed path.” I replied, trying to mask the slight tremble of my voice with a sharp edge, “A Lunar witch comes around maybe once every three hundred years. They never live long enough to teach the next one. Though I know you’re well aware of that."

"And yet, here I am, telling you that you’re the odd woman out."

"Why? What do you have to gain from my survival?"

Death scoffed at me, as if the whole concept of existence was amusing to her, "Nothing, actually. I'll lose more than I gain with you in the picture. But greater forces in this universe seem insistent on keeping you alive, so alive you’ll stay for now. But I must say, I'm looking forward to checking in on you over the next few centuries." 

I paled, there was no way to hide it, "What do mean?" 

"You're going into war, Aislin!" she exclaimed, as if it weren't obvious, "My favorite stomping grounds! We'll be seeing a lot of each other, I wager. Though I'm sure you'll be sick of me soon enough." 

She stopped her circling and looked to me full on, the intensity of her earthy eyes feeling as though they could bury me beneath the soil with just a hard enough glance. The around me seemed to shift, the petrichor smell growing steadily stronger. With a final smile, she offered me a sultry wave and said, "Te veo." 

And suddenly, I was alone in the clearing.

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

The doctors that had been summoned to serve did not take kindly to women in their presence. Of course, they had to tolerate the caretakers who sacrificed their white linens to the spatters of blood and fragments of flesh, but to have a woman stand among them as a student of the art, was far less palatable. After all, women had no place amongst the respectable ranks of surgeons and physicians, nor did the Iroquois healers who offered their services as their own warriors joined the British forces gathering on the coast, though given the choice, I'd have taken care from the Cayuga over Charles Cromwell any day. 

Kingsley found me as I led my horse on foot through camp aimlessly with my saddle pack and bedroll tucked under my free arm. He had taken no notice of my sudden absence, nor had he been subject to a surprise meeting with Death herself, but simply kept on riding to camp, claiming his large-framed tent and a much smaller one beside it. 

"Ah, did you get lost, Miss Stuart?" he asked me with a charming grin, "Or were you simply taking in the scenery?" 

"A bit of both I suppose." I answered honestly. I took my horse to the hitching post and tied her there, allowing her access to the trough and a bale of fresh hay before turning back to the young doctor. "Have I missed anything?" 

He shook his head, "Nothing at all. Lieutenant-General Nelson won't make landfall 'til midday on the 'morrow, at which time we'll board a smaller vessel and cross the channel to wait for incoming wounded and dead. I should warn you though, this siege may take weeks, months even. You still have time to return to Boston-"

I held up a hand to silence him, sending a sharp glare his way, "As much as I respect your offer, Rupert, I simply must decline. Despite the maliciously loud whispers I've heard about this camp already, I am most certainly needed here, so here I will stay. I do not shy away from the sword when it is flashed in my face." 

Kingsley's grin softened in understanding, a small nod rocked his head back and forth, "Spoken like a true fellow of medical academia, Miss Stuart. I suggest you take the evening to study, and if you're so inclined, I'd write to your family. Simply because we bear the caduceus, it does not mean we are immune from cannon and gun fire. You'll find all you need for the night in your tent."

Overhead, the skies finally broke, the satisfying drip of rainfall pattering against the trees and the waxed canvas tents. A few of the horses snorted in discontent but continued to eat away at the hay in front of them. As the heavy drops landed on our shoulders and heads, chilling us to the bone, we gave each other a silent farewell and retreated beneath the cover of our tents for the night. While I had no doubt that Kingsley's tent boasted all the necessary equipment he would need for operations and examinations, not to mention cigars and cheap liquor to numb his mind to the horrors incoming, mine was much reserved, containing only a camp bed with several woolen blankets, a pair of white cover aprons, and a small bedside table with a pair of lit candles.

Rupert must have placed the small stack of parchment on the table, along with an inkwell and quill. There was no way the other doctors would have extended such kindness to me, not when they didn't even want me there. Heaving a loud sigh, I dropped my bedroll and saddle pack onto the ground at my feet. I slumped onto the camp bed and let my head fall into my hands, my interaction with Death replaying over and over again in my mind.

She had told me that I was important, though at the moment, I couldn't possibly see how. And the way she had looked at me, as though I were a fresh piece of bloodied meat and she was a ravenous wolf... it was unsettling, though I suppose she always intended to be. 

"Oh, Divine Mother, what have you gotten me into?" I whispered, so softly that even I could barely hear myself. I dropped my hands and let my eyes wander back to the parchment on the small wooden table. I don't know how long I sat there staring at it, but by the time I had come to the conclusion to write, the gentle shower outside had increased to a torrential downpour, the weight of the water pounding against the roof of the tent as I dipped the quill into the murky black ink. As I took hold of the topmost sheet, I paused, wondering if sending a letter would make any difference. But then I thought of her, and the doubt melted away. I put the quill to the parchment and began to write in my most elegant script. 

Darling Agatha,

I hope that this letter finds you in suitable spirits after we departed on such egregious terms. Not that I fear for your well-being; I know you are certainly capable of taking care of yourself. I write to inform you that I have undertaken a task most unbecoming for women of our talents and station, serving as the student and assistant of one Doctor Rupert Kingsley of Boston. We, in response to the request made by the British Crown, have joined a cohort of other physicians and surgeons at a posting in Acadia, not thirty miles from the French stronghold of Port Royal, and are awaiting the order to cross the channel to provide medical assistance during the attempted siege of the fort. 

Having not heard from you in well over a decade, I am certain that you did not intend to seek me out again, and in truth, I was hesitant to write. But I am told that we, like the soldiers who will march onto the shore, will be subject to the shock and awe of war, and at the risk of walking into the next world without having settled the grievances between us, I found the courage to pen this letter. 

You may no long care for me, you may no longer wish to think of me, but I think of you often. And I shall be thinking of you on the 'morrow, when cannons roar overhead and the blood of dying men coats my hands. I shall be thinking of the days we spent in the peaceful solitude of the forest, relishing in the quiet hours that we spent together. I shall be thinking of you not as someone I once knew, but as someone I know and care for. For a witch should never abandon her coven and I, in my own anger and fear, have abandoned you.

It is my hope that upon my, with any luck inevitable, survival, that we may cross paths again, and I will once again be able to relish in peace with you as we once did. Until then, I shall think of you, darling, and hope that you think of me. 

With all my love, 

Aislin Stuart

I set the quill down and folded the parchment carefully once the ink had dried. Muttering a simple sending incantation, I lifted the letter to the candle on the left and let one corner light, before repeating the gesture with the candle on the right. I gripped the parchment tight between my fingers as the flames inched closer to my hand until I could no longer hold it. As I released my grip, I whispered, "Agatha Harkness." 

The ashes scattered in an invisible wind, drifting beneath the canvas walls of the tent and carrying my message to wherever she was. I lay back on my bed, and started at the roof in the eerie quiet, only drifting off to sleep when thunder finally began to roll in.  

[cryptidghostgirl]

Hello hi- back to my shenanigans again (the one with the fake dating + lobby portal + frozen half the pentagram surely not an OC ahahah anonymous asker) - anyway- heres some MORE angst.

Reader's past lover- died waaay before reader back in their teens because readers mother found out about their not so heterosexual relationship and decided to shoot them both but only killed one- reader escaping and killing her mom in return (let’s name her Charlotte- with mane wolf features- so wolf+fox+deer features a combination! ) and barely moved on after meeting Alastor like years later, yet still haunted by Charlottes dead eyes reader saw when she woke up from some sleepy poison. Now Charlotte is in heaven and reader in hell alongside their radio-lover lover!

Yet somehow- maybe though a very uncanonical accurate meeting where angels go down to see the new hotel after hearing sinners can get redeemed Charlotte (not to be confused with Charlie) is one of said angels and suddenly all those waves of emotions come rushing back and reader can do nothing but stare.

but oh wait! Angels/Winner dont remember their past life so reader goes to her- and shes just “Oh hello! Whats your name? :3” (shes an angel and loves the stars and plants and everything nice can do no wrong) “I-… I guess you dont know me in this lifetime” (AND DOESNT TELL HER THEYVE MET BEFORE because what good would that bring?)

But alastor is also there lurking in the back. watching them- he knew someone was in readers life before him but reader never said more than that. Will readers feelings for Charlotte come back? Will reader stay to the infatuation of murderous acts that Alastor bought them? Will reader choose the pure love that might not spring again?

The infamous blizzard demon overlord! that never dropped their mask around others that always seemed to have the upper hand in any situation, the cold- charismatic- brutal and ruthless overlord- suddenly speechless at the reappearance of someone they used to know. How will everyone react?! “Sweet as a pea, but sharp as a knife- now shocked like the stars have fallen”

GAAAH MY BRAIN IS TOO BIG ANF FULL OF ANGST!!!!! Heres some kisses too: maybe next fic its me x you pookie 😘😘🥰🥰😘😘😘😘

A/N What a wild way to close off a request, I honestly got so much respect for that. I don't do OCs but for the sign off comment, I'll make an exception. Also I am assuming you want this as a part two to Frostbite because she's still a blizzard demon?? Apologies in advance if I got that wrong. Also,, not you quoting something else I've written in your request. That's crazy, thank you so much for the love.

Day Lilies (Alastor x Blizzard demon!Reader x Angel!OC)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Part One: Frostbite (Alastor x Reader)

Warnings: Homophobia (from other people and internalized) and murder. Smoking/cigarettes and angst. Always angst. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 2,969

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

The best thing about the Hazbin Hotel, according to some, was the fact that not one but two overlords who had found a home there. The Radio Demon and the Frost. Feared, revered, respected, and making an appearance for the first time in seven long years.

Without Alastor and Y/n's help, Charlie would not have been able to achieve all she had and she was eternally grateful to the pair, even if they were a tad confrontational and violent at times. Deeply in love, indebted to one another in a billion and five different ways, Alastor and Y/n had worked hard for their life in the underworld. As the angel stepped gently out of the portal, following her superior, Y/n felt the pressure of that life as it began to crash down around her.

When Charlie had struck the deal with Heaven to have an angel come down to the hotel to track its progress and assess if any of its inhabitants were worthy of redemption, Y/n had thought nothing of it. Sure, it was a bit irritating but if anything, the deal seemed ripe for entertainment and thats really all she and Alastor were after at the end of the day. She had figured the angel would be some low ranking nobody. She had thought it would be amusing, that they would torture the poor creature, that things would stay roughly the same. Never in her wildest dreams had the notion ever crossed Y/n's mind that the angel might be Charlotte.

Of course, Y/n had known Charlotte must be in Heaven. The girl had always been so kind, so good to her very core. It had just all seemed so far away and now, somehow, there she was, peeking timidly out from behind the seraphim's back.

Charlotte looked different, having taken on some animalistic, wolfish features since her death. Sharp ears sprouted from the untamed mess of her hair, fangs peeked their way out from the corners of her lips but Y/n was sure. It was Charlotte. It was all in the eyes.

"Welcome, Sera." Charlie politely began, taking a step forward.

Normally, such a show of self restraint from the young demon princess would have caused curiosity to spark a fire in Y/n's chest. Now, she just stood beside Angel as Charlie had requested, eyes wide and mind reeling.

"Is this who we will be working with?"

Sera looked at the shy wolf of a girl behind her and nodded her head, gesturing for the girl to step forward.

"Yes." she replied, her voice cold and haughty, "This is Charlotte, she has been with us for a while and we trust her judgment on matters such as this."

"Oh how funny!" Charlie brightly exclaimed, "My full name is Charlotte too but, I go by Charlie. Do you have a nickname you'd prefer?"

"Just Charlotte is fine." the angel softly replied and Y/n's breath caught in her throat.

The girls voice was honeysuckle, it was sticky sweet teen love.

"Why her?" Husk asked and Charlie shot him a glare, "She just seems a little..."

Sera laughed lightly, a caring smile sneaking on to her face.

"She's a little shy, but she is smart. Even when she was alive, she had an ability to read people, to see right through to the essence of their beings."

Charlotte blushed slightly at the compliment, turning away.

The southern sun beat down over head, long grass whipping at their legs as Charlotte, running, dragged Y/n to the center of the field.

"Lottie!" Y/n exclaimed, half laughing, "Where on earth are you taking me?"

Charlotte glanced back at her companion, a mischievous smirk painting her lips that sent bolts of red hot fire through to Y/n's fingertips.

"You'll see."

After a few more paces, they came to a panting halt. Charlotte turned to Y/n, placing a hand gently over the other girl's eyes. With a guiding hand, she lead the blinded girl to a spot a little ways off where she had snuck off to earlier and set up a picnic. There was fresh fruit, Georgia peaches from her family's own orchard, and home made lemonade. Slowly, Charlotte gifted Y/n with sight.

Y/n's mouth fell slightly open as she surveyed the scene before her. Sixteen and in love, she turned to Charlotte, taking both the girl's hands in her own.

"When... how..."

"I know things have been rough at home lately. I wanted to do something to make you smile."

"How did you know? I never..." Y/n cleared her throat, "I never said anything... I nev-"

"You didn't have to. I know you, love. You never have to say a word."

Alastor watched his lover silently from the other side of the group. Charlie had insisted they flank the guests, dragging Y/n away from his side just as the portal had opened. She didn't show it, not obviously, but he knew something was wrong. From the second the portal had opened and the angels had stepped through, she had gone tense, her eyes fixed on the one called Charlotte, the tips of her frostbite blackened fingers tapped against one another in wild thought.

"Well," Sera sighed, looking around at the ragtag group of sinners and demons, "I had best be on my way. I will be back in a few days to pick Charlotte up, please be kind to her over the course of her stay."

With those parting words and a reassuring pat on the angel's shoulder, Sera stepped back through the portal which closed behind her.

"Well," Charlie began brightly, clapping her hands together, "let's do introductions! I am Charlie Morningstar and I run the Hazbin Hotel with my girlfriend, Vaggie."

Vaggie sent Charlotte a wave which she timidly returned. With a deep breath, Charlotte stepped towards the line of sinners before her.

"Alastor." Alastor hummed, grabbing Charlottes hand and shaking it harshly, "A pleasure to be meeting you my dear, quite the pleasure."

It struck Charlie as a bit odd he said and did nothing else but, she made no mention of it. In her mind, Alastor was simply on his best behavior as requested. In reality, he was far too focused on the way a slight flurry of snow had begun to settle on Y/n's sharp shoulders.

"Nice to meet you too." Charlotte replied, extracting her hand from his grip and moving down the line.

Y/n's heart pounded wildly against her chest as Charlotte grew closer. Her tail twitched behind her, flicking back and forth gently, and her breaths grew slightly heavy. Although he noticed the odd behavior, it was impossible not to from his place beside her, Angel said nothing. At long last, Charlotte came to a stop before her.

"Disgusting!" Y/n's mother's voice rang out through the yard, "You are both complete and utter disgraces!"

They hadn't meant to be found out. As far as Y/n's mother had known, Y/n and Charlotte were best friends. Charlotte had come over to help Y/n with her chores, they had been doing laundry out in the yard when Charlotte had playfully flicked water towards her beloved. One thing had lead to another and before long, they had been wrapped up in one another, planting a singular, soft kiss on each other's lips. Y/n felt Charlotte's hand tighten around her own, she took a step forward.

"Don't you dare speak to her that way!" Y/n yelled back, anger burning brightly in her eyes and adrenaline shaking her limbs with wild courage, "Don't you dare!"

Her mother scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"She is a bad influence on you! The devil sent to curse me!"

Y/n's mother stepped forward, grabbing Y/n and wrenching her from Charlotte's grip. Charlotte tugged at Y/n's mother's dress as she dragged her girlfriend harshly into the small house.

"Let her go!" Charlotte cried, "Stop it! We weren't doing anything wrong!"

With a harsh slap to her face, Charlotte was sent to the ground. Her mother threw Y/n through the door, the unfinished wood of the floor sending splinters deep into Y/n's knees as she struggled to get to her feet. Her head had hit the corner of the table in her fall, the world was spinning. Y/n's mother grabbed the shot gun from where it lay beside the door. Just as Y/n managed to stumble to her feet, holding her swaying body up with a hand on the table she had hit, her mother stepped outside and slammed the door behind her, locking it.

Y/n rushed over, trying desperately to wrench it open to no avail. The anger had turned to panic as she heard her mother cock the gun.

"What are you doing!" she heard Charlotte yell and Y/n rushed to the window.

From her vantage point, Y/n watched her mother train the gun on Charlotte who had her hands raised and was stumbling backwards.

"Run!" she yelled, banging her fists on the glass, "Lottie, run!"

"Please." Charlotte was pleading, tears wetting her cheeks, "I promise I wont ever come here again, I wont ever come near her again. Please!"

"Lottie!" Y/n yelled again.

With no regard for her own safety, Y/n punched the glass of the window. The pane shattered around her hand, puncturing her soft skin. Blood, hot and wet, ran down her arm as she pulled her hand back to her side.

"Yeah, you sure as hell wont!" Y/n's mother yelled, her voice thick and low with rage, "You'll be dead!"

Y/n flung her leg over the window sill, shards of glass digging into her as she pulled herself through the hole she had created.

"Lottie!" she yelled again, "Run!"

Her screams were drowned out by the sound of a gunshot. Charlotte held her hands to her stomach, blood pouring from between her fingers. Their eyes met.

"Lottie!"

"And you are?" Charlotte asked expectently.

Y/n shook her head slightly, pulling herself from the depths of her memories. Everyone was staring at her, she had no idea how long the angel had been standing before her. She cleared her throat.

Alastor didn't know what was going on but, whatever it was, he knew he didn't like it. Using his shadows, he appeared behind Y/n and placed a protective hand on the top of her head between her horns. Her hair was damp from freshly fallen snow and Charlotte gasped slightly in surprise at his appearance.

"My dear," he grinned, leaning down to Y/n's ear, "you're snowing."

"I..."

Y/n looked up, her cheeks flushing pink and the heart on the tip of her tail puffing up as she realized what he said.

"O-oh." she stuttered, brushing his hand from her head and the snow from her shoulders as she regained control of her powers again, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."

The other members of the hotel watched in a mixture of shock and confusion. They had always known Y/n to be cold, to be harsh. They had always seen her devotion to the man behind her as infallible. No one had any idea what was going on but, the presence of the angel stopped them all in their tracks.

"It's quite all right, what's your name?" Charlotte asked again, her voice honey sweet.

Y/n took a deep breath, morphing her features into the closest thing to a kind smile she could muster.

"Y/n." she firmly replied, "I'm Y/n."

Her eyes scanned Charlotte's face intently as their hands made contact. She waited for the shock of recognition, for the tears her Lottie had always been so prone to. There was nothing.

"That's a very pretty name." Charlotte replied, "It sounds like it is from the same era as mine."

That raised some small hope in Y/n's chest. She took a step forward, bringing herself closer to the angel.

"Which is?"

"Oh, I don't know." Charlotte replied, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment, "Angels don't get to remember their lives on earth unless they are pretty high in the ranks. I've been told I was from Georgia though, that I died in the early 1900s."

Y/n froze, her breath trapped in her chest, a knife buried deep within her heart.

"Oh." she mumbled out in a broken whisper, "I guess you... you don't know me in this lifetime."

"What was that?" Charlotte asked, leaning in a bit.

Y/n shook her head, letting go of Charlotte's hand.

"Nothing. I... I need some fresh air, I think. If you would all excuse me."

It didn't take Alastor long to find Y/n once Charlie had let him return to his duties in favor of showing Charlotte around the hotel. She stood out in back of the hotel, her back pressed firmly against the wall and a cigarette crushed between her fingers. Shakily, she took a drag.

"What was that about?" Alastor asked, leaning up against the wall beside her and folding his arms across his chest.

"What was what about." Y/n cooly replied.

"Y/n, don't play dumb."

"I knew her back when we were alive, thats all."

"Is that all?" Alastor asked after a moment, "You seemed..."

He trailed off. Alastor was angry. He had always been the jealous type, protective to a fault. He could see how shaken up Y/n was however and so, running a finger over the ring he wore, Alastor took a deep breath.

"That angel, Charlotte..." her name lingered poisonously on his tongue, "it seemed there was something a lot more than just you knowing her."

"I picked these for you." Y/n bashfully stated, shoving a bouquet tied with a rough bit of twine towards the pretty girl beside her, "Here."

Tentatively, Charlotte took the bouquet from Y/n's hand. She held it gently, watching the way the breeze played with the petals.

"Georgia asters?" Charlotte hummed thoughtfully, "And yarrow?"

"My momma didn't used to be poor. She grew up in a rich family, gave it up when she married my dad. Her momma taught her floriography." Y/n's words came out in a big rush, they chased after one another in a breathless flurry of nerves, "It was big in the victorian era for fancy people, all about talking through flowers. She taught me asters symbolized wisdom, faith, and valor and that yarrow was for healing and... and love... besides, I know you like them. You're always staring at them when were out."

Charlotte looked over at Y/n who's cheeks were bright red. She smiled, her eyes shining.

"I love you too." she said, nudging Y/n gently with her elbow.

"Yeah, but..." Y/n sighed, running a hand through her messy hair, "I... god, Lottie! I don't just love you like a sister. Its... I understand if you don't wanna talk to me anymore I just couldn't... I couldn't keep it in anymore."

Y/n looked away, tears pressing hotly at the backs of her eyes. Charlotte's eyes went wide.

"I understand... I won't be mad... I just... I'll leave."

Charlotte's hand shot out, grabbing Y/n's wrist as she pushed herself from the fence they were leaning against. Slowly, Y/n turned to face her. Charlotte was blushing now too and looked away, still holding Y/n tightly.

"I don't..." she took a deep breath, "I don't love you like a sister either."

"It's wrong... it's so wrong... what would my mother say... what would your mother say, I-"

Charlotte cut Y/n off, standing on her toes to press a soft kiss to the slightly taller girl's lips. It was clumsy and foreign. Y/n trembled, her eyes fluttered shut.

"I don't care." Charlotte said, "I don't care."

"Yeah." Y/n sighed, taking a final drag from her cigarette before stamping it out beneath her heel, "Yeah."

"Do I have anything to worry about?" Alastor asked and Y/n's eyes met his.

He had known her long enough, he could see the conflict.

"She was my first love, Al." Y/n admitted, "We were girls together."

"You're my wife."

"It's different."

"Do I have anything to worry about?" Alastor asked again and Y/n looked back out at the sky.

"She doesn't remember me."

"But you remember her."

"But I remember her." Y/n confirmed, her voice cracking, "I couldn't forget if I tried. She haunts me, Al. She has always haunted me, since long before I even met you. Lottie died in my arms, Al. My mother killed her, shot her right in the stomach. I...."

Y/n trailed off into silence. It was more about her life before she had met him than she had ever revealed before. Alastor took a deep breath, conflicting emotions battling behind his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?"

He was trying to keep his cool, to save face. He was failing, anger and a secret fear ate away at the edges of his words.

"Day lilies."

"Day lilies?" Alastor repeated and Y/n nodded, meeting his eyes once again.

"A floriography thing again?"

Alastor knew of Y/n's interest in the symbolic properties of plants. It was one of the only things she ever spoke about concerning her mother and her shadowed past before that night in Mimzy's bar.

"Yes."

"What do they mean?" Alastor sighed, resigning himself to his fate because god, if Alastor knew anything he knew his fate was Y/n. She held his heart in the palms of her hands.

"Love for lovers. Love for mothers..."

"And?"

His heart pounded against his chest.

"And loss of memory."

----

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the ones in red are ones I am not sure worked/having trouble linking.

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170@wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007

[tjs-stuffs]

im incredibly late to the party, but depot agent oc upon ye!

name: Bo

pronouns: he/him

height: 5’8 in human form

if you cant tell, his whole thing is basically, “he’s a zoroark disguised as a human, but he’s not very good at it.”

he doesn’t battle or have a pokemon team, he mostly just helps around the station. but if a lost and obviously wild pokemon ever finds it’s way into gear station, he’ll be the one to take care of it. he also has a soft spot for baby pokemon and will want to carry them on his shoulders (as a reference to how zoroarks will carry their babies in their mane)

i like to think he’s friends with N, but in a way where he’s like “wow i can’t believe the guy that can talk to pokemon doesn’t know i’m a zoroark!” and N’s like “this zoroark sucks at being human” kinda way LOL

[adostume]

Meet Aurora

Poetry-obsessed hopeless romantic, who loves to gift her friends thoughtful letters and collages.

Color Streak: Periwinkle

Represents calm and feminine nature, as well as an everlasting love for close ones.

Meaningful, all night long conversations are what keeps Aurora going. Thanks to her compassion and an open heart, citizens of Mane Lane often come to her for a word of advice or support; she is know to be the keeper of many secrets and confessions.

[debbiecolon]

My second tarnished oc, Rem. He usually wears the nightmaiden twin crown, but I wanted to draw his face unobstructed. His lore is super meaty and I'm quite happy with it!

Rem is a descendant of the Nox, people of the Eternal Cities. He was raised in Sellia, well versed in Night sorceries and taught melee combat by his 'sisters', Nightmaidens who warden over the town. His days are spent rigorously training his body and mind, honing himself into a warrior capable of subduing the most formidable of foes. Easily identified by both his silvery skin and hair, Rem appears more Silver Tear than anything, yet his golden eyes speak of his heritage, which he is incredibly proud of. And it is perhaps because of his heritage that Rem holds very little love for the Two Fingers and the Golden Order.

Rem had been fortunate enough to meet General Radahn in his youth, and had been privy to the demigod studying gravity sorceries. He grows to admire the flame haired demigod and leaves the Sellian territories for the first time when he offers his services to the General, as both sorcerer and swordsman. He stood among the Red Mane soldiers in battle, dressed in the silks of the Nox, looking elegant as a dancer yet fighting with all the ferocity of a beast. His end is met like many others in the Caelid wilds: witness to the scarlet flower bloom, particles of rot saturating the sky, clogging the beauty of the stars.

He wakes after centuries, called back from a peaceful void to return to the Lands Between. His memories are muddled, mostly lost, but through adventuring he remembers himself, for better or worse. He remembers that wretched flower, and he seeks a power strong enough to oppose it.

Rem is an extremely quiet and emotionally guarded tarnished who borders on selectively mute, speaking little more than he has to. He makes very few connections but is not unwilling to cooperate with his fellows, seeing such actions as a great way to garner much needed knowledge. He gauges everything like a threat but closely safeguards those who win his trust and affection, albeit from the shadows.

Beneath his guarded exterior is a deep longing to return to a home no longer there. Caelid is a fetid wasteland and nightmarish shadow of what it once was, and it is the only time that he openly expresses deep pain upon seeing the remains of a land he once loved so dearly. It hurts more than he can bear to know that Radahn lives as Caelid does--as a shell of his former self. He does not hesitate to participate in the Festival, seeing it as a final act of kindness for his beloved General. It is a hard fought battle, but Rem leaves with Radahn's blades as his trophy, swearing to wield the colossal weapons in battle.

Though Rem was raised in a town of sorcery and has proficiency with night magics, his greatest strength comes from physical prowess. He wields all manner of great swords and colossal blades, overwhelming his foes with sheer strength and relentlessness. He embodies duality, using stealth, life sapping mist and poison to turn the tide of what could have been a heavily skewed battle. He does not see underhanded tactics as something to frown upon. After all, combat (and life) does not play fair. Aside from sorceries, Rem has studied incantations on a surface level, enough to know hos to cast a poisonous mist or mend his injuries.

Rem's loyalty to the red haired demigod is akin to a love that is all consuming. It was a love that felt unrequited, but his unwavering belief and devotion to honing himself into the perfect weapon caught the interest of the towering Radahn. They seemed an unconventional pair, but they both bonded quite easily through combat and a shared love of animals. Leonard, Radahn's steed, received many a rowa berry and nose pats from Rem.

He felt as though he lost Radahn twice over. Once, against the one-armed valkyrie and her scarlet rot, and a second time at his own hand. Though it was a mercy, to grant his beloved demigod a warrior's end, a part of him died again with the General. The loss is an ever present ache that leads to the nihilistic belief that nothing in the Lands is worth salvaging.

The pain of loss and his keen awareness of the loss of many others drives Rem down the path of becoming the Lord of the Frenzied Flame. He does so, not to spare Melina from a fiery end, but to bring an end to it all, to be the Lord of the lost and the broken. To put to rest all that distinguishes and divides, hoping that perhaps the flames will consume him too.

[ikeprinces-stuff]

Event: Falling For Fall

Hosted by: @violettduchess & @lorei-writes

Prompt: Foraging (fluff)

Previous prompt: Rain

Characters: Chevalier Michel & Clavis Lelouch & Prince OC [Vernard Mürrisch]

Words: 978

A/N: Y'all know it's always fun when I write abt Clavis 🤣💝

🍂[𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞]🍂

The crisp autumn air whipped through the mane of Vernard's chestnut steed as he was practically dragged along by the boisterous Clavis. Rhodolite's borders lay ahead, a landscape painted in hues of crimson and gold, a stark contrast to the usual somber palette of Vernard's world. He was an individual known for his quiet disposition, his meticulous nature, a stark contrast to the other two princes. Clavis, ever the whirlwind of mischief, noticed his younger brother's pensive demeanor.

"Why the long face, dear Vernard?" Clavis chuckled, his voice echoing through the vast expanse of open land. "What better than to spend a day with your favourite brothers?”

“Anything else.” Vernard, despite his inability to refuse outright, did his best to convey his displeasure through the stony emptiness of his voice. He knew this excursion was less of a necessary inspection and more of Clavis's relentless attempt to shake him out of his habitually reserved state.

"Chevalier received reports of unusual activity near the border," Clavis explained, his tone shifting to a businesslike one. "We're here to confirm and, if necessary, deal with it." He paused, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Besides, it's been ages since you've joined us, dear Vernard. Consider it a family outing."

Vernard sighed, his heart sinking further with each passing moment. Clavis recognized the flicker of unspoken antagonism that passed between Vernard and Chevalier – a silent war of icy stares that differed greatly from that existed between Chevalier and Leon. He longed to be anywhere else, anywhere but here, sandwiched between his two very different brothers.

Their inspection yielded no evidence of suspicious activity. However, the day's mission served as the perfect excuse for Clavis to establish a temporary campsite. The announcement brought forth a series of weary sighs and silent acquiescence from Vernard and Chevalier.

"Camping!" Clavis declared, his voice booming with an uncharacteristic level of excitement in the otherwise silent autumn forest. "It's been far too long! And the season's perfect for it, don't you think? We can forage for food, a bit of adventure before we head back to the stifling palace walls."

Chevalier, in his usual manner, remained engrossed in his thick book he brought along. Vernard, on the other hand, was captivated by the dancing orange leaves, lost in a world of silent contemplation.

Clavis, oblivious to the icy indifference he was met with, launched into a detailed explanation of his camping plans. The two princes were lost in their own thoughts until Clavis eventually departed to forage for supper.

Seizing the opportunity for solitude, Vernard pulled out a small notebook and a piece of charcoal, hidden beneath his robe in cases like this. He began to sketch the vivid autumn scenes, his hand moving with a practiced grace that belied his usual reserved demeanor. A sense of peace settled over him as he captured the ephemeral beauty of the forest on leaves.

Chevalier, however, remained silent. The only sound was the rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig under Clavis's relentless pursuit of food. The tension between them was thick, palpable.

That's when Clavis's return shattered the fragile tranquility, causing Vernard to immediately hide what he was enjoying. Clavis regaled them with tales of his foraging success, detailing the diverse array of herbs and wild fruits he had collected, claiming that some would make a superb addition to his next recipes. Vernard, despite his disinterest, couldn't resist shooting him with a look of polite disapproval, but Clavis, in his usual blissful ignorance, continued as if Vernard was filled with eager anticipation.

"So," Clavis chirped, his tone light and teasing, "did you two manage to have a pleasant chat during my absence? You're not exactly known for initiating conversations, especially when you're stuck together."

As night fell, Clavis, unsurprisingly, succumbed to the soothing sway of the campfire and drifted off to sleep. Vernard, with a sigh, rose and draped his cloak over his brother, a gesture of quiet affection that had become his trademark.

"Perhaps I don't regret coming here," he murmured, a confession whispered into the darkness.

Chevalier, who had been observing him, responded with a harshness that was almost affectionate. "You are a contradiction, White."

Vernard, with the usual air of indifference, merely replied, "I don't need you to remind me of that."

He started patting his pockets and clothing, a sudden surge of panic rising within him as he searched for something. Just as he was about to voice his worry, he noticed Chevalier holding his sketching notebook. Apparently, it had slipped out when he'd taken off his robe.

"Thank you," Vernard breathed, his relief palpable.

Chevalier, surprisingly, simply uttered a curt "Hmm.", a stark departure from his usual silence. He then posed a question that didn't require an answer, more of a statement than a query. "Is this why you don't regret this brief foray into chaos?"

Vernard shrugged. “A change of scenery is necessary occasionally. And Clavis’s enthusiasm, however excessive, was… appreciated.” He wanted to thank Clavis, to express his gratitude for the brief respite from the usual constraints of palace life, but the thought of Clavis's endless boasting about it deterred him. He would keep his gratitude private.

Vernard flipped through the notebook, his heart sinking slightly as he found a missing drawing. His eyes widened as he located it tucked within the pages of Chevalier’s book – a clear act of silent acceptance and understanding.

A smile struggled to break free on his lips, but he quickly subdued it, fearing even the slightest hint of joy might be audible to his brother. An unspoken understanding passed between them, a moment of quiet vulnerability and affection that bloomed in the heart of the autumn forest. The secret of Vernard's hidden talent, like the last leaves clinging to the branches, was silently acknowledged, a secret shared in the heart of the dying season.

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER SIX: ROCK N' ROLL DREAM

Eddie Munson x OC!Reader || WC: 4.6K

A/N: now without further ado, the chapter everyone has been waiting for, I made sure to make this chapter a long one!! Enjoy! 🤭

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A rollercoaster of emotions were swirling through Lyra's mind. In the past twenty-four hours, she had felt so many unprecedented feelings that had been suppressed for years, bubbling up to the surface like a shaken soda can ready to explode. Memories of happier times mixed with the current turmoil, creating a chaotic storm within her. She knew that Billy hated change, clinging to the familiar like a lifeline. But the more time they spent in Hawkins, the longer he became unrecognizable to her.

Lyra remembered the days when Billy was her protector, always looking out for her with a fierce loyalty. But now, his actions were more erratic and unpredictable. She could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface, a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. The small town of Hawkins, with its eerie stillness and lurking shadows, seemed to amplify his inner demons, turning him into someone she could barely understand.

The weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future pressed heavily on Lyra's shoulders. She felt a pang of guilt, wondering if there was something she could have done differently, some way to reach out to the brother she once knew. The howling wind snapped her out of her inner turmoil as she hugged the leather jacket closer to her body so that it would provide some much needed comfort and warmth that she desperately needed. The cold air bit at her cheeks, turning them a rosy shade, and her breath formed small clouds in the frigid night.

She took a second to distract herself by analyzing Tina's backyard. The yard was a spectacle of Halloween creativity. Fake cobwebs stretched between the trees, glistening in the moonlight, and plastic skeletons hung from the branches, swaying gently in the wind. Teenagers from Hawkins certainly knew how to throw a rager. However the decorations and trash that littered the yard weren’t the only thing that caught Lyra’s attention. She was quick to noticed a shadowy figure completely isolated from everyone. The only indication that she wasn't out there alone was the amber glow of their cigarette.

Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness she noticed that he was wearing a costume she definitely recognized for the first time all night. He was dressed in tight black jeans, a leather jacket adorned with metal studs, and a wild mane of curly hair that framed his face. Without thinking too much about it, her feet carried her over to the stranger, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Kirk Hammet." The stranger in question nearly spat out the beer he had taken a swing from.

He swore he was hallucinating, that is until his eyes met Lyra's. "W-What?" He spluttered trying to wrap his head around the fact that a pretty girl knew who he was dressed up as. "I like your costume, bold choice."  The stranger chuckled nervously, running a hand through his curly hair. "Well if the shoe fits." He gestured to himself theatrically. "Thanks, not many people get it. You into Metallica?" His voice was a mix of surprise and curiosity, the kind that made Lyra feel a little less like an outsider in this sea of unfamiliar faces.

"Yeah, you could say that," She replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the distant laughter of partygoers. Breaking the silence, Lyra watched as the long-haired stranger reached behind him to grab a metal lunchbox, its surface adorned with stickers of various rock bands. "So, you interested in some of the devil's lettuce, sweetheart?" He asked, shaking it comically, the contents rattling inside.

Lyra couldn't help but scoff, her breath visible in the chilly air. "You're a dealer?" She raised her brow in question, her curiosity piqued. "Only the best in Hawkins," He smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Eddie Munson at your service." He bowed theatrically, his wild curls bouncing with the movement. Lyra chuckled, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie in his presence. "As much as I appreciate the offer, that's more my brother’s vice rather than mine," She replied, her voice tinged with amusement.

Eddie's face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Shit, I'll make myself scarce then," He said, pretending to tip an invisible hat before turning to leave. But before he could take a step, Lyra reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt of warmth through her, grounding her in the moment. "Wait," She said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to go." Eddie's eyes softened, and he nodded, taking a step closer.

The night seemed a little less cold, and the world outside Tina's backyard felt a little less daunting. Breaking the silence, Lyra watched as the long-haired stranger, Eddie Munson, settled down beside her on the weathered bench. The wood creaked under his weight, adding to the symphony of crickets chirping in the background. He leaned back, his eyes scanning the star-strewn sky above, a thoughtful expression on his face. "So you're the new girl I've been hearing so much about." He concluded putting two and two together. His voice was low and smooth, carrying a hint of curiosity.

Lyra shrugged, turning to face him, her eyes reflecting the twinkling stars above. "What gave it away?" She questioned, her tone light but her eyes searching his face for an answer. "Well," He started holding up his finger. "For one I've never seen you around, and I'd remember someone with good taste in music." And two," He held up two fingers. "Gossip travels fast at the hellhole that is Hawkins High." Lyra chuckled softly, the sound blending with the distant rustle of leaves. The air was cool, but the warmth of their budding conversation kept the chill at bay.

Eddie's eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and genuine interest, making her feel oddly at ease. "So, you got a name, or am I going to have to call you sweetheart all night?" He teased, his smile widening. "Lyra," She replied, her voice steady but soft. The name felt like a bridge between them, a small but significant step towards familiarity. Eddie nodded, as if committing her name to memory. "Lyra," He repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. The way he said her name made it feel like more than just a formality; it felt like the beginning of something new and unexpected.

"You got another cigarette on you, Eddie?" Lyra questioned teasingly, quite confident that she knew the answer. "You wound me," He muttered, digging the pack out of the inside of his leather jacket. "Never leave home without it, even if I promised my uncle I'd quit." He pulled out a cigarette and handed it to her, the silver rings on his fingers catching the faint light from the porch. Lyra took the cigarette, feeling the cool paper between her fingers. The smell of tobacco mixed with the earthy scent of the night air, creating a strangely comforting aroma.

Eddie struck his lighter, the brief flare of light illuminating his face before he held the flame to her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, the smoke curling up into the night sky, blending with the misty breath of the cool evening. Eddie leaned back, his own cigarette dangling from his lips. "You know," He said, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "My uncle's always on my case about these things. Says they're gonna be the death of me." He chuckled, a sound that was more resigned than amused. Lyra watched the smoke drift away, her thoughts momentarily lost in the swirling patterns.

"Yeah, well, sometimes it's the little rebellions that keep us sane," She replied, her voice tinged with a quiet defiance. She glanced over at Eddie, noticing the way his eyes softened, as if he understood more than he let on. The night seemed to stretch on, the silence between them comfortable and unforced. "So what's your story?" Eddie asked catching Lyra by surprise. She raised her brow in question urging him to continue. "You don't drink or smoke weed, but you smoke tobacco and ride a motorcycle," He thought aloud, his tone carrying a hint of admiration. Eddie's gaze met hers, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“Don’t forget, I also like metal,” She added with a smirk, the edges of her lips curling into a playful grin. The sound of distant laughter and the rustling of leaves filled the air, but their focus remained solely on each other. “Right, how could I forget,” He teased, making Lyra smile, her cheeks flushing slightly in the cool night air. After a beat of silence, almost as if Eddie was trying to figure out exactly what to say, he finally spoke. "You're interesting," He concluded, his voice filled with genuine curiosity and admiration.

This made Lyra let out a chuckle, the sound light and melodic, blending seamlessly with the rustling leaves around them. "Says the resident metalhead - drug dealer," She sassed back, motioning to him and his metal lunchbox, which he always carried with an air of nonchalance. "Touché," He smirked, taking a long drag out of his cigarette, which was almost out. "I gotta ask, how'd you even get into metal in the first place?" Eddie questioned. "Well," Her eyes flickered with nostalgia as she thought back to her childhood.

"When you have a brother who blasts it 24/7, it tends to grow on you." She could almost hear the distant echoes of guitars and drums coming from Billy's room, the relentless beats becoming the soundtrack of her formative years. "Besides," She smirked to herself, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Axl Rose's ass looks amazing in leather." She snickered, recalling the posters that she had admired everyday on the walls of Billy's room. "Jesus H. Christ," Eddie groaned, falling backwards on the wooden bench dramatically.

"You're one of those girls." Lyra scoffed, teasingly shoving his shoulder. "You know if you're ever interested in hearing some live metal music sometime and giving your ole’ Walkman a break, my band and I play at the Hideout on Tuesdays." He suggested, his voice carrying a hint of hopeful excitement. "Why does it not surprise me that you're in a bad." Lyra thought aloud, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Eddie was about to give her a witty remark when she interrupted, her curiosity piqued. "Let me guess, with your theatrics, you're the lead guitarist too?"

"And lead singer most nights." He announced proudly, puffing out his chest a bit. The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Lyra couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "So you're one of those guys." Lyra teased throwing his words from earlier back at him. Eddie couldn't help the smile that made it's way on his face. There was absolutely no way that a pretty girl liked metal and appreciated his humor. "Maybe I could get your number and-" Only Eddie didn't get to finish his sentence. A sudden loud crash from a nearby alley interrupted him, causing both of them to look in that direction.

Hearing the commotion of "Ooos" coming from inside the house made goosebumps arise on Lyra's skin. That could not be good. The night air felt suddenly colder, the chill seeping into her bones as she tried to gauge the situation. "Duty calls?" Eddie asked, immediately noticing Lyra's shift in demeanor. His voice was gentle, yet tinged with curiosity and concern. Lyra turned to give Eddie a remorseful look, wishing she could stay in his company longer. The warmth and ease of their conversation had been a rare comfort. "I'm so sorry,” She apologized, seeing the disappointment swimming in his chocolate doe eyes.

“I just have a feeling that my brother is somehow involved and we have a curfew," She explained, her voice tinged with frustration and a hint of regret. She could feel the weight of responsibility pulling her away. "No biggie sweetheart, just get home safe, alright." Eddie replied with a reassuring smile. His calm and understanding demeanor was a stark contrast to the chaos she anticipated inside. "Thanks, Eddie," She smiled, grabbing her helmet. "It was really nice to meet you." With an affectionate squeeze to his bicep, Lyra ran inside to see what all the commotion was about, her heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and the lingering warmth of their brief connection.

Upon entering the house, which was now even more trashed than when she arrived, Lyra maneuvered herself through drunken bodies to try and find the source of the commotion. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, and the sound of loud, off-key singing mixed with laughter still filled the room. She carefully stepped over broken glass and discarded cups, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene for any sign of trouble. She let out a breath of relief seeing as Billy was nowhere to be seen, yet she worried that was a bad sign too.

The last time she saw him, he was already on edge, and his absence now could mean he was getting into even more trouble elsewhere. Those thoughts were quickly put on pause as someone from behind crashed into her. She clutched onto her shoulder, hoping that her hand could relieve the sting before turning to give the drunk partygoer a piece of her mind. "Watch where you're going!" She hissed, only she was taken aback due to making eye contact with 'King Steve'. The same person her brother was face to face with hours earlier.

Upon noticing his disheveled hair and red-rimmed eyes, Lyra momentarily felt bad for yelling. Steve Harrington wanted nothing more than to snap back at the blonde girl in front of him, but decided against it. Instead he shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and made his way to the front door without another look back. “Asshole.” She muttered stretching out her aching shoulder and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the residual anger. Suddenly, she heard a slurred curse behind her, "S-Shit!" Spinning around, she saw a drunken girl stumbling, her eyes half-closed and her movements unsteady.

Lyra quickly stepped forward, just in time to steady the girl who looked like she could pass out any second. "Woah, are you okay?" Lyra questioned, her voice softening with concern as she looked into the girl's glazed eyes, trying to gauge her condition. The girl's makeup was smeared, and her hair was a tangled mess, suggesting she had been through quite an ordeal. "I'm f-fine," She slurred, her words barely coherent. Yet Lyra could tell by her disheveled appearance and the way she swayed unsteadily that she was far from fine. The strong smell of alcohol lingered around her, her clothes were wrinkled and slightly damp a red splotch staining the white material.

"Let's get you some fresh air, okay?" Lyra suggested, trying to guide her towards the door. She placed a supportive arm around the girl's shoulders, feeling the cold sweat on her skin. Yet before Lyra could direct her outside, a familiar voice interrupted. "Woah, Nancy, what happened?" Jonathan Byers questioned, his eyes widening with concern as he took in the scene. He stepped closer, his brow furrowing in worry. A moment of realization seemed to cross Nancy's face before she looked at Jonathan, her voice barely above a whisper. "Steve's bullshit," She muttered, her words thick with emotion and fatigue.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked like she had been crying. Jonathan frowned, his worry deepening as he glanced between Lyra and Nancy. "I need to get her home," He announced, taking a gentle but firm hold of Nancy's forearm. He began to steer her towards the front door, his grip steadying her as she stumbled slightly. Nancy's breathing was shallow, and she leaned heavily on Jonathan, her head drooping as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. "Let me help you," Lyra insisted, her voice filled with concern and urgency as she followed closely behind Jonathan. She reached out to support Nancy's other side, her hands trembling slightly with worry.

The trio moved slowly through the crowded room, weaving between groups of people who were oblivious to the unfolding drama. As they reached the front door, the cool night air rushed in, bringing a momentary sense of relief. The stars were faintly visible against the dark sky, and the distant hum of traffic provided a soothing backdrop. Lyra could feel the tension in Nancy's body begin to ease slightly, but she knew they still had a long way to go. She glanced at Jonathan, who nodded in appreciation, his eyes reflecting the same concern and determination that she felt. Together, they guided Nancy outside, hoping that the fresh air and the quiet of the night would help her recover.

As they reached Jonathan's car, Lyra was quick to pull his passenger car door open so that he could gently place Nancy inside without much of a struggle. Nancy slumped into the seat, her eyes half-closed, as Jonathan carefully buckled her in, making sure she was comfortable and secure before shutting the door softly. Turning to Lyra he fiddled with his fingers, his eyes darting around nervously. "I, um, saw your brother passed out by the tree on the side of the house," He informed her, his voice tinged with concern. She was unable to stifle the eye roll, knowing that dealing with Billy was going to be a challenge.

Lyra couldn't help but roll her eyes, the exasperation clear on her face. The image of her brother sprawled out under the tree flashed in her mind, adding to her already mounting stress. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come, while Jonathan gave her a sympathetic look, his hands now resting on the roof of the car. "I'll take care of it," She sighed a hint of exasperation crossing her face. "Get home safe," At her words he nodded, giving Lyra a reassuring smile. He jumped into the driver's seat of his car, the engine roaring to life as he turned the key. With a final wave, he drove off into the night, leaving Lyra to deal with Billy. She watched the taillights disappear around the corner, the weight of the night's events settling heavily on her shoulders.

Taking another deep breath, she turned back towards the house, her footsteps echoing softly on the gravel driveway. The porch light flickered, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance with the wind. She hoped that Billy wouldn't be too far out of it, but as she neared the side of the house, her hopes were quickly dashed. Sure enough, just as Jonathan had said, Billy was sprawled out, nursing a bottle of god knows what in his hand. The smell of alcohol hit her before she even reached him, a pungent mix of whiskey and stale beer. As she reached him, she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"Jesus, Billy, you smell like a bar. How much did you drink?" She muttered, crouching down to his level. She gently pried the bottle from his hand, her fingers brushing against his clammy skin. The night was far from over, and as she helped him to his feet, she knew that the real challenge was just beginning. "K-Keg King." He slurred, a sloppy smile spreading across his face. For a brief moment, he seemed proud of himself, but the smile quickly faded when he caught sight of his sister's hardened expression. The disappointment in her eyes was unmistakable, and it cut through his drunken haze like a knife.

"Keys," Lyra demanded, holding her hand out, her voice firm and unwavering. She wasn't in the mood for any of his usual antics. Her patience was wearing thin, and all she wanted was to get him inside and away from any more trouble. Billy fumbled in his pockets, the sound of jingling keys breaking the tense silence. Finally, he pulled them out and dropped them into her waiting hand, his head hanging low in shame. Lyra clenched the keys in her hand, the cold metal biting into her palm. She took a deep breath, steadying herself before wrapping an arm around Billy's waist to support him. They stumbled together towards his Camaro, the gravel crunching under their feet in the quiet night.

"You can't keep drowning your problems in alcohol." Billy's head lolled to the side, his eyes half-closed. "I'm fine." He mumbled, his words barely coherent. Lyra shook her head, guiding him into the passenger seat and buckling him in, only taking her eyes off of him to throw her helmet in the backseat. "This isn't fine," She said softly, more to herself than to him. She walked around to the driver's side, her mind racing with thoughts of what to do next. As she started the car, she glanced over at Billy, who had already drifted off to sleep. She sighed, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on her shoulders.

Just then like a bucket of ice water being dumped onto her, she realized that she and Billy had come to the party separated. Her eyes darted to the spot where her motorcycle was still parked a few feet away, gleaming under the streetlights. There was no way she was about to leave her prized possession in someone else's driveway overnight. "Shit," She muttered to herself, fighting the exhaustion that was beginning to cloud her mind. She needed to formulate a coherent plan, but her brain felt sluggish and uncooperative. The thought of abandoning her bike gnawed at her, but so did the idea of leaving Billy alone in his current state.

Almost as if someone was answering her thoughts, Lyra spotted the familiar unruly hair of Eddie Munson, a few feet away throwing his metal lunchbox into a van. This was her only chance. "Stay in the car." Lyra demanded throwing the drivers seat open. Hearing those words, Billy woke up from his drunken slumber, sitting up straighter and fumbling with his seatbelt. "But-" Lyra's harsh voice cut him off. "Billy I mean it!" She all but growled, her patience snapping. "Stay. In. The. Car." With those final words she slammed the door to his Camaro shut leaving no more room for argument.

"Eddie, wait!" She called out, sprinting towards him, her heart pounding in her chest. Eddie turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw her approaching. "Lyra? What's going on?" He asked, concern etched on his face. "I need your help," She said breathlessly, glancing back at the car where Billy was slumped. He followed her line of sight, his brows furrowing momentarily. "I need to get him home, but I drove my motorcycle here. Is there any way, and of course if you don't mind, can we store my motorcycle in the back of your trunk? Just for tonight I promise I'll-" Yet her rambling was cut short. "Hey," Eddie coaxed placing his hands on her shoulders reassuringly.

"Slow down." He spoke softly, his touch grounding her in the moment. She could feel the warmth of his hands through her jacket, a stark contrast to the chill of the night air. "Go grab your motorcycle, I'll make room in the back of my van, okay?" His words were a balm to her frazzled nerves, and she nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. She watched as Eddie moved with purpose, his movements quick and efficient as he opened the van's back doors and began rearranging the clutter inside to make space. Eddie started to move the band's supplies around, carefully stacking amplifiers and drum kits to one side, making sure nothing would topple over during the ride.

He meticulously placed guitar cases and mic stands, his hands moving with a practiced ease that spoke of many nights spent loading and unloading gear. The van, once a chaotic mess of cables and equipment, began to take on a semblance of order under his diligent care. Not feeling confident enough to answer, she simply nodded again, her eyes following Eddie's every move. She could see the determination in his eyes, the way his brow furrowed slightly as he focused on the task at hand. It was a small gesture, but in that moment, it meant the world to her. The sight of Eddie’s methodical movements and the sound of equipment being carefully arranged provided a strange sense of comfort, making her feel that everything would be okay.

As Eddie continued to rearrange the band supplies, Lyra made her way to her motorcycle, with a gentle rumble, she started the engine, the sound a familiar comfort to her ears. Slowly and carefully, she maneuvered the motorcycle towards the waiting van. Eddie glanced up from his task, a smile playing on his lips as he saw her approach. Together, they worked in harmony, coordinating the loading of the motorcycle into the back of the van. Eddie guided her with precise hand signals, ensuring the bike was securely fastened for the journey ahead. With a final click, the van doors were closed, the task completed. As they both stepped back, a sense of accomplishment filled the air. Lyra turned to Eddie, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Keep her safe for me." She whispered, her voice carrying a mix of hope and reliance.

"Scouts honor." He assured, using his fingers and crossing his heart over his leather jacket. The gesture, both earnest and endearing, made a smile make its way onto Lyra's face. "Thanks Rockstar, I owe you one." Even in the moonlight, it was hard to miss the crimson blush that made its way onto Eddie's face. He looked down for a moment, kicking a small pebble with his boot before meeting her gaze again. "Get home safe, alright." Lyra nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over her. She gave Eddie one last appreciative look before turning to leave, the sound of her boots crunching on the gravel the only noise in the stillness.

As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder, catching Eddie's eye one more time. He gave her a small, reassuring wave, and she couldn't help but smile. As she opened the door to the Camaro, the leather seat creaked softly under her weight. Billy jolted awake as Lyra started the engine, his eyes bleary and confused. The soft hum of the engine seemed to pull him fully back to consciousness. Almost as if he remembered that they had driven separately, he voiced Lyra's concern from a few minutes prior. "Y-Your bike." His voice was groggy but filled with genuine worry. "It's safe with a friend." She reassured, her voice calm and steady as she inserted the key into the ignition.

She could feel the familiar vibration of the engine beneath her, a comforting reminder of the freedom and speed that awaited them. With a quick, practiced motion, she shifted gears, and the Camaro roared to life. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard, her eyes widening upon noting the time and realizing that they had to hurry. The thought of Susan and Neil realizing they were out past curfew sent a jolt of adrenaline and through her, stress and anxiety resurfacing. The tires screeched slightly as she pressed the accelerator, the car speeding off into the night.

[adrianasunderworld]

The Night Raven Circus AU

"Come one, come all, to the most daring show in all of Twisted Wonderland! Witness spectacles beyond your imagination. Death Defying Aerial dances. Beasts from Hell tamed. Creatures from the depths. Dolls given life and fires run wild. I, Dire Crowley, will be your host this evening. Welcome the Night Raven Circus!"

✨🎪✨

The Night Raven Circus is a famous show that travels all over Twisted Wonderland. With it's Whimsical and Gothic aesthetic, to it's large cast of performers and attractions, it has always stood out over the years and has earned its excellent reputation. And, befitting it's name, the circus is only open at night.

The Ring Leader, Dire Crowley, had hired the best performers he can find. From Lilia, the best swordsman around, known for his sword swallowing an knife throwing tricks and his son Silver who is also learning the act. The fire breather Malleus. Who due to his draconic heritage is able to command fire and control it, leading to a thrilling act that scares and excites the audience. Jamil the talented hypnotist that calls audience members to take part. Along with many more.

The newest addition to the cast being Isabelle, a Beast Tamer. But instead of working with your average circus animals, she tames monsters. Griffins, Hellhounds, and of course, Grim, a feline creature that can go from a kitten to a large fire maned beast.

Other recent additions to the performance lineup being Dires daughter, Darling. Where she controls her hand crafted and life like dolls to perform for the audience. And Dreary, who has a tent she tells fortunes out of. Though most of her predictions are fake, and all her real visions are only bad things to come.

However, with all the fame of the circus, comes those seeking to topple it. The rival Playfulland Circus is run by a man known as the Coachman. The inner workings of their business being shady at best. Whenever they happen to be in the same area as The Night Raven circus, little things tend to go wrong. A wardrobe malfunctions, a prop or two going missing. Giddel has even been caught sneaking around now and then and promptly scolded. However, lately things star to escalate. Equipment is being damaged, costumed shredded. Isabelle has found the cages of her beasts unlocked when she knows for a fact it was closed.

However things take a turn for the deadly when Clara, an aerial dancer, was performing when the rope holding up the hoop she was hanging from snapped and she fell. She walked away with only a few injuries, but now Dire was enraged and needed to find a way to get back at the Playfulland circus for this.

With Darling taking over the slot that was for Claras routine, the rival circus is now keeping a new eye on the new talent to see what else they can sabotage or even copy.

Au thought I talked with @marrondrawsalot (The owner of oc Darling Crowley) about.

@mangacupcake @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind

Feel free to add what your characters might be doing in the circus or as audience members. Or even which circus they're apart of.

[cafetomedragongrimborn]

Here is my oc creation for the @goldenshrikecomic ! I was thinking about a southern savanna possibility for the world’s comic since I learned red deers lived in the north of Africa, and well I love african wild dogs so I ended up making a Stonekrovn variant ! Then I thought about adding antelopes to the mixt, but it didn’t really gave a satisfying result so I went with okapis instead (aka the cool horse giraffes).

I also made some other stuff for them (despite it not being accurate due to the fact that there is no mention of southern/hot lands) :

- habitat : savannas, oasis, rocky hills or mountains, plains (campsites are preferably in places surrounded by trees with decorations on them such as paints, clay, spider webs or strings also close enough to food for tribe members and halves)

- clothing (?) : bones, skulls, hides/pelts for cold nights, plants, paints, spider webs and collars

- inspiration (again) : red deer, african wild dog and okapi

- appearance : antlers can be black (very common), grey (very common), red, brown, yellow (rare) or white (rare), hooves can be black, grey, brown or pink (rare), eyes can be black (very common), grey (very common), brown (very common), red, orange, yellow or green (rare), the fur can be brown, red, beige or gold (rare) always with black spots and legs with white spots and stripes on the body. Males are the only ones to have a mane on the neck and little horns in front of their antlers, while females will have additional stripes on their backs, butt or tail (the position varies from one individual to another). The antlers are mostly supposed to look like a crown for the rhyme/ressemblance between krovn and crown.

- diet : omnivorous

- size : a bit smaller than a regular Stonekrovn but still quite big for a deer.

Here’s an example with a male (though not perfect) :

[mothrianna]

Love and War

[fem!human oc x male!dragon oc]

Summary:

A huntress agrees to help the neighborhood drake find a mate for the upcoming breeding season as a part of a deal, but the drake figures that the huntress can serve the same purpose just as well as a dragonness.

(Bathing/Washing, Scenting, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Breeding, Breastfeeding, Pregnancy, Mating, Mating Bites, Soulmates, Mate for Life, Romance, Transformation)

(Brought over from my Ao3)

Ch. 1

“Have you lost your way?” She’d felt the presence before she’d even heard the voice, the hairs of her neck raising on end as the distinct feeling of being watched forced her on guard. She nearly cursed under her breath, realizing at that moment that the wind had shifted. A green mistake to make when hunting something that was just as likely to hunt. 

    Yet, despite the tension in the air upon finally crossing paths with her charge, she knows better than to allow her body language to betray her caution. The first rule of any encounter with any Kin: keep calm and mask your fear. 

    The young huntress had been trained in the ways of the trade, primed for it far before even that. She’s far from green, despite her youth, and far from allowing some common Kin to strike fear into her heart. But still she’s prone to the apprehension when one of the beasts are so fearless and forward to outwardly speak to her. Most try to stay hidden. They stay far from the human villages and shy away from human contact, but on the rare occasion that one decided meet her head on, it was certain that it was either a seasoned individual with power enough to render fear of humans obsolete, or an individual too stupid or crazy to care about danger. 

    So she stilled her nerves and faced the creature head on. 

    Facing her had been a rather imposing male just at the treeline’s edge, his height already seeming more than several heads taller than she. Taller than any man she’d seen. His hide, even under the shade of the dancing treetops had shone from the residual light, his scales a deep, royal shade of violet that she’d rarely seen in nature. Had she not been geared for a fight, she’d dare to say that he’d been beautiful in his coloration, underbelly-scutes being a dark umber bark to pleasantly contrast the deep color. 

    The voice had been obviously male, low and dangerous despite the question coming as a teasing sing-song tone. She was trespassing in his book, she was sure. Which meant that he’d be a little less receptive to negotiation. But she’d rather solve the issue of the rampaging male drake that had been blighting these woods with as little bloodshed as possible. 

“Not at all,” She answered. “It appears that I’m just where I ought to be.”

    The smile that stretched along his maw had been pearl-white and razor-sharp, and there’d been a crooked glint to his eye as he emerged from the tree-line to get a closer look at the little female human. Her gentle scent had been what drew him to her first, soft and familiar, though he couldn’t quite place where he’d smelled it before. 

    He couldn’t help but be lightly confused. He was far from one to make assumptions based on looks alone, yet the female before him seemed far too small to even efficiently wield the blade at her side, let alone dispatch him. He found it hard to believe that this would be what the humans would send his way, and wondered if they’d finally resorted to their ancient ways of ritual sacrifice. The thought, though absurd, nearly drove him to chuckle as he considered her; an unknowing lamb to slaughter. 

    “Tell me, little thing. What brings you to my woods?” He asked. He finally takes a step from the trees, allowing her to see him beyond the shade. His imposing claws shimmered like wet ink, black and as long as daggers. He sported a mane of wild scarlet, and bore a crest the same color as his umber scutes just above his eyes. Upon his move, he noticed the slightest movement of her own, hand just meeting the hilt of her blade at her hip. She’d done well not to falter before him, however, her lapse in composure going no further than that. Not even in her eyes did she betray any concern in his nearing proximity. 

    “You’ve been giving the people grief, drake. Either share this forest or make yourself scarce.” 

    He replied with an incredulous chuckle in his throat. “I do not share what I’ve rightfully claimed. These woods are mine. They will always be mine, human.” 

    Her brown eyes fell on him with the promise of a challenge, and he was forced to walk back on his previous assumptions of the woman. Rarely had he been met with a human with such stern conviction. She is confident enough to draw her blades before him, one to each hand. A final warning. Yet, all the look seemed to do for him was send electric anticipation coursing just under his hide. His claws involuntarily flexed under the gaze. The little human wanted to fight, and he would be forced to answer her in full. 

    He darted for the human and she moved in time with his advance, her reaction just a hair faster than he. He’d lunged at her with teeth and claws aimed for whatever of her body he could manage, but she dropped and rolled just out of his reach. He redirected his own momentum, hoping to lunge for her before she managed to right herself, but she’d already been prepared, opting to redirect him with a swift strike with the butt of her blade rather than overtly dodging him. 

    Only after a few more failed attempts of him being redirected with firm strikes, the woman seemingly dancing around him like water, that he began to grow irritated with the realization that not once had she attempted to use her blades. The strength she possessed to be capable of sending him sprawling and warding him away had been impressive, yet the thought of his opponent holding back had struck something deep rooted within him. 

    “Kindness will get you killed, little woman.” 

    “I’ve survived this far.” 

    Her slight arrogance would be met with a growl. “What is this? A hunter too afraid to draw blood?” 

    “I prefer to avoid killing my quarry especially when they can be conversed with. You are capable of sense, therefore some sense can be beaten into you yet.”

    A low growl of warning rumbled in his throat as he glared daggers, and the woman took the short stalemate as a moment to shed her cape, revealing the form hidden underneath. No heavy armor, save for the leather guards on her elbows and knees. His lip curled as if insulted, considering her lack of protection as a mockery of his own strength. 

    Yet, despite his own mild annoyance, he couldn’t help but take note of how shapely the woman seemed in comparison to other female iterations of her kind he’d seen throughout his life. Most women of the village wore garish, cloth-heavy garb that hid their frames, but this woman’s dress had been form fitting, of course to allow free movement. He could see her frame almost intimately, more soft but lean, and this only served to stoke his latent curiosity of females beyond his race even further. 

    He would begin to pace slow circles around the woman, looking for an opening. Yet, he could tell just by her stance that she wouldn’t offer him one so easily. 

    “These humans owe me this wood.” He remarked ruefully. “After all the trouble they’ve caused, my actions are what they deserved.” 

    “Eye for an eye makes the world blind. And it’s only serving to further exacerbate the situation. You’ve stolen their food for the winter, drake.” 

    “They’ll lose more should they decide to test me any further.” 

    “It’s not right and you know it. You’ll not be satisfied until one manages to drive a pitchfork into your chest, will you?” 

    “Let them try.” 

    She threw him a bone, hoping to get to the root of the issue and play the role of mediator before having to resort to violence. “Why all of this, drake? What have they done to slight you? Normally, your kind tries to steer clear of us humans.”

    He would stop just before her, regarded her closely and decided to respond once he realized that the question had been sincere. The little thing sought to make peace between he and the village, a noble pursuit on her behalf. 

    “This stretch of wood is relatively peaceful, barring the meddling humans. The lake and the hills that flank it make it easier to guard from others of my kind. There’s plenty of game, and multiple quiet den sites to choose from. One such as I can ask for no more. Naturally, this equates to an optimal location for nesting and rearing young.” 

    “I see,” the woman answered, already catching on to the tide of the conversation. “The humans interfere with this…” 

    “Their meddling is enough to ward away most potential mates. I do not fear man, but most of my kind do when hatchlings are involved. With them, it’s almost impossible to find a mate willing to settle here.” 

    She immediately understood the irony for what it was, humans pushing back against nature beyond their control only for it to push back even harder. She sighed, seeing something like this dispute happen time and time again. “Silly folks,” She’d groan. “Had they minded their own business…” This would mark the fifth case in a row of territorial disputes that could’ve been easily avoided. 

    “So if you find a mate, you’d have no reason to further attack the humans, yes?” 

    “Only if provoked. But it is unlikely. Most females in the area have learned to steer clear of these woods. This one is likely to go another season without a mate.” 

    “ But- ” She reiterated. “If you did find one, you’d stop attacking the humans.” 

    “Yes.” He finally grumbled. “I’d have no further reason to.” 

    She would stop to think. It wasn’t ideal. Of course the humans truly wanted his hide in turn for what they lost, but she didn’t believe in eye for an eye. She’d already made it abundantly clear that she’d try her best for a solution without bloodshed. If he simply stopped, the aggression would fade. Especially when it was just a small village against a creature like himself.

    So she would finally lower her blades. “Then I shall do my best to assist you.” She promised. 

    “You? Help me?” He laughed. “And however would you do that, little thing?” He wasn’t aware that humans could play matchmaker for kin, amazed by the sheer naivety of her words. If she were smarter, she would’ve never stopped the fight, for there’d been no way he could see her be successful in convincing another of his kind to pair with him. Already, the notion of allowing some small human female act as a speaker for him seemed like a massive mark of unworthiness. What mate would want a male that needs a human to be his voice? 

    But she seemed convinced that she could. “I’ll help you find a mate of course. And convince her to stay. I could possibly talk to the town. They wouldn’t care for it, but there’s little they could do but follow my advice.”

    He would take a step towards her, sensing that her guard was finally lowering itself. “And if they don’t listen?”

    “Then it is beyond me. It will be in your hands. I am called a huntress, but I’m only here to be the bridge between your kind and my own. I pride fairness, you aren’t the villain in this case, and the one thing I hate just as much as senseless slaughter are those who welcome it by being too stupid to follow directions.”

    “And if I break my end of the bargain?” He asked out of curiosity.

    “Then my hand would be forced. You’d make yourself the villain and I would be forced to act.” in her eyes had been a flicker beat of violence: a punctuated threat to avoid the circumstance. As if unafraid to hurl the promise at a being several times her size, and her superior many times over. How could she flash eyes like that at him and expect no consequences? How could he resist the urge to conquer her when she challenged him in ways most wouldn’t even dare to? He was so intrigued that he couldn’t hold back as she turned to get her cape. He lunged for her one last time. This time, like before, she dodged right. So he would swipe his tail where her feet would’ve been. The woman didn’t expect it and fell, allowing him just enough of an opening to pin her to the ground. As a precaution, he knocked both swords from her grasp, far from her reach. 

    “Kindness will get you killed.” He reminded her. 

     She didn't  respond, eyes darting around as she searched for her lost blades. But he'd retake her attention in full, mighty paw pressing into her belly as he applied only a mere fraction of pressure with his weight. She immediately balked, feeling the points of his sharp claws press through her thin blouse. He's certain that she wished for heavier armor now, with the wide eyes she gave him then. 

    But under the closer scrutiny, he was allowed to observe her just that more intimately. Not native to these woods, the dissimilarities between her and the women he'd seen in the human villages outnumbered the similarities. From her warm colored skin and shorter stature, down to her ovular face framed by wild dark hair poorly restrained with a tie. And while he found the natives of the wood far from homely, he couldn’t deny that the woman had been beautiful in contrast. 

    Only once he took her face into his claws, angling her gaze for him and only him did he catch a glimpse at where the true root of her allure had been, sweet eyes giving him such a hard glare that almost totally convinced him. 

    He found her to be quite cute. 

    “I can think of an even more productive way you may be able to help, human.” he mused. She could catch the mischief in his eyes, something that curiously managed to bridge species enough for her to understand the implications. Just as if he were a human male, there’d been a sudden hunger in his eyes as he intently scrutinized her, sizing her up as a meal, though the rumble in his growl made it all too obvious that he wouldn’t be devouring her in the conventional way. She wanted to believe that she’d been imagining it, but granted the context and the curious claw just between her breasts, dipping far enough to hook at the neckline of her blouse, she had no choice but to see the advance for what it was. The smug smirk stretching across his maw didn’t bode well for her. 

Read more here! And if you're into stuff like this, feel free to look at my other works and stay in tune for more!