#as long as Pit keeps his snout closed

[robothechicero]

*Viewing Pit's arsenal of weapons*

"They don't seem very different from the rods in our world," Legend murmured at his side, carefully examining an elegant Staff covered in a vine of spikes and roses. "Do you know how much magic they consume?"

"Staffs don't consume their users' energy, and if anything, they're powered by Divine Power." Pit recited, as if he were repeating someone else's words.

Legend looked up and gave him a blank stare.

"Divine Power is magic."

"No," Pit looked at him in confusion and placed his fist on his hip. "Divine Power is power."

After that, Legend gave everyone a intensive class on the different types of magic and why Divine Power was one of them.

Legend is a hoarder, he'll see all these new things and drool over them. The poor guy is dying to talk about this new technology, too bad the only one he could ask didn't pay attention to Palutena classes.

(I don't know how weapons work in Ki:U either. I read somewhere that they were working with the power of the Goddess who had Pit at that time).

[pr3ttygrlz]

Worth the sacrifice

Scenarios 1/?

jacaerys x reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis: they had been friends for as long as they could remember, but as they grew older, the line between friendship and something more began to blur. yet, neither of them would admit it.

warnings: none just some fluff <3

word count: 770

It had been a while since she had fallen into a trance at the sight. The beast flapping its wings above had hypnotized her.

It wasn’t the first time she had stood before such mythical creatures, yet this one, along with its rider, made her feel as if it were. The attention and precision Jacaerys devoted to each of his movements revealed his vast skill in controlling the beast.

Her dress slightly fluttered as the dragon descended and finally hit the ground. The sigh it released reached the stairs where she was waiting for him to finally finish for the day.

Now that the war was approaching, it was no wonder that he frequented the pit so often, and from time to time, she felt like watching.

Jacaerys dismounted the dragon, dusting himself off as he issued orders to the dragonkeepers, who promptly returned to their tasks. She couldn’t help but watch his every move, imagining his scent. The familiar mix of smoke and sweat often lingered in his hair, not that she minded it.

They locked eyes as he began to make his way up to her, a cheeky smile made it's way to her face.

"Don’t you think you spend too much time down here?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Don’t you think you spend too much time waiting for me to finish?" he countered with a smirk before taking her hand. "Come," he gestured.

"Jace..." the girl said in a somewhat irritated tone. He already knew the fear the dragons generated in her, and even so, he tried to make her finally accept that living in Dragonstone meant that she would often be in the presence of them, mostly because that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

"Here," he said as they approached Vermax. The creature frightened her, but even so, she couldn't help but notice how his hand found its way to her waist, steadying her in front of the dragon.

"Press your hand; as long as you are by my side, he won’t harm you." His tone was reassuring, but she still doubted, and the look on her face gave it away. "I promise."

She took a quick breath and slowly brought the palm of her hand to its snout; the heat that the beast emanated was palpable in an instant.

"It’s so… warm," she said as she caressed its scales.

He could only smile as he admired the girl standing before him. They had been friends for as long as they could remember, but as they grew older, the line between friendship and something more began to blur. Yet, neither of them would admit it.

Her hand lingered on the beast’s snout, her fingers tracing the ridges of its scales as if seeking some hidden truth in their texture.

“See?” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent. “He knows you. They always know.”

She pulled her hand back, suddenly aware of how close Jacaerys had moved. He stood beside her, that characteristic scent clinging to him like a second skin.

“And if he hadn’t?” she asked, trying to keep her tone sharp, but it faltered under the weight of his gaze.

“Then I would have burned with you,” he said, the words half a jest but ringing with something deeper, something unspoken.

Her soft chuckle echoed lightly through the pit. "Do not jest, my prince."

"I do not," he replied plainly, his gaze darting toward her. "Why would I?"

Avoiding his eyes, she lowered her head and fidgeted with the embroidery on her dress. "I’m afraid I am not worthy of such sacrifice."

He furrowed his brows slightly and stepped closer to her. "Well…" Gently, he lifted her chin so she would meet his gaze. "I disagree."

The space between them shrank with each passing second until he was practically speaking against her lips. "You say that because you don’t truly know how much you mean to me."

His words left her stunned, a warmth spreading across her face as their lips hovered mere inches apart.

Suddenly, a deafening screech startled them, breaking the moment. They quickly looked around to find the dragonkeepers struggling to contain a young dragon resisting their efforts.

Awkwardly, she looked down and took a step back from him. "Your Grace," she murmured, giving him a slight curtsy before dismissing herself.

He could only stand and watch as she hurried out of the pit, catching the fleeting glance she threw back at him before disappearing from sight.

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Hiii, random thought I had today , I rewatched httyd and thought about the scene where Hiccup scratched under Toothless' chin and he collapsed in happiness so I wondered if Targaryen's might have like the perfect scratching spot that'd make them do the same thing, basically melting into your touch

Always yours, ✨ anon

Note: Hi ✨anon !! I’m so happy you asked ! I don’t think many of them would let their love scratch at their dragons all willy-nilly, because they still are dragons. But some have more control over the draconic instincts then others, for sure. The younger generation is more open to being scratched or touched in general, too.

Warning: ⚠️ start of explicit scenes, not graphic. Very mild.

Masterlist

Dragon!hybrid masterlist

Aemond: To be fair, Aemond had no control in what Vaghar did, most of the time when he was in dragon form. Otherwise, he would not have had you so close, so soon after a long flying adventure when he and Vaghar were on edge. If it had been left to Aemond, he would have left the moment he saw you, waiting for him in the pit, at landing. But Vaghar had taken over, in his fatigue, and let you run your hands down the scales that made their body. Too tired to fully control himself, and too exhausted to even think about changing form, Aemond simply stood by, in his own mind, and watched.

Vaghar is a sucker for caresses, the prince already knew. He could hear and feel her purrs everything you touched him, at any moment, and for any reasons. This time was no different, except that Aemond had no control over the purrs that rumbled out of Vaghar, purrs he usually quieten to the people around him.

Your fingers scratched at the long snout of his dragon form and a jolt of lightning seems to run through his veins as Vaghars let herself fall to the ground, leaving Aemond dizzy, fully in control of the dragon’s form. The sudden fall of the dragon, and change from the scaled giant to the leathery-winged prince left you no time to brace yourself. Aemond hand caught yours, bringing it against his cheek, stepping so close to you that you could feel his chest heaving against yours.

No words were exchanged, Aemond too busy trying to make sense of this sudden situation, and the heaviness between his legs that had all the blood (or so it seemed) in his body rush down south, too fast to fully understand. He felt sluggish, drunk from your touch, and words seemed like the least pleasing things he could offer you in, when you made him feel so much.

Baela: Baela would like to have you feel her completely, in and out of her human form and dragon form, but the reminder of her burnt hands forever marked on your skin is searing still, in her memory. She likes having yours hands run down her scales, especially against her neck, but she never lets you get cozy with Moondancer’s full form. Her dragon magic is still too fearsome for her Rider, and hurting you is the nightmare that follows her even in the waking world.

Daemon: Caraxes would love to have you scratch under his chin, at the junction of his neck, it’s Daemon that is too proud to as, and too in control to let Caraxes do as he pleases. The only time it happened was the only time Daemon fucked you with scales still covering most of his body and teeth that could have ripped your throat in a blink. The only time, or too he begged for you to keep his eggs inside. Since, he limits your interactions with Caraxes’ form.

Daemon is still too embarrass to talk about his request of you keeping his eggs, he felt dirty and had never seen himself as perverse before this one instance. It’s a him problem.

Jacaerys: Jacaerys wishes he could control Vermax, if only half as good as Baela does Moondancer. Vermax always finds a way to get your hands on it’s scales, and get your fingers in the little spot behind his left wing that he cannot reach. The spot that makes Jace see stars and feel like he could burst from not even having you touch him… down there. And he can’t even make it known to you, since Vermax is not letting him have the control to shift, so Jacaerys endures, until Vermax gets its fill of caresses. Then it’s a red-cheeks Jace that your greet. One that pulls you to the nearest corner to kiss you, hands holding on to your hips and thighs and hair, until he, too, gets his fill of you.

Rhaenyra: Syrah is more than happy to have you scratch at their scales. Every place you touch is their favourite, to be honest. Do they have a particular spot ? Not really. Do they have to have you naked underneath them afterwards ? Most definitely.

Rhaenyra has control over Syrax, and Syrax is most happy to please her human counterpart. With the exception of those tired nights after long deliberations and political talks that Syrax has no care for. Then, the dragon has an easier time having access to their human’s body, and thus to you, in the process. Being able to feel your fingers racking through their hair, and having their chin rest upon your chest, letting them purr and bathe you in their scent to their heart’s content is the most gratifying thing Syrax could find. And the burn of lust grows in her human’s lower belly every time, forcing Syrax to retreat to the darkness of their shared mind as Rhaenyra, now fully awake, takes back the control and makes you sing under her touch.

taglist : @lady-dragon-rider

current anon: 👑😵‍💫🥰🧑‍🍼😣🧑‍⚕️☄️💎✨❤️ 🌞

[itsabouttimex2]

Could you write something for shadowpeach with yandere wukong? Maybe it takes place right after wukong sees macaque for the first time since he killed him or maybe it takes place during season 4 when wukong gets trapped inside the scroll and sees their relationship before he killed macaque and once he gets out of the scroll he got full on yandere? :3

(Hai, im rlly sorry. i just realized i sent this originally when your inbox was closed. im super sorry😭)

(Hey, no big deal! It’s sweet that you remembered your request!)

Lost and Found

“…you hurt a lot of people,” the Great Sage starts, plucking at the hair around his wrists, “and you don’t even feel bad, huh?”

“I’ve got nothing to feel bad for,” returns his rival, rolling a drupe pit between his palms- a remnant of the peaches that Sun Wukong so adores. “None of this was my fault.”

It’s hard to tell whether or not Macaque is being sincere right now- he’s more guarded now than ever before, even as rays of sunlight spill softly across his pitch-black fur and his stomach fills with sweet fruit.

He’s like shattered obsidian, inky blackness casting rainbows in the glinting light.

“Bud, you made a deal with the literal most powerful demon in the world, and didn’t even try to-

“Keep this up,” cuts in the umbrakinetic, “and I’m gonna leave.”

Wukong springs to his feet suddenly, crushing a few pink-white petals under his reckless soles, squashed into mangled clumps of cellulose under the reckless monkey- then crushes a few dozen more as he charges to Macaque and slings himself over the startled simian.

“No, no, no! Bud, you said we would-“

“Get off me! Dammit, I’m not some kind of toy!”

“No! Lay down and listen to me!”

Macaque struggles under Wukong’s iron grip, his claws digging into golden arms as the tension between them crackles like static. The multi-eared monkey snarls, his claws scraping at Wukong’s clothes and fur, but the Great Sage’s skin is long hardened by fire and trial- it remains unblemished.

“Listen,” Wukong huffs, his voice trembling somewhere between desperation and long-baked sorrow. “You can’t just walk away every time someone calls you out! That’s not how this works, Mac! That’s not how we work!”

Macaque’s pupils narrow to slits, his breath heavy as he glares into Wukong’s golden eyes. The sunlight dances on them, warm and radiant. “You think- you think a little chat will make ‘us’ work? ‘Us’ never worked!”

“It can! We can make this work, if you would just try!”

Macaque stills, his claws frozen mid-scratch against Wukong’s wrist. The afternoon sunlight filters through the cherry blossoms, casting fractured patterns across their fur. For a moment, the only sound is the wind rustling the petals around them.

He gives, eventually. The sable simian huffs and deflates under his old mate’s grip, going slack against the meadow’s grass.

There’s a moment where Macaque leans in, ruffled black fur thrown askew with effort and sweat, still flecked with debris from the Lady Bone Demon’s final push for utter “perfection”.

He’s tired, worn, spent from battle and spent from a lifetime of old regrets circling his heart.

But he’s still Macaque.

“…not in a thousand years, Wukong.”

Even though the rejection is tempered, the king wilts under it, golden fur dimming under the weight of his mate’s refusal.

“Mac... you can’t just-“

“I can. I make my own choices now, Wukong,” the darker monkey snaps, lips pulling back to reveal his sharp canines- a threat, if the matter is pushed.

...but the king just can’t let this go. Not after centuries spent waiting and wanting.

“...there’s no one else who can protect you.”

A harsh snort comes from Macaque’s creased snout, the unpleasant sound smoothing into chuckles.

“From what, O’ Great Sage? What do I need to protected from?”

“The Celestial Realm, bud. You think they haven’t already figured out who you threw your lot in with? That you made a deal with the Lady Bone Demon?”

A pause, sharp and stiff- he’s hit a nerve.

“...they wouldn’t. Not after I helped defeat her. Not after I put my life on the line,” he almost pleads, as though the court could hear his defenses. “They wouldn’t.”

“After what they did to me? You’re not off the menu, bud- you never are. Not after you’ve wronged the Celestial Court.”

There’s a dread rush of panic that starts to race through Macaque’s cold veins, an icy chill radiating slowly through his skin.

“They wouldn’t.”

Right after he says it, Wukong signs and rolls off of Macaque, offering a hand to help him up.

“They never let go, bud. The moment we sieged their home, there was no way they’d ever stop looking for a way to ‘repay’ us.”

His old rival sits up with panic in his shrouded eyes, slapping away Wukong’s hand.

“No,” he snaps, bolting upright under a shower of plink petals. “You’re right. They won’t. Which means I-“

“You’re leaving,” the king sighs. “You’re running away, again. You’re gonna leave me, just like every one always does.”

Macaque pulls his face into a nasty sneer, dark and creased. “You don’t get to try and pull me into some little pity part, Monkey King. Not after you put me in the ground.”

To his surprise, one of Wukong’s golden eyes twitch, lit with a sudden anger.

“You know what? No. No, you aren’t going anywhere,” the monkey snaps, snaring one of Macaque’s wrists in his hand. “Not until you’ve actually started to change. You spent five centuries down in the underworld and don’t even start to think “Hey, maybe there’s a reason I ended up down here?!” Not even for a second, Macaque?!”

The umbrakinetic pulls back a little, eyes wide with surprise at having his usual shit-slinging slung back at him.

“That’s not- shut your damn mouth. I don’t deserve to be yelled at, and-“

“Did I “deserve” to be alone under a mountain for five hundred years after one fight? Did I “deserve” to be abandoned while I was fighting the Jade Emperor? Did I “deserve” to be collared by the Celestial Realm while you got to run around wreaking havoc?”

Things are going wrong, Macaque faintly realizes. He’s not usually the one get reamed out for centuries old mistakes, a dynamic he was quite fond of- Wukong takes all the blame, and he slinks off to hide in the shadows. That’s what he likes.

And he realizes more and more with each passing second that things are going further south- especially when he see the way that Wukong’s hand dips into his pocket.

From it, he procures a gleaming circlet.

No. No. No.

It’s wound with the image of branching vines and flowers, a step up from Wukong’s own in term of design- perhaps someone had grown bored with it

The golden hoop exudes a warm, almost soothing aura- it’d be calming if Macaque didn’t know what it could do.

But he knows almost everything about it. He knows how it works. He knows who made it.

Guanyin.

She had been like a mother to the Monkey King during his short stay in the Celestial Realm, one of the very few gods that he thought of fondly- and one of the even fewer who looked on him fondly in turn.

“My dear Monkey,” she had cooed to the intruding demon, both her warm hands cusping his furry cheeks, “what have you come for today?”

“Guanyin, I… I found my old mate,” he admitted to her, his palms nervously clasping over her own. “And I don’t know what to do. I want him back, but...”

“Oh, my little pilgrim... you wish to reunite with... wasn’t his name Macaque, then? Well, if you do desire this... shadowy little imp... I will lend you my aid.”

Her head had dipped forehead, lips gentle on his forehead, a blessing born of warmth and love- a blue sigil etches across the skin-warmed spot, riding the king good luck and protection. “Anything for you, my dear Monkey. Take my blessings, and take this... this circlet. I trust that you will do good with them.

But Macaque hadn’t know that.

That Wukong had a plan all along, that it was backed up by an adoring goddess of mercy, that he had a damned tightening fillet from the start and was never above using it-

All he knows at this moment, frozen in place form shock- is the tightness around his forehead as Wukong snaps the hoop into place.

“We can still fix this, Moonbeam. I’m not losing you again.”

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 2. ROUSED

❝Your fascination with me will be your death.❞

Tamed M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

Meleys' scarlet wings flared in the sky above Driftmark, casting a shadow that swept across the courtyard below.

The dragon's descent was as graceful as it was dramatic—her massive form dipping slowly to the ground.

Down below Laenor and Laena hurried into the pit the moment the Dragon came into sight.

Awoken to the news of the Lord and Lady sudden departure with no say left a burning curiosity and excitement within their children.

The Velaryon siblings brows lift high when they saw Corlys dismounting first.

Him? On a Dragon?

The Sea Snake staggered slightly with a hand pressed to his head as he muttered under his breath, "Never again."

Laenor couldn't but grin. "Father. Still with us after all that?"

Corlys shot him a half-hearted glare causing Laenor and Laena laugh.

Though the sound quickly faded quickly when they saw Rhaenys descending carefully from Meleys.

There was almost an reverent light in her eyes as she held the bundle close to her chest.

Even Meleys lowered her head, her long snout stretching forward until it hovered beside Rhaenys.

The Dragon's amber eyes blinked slowly as her snout nudged close to the small form with a soft huff.

Laena's gaze was riveted at the scene—unable to tear her eyes from the sight of the Dragon showing such gentleness.

"Mother?" Laena asked hushed, half-formed questions caught on her lips.

But before she could say more Rhaenys tilted the cover back just enough for the young girl to see your face nestled among the folds of cloth.

Laena's breath caught as she took in your golden eyes, blinking up at her with wide innocence.

Laenor, noticing his sister's stunned expression, walked over.

His brows knitted in confusion until he looked down and caught sight of you himself causing his mouth to drop open.

"This," Rhaenys's soft voice broke through with warmth evident in her tone, "is your new sister."

Laenor blinked. "Wait. Did...did you and Mother..." he trailed off as he still at a lost for words.

Corlys let out a deep booming laugh, stepping over to clap his son on the back.

"Afraid your mother and I are well past our prime for something like that." He glanced down at you, his gruff features softening. "But for this little bird, I wouldn't mind clearing the nest one more time."

Laena hadn't taken her eyes off you.

Her gaze was unwavering as she took a hesitant step forward, her eyes flicking between her parents.

With a clear of her throat she asked, "Mother, may I...can I hold her?"  Her voice was quieter than usual—uncharacteristically shy.

Rhaenys smiled with a nod as she gently handed you to Laena.

The young girl's hands trembled slightly as she took you, cradling your tiny form with a mix of awe and nervousness.

You blinked up at her cooing softly and Laena's heart melted at the sound.

In that moment Laena felt a new kind of warmth—a protective tenderness blooming in her chest, something that softened her in a way she'd never felt before.

She marveled at how delicate and small you were nestled against her as though you'd always been meant to be there.

'If this is what being a mother feels like' she thought with a flutter of excitement 'then I can't wait.'

She barely noticed Laenor shifting beside her, his own curiosity piqued as he reached out. "Alright Laena my turn."

Laena's expression instantly became guarded. She angles herself away from him and draws you closer.

"Not yet," she replied. "I just got to hold her."

Laenor frowned, stepping forward again with hands outstretched. "Come on Laena don't be selfish. She's my sister too."

But she only stepped back, keeping her gaze on you and refusing to hand you over.

Laenor let out a frustrated huff and stomps his foot. With an indignant glare he turns to his parents.

"Mother! Father! Laena won't let me hold her."

Laena rolled her eyes dramatically. "You're five and ten, a grown man in his own right—and yet here you are whining like a child denied a treat."

Laenor's lips curl flushed, irritation flaring as he glares at his sister.

"I am not whining! You're just hogging her," he shot back, his voice rising. "You've had more than enough time."

"Oh have I?" Laena countered, lifting her chin defiantly. "Maybe I'm the only one of us who knows how to handle a babe properly."

Laenor's frustration simmered as his face twisted. "Oh for the love of—I'm the eldest Laena! She should come to me first! Besides, I know how to hold one just fine! Now give her here Laena!"

Once again Laena refuses, keeping you firmly out of reach as she relished in her brother's upset. "Not a chance. You'll have to wait your turn."

By now the two were fully absorbed in their playful bickering, their voices growing louder as they sparred.

Rhaenys and Corlys exchanged a look of exasperation laced with a hint of amusement.

"Appears we won't have to worry about them accepting her after all," Rhaenys murmured softly, her lips twitching in a half-smile.

Corlys gave a dry, slightly sarcastic huff, watching his children's competitive antics over their new sister.

"Yes," he replied dryly, though a spark of love glinted in his eyes. "How wonderful."

═════════════════˚･:*:★☆༓☆★:*:･˚══════════════════

The light filtered softly through the high windows of Driftmark's learning chamber, casting warm beams across the stone floor.

You sat cross-legged at the center of the room, diligently trying to focus on the scrolls in front of you.

The weighty sounds of the maester's voice droned on—seamlessly reciting grammar in High Valyrian with unrelenting precision.

Unfortunately for him your attention wavered as your gaze drifted to the small window.

Across from you Laena listened in feigned patience, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her skirts.

Laenor sat slouched beside her, his cheek resting on one hand, stifling a yawn as he half-heartedly mimicked the maester's phrases.

Though your place had been legitimized by King Viserys himself, your presence had always been kept relatively hidden.

Life on Driftmark continued quietly when you arrived with little of the Realm knowing your presence in the Velaryon family.

There were no grand feasts, no tournaments or public celebrations to announce your adoption; just a quiet and private ceremony with only your family and close retainers present.

A simple meal, a promise, and the warmth of their voices that bound you as theirs.

You could still recall being held in your mother's arms constantly in those early days.

She'd carried you with her wherever she went until you were too big to manage on her hip.

Not to mention how Laenor and Laena would find any excuse to keep you near.

From taking you along shores to (when they were feeling especially daring) sneaking you along on rides with their Dragons.

Corlys often teased Rhaenys of her and the children's behavior—comparing it to a dog with prized bone.

But even if his love for you wasn't as shown or as intense as theirs, it still ran as deep as the sea itself.

 It didn't take long for you to get used to the rhythm of lessons and family life.

And although you hadn't met many people beyond Driftmark's shores, you'd heard whispers of the events unfolding just beyond the castle walls. 

Laena was nearing the day when she'd leave for her marriage to Daemon Targaryen, The Rogue Prince—a man whose name you'd heard countless times yet never met.

And just three years ago Laenor had married King Viserys' daughter Princess Rhaenyra—the Princess of the Realm.

She too was family you'd never laid eyes on, but you couldn't help but picture her as someone bright and bold as Laenor.

Thinking about that made you feel a little better when dealing with the loss of having him move away from Driftmark.

But luckily Laenor visited often, making the long journey from King's Landing whenever he could to tell you stories of his life and marriage.

Even at six you could see there was something different in the way he spoke about his marriage to Rhaenyra.

They didn't seem to share what your parents had—there was no easy affection or lightness in his voice.

So of course it had come as a pleasant surprise when Laenor announced you'd have a little nephew.

The idea of being an aunt was thrilling even if you had yet to meet him.

You would imagine your big brother holding his child with the same mischief in his eyes as when he teased Laena or snuck you sweets from the kitchens.

You were certain his family must be wonderful, just as he was.

"My Lady!"

The sharp call jolts you from your thoughts and you looked up to find three faces staring at you.

Laenor smirked, his eyes glinting with amusement while Laena raised a brow with barely contained humor. 

The maester however was not so entertained. His brow furrowed deeply as he tapped the table with a bony finger.

"If you'd please focus my lady," he said tightly with barely restrained impatience.

You felt your cheeks heat up, but before you could respond, Laenor let out a small laugh.

"Aye she's off somewhere far away, certainly not here in Driftmark. Meanwhile we're trapped here with endless lectures on Valyrian verb conjugations!" He gave an exaggerated groan, earning him a glare from the maester.

"I assure you," he begins sternly, "if you spent as much time on these studies as you have on your Dragons, you might speak the language more fluently than any maester in the Citadel by now."

"Oh but where would the fun be in that?" Laenor teased as he leaned back with an easy smile. He turns to you, smile widening. "And you...drifting off during Valyrian lessons. What would Mother say?"

You grow upset at his teasing. "You're not even supposed to be here!" You snap with a pout, "Go back to your wife and child and leave me be!"

Laenor holds up his hands in surrender as Laena lets out a small laugh.

"She's not wrong brother. Here you are lounging around like moss on the rocky shores—as if you haven't got fleet to manage. Or better yet, another babe to put in your wife's belly?"

Laenor's smile drops at that and he shoots his sister a look before pulling an ugly face, his tongue sticking out at her. "Ha ha very funny. It's not my fault our dearest sister here loves me more. Her heart grows saddened without my presence. What kind of brother would I be if I left her to suffer?"

He lifts his nose at that while Laena's lip curl into a sneer.

"Love you more? Ha! As if!"

Laenor's smirk widened. "So is..."

Before Laena could jump across the table, the maester's voice cut through the squabble.

"Emāt kostilus!" (Will you both please!)

The room stills. He releases a breath once seeing he had their attention and started to speak once more.

"Now, before I was so rudely interrupted," he shoot a glare at your siblings who avoided his gaze, finding the walls and floors much more interesting. "Lady ____, will you please read the sentence on page two?"

You shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his attention and hesitantly reached out for the study book in front of you.

The leather-bound cover felt soft under your fingertips, the texture grounding you slightly.

"Um..." you began, voice uncertain.

No matter how many times you saw the ancient language, the words still looked foreign, their meanings tangled and jumbled in your mind.

You hesitate. "U-um...D-dorys—" (Kong—)

"No," The maester immediately cut you off sharply with narrowed eyes. "That is not correct. Try again."

You felt a flicker of annoyance at his tone before glancing back at the book.

Usually mistakes didn't bother you this much. But today? Each stumble sent a pang of frustration spiraling through you.

"...D-dorys Aegon—" (Kong Aegon—)

"Dārys Aegon," he corrected curtly. "You're not concentrating. Again." (King Aegon)

Every time the maester interrupted you, every snide remark he made, you could feel the heat building inside slowly.

Why did he have to be so cruel? Why did he make you feel so weak? Underserving of your place?

It was unfair the way he spoke to you—the way he dismissed your efforts as if they meant nothing.

Irritation and helplessness welled up within you and you gripped the edges of the book tightly.

The embarrassment was suffocating, but the anger—it was growing, filling every corner of your chest.

*･:*:★༓★:*:･*

The Dragonpit was a place that held you in thrall, a secret world filled with creatures and power that you couldn't resist.

Every chance you got you'd sneak down here, drawn by a fascination that seemed to root itself deeper each day.

The Dragon handlers had long since noticed your presence but never shooed you away—perhaps recognizing the curiosity that seemed ingrained in any child.

Watching them work with the Dragons felt like watching magic in motion; a language of commands and gestures understood only by those who lived their lives alongside these magnificent creatures.

Nero Fyrehand felt the same way.

Hair as dark as a raven's wing curling messily around his ears and eyes as grey as the billowing storms; the boy of eight stood among the handlers with barely contained excitement.

There was an energy about him, a boldness unusual for his age.

He watched with bated breath held as Lady Rhaenys descended from her Dragon's back, the handlers moving in swiftly to help her dismount.

Other approached cautiously, keeping their distance from Meleys as they began the task of removing the riding gear.

His gaze was fixed on Meleys with a reverence that made him seem older than he was.

She was magnificent—a creature straight out of stories.

Her scales were a rich fiery crimson that almost glowed under the sun.

Her vast leathery wings were powerful, the subtle sheen of pink and gold catching whatever light touched them.

The crown-like array of horns gave her an almost regal majestic look.

She was fierce, the warrior queen among Dragons, her slender facial features giving her a sharp dignified appearance.

He admired her more than words could say.

"Nero!" The stern voice broke through the quiet awe of the scene.

At the call of his name, he looks to see the stern face of his father, his eyes—the same dark hue as Nero's—narrowed in disapproval.

"Do not get too close, especially now," his father warned with a tone edged with seriousness. "She is nearing her incubation period. Gods know who knocked her up, but she won't take kindly to anyone approaching."

Nero waved his father off with a huff, his gaze already drifting back to Meleys.

Dragons had always fascinated him—something about their power, their elegance.

And Meleys? She was special.

She was known for her speed, her fierce loyalty to her rider, her prowess in battles past.

She had been one of the swiftest in her prime and he couldn't help but admire her as the warrior she truly was.

A Dragon worthy of the title "The Red Queen."

As his father turned away to speak with another handler, Nero saw his chance.

His father was too busy, distracted by the conversation and the other handlers were focused on Meleys' gear.

The temptation was too strong—he took a step forward, and then another, inching closer to the now resting Dragon.

It was by luck Nero's father had been a Dragon handler, him soon to become one in his own right.

Being allowed in the Dragonpit at all, permitted to watch and learn when he could—and on rare occasions he was even allowed to help with minor tasks.

Today was not one of those days but that didn't stop him. He couldn't let this chance go to waste.

Quietly he moved with the deliberate grace his father had taught him while avoiding the notice of the handlers.

His heart pounded in his chest as excitement flooded his veins.

He marveled at her sheer size and the beauty of her crimson scales, the way her sharp claws curled into the ground.

Learning the ways of Dragons since he could walk; Nero watched their handlers command them and he knew of the honor it took to stand in the shadow of such power.

Surely Meleys wouldn't mind...not if he approached slowly with respect.

But as he took another step something shifted.

Meleys' tail flicked and her nostrils flared. She had caught his scent.

Nero was too enraptured to notice at first—the scales of her side so close now that he could almost reach out and touch them.

Meleys' eyes snapped open: fierce intelligent orbs narrowing into slits as she fixed him with a chilling precision.

A soft ominous rumble escaped her throat, reverberating through the pit like distant thunder.

Her wings twitched, the leathery membrane pulling taut as she rose to her full height, looking down at him with an intensity that froze him in place.

The handlers noticed her change in posture, their heads snapping up as they registered the threat.

"Inkot!" one of them shouted sharp and quick. (Back!)

Nero's father spun around, his eyes widening as he saw how close his son had gotten.

Panic flashed across his face. "Nero!" he yelled, voice cracking. "Move away from her!"

But it was too late. Meleys' territorial instincts had kicked in, her protective nature stirred by the proximity of the boy.

She shifted into a crouch, her wings lifting slightly as every muscle coiled.

The handlers rushed forward shouting commands in High Valyrian frantically. "Iōrās embrot!" "Pilogon!" (Stand dow! Hold!)

Desperate, Nero's father picked up a nearby rock and hurled it at Meleys in hopes of it diverting her attention.

It only enraged her further.

With a furious roar she lashed out—her massive tail sweeping through the air sending handlers off their feet as she backed Nero into a corner.

Her wings flared and she let out another earth-shaking bellow, the sound so deep and powerful it seemed to shake the very walls around them.

The cries of the men and the sharp commands was drowned out by the Red Queen as she prepared to defend what was hers.

|

|

"...D-dorys Aegon ia Targarien—" (Kong Aegon I Targahryen—)

"Incorrect! It is Dārys Aegon iā Targārien Vezof. Your third month of learning and yet you still have not mastered a single pronunciation." (King Aegon I Targaryen the Conqueror)

You bit back a retort and instead trying to focus, but each correction only frayed your nerves further.

You'd never felt this raw emotion before; a simmering anger that made your pulse quicken.

Laena could sense your frustration as your fingers twitched.

She leaned closer to you, her hand brushing yours lightly. "It's alright. Just take a deep breath and take your time..." she whispered gently, her violet eyes full of quiet encouragement.

The maester's gaze snapped toward her, irritation plainly etched across his face.

"Lady Laena, coddling will not help her learn. She must persevere without such interference," he chastised unforgivingly.

Laena's face darkened. "She is but six and has only recently started her studies this year. You cannot expect—"

"Excuses will get one nowhere my lady." He cuts her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Prince Aemond began and excelled even earlier at the age of four. Regardless of her....origins, to waste the grace of the King's legitimization would be nothing short of ungrateful. Simply bearing the Velaryon name does not equate to true nobility."

Laenor's calm façade cracked as he shot a cold glare across the table.

"I suggest," he said tightly, "that you remember who you're speaking to. She is not some common child to be chastised nor a misbehaving servant."

The maester was unperturbed. His thin lips pressed together. "Perhaps if you spent less time interrupting her lessons, my lord, she might be able to concentrate."

Your hands trembled as a pressure in your chest grew with every word exchanged.

The maester's voice, the arguments around you, the frustration—everything blurred together till the point of pushing you to the edge.

"If she cannot learn the basics how will she—"

"SHUT UP!" 

Words tumbled out like a crack of thunder as you slam your hands down on the table.

The room went deathly silent.

The weight of your outburst hanging thickly in the air; the maester's mouth opened in shock and even Laena and Laenor froze wide-eyed and stunned.

You barely noticed—a surge of heat washed through you and your vision blurred, flashing with molten gold.

As if in perfect response, a thunderous roar ripped through the air, the sound of Meleys's bellowing fury reverberating across the castle grounds.

The sheer force of it sent a shiver through the room, rattling books and casting ripples across the surface of the ink pots on the table.

It was as if her anger mirrored your own—a wild rage that knew no boundaries.

You whipped your head toward the window and without thinking leapt from your seat to see what was happening.

Laenor and Laena scrambled after you with concern flickering over their faces.

Your eyes found the Dragonpit in the distance as smoke and dust curled through the air.

Down below the bright red shape of Meyles loomed large. Her tail thrashing and wings half-spread; her massive form nearing a corner of the pit where handlers shouted commands in panicked High Valyrian.

Laena took in the scene causing a look of dawning horror cross her face.

"Oh gods," she whispered, "the boy...he's too close. He doesn't stand a chance."

Her hand moved to cover your eyes but you couldn't look away.

Just as Laena reached down to shield you, her hand brushed only air.

She blinked in shock, glancing down, and then turned in alarm as she caught sight of your skirts disappearing through the doorway.

"____!"

|

|

Nero pressed himself against the stone wall of the pit as his crying form trembled before Meleys.

His breath came in short gasps as fear finally took hold.

He looked up; her mouth open slightly to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth, her throat glowing brighter as the heat of impending fire radiated from her.

"FATHER!" Nero cries, barely able to process anything but the looming fire-breathing shadow above him. "FATHER PLEASE!"

The boy's shrieks echoed through the pit as he calls out for his father who tries out in vain and shouts commands.

Every handler's shout was ignored; Meleys was deaf to them all—her blazing gaze fixed solely on the intruder who had dared come too close.

Just as the first flicker of fire threatened to spill from her ma—

"Meleys! Lykirī!" (Calm!)

A high-pitched command pierced the air in flawless High Valyrian—carrying a tone one would expect only from a dragon's rider.

Every worker in the pit froze, their heads turning toward the source of the voice.

You stood at the entrance to the Dragonpit as Meleys' blazing gaze snapped away from the boy and locked onto you. 

She froze, her mighty head tilting slightly as you approached.

The handlers stared stunned as you walked forward to meet the Dragon halfway.

She watched you intently with narrowing eyes once you stood before her.

There was no fear in your eyes, only a strange sense of calm as if approaching an old friend.

For a heartbeat there was only silence; her body taut with tension, her nostrils still glowing red.

But then, in an almost reverent movement, she lowered herself to the ground, folding her wings and lying down.

Throat ceasing its fiery glow as she settled, her tail relaxed from its aggressive coil.

Her massive head sank onto her outstretched claws—and with a low rumbling sigh, the last wisps of smoke drifted from her nostrils.

A little ways behind her you spot the boy still cowering against the wall with tear-filled eyes.

Reaching out, you rest a small gentle hand on her snout, your fingers tracing a soothing path along her warm scales.

"There there," whispered softly, your voice barely above a murmur. "You're just tired and cranky that's all..."

Meleys responded with a low deep croon that sent a soft vibration through the stone floor.

She nudged her head into your hand, exhaling a warm breath that tousled your hair as she let out a contented rumble.

Seeing the Dragoness satiated, Nero's father takes his chance to hurry over to his son, grabbing the child into his arms and holding him tight.

But the young boy barely noticed—his still trembling frame taking in the sight of you and Meleys with an indescribable look as he's taken away to safety.

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed as Rhaenys, Corlys, Laenor, and Laena came running into the pit with shaken and tense faces.

They had braced themselves for carnage—a scorched child or a battle-scarred Meleys beyond control.

But instead they came upon a scene none of them could have anticipated.

There you were, standing before the legendary Red Queen, who lay placidly at your feet.

You stroked her snout with a touch as natural as if you'd done it a hundred times while Meleys purred under your hand like a contented cat.

Corlys' jaw tightened while Rhaenys stood frozen in disbelief; their gazes flickered between you and her Dragon.

Meanwhile Laenor and Laena could only exchanged stunned glances, not daring to move or speak.

At that moment you look up upon noticing your family's arrival and beam at them.

"Hi!" you chirped with a toothy grin, your gap-toothed smile radiating innocence.

The sight of your childish joy, so out of place in the scene of soot and smoke, seemed to shock them even further.

Laenor's expression was of confusion as Laena's eyes moved between you and Meleys still struggling to find the right words.

Rhaenys took a hesitant step forward.

"What did you..." she breathes out barely audibly, almost as if she were afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile peace that had settled in the pit.

Meleys released a contented sigh before her head nudged your side. You laughed and pat her snout again.

"She was just angry," you say simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"You...you saved him. That little boy," Laena whispers as she watches you with wonder. "How?"

You could only give a shrug. "I don't know."

Rhaenys exchanged a glance with Corlys. There was pride mingled with awe, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

Laenor, finally breaking free of his shock, lets out a small huff. "Of course. Only you little sister."

At that you give another smile and quickly go back to coddling the fire-breathing beast.

[tupanaelmichi]

Howl Your Pleas Under the Full Moon

A Werewolf!Edwin AU

The thing is, Edwin Payne keeps many secrets.

One can never escape Hell, not truly. There’s always a hint of sulfur on one’s clothes, a permanent reminder of the very place that haunts your nightmares every time you close your eyes. However, most of that one can keep to oneself.

Sure, there will always be a creature that will be able to tear apart that mask of peacefulness, to look through all those layers of hurt to find the scars of hellfire that taint your soul with the red of the purest blood, to smell the stink of suffering you leave behind you like a trail of the past. Nevertheless, that is purely superficial, for there will never really be a physical mark that can stain your skin as an announcement of the danger you bring along with you for others to flee.

At least, that’s what Edwin thought for the first three weeks.

When the first full moon of his afterlife arose, surrounded by the hundreds of shining stars that decorated London’s November of 1989 night sky, things started to change for the young ghost. This ominous, depredatory feeling bloomed in his chest like the sprout of a dark tree, a tree of sorrow that found its roots planted in the deepest of infernal soil, right along the boiling pits of sulfur.

He remembers rushing out of the library, right into the outskirts of St. Hillarions, the phantom sensation of a thousand porcelain eyes roaming over his back making him sprint like a madman.

He remembers running through the familiar woods of his old boarding school, the place where the life of former model scholar and different-from-other-boys Edwin Payne had ended to make way for the husk of a child he had become.

He remembers how, guided by the almighty presence of the bright satelite looming over him, the body of a hellbent boy began to shift, adapting the shape of long forgotten and likely non-existing bones to the liking of an external force, tearing young skin apart, growing the saddest hints of gray fur over the ghastly tangle of limbs that could not longer be called a human being, or even the remains of one.

He remembers the howl that escaped his snout that night, and he remembers the pain that reverberated through this newfound vessel of his soul as he did. Shed of his own flesh, both as a human and as a ghost, he finally felt free. Not the kind of free that any living or dead person can experience, not the kind of free that meant being rid of the pain, but the freedom of a beast. The freedom of a hunter, the freedom of a killer that it’s not tied to survival, but to thirst.

Then, everything went quiet. Not a single owl hooted, not even the wind dared to flow through the leaves of the trees.

Edwin Payne, no longer human, no longer Edwin Payne, howled again. All the consciousness that comes with being was quiet as well, that stupid voice at the back of his head weeded out of his own mind just like the plague it was in this cruel world of eating or being eaten. Edwin knew the sensation of seventy years of being eaten by that darn spider again and again down in Hell, he knew the pain of being eaten by his classmates and everyone around him back when he was alive; perhaps, it was the time to stop being a cowardly prey, and start becoming the predator.

The next day, the boys at St Hillarions told fantastic stories of a werewolf haunting the school grounds, trying to scare each other. Nobody really believed them, because, “a werewolf here, in London? Really? Mate, do you really think I’m that much of an idiot?”. The boys were of course right, the notion of such a monster roaming regular English woods was unthinkable, even to a ghost such as himself. The remains of bloodlust impregnated in his mind spoke otherwise, though, but a ghost werewolf wouldn’t really be an issue to anybody other than himself in the foreseeable future, so, as long as he stayed far apart from other potentially damageable spirits, nobody should be harmed by the urges that this hellish reminder of his brought upon his non-life. After all, pain was a thing that Payne could endore.

Full fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65064256

[auxiliarydetective]

Lies and Guesses

When undertaking a long journey, you have to keep yourself busy somehow, and Merry and Pippin have taken to riddling Lindewen with questions about her half elven, half hobbit nature.

AO3 - All snippets in order here

Author's Notes: This snippets starts in the middle of a conversation between Lindewen, Merry and Pippin about the latter two's sword training - don't let yourself be confused <3 I may have also made several maths mistakes while writing this but oh well. It works for the bit lol

The whole topic of this chapter was inspired by/borrowed from this post by the users @astriiformes and @elidyce about the Fellowship's ages that I love a whole lot. Inspiration was also taken from this post by @catsvrsdogscatswin that I'll probably be borrowing some other ideas from too because it's a literal gold mine. The saying of someone or something being fairy-kissed is adapted from this post of lovely sayings by @halfelven. If anyone is upset at me tagging them, feel free to let me know and I won't tag you again if I use your post as inspo again. If you don't want me getting inspired by your post at all, you can tell me that too. As for my own sayings I invented for this fic: "cornerstone" - a killjoy, someone's who's boring; inspired by hobbits hitting their toes on pointy cornerstones and having all the fun taken out of their day because of this and also by cornerstones not being in any other way noteworthy otherwise "time to pay the tab" - time to come clear, time to be honest, time to stop pushing things aside or avoiding things; inspired by clearing a tab at a bar/pub/inn "from the rooster crow" - from the get-go, right off the bat, from the start; inspired by roosters probably being the main alarm clock system of the Shire, starting the day

“Well, if you’ve been training with such capable fighters I suppose you’re both brave warriors then,” Lindewen remarked with a smirk.

“Yeah, but I don’t think we’ll be walking up trees like you or Legolas anytime soon,” Merry quipped. “Can you walk up trees?”

“Not walk, no, not me at least. – Legolas, have you ever walked up a tree?”

“I can’t say I have,” Legolas declared. “I have vaulted along one now and again.”

“See?” Merry said. “Close enough.”

“Ah, but you’re selling yourselves short,” Lindewen declared. “Yes, yes, elven constitution and agility are a great benefit in such artistic feats, but a lot of it comes down to practice. I think it’s safe to say that, if Legolas and I were pitted against each other in a cross-country race, I would lose by a longshot. But if instead we competed on who could do the most pirouettes while also playing the fiddle, I doubt our sharp-shooting friend could even do one.”

Boromir barked out a laugh, grinning at a red-eared Legolas. “Now that is a competition I’d like to see.”

“Is it weird at all, being half elf and half hobbit?” Pippin asked. “I mean, so far it looks like you’re gettin’ the best of both worlds, but you’ve got to be either too short or too tall for a lot of things, right?”

“Oh, trust me, height really isn’t that much of an issue. I can duck or stand on my toes. It’s the cultural differences that matter – right, Aragorn?” Lindewen called over her shoulder.

“Oh yes,” Aragorn confirmed. “It’s oddly lonely, especially as a child. Knowing you’re different but unable to put a finger on it until you get old enough to be told or to realise. And even then you cannot change it.”

“My mother had very high expectations of me,” Lindewen recalled. “She was a very strict woman, graceful in the way a sword might be. My father had no expectations at all, he was a very laid-back man. An adventurer too. You wouldn’t have caught him dead in a place like the Shire, he was too much of a wanderer to ever truly settle down.” She paused to pluck a few elderberries off a bush and throw them to Cloudfur – who immediately jumped up and caught them with his snout. “Either way, I’m past the point of complaining about the folks I was born of. Hobbit and elven genes really don’t mix as poorly as you’d think. Height is one thing, yes, but I’m also very light-footed and I dare say I have the best hearing out of anyone here, including Maple, Cloudfur and Snowpaws. In the end, what use would there be in denying the things that make me who I am? I am a child of both worlds, and that includes the good and the bad.”

“What bad things would there be?” Legolas asked. “In my eyes, you seem both adaptable and free-spirited enough not to care about any difficulties.”

“Ah, but the bad things aren’t always visible, and some of them don’t apply anymore,” Lindewen chuckled.

“What’s one of the issues then?” Merry insisted.

“Alcohol.”

“No!”

“Oh yes.”

“You can’t go drinking?”

“I can, but it’s always a coin toss on which half of me takes over. I’ll either pass out after five glasses or fifty – which also depends on the beverage, of course.”

“That’s a bummer,” Pippin muttered.

“There’s always the question of growth too,” Lindewen continued. “I’m fine now because I’ve long since stopped growing, but if one half of your bloodline dictates you’re fully grown at one age and the other says it’s nearly twice that, it causes some problems. I looked a lot more like a hobbit child when I was young, the elven traits only really came into their own once I should have been done growing by hobbit standards.”

“So how old are you anyway?”

Lindewen stopped dead in her tracks and gave Pippin a stare of amused annoyance.

“You can’t just ask a lady that,” Aragorn scolded, though he couldn’t stop a tiny smirk from reaching his lips.

“I’m just saying,” Pippin defended himself, “you told that story of the Lonely Mountain and it sounds like Gimli wasn’t even alive back then.”

“I was,” Gimli corrected. “Just a bit young.”

“You’re a lost cause, Pippin,” Frodo chuckled. “No wonder Poppy turned you down when you asked her to dance at my birthday.”

“How old is anyone, really?” Merry prodded. “I mean, we’re all adults except for Pippin, aren’t we?”

“Pippin, you’re a child?!” Boromir blurted out, his eyes blown wide.

“Not a child,” Pippin said indignantly. “Just not officially an adult.”

“That’s why we call him Pippin,” Sam explained. “He needs at least another ten to fifteen years until he can make Peregrin work.”

Boromir furrowed his brows and Legolas’s lips crinkled upwards as he could practically see the Son of Gondor’s entire worldview being reordered behind his eyes.

“The reason why I got the name Linda Seasong is practically the same,” Lindewen explained. “It’s hard to get anyone to call you something like Lindewen if you’re no more than three apples tall.”

“So we know who’s youngest,” Merry said, “but who’s oldest if—”

“Gandalf,” Legolas and Lindewen cut in simultaneously.

“There’s no competition,” Aragorn chuckled.

“Really?”Frodo gasped.

He glanced over at Gandalf, who was one more comment away from laughing. Boromir, on the other hand, was still trying to come to terms with this new information. Pippin was a child and needed at least ten to fifteen more years to make his adult name work? Ten to fifteen?! Lindewen offered Boromir a drink of water – a drink that he gladly took, though her foreboding smirk worried him.

“Wait. Now I’m curious as well,” Frodo enthused. “Gandalf, you’re not an elf, are you?”

Gandalf laughed and shook his head. “No, dear boy.”

“Then how does your age work if two elves can attest to you being the oldest?”

“Not at all.”

“Not at all?!” Gimli echoed.

“Wicked,” Merry gasped.

Poor Sam was simply confused.

“So,” Merry started. “Sam is 37, Frodo is 49, Pippin is 28—” Boromir almost choked on his water — “and I’m 35. Gandalf’s age is clearly fairy-kissed, but how old is everyone else? Gimli, how old are you?”

“139 years,” Gimli stated proudly.

Merry let out a low whistle, catching him a side-eyed stare from the dwarf.

“That’s more than a hobbit’s lifetime!” Pippin gasped.

“It’s not even middle age!” Gimli barked.

Boromir had entered the first stages of grief, whereas Lindewen just snickered.

“And you, Legolas, how old are you?”

“Old enough,” Legolas muttered.

“Alright then,” Frodo chuckled. “Keep your secrets.”

“Old enough,” Merry mocked the elf-prince. “You’re such a cornerstone.”

Legolas’s ear twitched slightly and one of his brows inched upwards.

“A killjoy, a boring person,” Gandalf translated.

“He’s probably five thousand years old or something,” Pippin muttered.

“Aragorn, how old are you?” Merry asked as he continued down the line.

Aragorn, meanwhile, exchanged a worried glance with Lindewen, then they both looked at Boromir. Boromir in turn saw his life flash before his eyes.

“Now don’t say old enough.”

Aragorn cleared his throat. “87.”

“What?” Boromir hissed.

“87.”

“Eighty-seven?!” Boromir’s voice cracked.

“Why, how old are you?” Merry immediately asked.

Lindewen placed a calming hand on Boromir’s shoulder. “It’s the Númenórean blood of the royal line,” she explained. “Nothing for you to worry about.” She gave him a little wink.

“Come on, are you gonna be a cornerstone too or what?” Pippin insisted.

“I’m 42,” Boromir lied.

He was preparing himself for the onslaught of accusations that was to follow, but, miraculously, this seemed to have been the correct answer. After all, the hobbits were seemingly happy with it, Legolas and Gimli had no point of comparison, Aragorn and Lindewen just shared knowingly amused glances and Gandalf nodded proudly. In fact, the answer had even been good enough to have Merry and Pippin go back to pestering the elves now.

“Okay, Mister Old Enough,” Pippin scoffed. “Time to pay the tab. How old exactly are you?”

Legolas refused to meet the young one’s eyes. “Far older than you,” he stated.

Immediately, Merry and Pippin fell into indignant chatter.

“Why don’t you guess?” Lindewen cut in. “If you can guess both of our ages correctly before we reach Moria, you’ll get a prize.”

Just like that, the hobbits’ ears perked up and their eyes sparkled.

“What kind of prize?” Merry asked.

“A prize of your choice. Anything you like. But you have to guess both of our ages exactly to the year – and no cheating by asking Gandalf. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pippin grinned and Merry nodded eagerly.

“Legolas, what do you say to these terms?”

The two elves locked eyes and it was as if a separate world was created between them, as if a thousand words were said but none of them spoken.

“Let all of them guess,” Legolas finally declared. “This little game will widen their horizons.”

“Oooh,” Merry called, “he’s confident now! What little scheme have you cooked up, huh?”

“None, except that we don’t know each other’s exact age either,” Lindewen smirked. “So pestering us for hints will be utterly useless. I will however give you two hints from the rooster crow, so listen well: I am older than Legolas and I am less than five thousand years old.”

And so began a flurry of guessing. Merry and Pippin were relentless, picking out the most unusual of numbers but always getting the same answer: “You’re wrong. Try again.” Frodo and Sam were less active in spitting out numbers but rather tried to reason with the information they had been given, and Boromir found great joy in helping them. Gimli wavered between eagerly trying to win the elusive prize and claiming that this was all unwinnable. Eventually, the guessing group came to the realization that Aragorn knew Sindarin. Thus, Aragorn had to know at least a handful of elves and their ages, right? Surely this meant he could give some valuable insight, especially since he himself had not made a single guess. This had to mean he was hiding something, right? But the guessers’ hopes were let down as Aragorn explained to them that he was no help as elves did not visibly age after they were fully grown, so he had no way of determining their elven friends’ ages either.

When the Fellowship had left all bushes and trees behind and had to exert themselves on their climb up Caradhras, Aragorn joined Lindewen at the head of the group. In elven tongue, he asked:

“Do you know your own age, my friend?”

And Lindewen replied:

“No, I confess I do not. But I am fairly confident in my calculation of it.”

At the back of the group, Legolas’s lips curled.

General Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @rose-of-oz @bravelittleflower @box-of-bats

as well as @eddysocs @villainousace and @thehedgehogat221b

[luckylockjaw]

TIMING: Current day, 23:00 LOCATION: The Grit Pit SUMMARY: Once the tranquilizer wears off, Lockjaw awakens to find himself in a cage. CONTENT WARNINGS: Eye trauma (imagined--first sentence only)

He woke in a panic, still feeling the brush of feathers upon his scales and the sharp, sickening squelch of beaks gouging out his eyes. The lamia snapped and clawed at phantom birds as his mind struggled to catch up with the present. He was trapped in a cage that was too small for something of his size, and his limbs and tail cracked against the metal bars as he thrashed about, bellowing in pain. Pain from the fight, not the nightmare birds. Wyatt went to quickly stand, only to knock his head against the roof of the cage. With an angry hiss, the lamia crouched back down, blinking a few times and focusing more on his surroundings. There were no birds. He was awake. 

The metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue. There was something stuck to the roof of his mouth, something stuck between a couple of rear teeth. Fur… clothing. Hair? He couldn’t tell exactly, but it was enough to make him remember. 

Samir. Samir. His heart started to pound as the fight came back to him. He was trying to knock the werewolf out when something happened, something that made him… he… god. God, fuck. The crows in the rafters. They cawed and he caught the sound over the din of the audience, and the panic struck him all at once. He couldn’t remember anything after that, but he knew what had happened. Exactly what he’d been trying to warn his friend of. 

“Samir,” he croaked wearily. Let him be okay. Let him be alive, please. “Samir!” Maybe he’d be back here, trapped in another cage. Maybe he was just tranquilized. 

Wyatt knew it was a false hope. 

The gator wailed in emotional agony, slamming his body against the metal bars. The cage rattled and rocked, but remained intact. It was built for things like him. He roared again and again, working up the other creatures that lurked in the dark, their various calls striking up with his own. 

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to an hour. No one came. No one cared. He wrestled with the cage door, but it could not be undone. The bars were too narrowly spaced to be gnawed, though he would have chewed until his mouth was filled with blood again if it meant getting free. He’d been left here to rot, at least for now—until someone decided he could be trusted not to kill anyone else. He didn’t know how long that would take, for them or for him. But he did eventually settle down, resting his aching body on the ground and feeling terribly sorry for himself. 

Some time later, footsteps met his ears. He lifted his head, eyes glazed over as he regarded the person coming to a stop in front of his cage. Agnes, his handler, stood before him. He said nothing, instead lowering his head back to the floor and closing his eyes. He heard her unlock the door, swing it open, and step inside. He made no move to escape, keeping perfectly still as she closed it behind her again and the click of her short, sensible heels drew her closer to the shifter. 

“Lockjaw,” she said softly, and the care in her voice made something inside of him crack. He opened his eyes again, looking up at her in time to see her crouch before him. Her hand reached out and he flinched, but she only pressed her palm gently to the end of his snout. He could bite her arm off if he wanted, but they both knew he wouldn’t. He was cooperative. He was one of the fighters that wanted to be here, right? This was all he knew. It was all he was good for. Marcel had seen that in him as a child, and it had remained true all these years. He had other talents, but fighting was his calling. 

She was quiet. Patiently waiting for him to speak, for him to apologize. He obeyed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking off to the side. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. I’m not here to talk about the werewolf.” There was a pause, and Wyatt wondered what it was he was apologizing for, then. Agnes sighed, then continued. “You killed Maurice, too. He was attempting to restrain you after Razor went down, and…” Wyatt’s breath caught in his throat. He’d killed a handler? Fuck. Fuck. 

“What… I don’t remember, I didn’t mean—”

“Lockjaw.” Her tone commanded silence, but still held that tenderness that he ached for between fights. “I know you did not mean to kill Maurice, because that would be a terribly stupid thing to do, and you are not stupid.” That was debatable. “But that doesn’t change the fact that there will have to be consequences.” She gave a thoughtful pause, and Wyatt felt like he was suspended in time. “It is fortunate that you are our champion fighter. If you weren’t, I think they would discard you.” She was being uncharacteristically kind about it, only because she knew that it was what her fighter needed right now. She knew how to manipulate him quite well, and telling him how close he had come to termination would only make him that much more likely to try something foolish. There was no question about it — the handlers had debated with Corinna already, more than half of them wanting him to be put down, the others pointing out the money that his fights raked in, which directly affected their paychecks. Corinna had listened to their arguments calmly and thoughtfully, considering the high death toll of those that opposed Lockjaw and his seemingly altered mental state. And of course, the money. In the end, she had requested that Agnes look into her fighter’s condition and see what had caused tonight’s mishap. In the meantime, he would be assigned more fights to make up for the financial loss of Razor and Maurice, and until his mental status could be ascertained and controlled, he would only fight beasts. Two, three at a time if needed to keep it interesting, but no more headliners. A call was put out to recruit more beast catchers, and that had been the end of it. 

As Agnes crouched before him now, she cocked her head to the side. “But they will not. You are safe, for now. You’ll be scheduled for more fights, however.” More fights? That seemed…. counter-intuitive. The confusion must have been evident on his reptilian face because Agnes gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Money talks, my dear creature. You make us a lot of money, and these problems will go away.” Wyatt stared at her for a few seconds before slowly nodding, shifting his weight where he lay. “Now. What set you off tonight?”

He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to talk about that, or anything, really. He just wanted to think about his dead friend and how his alive friends had probably seen the whole fucking thing, and how he was going to be alone all over again after this. But he had to. Anges wouldn’t take silence as an explanation.

“Birds,” he croaked. “Birds in the rafters.” His handler raised a brow. “I know, it’s… I’ve been having… nightmares. Intense ones. For months. Can’t sleep, don’t let myself. It’s too… too much. Too real. But it’s always birds.” Birds and that fucking woman, whoever she was. 

“Birds,” Agnes repeated incredulously. “Interesting. Well… we'll see what we can do about keeping them from getting in, then.” Or quite the opposite, as Corinna desired. Perhaps they could make a show of it. 

Wyatt didn't want to say that he wasn't even sure if the crows had been real, happier to blame it on the Pit than he was to blame it on his own troubled mind. He reached out with one clawed hand, resting it over the top of Agnes’ foot. She peered down at it, then looked back at her fighter. He was… crying, as far as she could tell. Fascinating. She hadn't known he was capable of such a thing when he was shifted. “Sa—Razor. He's… dead, isn't he?” The handler shook her head, pushing away the dangerous hand. 

“You know the answer to that already,” she chastised. Wyatt closed his eyes with a hiss. 

“I just… need you to say it.”

“... yes. Razor is dead. You ripped out his throat.”

“... okay.” 

“I'll be back with something for you to eat, to help you heal up quicker. For now, they want to keep you here. Don't cause a fuss about it, do you understand? You need to keep your head down and do as you're told.” Wyatt nodded again, turning away from her and settling in for more sleep. He deserved whatever horrors waited for him on the other side. Agnes stood and left, locking the cage door behind her.

“Stupid fucking animal,” she growled under her breath as she walked away, exhausted by how volatile her fighter had been lately. Some day, he'd stop being worth the trouble, just like the rest of them. It seemed that day might be fast approaching. 

[hecula-propaganda]

I wanted to post this on AO3, but right now I think it sucks. Anyway, have a Dungeon Meshi-inspired nightmare.

~

The wolf’s fur smothered all senses.

Hector was blind and deaf, because his eyes were clouded by thick darkness, like a night without stars, and his own heart hammered in his ears; his limbs were pinned under the wolf’s paws, solid and strong and hefty and with long claws piercing his flesh; and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe anything that wasn’t the stench of blood coming from the beast.

You’re safe, pet. You’re with me. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I will keep you warm, I will protect you from the world.

And Hector could do nothing but hang from the wolf’s reassuring words, to not fall down the pit of the unknown; there was nothing else he could do, not even stop the shivers that shook his bare body, exposed to the ghastly chill of the dead coming from the wolf.

Why do you fear me, Hector?

He couldn’t give an answer. There was no answer for such a question, not one that could be uttered. The wolf dragged its tongue on Hector’s throat, jaw, cheek, slimy and lukewarm due to his own blood: Hector groaned, and when he turned his head, he met the eyes of the animal, blazing like the flames that eat at people’s lives. Like a house on fire, he would be consumed.

I have molded this body, shaped it to my design. Don’t I have the right to savor it?

The wolf lifted a paw, allowing Hector to stroke its chest: the ribs protruded from it like jags. How long hadn’t it been feeding? How long would it take until it starved to death? The beast would have succumbed to death’s embrace without protesting, were it not for Hector, its anchor in the storm.

It wanted Hector – no, it needed him. He couldn’t let it suffer, not it, his only safe haven from the world that wanted to tear him to shreds. It was only fair that he gave himself in return.

His tongue and thighs had already been eaten as an appetizer, so Hector swallowed blood and bile and nodded without a word.

Good boy. You’re the only thing left that makes me proud.

The wolf probed Hector’s mouth with its long tongue, and he didn’t know if the taste of rot that invaded him came from it or from those words, as sweet as fruit left out in the sun.

The animal licked the stump, not paying mind to Hector writhing in disgust at the sickly intimate contact. He couldn’t reciprocate even if he wanted to, he wasn’t allowed; all that was in his power was to open wide his jaw as much as he could, to let the wolf in, he’d better not touch it with his teeth, only wolves could bite…

Air. Sweet, stale air. Hector inhaled all the air that his body could take in, all too aware that the relief would be short-lived and the feast would soon begin.

How did he arrive there? Thoughts and memories were blurred by a thick fog. He only knew that the wolf would have died without him, and there was no higher honor and devotion than to give yourself to such noble creature. It was what he was born for.

The wolf rubbed its humid nose against his cheek, and for one second, Hector closed his eyes and welcomed the sincere affection from the creature, like only it could give him.

And then sharp fangs tore the flesh of his stomach.

Hector screamed. He screamed until his chest heaved, but from his body only a feeble wheeze came out, and it only agitated him more, no, he wanted to scream, how could he not even do that?

The muscles stiffened in anticipation of an agony that did not come, in truth, Hector did not feel a thing, except for the long snout of the wolf digging inside his viscera, unraveling his intestines and ripping them rapaciously, ripping his stomach apart and turning his liver into mush; the mess spilled out of him, as the beast made its way deeper and deeper inside him.

The cold seeped through him, seizing him in an inescapable grasp, but he could hardly shake from it.

Sapped of all of his strength, Hector no longer even had the energy to thrash around to get away from the revolting sensation of the wound being stretched open, the flesh giving out to that foreign body entering him.

Foreign? The power that flows in your veins… that’s me. Don’t you feel it singing for me?

Oh yes he did, his own blood singing, crying out, calling its source by name – he couldn’t stand it, but couldn’t deny it either, the bond wrapped around both of them, the life flowing from one body to the other.

We are inextricable, dear.

Hector was part of the beast, akin to a limb, and to the beast he was destined to return. Nothing of him, his body, his mind, his power, his soul, truly belonged to him.

Was for that reason that his demon friends had guided him to the castle? Was that what they meant, when they had reassured him that that was the only place where he could exist?

Hector observed without seeing the wolf chewing and swallowing pieces of him down his swollen gullet, with what appeared to be a smile on his muzzle caked with blood.

Only he could satiate and satisfy it. Only it truly loved him.

He should have been happy, he thought, looking at the hole in his stomach.

Aren’t you glad to join me again, flesh of my flesh?

Did it matter if he was? The wolf would have feasted anyway. It was for its sake.

The wolf kept making its way through him, its breath at last hot enough to keep Hector warm. His ribs snapped like twigs under the strong jaws of the animal, crack, crack, crack, nothing in him could oppose resistance. Until Hector felt its tongue caress his heart, like a gentle promise.

No, not that! Please, I beg you!

You offered this to me a long time ago, with all the love you could keep inside it. Don’t you remember? It will be safe with me.

No… leave something to me… don’t take everything for yourself… What will be left of me?

Hector’s heart was kept safe behind the wolf’s teeth, reduced to thin shreds. This time, he didn’t even attempt to scream. It was all pointless. He would not live for longer, and it didn’t matter anymore.

That used to be mine…

You’re delicious. My Hector. My precious Hector, my best creation. I can’t be without you, and you can’t be without me. I gave you life, and you’ll return it to me.

Despite the stillness of his torn chest, the wolf’s words no longer reached him. They were supposed to fill the void inside him with life and joy, it promised him; but the white-hot heat that seared him did not come from the animal, no, something else, something scary was wriggling where his guts used to be.

Teeth clamped down on Hector’s throat, to lacerate it and finally end his suffering. Without air, without blood, without anything that made him human, Hector lay limp and weak like the empty shell that he was; and oh, if only hadn’t he given himself to his wolf, if only he kept his heart for himself instead of looking for a person worthy of it! If only had he been born a wolf, and bit the beast that devoured him…

Hector opened his eyes with a gasp, and he was alive.

In the mist of sleep, the reality became clearer at every blink: he was in his bed, he was home, he was whole, and Rosaly was sleeping peacefully to his side, an arm stretched across his chest where his heart was pounding.

It was just a nightmare; at every breath, the details became muddier, confused, not important. He let them slide off his fingers.

Hector passed a hand on his throat, and not even the small bumps under his fingertips could upset him, because despite everything, he was alive, and he got his heart back.

Not resisting the impulse of leaving a kiss on the forehead of his beloved, Hector fell back into a dreamless sleep.

[dinkflocculent]

Old Prey: Chapter Two - Anguish

Beau

Everyone immediately falls silent, the piercing eyes stabbed at the back of my neck. Mr. Santifelon, being the size of a giant, wasn’t fazed by it. But I struggle to keep my body still, a mere flee compared to him.

Suddenly, his face softens to a fatherly, soothing look. Did he realize my father is the school’s principal, and needed to stay docile? Or did he see how my body looked and pitied me like everyone else does?

He bowed before me like a prince. I was a princess that he needed to delicately handle in his eyes. Holding in a rude remark, I open my mouth to speak. Hoping that my voice doesn’t come out as a shaken mess.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a deep but soft voice. He lets out his hand for a handshake but decides to pull it back. ��Would you be ever so kind to join me in the hallway to talk?”

He is treating me like a princess.

“I- Of course!” I mentally wince. I broke my promise of talking flawlessly I knew I wouldn’t keep.

The class gets into a gossiping frenzy when the door closes. I’m now the center of attention and it’s exactly how I’ve imagined.

Terrifying.

A deep pit forms in my stomach. I know that beasts are going to t talk about me for the rest of the day. And it’s all because of this frightening lion that my mind can’t help but be curious about.

As I walk beside him, I look up at his massive figure. His face isn’t as menacing as before His thrilled smile and faint purr make me forget how big he is. How sharp his fangs and claws are. Big cats are just like domestic ones, aren’t they?

He cleared his throat to catch my attention. My ears shoot up automatically, alert and ready as if I’m in flight or fight. My body isn’t ashamed of showing what emotions it’s feeling. It wants to be as clear as possible.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Mr. Santifelon?” I asked with a shaky voice, praying he didn’t notice.

“Beau, you are an interesting beast,” he looked me up and down. “I’ve never seen a beast like you, tell me, how difficult is your life?”

I couldn’t stop my ears from lowering. All in a mix of embarrassment, discomfort, and anger. I know I’m different just by how other beasts look at me. Like I’m deformed. But for him to ask such a question… It makes me want to shut his pompous snout.

“Oh, it’s…” I inhale, treading away from his heeding gaze to hide a glare. “…hard.”

I look up at him, my mind screaming to insult him as if he isn’t the superintendent. Fortunately, I know how to control my temper. His concerned gaze. That curious expression. I can’t get it out of my head. That question pissed me off, but I can feel my anger slowly fading.

“Any beast I ask to make friends with agrees out of pity, Mr. Santifelon,” I sigh. “It isn’t a real friendship. I can’t go out alone; I’m terrified.”

“How interesting. A beast like myself can’t relate to someone like you,” he gives me a gentle smile. “And, please, call me Leo.”

I look at him with a blank stare. Call him by his first name. Something incredibly disrespectful, and he offers me to do it? A feeling in my gut rises the fur on my neck. I can’t place my paw on it, yet I should consider it.

“Okay, Leo,” I obeyed, his name feeling weird in my mouth.

He nodded and smiled. Everywhere I’ve heard what other beasts call him. He doesn’t take any disrespect. Expects every student to be perfect in behavior. If that were true, he’d probably yell at me so much for stuttering and breaking eye contact. But he doesn’t. Maybe beasts exaggerated the rumors?

Something is telling me not to let this go. If only that something told me why.

“Let me share about myself. I’m Leo Santifelon, I live alone…”

I hear him ramble on about his life. His father wanted him to be an army sergeant. He wasn’t a good beast, so he cut ties with him completely. His dark, sad childhood makes me connect with him somehow.

The world shunned him. He fears the outside world. He longs for a different life. Away from a strong masculinity and into a simple life. This giant, vicious beast is a delicate flower.

“Beau,” he takes a deep breath. “You look identical to my dearest. We regrettably drifted apart.”

Figuring out what ‘dearest’ meant, that gut feeling came back again even stronger. It was such a weird question for someone like him to say to someone like me. I push it away, putting it deep inside my head. I’m not letting my paranoia bother me this time.

“Oh, is that so? How… coincidental.”

“Yes… but let us push the sadness away,” his eyes constrict. “I need to know things that are very important.”

“…Important?”

“Beau, do you know how to defend yourself?”

My heart gets caught in my throat.

“Are you and your father the only beasts in your house?”

My heart races.

“Are your doors locked?”

I need to get away from him.

I feel like I’m going to suffocate if I stay any longer. With this insane beast. My eyes dart around the hallway. The gray, tiled floors—painted white walls— My classroom door.

“Mr. Santifelon—”

“Leo, please.”

“Sorry, Leo, I really need to go back to class. I wouldn’t like to miss any work…”

He looks at me with a curious expression. I pray that he takes my obvious excuse.

“Alright, then,” he says with a disappointed tone.

After giving an insincere wave, I walk to class in a haste. What was that? How could he ask me such a thing? Changing so quickly. My father’s words echo in my head, mocking me. No matter how kind they seem, any beast can change in a moment.

But that pity feeling comes back up again. He doesn’t know how to communicate so well. He lives alone, lovesick, and lonely. Maybe asking such questions is normal for felidae?

I shake the thoughts away, trying to bring up the courage to walk into class. The thought of the whole class turning their heads to look at me makes me sick. I closed my eyes so tight like my life depended on it, and walked inside. The overwhelming silence hit my ears, making me quickly go to my seat and put my head down.

I’m going to meet Mr. Santifelon again. The thought lingers in my mind. It will be soon.

***

♧ 14 : 47 ♧

My ears flatten as a group of idiots yell and hauler. It’s always chaotic on the way home on the bus, but it being the last day makes it a bullfight.

“What did you guys do?” Duko’s voice sounded beside me, making me remember he was there. “They didn’t make us do much, so we just fetched with a ball; best period of my life.”

“Nothing.”

“…Alright.”

Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could tell he was looking at me with a suspicious gaze. I know how he’s feeling just by looking at him. He’s starting to figure that out with me. He’s unfortunately getting good at it.

I didn’t usually numbly lay my head on the vibrating window. I was watching the scenery with such a depressive expression and tone.

“So… have you thought about hanging out?”

My eyes widen as my terrors come back to haunt me. It escaped my mind ever since my encounter with Mr. Santifelon, and I wish I didn’t. I could’ve spent all day brainstorming my response.

I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, let alone a word. It feels like I’m in a court, pressured to admit a disgusting, appalling crime I committed. My crime is being a paranoid cub and a bad friend.

I can’t run from this forever.

“I’m sorry, Duko, but I can’t,” I look down, not having the courage to look him in the eyes. “It’s just too dangerous for someone like me to be around—”

“My family? Me?”

“Why would I be afraid of you?” I accidentally retort in a rude tone.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” his ears flatten. “I’m not going to force you to do anything. I just want to know why.”

“Why what?”

“I understand about my family, you’ve never met them, but me? I’ve known you for years. You know me. I don’t understand why you’re so wary around me.”

I hesitate. It feels like something is stuck in my throat that isn’t allowing me to speak. I avert his gaze, not wanting to look at him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you to answer something that makes you uncomfortable—”

“I’m becoming paranoid around you,” I confess. “Worried that something or me will cause you to snap. And…”

“…I’ll devour you?”

“Yes.”

We both sit in silence. My head hung low and gazed to the floor. No matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself that he won’t do such a thing. I know he wouldn’t, but the thought nags at me. My quickened heartbeat and breathing convince me that he will.

“I understand. It’s not like there isn’t a slight chance. We canidae can get a little too hyper and not realize we’re ripping someone apart. Something similar happened to my—”

“I know you wouldn’t do that!” I try to reassure him, clawing at my stupid thoughts.

“Yeah. But if not coming will keep you at peace, don’t come. I don’t want to make you do something you’re afraid of.”

“…Thank you.”

I’m a horrible beast.

We get to my stop and I step off. I wave goodbye to Duko, a bright smile on my face. Of course, he waves back.

I arrive at my house, the familiar scenery hitting me with a wave of tiredness. I’ve been wanting to go home all day and and let my drowsiness drown me in a comforting, warm pool.

“Oh, teddy bear!” My father’s call of my embarrassing nickname makes me flinch. “I have to run some errands; gotta stock up on snacks, eh?”

“…You’re leaving me alone?”

“Oh, just for a little while,” he holds my hand to reassure me. “Don’t open the door for anyone, alright?”

I nod, a bit worried there will be a possibility of a break-in. My father’s giant figure doesn’t give anyone the thought to mess with us.

I wave goodbye as he drives off, walking inside my house. The second I get into my bed, I fall and close my eyes. The darkness takes me into its comforting hold.

***

I wake up in a haze, the light from the moonlight shining against my floor. The sound of the snow falling hit my ears. A soft snowstorm may come soon, and I pray my father comes before it starts.

Hit with hunger, I drag myself down the stairs and into the darkness of my kitchen. It is eerie, but I remind myself that I am in no danger.

The cabinet has fruits that we rarely eat.

The fridge has sodas and a single bottle of water. Not nearly enough to clench my thirst. But it will have to do.

Opening it to take a sip, my nose twitches.

Something isn’t right here.

A new smell has filled my nostrils. It isn’t food. It is familiar but distant in memory. And it’s becoming easier to track because of how closer it is getting.

Traces of fur tracks on the floor. It’s a sandy hue. It smells nothing like a bear. It couldn’t have come from my father.

Someone is in here.

I hurry to the phone, going to call for help. But shock makes me drop everything and fall to my knees in terror.

A tall, broad figure stands in the hallway. Tracks of melted snow scatter across the floor. It stares at me. It wants me. It’s going to get me.

I wish I listened to that something.

[ta-creech]

Ash had shimmied up the narrow northeastern tunnel, away from the ones submerged by the river to Klagorn's west. Rumor had it, a thousand years ago or more, their human ancestors had tried to expand the city this way, but failed. A monster waited, the story went, massive and dark and thunderous in its rage.

The grotto he needed, with lichen made of silvery moonlight, was buried behind a collapsed branch to the main tunnel somewhere close. The stone around him echoed with the cool touch of open air. Well, open by Klagorn's standards. Nothing in the city had touched the sky in generations.

And then he hand landed in a loose patch of earth amidst the stone. The whole floor of the tunnel gave way in front of Ash, a landslide under the great mountain. It... slithered, as it fell into the space below, like a great snake in the earth.

There below was the grotto. Lichen all along the walls and ground, light throughout the space from a source he couldn't identify. Maybe underneath the scattered debris littered everywhere?

Ash dropped through the hole and crept on his hands and knees down the dirt slope that came from the tunnel mouth. Too hard to be caused by him stumbling across the opening. Not that he cared to figure out why it was here. He had one job to do.

Still, the space whispered to him. The cavern was lined with flecks, sparkling in the light, metal veins refined in the too smooth walls. Had this space been created? Cultivated like the stone cutters crafted a large geode in place?

The remains were hard to miss though. At first, Ash mistook it all for a dump site, pieces of fabric and the long, narrow shapes of something with no voice in piles across the bottom. And a great, hulking thing covered in growth at the far side. Ash's best bet for all the lichen he could ever want.

As he came up to the first of the piles at the bottom of the natural ramp, a flash of yellow drew him in against his better judgement. Bone. Old bone, left where it lay in strange green cloth. Not wrapped in it, exactly, but maybe it was something worn? Just left where it had been, collapsed in on itself. The strange long tube was close enough to touch, still grasped in what Ash assumed was a hand. Plass. There was so very little in Klagorn, the only piece he'd ever even seen on Eton. It had no voice. Like this tube had no voice.

He took an obsidian pebble out of his pouch and left it next to the corpse with a prayer for it to protect this dead creature. It was the best he could do with time as his enemy. He picked his way past the other corpses with his head down and prayers for the dead running it a constant litany through his mind.

At last, the hulking mass came into his limited view. This one, it had a voice, deep and broad, quiet because it knew what the true volume of its voice could do in the confines of the grotto. A sentinel, on guard. Ash sent gave a prayer to the Mountain for this lonely soul too. It seemed fitting. This great creature had stood guard over the dead since the Ice. It deserved a prayer.

Ash collected what he needed with gentle hands and the hum of a lullaby he loved, with the hope it pleased the sentinel and eased its long watch.

He patted at the pitted snout that stuck out parallel to the ground in thanks as he finished. The creature hummed out its appreciation for Ash's company. Ash, for his part, didn't want to leave the metal creature alone again.

The voice of the metal hummed at him again, thankful for his care. "This is my post," it whispered to him. Deep and broad, he felt that voice all the way to his bones. "I will watch until I am needed again."

Ash didn't understand why, but tears sprang to his eyes. But resolved welled up too. He would send others here, to lay the dead to proper rest, to keep this sentinel company, to watch with it. To guard, as it guarded all this time. No soul should watch alone.

Dwarfs can hear a weapons voice, Swords speak in vigor, Bows speak with precision, Hammers are blunt and to the point. But when a Dwarf found an old human tank, as their fingers ran across its barrel it heard it say a tired firm voice “I will watch until I am needed again”

[chrisevanslovesposts]

Chapter 3

Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom Masterlist

Thru started walking getting closer to where they had all the dinosaurs. When they got their they saw a giant ship. Owen used tiny binoculars to see what they were doing.

"They have Zia. They're loading out." Owen told them.

"If they already have the dinosaurs, why do they need us?" Franklin asked

"They needing the tracking system to capture Blue."

"There she is. She don't look good." Owen said and they're was a giant rumble and they looked behind them see more of the volcano blowing up.

"We need to get on that boat." Owen stood up.

"The rocks good. We're safe on the rock." Franklin said as they all got up.

"It's the boat for the lava, Franklin." Claire told him and he stood up.

"All right, boats good. I'm all about the boat." Franklin said and they started running down to the boat.

As they ran a lava ball blew up by Franklin making him fall.

"Franklin!" Claire yelled turning back.

"Hey, get that truck going!" Owen told her

"Okay." She said grabbing Harper and Theodore's hand dragging them with her.

Owen grabbed Franklin while Harper and Theodore got into the back of the truck. Owen got the truck start and Owen and Franklin jumped into the back.

"Hold on!" Claire yelled and shifted up into the high gear and they sped up.

They looked out the window and saw that boat was departing from the rock. They jumped the truck barely made it. It was on the edge of the boat and Claire hit the gas hard getting it up off the edge and onto the boat fully.

They all looked out the back watching as the last dinosaur, a long neck, stood on the dock roaring as the gray cloud got closer to her. Harper gasped as her eyes brimmed with tears.

The gray smoke covered the dinosaur as she jumped up and it turned to red smoke showing the outline of the dinosaur jumping up on her hind legs. Everyone watched as the doors slowly closed.

The dinosaur roared again before it shadow disappeared. Harper sniffed and wiped her tear as the door shut all the way with a loud shut. She looked at her dad who stared at the ground a tear in his eye.

She looked at Theodore who stared at the door that was closed now as if he was still watching the dinosaur disappear into the smoke.

Harper looked at Owen, who was looking at her, and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry." He told her

"I told you don't make promises you can't keep. Yet you still promised. Pinky promise even, and you broke. Next time you really shouldn't make promise you can't keep." Harper told him then sat down in the corner of the truck.

Later they snuck over to the truck that Zia was in with Blue. They walked in and Zia looked at them with relief.

"Oh, my, god! You guys are alive! You..." Owen put a finger up hushing her as they got in.

"Oh, look what they've done to her." Owen told pitting his hand on Blue.

Blue was strapped down to the table with a thing covering her snout. Zia had a towel to her bullet wound and it was covered in blood.

"Who are these assholes?" Zia asked

"Animal traffickers. Look how they're treating them. They're not gonna take 'em to a sanctuary, they're gonna sell them." Owen told her setting his hands on her to help calm her down.

"Not Blue. They need her for something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, but she's.... She's hemorrhaging, and I don't have instruments, and they went to her alive."

"Hey, shhh... You're alright. You're all right."

"Claire, come here. Come on. Put your hand here. Steady pressure."

"Hey, hey, hey, hey."

"Watch out. I can't take the bullet out without a transfusion from another animal. Which one of you knows how to find a vein?" Zia asked looking around.

"Oh, I-I did a blood drive for the Red Cross." Claire told her

"Great. Oka, Franklin, take over for Claire."

"No, no, no, no, no, no."

"Franklin. Now." Zia told him and he walked over taking over for Claire.

"Steady pressure." Claire told him as Blue groaned then Blood squirted on his face.

"Oh, my, god. Oh, my, god. Is it in my mouth? Did it get in my mouth?" Franklin asked as Theo and Harper tried to hold back they're laughter.

"Mm-mm. You're good."Owen shook her head

"All of the animals should be sedated. Look for any kind of tetanuran. Their blood type should be close enough. Look for carnivores with two or three fingers. No more than three. I think there's one on board." Zia told them covering her mouth.

"The T-rex." Harper gasped

[nonbinary-beast]

thinking about the black ufo AU again, under a cut due to high spice levels and it's fairly long.

Sort of thinking about how the Garthe/Alien!KARR and Michael/Alien!KITT differ in terms of how they show affection along with some sexual habits.

alien!KARR/Garthe

KARR is very oral, likes to mouth and nibble and nip at Garthe, especially likes paying attention to the neck and shoulders. May slip some teeth in, just enough to pinch but not draw blood.

KARR likes to impress his presence upon Garthe physically, especially inside the house. He will tend to let his chin lightly rest against Garthe's shoulder when looking at what he's doing, his foremost eye being at level with Garthe's. Other times he will rest some portion of himself on or against Garthe if they're in the same room.

At times KARR will hog the entire bed to the point where Garthe has no room to sleep. Instead of forcing him to sleep on the floor, KARR will snatch up Garthe in one of his armored paws and hold him.

Sometimes when KARR is resting his chin on his shoulder, Garthe will reach up and scratch his snout. This goes the same when KARR has part of himself resting up against Garthe or on top of him; he'll idly pet or rub the metallic plating, or even lean against him in turn.

After some time of being whisked away by KARR whenever he's interested in using him to sate his own urges, Garthe figures out a few things to keep their sessions from running for several hours. He'll move with him, rocking his hips over KARR's phallus in rhythm with his thrusts. Squeezing around him and grinding, alongside moaning his appreciation and begging for more, to be filled, and of course for KARR to use him until he's satisfied turns out to be exactly what KARR wants to hear- More of his tendrils wrap around him and hold him close; not long after he feels him bottom out within him, hot breath rolling against the nape of his neck as his partner fills him.

While uncertain of the idea at first, KARR quickly warmed up to receiving oral. Some sessions between him and Garthe involve only his mouth- often ensured by wrapping him tightly in chrome. His head and hands were left only slightly less restrained, but still guided by KARR's whim nonetheless, until of course, Garthe learns exactly how to please him.

Getting KARR to allow Garthe to ride his cock during their sessions took convincing- the machine was not keen on giving up control when it came to pace or position, and figured Garthe was only interested in pleasing himself. But he humored him during one of their sessions, and found a new taste for the way Garthe's hips ground and rocked over him with this position. That is, until KARR decides he wants more control, in which case Garthe finds himself wrapped in chrome so KARR can dictate the pace.

At this point, Garthe is well aware of KARR's problems with trusting others, including him. Though KARR can be rough, and his eagerness to restrain him can seem intimidating; he feels there is nothing to truly fear from him during their time spent together in this way. KARR has no intent to harm him or cause pain, and in seeking his own pleasure he does make sure Garthe cums as well- fairly more often than KARR does. While Garthe would like to take a more dominant role in their sessions, it will take time for KARR to get comfortable with the idea. Thankfully, Garthe is patient when it comes to getting what he wants, and so feeds in small morsels of introducing KARR to letting Garthe have a little more control- letting it build up to what he wants.

Many times when KARR snatches Garthe up to find a place to ravish him, Garthe has found that KARR can be just as easy to read as himself regarding what he's feeling. There is a buildup to it, he can sense KARR's attention focusing more on him, almost becoming palpable as Garthe can feel him scanning, contemplating. At first it was unnerving, the machine tends to watch him like a panther eyeing prey, nostrils and sensory pits flaring to drink in his scent- trying to get a read on pheremone and hormone levels. After the first few times of being stalked, Garthe started approaching KARR when he noticed the behavior, taking pride in being the one to catch him off guard by offering instead of waiting for the enormous machine to pounce.

alien!KITT/Michael

KITT also leans towards being very physical, but more inclined towards touching with his tendrils instead of mouthing or pressing against Michael.

Greatly prefers eye contact with Michael during sex, and may press his head against Michael's forehead.

KITT and Michael take turns being the one to initiate foreplay, sort of having a switch dynamic regarding which of them is dominant. Michael likes to press kisses along the length of KITT's jaw, caress his ears and run his fingers over the seams of his face. Praise plays a large part in it. KITT tends to be more straightforward, pushing his tendrils up underneath his shirt to touch him- more often than not he likes doing this from behind with his lips right next to Michael's ear to whisper some suggestions about how to spend the evening.

Usually KITT tends to be gentle with Michael, taking things slow and deeply sensual. However, there are nights where it's clear that Michael's needs demand a little roughness; he'll happily pin him to the bed, the floor, the wall, and absolutely blow out his back until he's laying dazed and mindless off of bliss in KITT's hold, a dumb grin spread over his features. These nights also are when KITT's partner sleeps the deepest.

Michael knows how to repay KITT for those more intense evenings- he knows KITT prefers sensuality and taking time to be attentive to every motion and sound from his partner. Michael savors these details in turn; taking his time with foreplay, kissing along the shaft of KITT's phallus, liberal use of his hands to caress and stroke him- and finally, going slow and teasing him as he settles onto his length to ride him, paying more attention to letting KITT savor the way his hips roll and grind against him.

Though he knows his own stamina does not stand up to what KITT is capable of, he loathes the idea of leaving KITT wanting. His enthusiasm in communicating this to him is difficult to ignore; if he's not uttering encouragement to fill him until KITT is satisfied during foreplay, he'll press his hips back against KITT's shaft at the end of a round, begging him to keep going while slowly rocking against him- he's found a good visual to tantalize him with is to pull off just enough that his fluids drip heavily from his hole, and push the tip back inside of himself again. A gentle sway of his hips with just the head inside of him is teasing enough, the way he looks back at KITT, his expression pleading for more is enough to push KITT over the edge and take him again.

When it comes to sessions where Michael wants KITT fully satisfied he knows to dedicate a whole day to it. Once it became routine, KITT grew used to the "Me And You Day" bag he prepares; complete with plenty of snacks and drinks to replenish his own stamina alongside towels, a pillow or two, and an inflatable mattress depending on where they go. Although, often Michael had found KITT was more than capable of making him comfortable without the use of either the pillows or the mattress.

KITT takes full advantage of being able to directly interact with Michael physically even for more mundane tasks. He'll insist on brushing or combing Michael's hair for him, washing him in the shower, or fussing with his clothing if KITT feels it looks disheveled.

Being able to directly interact with Michael physically also means he gets to take over regarding first aid at times. KITT may bandage up cuts and scrapes- but an unforseen advantage is the way his eldritch machine body had adapted to be able to treat and mend wounds that would ordinarily require a hospital. A kiss is enough to dull pain and sedate Michael to allow him to remove a bullet and mend the wound.

[captaincaptainfisher]

Sitting by the fire was the perfect way to end a day.

Trip lounged on the rug by the fireplace, stretching luxuriously, trying to let the warmth touch as much of his body as possible. It seemed to soak into his body, dissolving the stresses of the day, infusing the calm directly into his veins.

He sighed deeply and shifted his body ever so slightly closer to the flames, and a sudden, high-pitched whine sounded out from behind him.

He opened his eyes and looked back to the source of the sound. The hallway door was slightly ajar, just enough to see one shining amber eye staring out from the crack. Ajax was glaring at the fire with such a deep, burning hatred and suspicion, as if he thought it might leap out of it's confines and attack Trip with tooth and claw.

Trip tried for an easygoing smile that he hoped looked sympathetic.

"It's not gonna hurt you, y'know." The eye narrowed in disbelief and suspicion.

"See?" Trip stretched out a hoof until it was almost touching the glass of the closed metal fireplace. Every inch closer it got, the pupil of the eye got thinner and thinner until it was shaking with panic. Trip held it there, keeping his reassuring smile despite the growing heat from the fire.

"...You knooow... If there *is* a possibility it'll hurt me... Don't you think you should be over here protecting me, tough guy?"

He stayed still for a few moments, considering this, before seeming to come to a decision and nudging the door open with the side of his snout. The light on his face cast a sinister shadow over the scarred side of his face, exaggerating the pitted flesh, devastated by flames.

He approached the fireplace slowly, halting at every spark and crackle it made. He stopped a few paces away from it, sitting down and reaching out to take Trip into his arms, pulling him a little further away.

Trip was amazed. In all the decades he had known Ajax, he had never seen him this willing to confront his fear. He would shiver all night long over starting the fire to heat the house, he would excuse himself from rooms if someone started smoking, not to mention the failed romantic dinner Trip had tried to plan that had gone haywire when he attempted to light the candles. And yet here he sat by the fire.

Trip watched his face to make sure he wasn't going to panic. Instead, he began to look confused as well as fearful as the feared warmth from the fire became indistinguishable from the familiar, comforting warmth of Trip's body. Still he kept a suspicious eye on the fire, making sure it stayed put.

"This isn't so bad, right?" Trip kept his words soft and gentle, wrapping an arm around his lover's waist and giving him a comforting squeeze.

His eyes flickered away from the fire for just long enough to meet Trip's gaze before they went straight back. It was a long moment before he simply responded with a halfhearted grunt.

"Can we put it out now?" He ventured. He looked... At least slightly less afraid than he had been before. Trip moved forward to close the oxygen hole that would slowly bring the fire down to nothing. Ajax didn't let him go, even gripping tighter as he got close to the fire, so this was a bit of a task, but he managed.

While the fire slowly began to die down, Trip reached up to give Ajax a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered. "you were very brave."

Ajax looked a little embarrassed to be talked to like this, but he accepted the praise nonetheless. He gave a low, rumbling purr, slowly relaxing into Trip's touch even while the coals still glowed.

[twosides--samecoin]

WIP (w)thursday

tagged by @bokatan - sorry about missing out on a lot of tags - I have been seeing them but I have been fairly swamped with work and school. I don't ignore! I just.. ADHD :'D However I do appreciate being included as sometimes I need to be reminded "hi there is a community of people who do want to hear from you," so thank you everyone for keeping me in mind. I wish you all a great weekend and I hope this makes up for several missed tag games/wips.

I have a couple projects on the go Long Time Running. Currently I am not able to say very much about the next chapters, though I hope the following reminds readers of where we have been, and where we're going. Enlisting Dogmeat as an actual character with thoughts, tendencies, actions is something I'm proud I came up with for the fic and I'm taking it further with Dogspective, if you will! Not sure when I will be posting a new chapter, so here's a longer chunk than normal from me -

It wasn't his first time here. Dogmeat lowered his snout to the ground and breathed in the town. Olivia's fingers grazed his ears; he padded along at her pace, staying close. His tail swayed low as he paid attention, balancing his senses between their surroundings and Olivia's mood. Fight or flight had a bone to pick with her whereabouts and he knew it. Dogmeat knew how different she acted when she wrestled with her anxieties - skittish, tense, wound up. Nothing like his beloved Lady and their cuddle time, her wide smile and excitement for adventure missing. Too aware of her surroundings, as though she could run away at the drop of a pin. He didn't know the depths of human anxiety, but he certainly knew the dog kind. The way I felt when you disappeared, when I chased the vertibird from Jack's house to the Brotherhood and I waited all night until I found you.. There was a pit in my stomach, a sadness that wouldn't quit, felt like I was being hunted - does that feel the same for you, Lady? That familiar waft was an immediate hit on his rhinarium as soon as they walked in, several minutes before she came to an abrupt halt on uneven cobblestone. He felt his ear flop out of her hands, her fingers stiff. Dogmeat raised his head and nudged his nose against a clammy palm, attempting to get her attention. It's alright, Squeaker, hey - look at me- “Well, well, well, Sunshine,” said Hancock, ambling towards her. “Hi,” she croaked, attempting as friendly a tone as possible.   RJ's face fell as he stood at Daisy’s. So you did make it to Goodneighbor. 

BONUS outtakes from a recent screenshot session with these two.

tagging buds: @edaworks and @vault-heck @some27-url @sirmanmister @persephotea @theartofblossoming @perfectlypreservedpie @danses-with-dogmeat @newvegascowboy

[theeyoungalabastoralt]

Fnaf SB X NonBi!Blacklight!Drummer!Animatronic!reader

Beat Of Your Own Drum

Request: No

Pairing(s): None, platonic

Warnings: Mentions of Bonnie (I found that Bonnie is a sensitive subject for some.),

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, part 4, Part 5, ANNOUNCEMENT

First interaction/Opinions

When your future arrival was first announced the animatronics were informed that you would be taking a place on stage alongside them as a drummer. But also informed that Bonnie Bowl would be reconstructed into (Y/N)'s Boom Room.

Freddy was not as big of a fan at the mentions of his old friend's area being taken over by a total stranger, to say the least it affected him the most. What if you weren't fit for the responsibility of caring for such an important (according to Freddy at least) room? What if you tore it apart and destroyed all that was left of his buddy?

Montgomery on the other hand seemed overjoyed at the mention of that god forsaken eyesore of a Bowling alley finally disappearing. But did not seem so happy about the new arrival, but you are winning your way to his good side even though he hasn't even spoken to the yet arrived new attraction.

Chica, the same as Freddy was not very joyous over the whole ordeal of the alley's demise but she was quite excited about the arrival of their new bandmate.

As time passed the crew began to notice changes around the plex, bigger brighter and more eye-catching posters, the large sized (what they guessed to be) drum set that sat at the far corner of the stage, sheet tossed over the equipment to keep children and parents from questioning.

They also watched with saddened hearts as the sign from Bonnie Bowl was removed and construction had resumed as scheduled.

a few (2 long) months later

When the day came, a squad of movers backed a large truck to the front of the empty building, since it had been closed to 'Welcome the new recruit'

after getting your crate moved inside, they set the heavy box of machinery onto the tiled flooring. A few mechanics took it to the main stage that had been emptied of any of the band members so the workers could do what needed to be done.

It took a hot minute to get your crate open after descending into the parts and service under the main stage, it took quite a few crowbars and pounding hammers, the business you had come from said it was a 'safety precaution' for if something happened or they got lost you would not get damaged or stolen "If they were stolen from the truck the thief would have one hell of a time trying to pry that crate open! We need to keep our best work of art and latest advanced piece of technology safe after all!"

After a lengthy time, consuming check up on your electrical, movement programing, systems and vocal checkups on the operation table in the Protective Cylinder you ascended back onto the lift for the main show stage.

as the show stage lift jolted to a stop you were greeted by the four main band-men (Women)(mates)

At first, they were confused, and somewhat awe struck at your rather dark? appearance. Your body was encased with black plushed fur, but your stomach, snout, eyes, arm guards, kneecaps, feet(paws) and the inside of your ears were painted with vibrant neon colors that mainly consisted of red, blue, green and pinks.

Roxy was the first to welcome you to the plex and the new part of the band surprisingly, you honestly expected that Freddy or Chica would have been the ones who would warmly welcome you.

Speaking of Freddy, he stood quite a way away... eyeing you from afar. He despised the twinge of resentment that bubbled in the pit of his programing, he hadn't even heard you speak or interact with the others yet. That was till Roxanne tossed her arm over your shoulders.

Now that he saw your size difference, he rubbed the back of his neck. You were quite short compared to the rest. (You're not that short but you are quite short lmao)

The electricians warned the animatronics and workers that the lights were to momentarily to go out to check the new lights that were installed around the Plex.

As soon as the words leave the workers mouth the lights are shut down and immediately long black lights illuminated the building.

Again, in awe the crew gazed upon your magnificence, your body painted in neon glowed, illuminating the room with vibrant pigments.

___________________________

Part 1 finished! Part 2 coming soon if this gets enough attention