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itsabouttimex2 · 7 months ago

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Eclipse Kings

Part Four: Sweet Little Star

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn) (Part Four: You Are Here) (Part Five: Constellations)

(Extra One) (Art! Thank you to @lemon-ti)

(The “servants” around this lovely ecliptic pagoda are well-tailored to the needs of their lords, no matter the scenario- including hot meals and tension breakers.

You are the only sanctuary that MK has ever known. Through blistering summers spent as the shores of a rippling blue lake, through winters spent huddled together under a stack of blankets, hidden in a hole of straw-lined mud to try and avoid withering chills.

You are all the “home” that MK knows.

But the two demons who call him are certainly trying their damnedest to make up for lost time… to very little avail.

“Since we found you so late yesterday, we never got a chance to celebrate your birthday, Xiaotian... we can-

“Yesterday wasn’t my birthday,” the boy huffs, fingers deeply kneading the thick cotton trim of his new cape. “That’s not until winter.”

“…Xiaotian,” Macaque says, almost astonished at how confidently incorrect his son was, “you were born in the middle of autumn - who told you that it was winter?”

“Y/N.”

“…ah. No, that- okay,” he huffs, pinching the growing knot on his scarifying forehead- without the crown, his usual gouges were quickly healing - as he quickly pieced things together. “They didn’t know your birthday, so… so they just made that up. You were too little to remember the day, so Y/N lied-“

“Nuh uh! They wouldn’t lie to me !”

“…my bad, kid. Of course not. No, you were too little to remember, so Y/N just… pretended to know so you could celebrate. But your real birthday is in the middle of fall- it was yesterday.”

“No, cause it’s in the winter!”

Wukong laughs as his sable mate sits beside him, nestling into the plush cushions and groaning.

“Easy, moonbeam. Don’t push yourself- he’s still a toddler. We’ll get through to him.”

“I’d rather him just remember us and everything we did together,” Macaque snaps back throwing his head into Wukong’s lap- who, for his part, begins to smooth out the inky tresses of fur laid out before him. They stay there for a minute, quietly enjoying each other’s company, and then-

All of Macaque’s ears stiffen, six sharp points flaring up under his fur, which Wukong fluffs to hide them from sight. As much as he loves them, his mate’s feelings are very dissimilar.

He looks over with both hands over Macaque’s ears, looking to the marble doorway-

And it’s just you , wearing “your” lovely sky-blue hanfu, sash shoddily tied and silk pouch held close.

The umbrakinetic demon stands up without a noise, slowly walking over to you for a closer examination- he had heard about your little fit, and didn’t want a repeat for himself.

“It suits you,” Macaque says, giving an approving look to your new outfit- he reaches for the sash, maybe to correct or tighten it, but pulls away when you flinch, simply saying: “You can keep it. If you want.”

Be polite. You want this outfit. And you want the pouch. Be polite.

“…thank you. And.. were you… talking about his birthday?”

The king rolls his shoulders to stretch them, causing the thick spikes of fur on his head to swish and temporarily dip over his many, many forehead scars- they’re a lot more obvious now that he’s smashed the barbed circlet and scrubbed the dried blood from his forehead. “We were. Xiaotian didn’t know that it was in the middle of autumn. I hear the two of you celebrated it in winter.”

“Well, most of the time- it was just whenever snow fell for the first time in the year- I… I really didn’t have… I didn’t have too much to work with. So it was… usually in winter, or really late fall, one time we got really unlucky and it was mid-spring.”

“…what do you mean, ‘unlucky’?” Asks the Monkey King, standing up from his lavish recliner to replace all his accessories, each string of citrine beads and looping gold chains clinking against each other as he threaded them back into place. “I don’t remember ever hearing the mortals talk about a bad snow during spring- not anytime this century, at least.”

“It wasn’t bad- not for anyone else. We- MK and I,” you start, trying to ignore their little twitches at you using his nickname, “we lived in a little sunken hut. It was always falling apart in place, and- and I had to patch it up all the time- so snow was always really hard, cause it would make the mud I used all wet, and it’d drip from the holes-“

“You were using mud to keep your house together?”

Both of them share the same look, worriedly gazing upon little MK with a sort of regretful hindsight, thinking on how hard it must’ve been for him to reside in that squalid, rotted hovel- though Wukong is the one who speaks up. “So you- you and Xiaotian were living in a little muddy wreck?”

Macaque- you can’t read his expression, not quite, stares on with a deeply set frown- if you had to wager a guess, he seems to be some form of vaguely disappointed . Maybe that’s standard for kings when they hear about things like this. You don’t really care what he thinks- not when MK was fed, warm, and happy.

That was enough for you.

If they wanted to pull back and say it wasn’t enough for them, then- oh well.

But that’s not what happens. There is no remand or reproach, nor any discouraging words as to your care of their darling boy.

They just frown, thinking of what you- and more importantly, MK - might have gone through.

And you frown too, caught in a tense silence louder than any storm, more charged than a bolt of lightning forming in graying skies.

It’s simply… too much. There’s been too much everything across too little a timeline to accommodate for proper adjustment, so now everything has wound to a point of near shattering, fractures displayed so prominently across the terse “bond” shared that they were nearly visible to the naked eye.

And it isn’t for a solitary second that the quiet stretches on, heavy and suffocating- it’s pervasive, leaving you all standing there quietly.

You can feel their eyes on you, assessing, judging—not just your words but the years you spent with MK, the choices you made when you had nothing to work with but scraps and hope. They’ve swooped in now, claiming- reclaiming, as the nagging voice in your head reminds - him as theirs, and though you know he’s safer here, better provided for, the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

He had been fine without them.

He had been fine with you.

Why couldn’t it have just kept being you and- not your “temporary charge” Qi Xiaotian, Golden Star of Flower Fruit Mountain- but your little brother, MK?

Life had been miserably hard. It had been cold and drudging and dreary, and more than once you had come to one of the many peering peaks across the mountain, and sat on the idea of a quick end to the struggling.

And you had met your little “Monkie Kid”, just as cold and alone as you had been.

He had not just been your little brother-

He had been your entire reason for living.

And what did you have to live for now, with two people who could grant him ever luxury and possession a child could desire?

What did you have to live for?

Was there anything you-

“Excuse me,” calls a curt voice from behind, slicing the tension with practiced, professional ease. “We’ve prepared dinner for you, my lords.”

Like a metal door long unopened, there’s a hesitant, straining moment before the inevitable give , and then you all turn to look- at a very lovely woman. Her hair has been trimmed chin-short and styled into thick black waves, pulled to each side of her face to prominently display a golden ferronnière.

“My husband and I have finished cooking, and we wished to call you in before the meal grew cold,” she says, utterly unabated by the gone-cold atmosphere. “So we insist that you come and eat soon- preferably, right now. ”

There is no rolling of heads or smashing of bones arisen from the terse almost-command, and instead the Monkey King nods along with a chuckle and a laugh half-forced. “Of course, of course. Sorry for forgetting-“

“If you were truly sorry, you’d be in the kitchen eating all of our hard work.”

“Ahahaha! Fair enough! Moonbeam, let’s go have dinner. We can talk about celebrations tonight, together- when it’s quieter.”

Without you around to interject, of course.

Because why would anyone care about how long you spent in a crumbling shack held half-together with scraps of scrounged fabric and dried mud when you offered inconvenient things like “makeshift birthdays” and “learned attachments”?

Before your thoughts get too seething, the woman lightly claps her hands, snapping you and MK to attention.

“Since the two of you have… “lived a life of little substance”, let’s say, we’ve prepared a list of softer meals to help you both adjust to proper eating as quickly as possible- in about the course of a week. Sudden indulgence to richer foods could sicken you both- especially Lord Xiaotian. Today we’ve made a honeyed rice porridge with ripe tropical fruit, but I imagine you’ll also see fortified broth with bouillon powder, and… well, we’d be here all day if I laid them all out.

As the woman sends you and your brother down a hall together, before turning back to her eployers.

“And,” she whispers to the two kings, voice nearly low enough for you miss it, “ we’ve set aside some fruit purée and steamed milk with honey, if nothing else will work.”

“You are such a gem,” Macaque breathes, expressly pleased with her loyal diligence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“Your children are waiting,” she confirms, nudging him along. “Hurry and eat with them-“

And though he starts to correct her, to clarify that you are in fact not his child- the woman is gone in a swish of her long green dress.

You keep your head down, one hand gripping all of MK’s tiny fingers during your unflinching trek down the ornate hall. There’s hand-drawn pictures of many different demons, all portrayed with respect and pride. In one a purple minotaur holds an axe over his shoulder, horns and blade polished to a shine, in the next he’s standing beside a red-robed woman, tears brimming through his amber eyes as they focus on a small bundle in her arms. In another there’s a pachyderm demon, portrayed with thick glasses and a gargantuan stack of books- including one he must’ve been working on when the picture was drawn. The next is a bird with golden wings held aloft, spear dug into a training dummy made of stone. Then a lion, holding as many mortals possible aloft while trudging in waist-deep waters. One after another, demon after demon- though only those same four, aside from the woman.

Whoever they are, the kings clearly cherish them.

And said demons walk in unison just backwind of you, though their steps lack the carefree rhythm of easygoing camaraderie. They are just in steady lockstep, too close behind for comfort. You can hear the faint clinking of Wukong’s gold chains and the occasional rustle of Macaque’s red and black robe as they exchange glances, silent communication passing between them.

And then MK squeezes your fingers at tightly as his little fingers allow- a familiar gesture you’ve known through harsh nights and sluggish days, through famine and sickness and chill.

An anchor of reassurance in the overwhelming storm of unfamiliarity.

The shift you underwent was violent and painful. You had woken up half-paralyzed and nude, being scrubbed down by the two beings you feared most, incapable of speaking or moving- it had left a not-insignificant mark.

But MK?

MK had made a choice. He had chosen to come back, you were sure of it, sure that he had made a deal for your safety and retrieval alongside his own- of course he was going to adjust better than you.

But he was still a little boy.

A little boy who had spent his life in the hollow embrace of mud walls and patchwork blankets, in the firm grip of your scarred arms. This was a kingdom of excess, a world so vast and strange that it overwhelmed just as much as it comforted. He looks up to you, his tiny thumb fiddling with your knuckles, and you know what is being asked.

Are you staying?

You squeeze his hand back.

Always.

Neither of you is exactly cozy , but the air between you feels warmer for that little exchange, the newfound fuzziness lasting until the tall and gilded arc of a lavish dining room stands before the two of you, beckoning in.

Inside, the dining room gleams with you might bitterly call opulence . The long table stretches nearly half the length of the room, carved from a dark wood polished to a mirror’s finish. Gold filigree edges the surface, intertwining in swirling patterns that catch the warm glow of the lanterns overhead. The chairs are high-backed and cushioned, draped in fine fabrics with purple and gold-threaded embroidery. The centerpiece is a grand arrangement of flowers- peach blossoms and chrysanthemums interspersed with glowing lotuses.

The sheer decadence is suffocating .

MK gasps loudly at the sight, his wide eyes reflecting the glittering splendor. You squeeze his hand again, grounding him, grounding yourself. The boy looks up at you, half in wonder, half in unease. You feel it too- the crushing weight of not belonging. This isn’t your world. Not really. Not ever.

Not yet.

A man; dressed as elegantly as the woman that you presume to be his wife, is stocking the table with loaded plates. Not a drop spills onto his gold-lined white tangzhuang, no matter how much he moves.

“It’s an honor to be serving you again, Lord Xiaotian. And an honor to serve his savior, dear child.

He pushes up the bridge of his circular glasses, causing a sharp gleam to roll over them before coming over to usher you both in.

“Now, please- take your seats.”

There’s two chairs set aside specifically, both piled with stiff cushions to help someone of the height-disadvantaged reach the table- MK’s is especially egregious, containing no less than four.

Speaking of the boy, he tugs at your hand again, his curious eyes shifting between you and the chair meant for him. “Can we really sit here?” he whispers, voice laced with awe and a hint of anxiety.

Before you can answer, Macaque’s low voice cuts through the air as he and Wukong stride into the room after you, affably clapping their servant on his shoulders. “Of course you can,” he says, his tone soft but firm as both golden eyes land on you both. “This is your home now, Xiaotian. You can be wherever you want.”

Home. The word burns.

Maybe it sears even worse than the branding iron that haunts your dreams.

You take the seat beside his, allowing the cushion to sink as best it can under your meager weight, providing a nice abatement to your sore legs- though the cream Macaque had used to clear out grime and dirt had stopped burning not long after it was used, there was a dull ache left from both the concoction and, well… everything , really.

The man with glasses places bowls of warm, sweet-smelling rice porridge before you and MK, forcing your eyes to the bowl. The simple meal is an obvious concession to your past, but the presentation is impeccable, garnished with thin slices of banana and a drizzle of honey. It’s almost too beautiful to eat. Almost .

MK digs in immediately , tiny hands clutching the spoon with the clumsy enthusiasm only a child could muster. His muffled hum of delight sounds out at the first bite, drawing adoring coos from the two kings, and a faint, weary smile from you.

He deserves this, you think. He deserves a hundred lifetimes of warm meals, safe beds, and more love than his little heart could stand to hold.

You, however, hesitate. The porridge is still steaming, the honey forming golden rivulets over the creamy surface, but you can’t bring yourself to taste it just yet. It feels foreign, indulgent in a way that grates against the life you’ve lived- against the life that has shaped you into a scrapes-by survivor accustomed to spare bits of fuel.

You manage to lift the spoon and take a small bite.

The honeyed porridge is warm and sweet, slices of ripe banana on top to add a buttery texture that melts effortlessly on your tongue, imbuing a whisper of richness to each bite.

It’s good. Too good. It makes your chest ache.

Hunger is the world you have known, sprinkled through every aspects of your life in pieces. In the cold of winter on your stick-thin ribs, never enough meat to keep warm. In the gnawing ache that follows you to sleep. In the morning, curling like smoke in your chest as you wake, already weary. Hunger walks beside you, a shadow that stretches long.

A word heartbreakingly uttered from the lips of your darling little brother, spurring you to further and further extremes to keep him fed.

But today you are both full and warm, dressed and clean.

The thought pricks your eyes with tears, and the spoon seizes as a lump grows in your throat.

You could have never given this to MK.

The movement of your unwieldy hand grows faster and faster, shoveling more and more of the sweet porridge into your mouth, smearing it over your lips as tears begin to fall. Your spare hand drifts downwards to cusp the mildly growing curve of your stomach, feeling the meal compound through you. You drop the intricate spoon, and it clatters uselessly to the ground. In favor of scooping the meal bite by bite into your mouth, you do the simplest- and more importantly, fastest- thing possible.

You upend the contents directly into your mouth, the honeyed porridge spilling past your lips and onto your chin and cheeks. You drain it to the last drop and lick the remnants like a starving dog, and then set down the exquisite piece of china to reveal the tears dribbling over the sticky mess across your face.

“I want more,” you beg, voice plain and will broken. “Please, I-“

“ I don’t want to be hungry anymore.”

“…get them another bowl,” says Macaque, looking at you more closely than ever before. “As many as they need.”

”Until they’re full.”

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #MK #Yandere Father #Shadowpeach #Eclipse Kings #Not The Beloved #3K

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trendywaifus · 11 months ago

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Asking zhu yahn to keep her uniform top on so you can use her handle bars till she's a cock drunk and whimpering mess....the devious backshots you could do with them

GOOD HEAVENS. i think those handle bars are connected more to her tights and belt. I wonder what that designer was thinking when they made that tbh. like what’s the technical use for that? ik he was NOT thinking good thoughts when he put that on her.

anyways, not only will it be impossible to use those hand bars on zhu yuan naked, I think she’ll oppose the idea of having sex with you in her uniform (unfortunately), she has a lot respect for her job and it’ll be dishonorable. buttt that doesn’t mean you can’t give her those devious backshots! (: (cw: gn! with a dick/strap, overstimulation, restraints (toy cuffs), doggy style, dirty talk, creaming

“ taking me so well, aren’t ya, big girl? “ you’d groan, smacking your hips into the fat of zhu yuan’s ass, repeatedly stretching her gummy walls out with thick inches of your cock. your girlfriend, who’s hands are cuffed behind her arched back, face pressed against the pillows with her pretty ass in the air just for you, lets out a drawn out moan. your palms rub her hips as you slow down your momentum to fuck her nice and slow. she feels it—every drag of your dick rubbing up and down her sensitive walls, reaching further and further inside little by little. the fat head grazes a sweet, spongy spot she’s weak to and her knees almost cave in.

zhu yuan drools, swollen lips parted open. ecstasy sinks into her clouded mind, thinking nothing but about you, and only you. “ i-i. .” upon hearing her muffled voice, you arch a brow and settled with grinding yourself into her to focus on what she’s trying to say. “ yes, pumpkin? i’m listening. “

“ n-need you, i-i need you. . . “ she babbles, fluffy sable and orange streaked hair obscure over her eyes. you coo at her, dipping down to leave a trail of warm kisses up along her well-structured back. “ i know you do, big girl, you’re clenching me right now.”

your back straightens up and you retract your hips back. you bite your lip at the sight of your dick lathered with her slick and juices. strings of her fluid deliciously separate and stretch until it’s thin. “ you’re sopping, zhu yuan. “

she whimpers, mostly due to the emptiness, walls fluttering over nothing. “ (n-name), please, pleaseee. .” aligning yourself with her dripping entrance, you grasp her forearms. you slide yourself back in with ease and zhu yuan moans brokenly at the pleasured stretch. “ don’t hafta beg, baby. i’ll take good care of you. now, up, up. “ with a firm pull of her forearms, you maneuver her upper body upwards; doggy style. heaps of silky hair move accordingly with the slow startup of your thrusts, some pieces of her tousled hair sliding off to the side of her back.

“ you had a long day at work today, i’m gonna make sure you sleep real good tonight. “

zhu yuan’s body temperature become a few degrees higher at from your words, an involuntary shiver of anticipation skims up her back like a zap of lightning. your pace speeds up and the wet, addicting sound of your hips repeatedly smacking into her ass turn increasingly loud in your ears. if you’d had an audio recorder, you would gladly record how pretty your girlfriend’s moans are right now. compared to how she usually behaves outside of her work, this is the loudest you’ve ever heard her. your thrusts are snappy and rhythmic, zhu yuan’s knees quivers.

your eyes wander down, tongue swiping over your bottom lip from the memorizing sight of zhu yuan’s creamy skin leaving behind small ripples with every collision between your pelvis and her ass. “ oh my god, “ her pussy is greedily swallowing you up as if it needs you. zhu yuan’s a babbling and whimpering mess—you can’t see her face but you just know she’s at her prettiest right now. “ y’know what? i wanna fuck this pussy all night until you, mm, can’t walk straight tomorrow. all i want you to think about during your shift is me, sweetheart. “

after a few moments, you feel stickiness and sounds of slushing in your ears. again, your gaze dips down and it took every part of you to not rearrange her insides. a creamy ring pools around the base of your cock. “ you’re creaming on my dick, ‘zu. you must like the idea of getting fucked to the point of not being able to walk correctly, huh? i never knew you was secretly this dirty. “

a throaty moan crawls its way out of her throat. “ n-not tr-true, “ her head hangs low, face bright red, “ d-don’t say things like th-that, hngh! “ you give her forearms a firm tug, jerking her body into your rough thrust.

“ not true? then what is, big girl? why should i believe your words over what she’s showing me right now.”your hips rock against her ass in a circular rotation. her slick-coated walls throb and clench irregularly around you. zhu yuan mewls, digging her nails into the fleshy part of her palm until half crescents are engraved into her skin.

“ just let your pussy do all the talking. you don’t have to worry about a thing. “

#trendythirsts #zhu yuan smut #zhu yuan x reader #zzz women x reader #zzz smut #zzz x reader

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macknus · 5 months ago

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Febuwhump: Day Three

Prompt: Pinned Down

Febuwhump Masterpost

Whumpee ran. Sprinted through Whumper’s camp, feeling the cold, packed damp earth slapping beneath his feet was disgustingly wonderful. A feeling he didn’t think he’d ever miss, no… but here he was, breathless from the run, already exhausted from weeks of being captured and subdued, beaten and grounded and starved. His lungs screamed at him to stop, his muscles clenching as if he was ten sets into a workout, but Whumpee continued running.

A small crazed smile on his lips as he felt the wind on his face, rushing through his damp hair that Whumper kept tied back. The first thing Whumpee did when he got free was take that blasted bobbin from his hair and let his shoulder length raven birds nest free. He felt… oh gods, he felt alive.

He cleared the camp paths, rushing out of the alleyways packed with tents like buildings on either side and when he emerged onto the field that their camp was on he finally— after weeks that felt like years, stretched his white, feathered wings and continued to run.

Damn the ache in his back from spreading them.

Damn the stiffness of his limbs as he stretched them out to their full wingspan. He felt whole again now that they were no longer chained to his back at awkward angles.

He swallowed the cheers, the hollers, the whoops that threatened to spill out of his mouth from the relief, but he wasn’t out for the woods yet. He still had to clear Whumper’s camp before he risked making any more noise than is necessary.

He beat his wings after the stiffness faded to mere pins and needles. He was skinner than before, even if they were a little out of practice, they would hold him in the skies until he was free. They had never failed him before. And with the cool night air on his cheeks, the sable night sky calling to him, the stars winking, beckoning him to the heavens, Whumpee beat his wings, once, twice, then he was up.

He faltered a bit as he tried to steady himself in the air, a single, breath denying moment of a stumble as he fell through the air. But his wings caught and he wasn’t out for flying— he was—

He was FLYING!

He didn’t care as hot tears rolled down his cheeks, whipped away by the wind as he soared high above his prison, Whumper’s vile camp.

He was— he was actually going to be free…

And then he flew straight into a wall. Whumpee blinked, stunned as his body slammed against it— but it was just open air. Open sky.

“No,” he muttered, slamming his hand against it and a ripple whirled against the invisible barrier. The same barriers that Whumper’s sadistic Right Hand could weave. “No! No, NO!”

He pushed and clawed against the barrier and glanced up. He tried to fly above its edge, the impenetrable wall meeting a ceiling and he cursed.

“No! No! No! Come on,” he cried, pushing with all his strength against the barrier. There had to be a weak spot. There had to be.

“Do you know what the real kicker is?” A cold voice asked from below. Whumpee froze physically, while his insides raged against a storm. His heartbeat hammered against his chest, sweat forming on his brow, his chest, his back from the exertion. Whumpee trembled as he tilted his head down to see Whumper directly below him. Whumper met Whumpee’s gaze with a cruel smile as he stepped past the barrier that kept Whumpee trapped within the confines of the camp. “It only works on you, darling. It helps to keep your pesky friends out, and your defiant, ungrateful self in. Exactly how I want you.”

Whumpee snarled. “I’m not coming down. I’m not letting you chain me up again.”

Whumper stepped back into the barrier, all humour gone from his sharp, angular face, but his eyes glinted with a dark promise. “Good thing I don’t need your permission then, isn’t it?”

With a click of his fingers a spear appeared in his hand and Whumpee paled. Whumper tossed the spear in his hand, getting the weight of it in his fingers as he assessed Whumpee above.

“You can either come down here, now, or I’ll bring you down, boy.”

Whumpee glanced around the camp, but there was nobody else out of bed. Only Whumper. He could fly to the opposite end, avoid his attacks and then what? He couldn’t leave! Spelled to remain—

Before Whumpee could finish the thought he felt the whistle of the spear through the air and he rolled, barely dodging the blow in time. The spear ran straight through the barrier like a mocking taunt, but Whumpee couldn’t focus on that as Whumper summoned another spear into his hand.

“This one won’t miss. One last chance, Whumpee,” Whumper sang. His voice like gravel, echoing shards of ice through Whumpee’s ears and sending shivers down his spine. Whumpee knew how good Whumper’s aim was, and he didn’t want his wings to be speared which is exactly what Whumper would do.

Whumpee hung his head, wings beating against the air to keep him up. “Okay,” he said, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Okay,” he said again and let the air catch his wings as he descended.

It was pathetic really. Whumpee had a chance at freedom, at escape, and all it took for his defiance to smoulder was Whumper. Not an army. Not an onslaught of Whumper’s bloodthirsty soldiers, just… just him. With a spear.

Whumpee’s feet had barely touched the ground before Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee’s head hit off the barrier with an oomph as his shoulders took the brunt of the blow to the cold, hard earth below.

Whumper straddled Whumpee’s waist, a cold smile on his thin lips. “You know how much I love your wings, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, running his fingers over the feathers that made Whumpee squirm. He didn’t want the sensitive spots to be touched, especially by Whumper. That was something that he and his mate would share if he— if he ever got out of here.

But Whumper knew that. Knew how intimate a gesture touching Whumpee’s wings was and did it anyway.

“Which is why I’m so proud you didn’t make me put a hole through them,” he continued, touching an especially sensitive spot that made Whumpee whimper under Whumper. “But you still need to be punished. Right Hand suggested I clip your wings.”

Whumpee’s eyes went wide through his terror, shaking his head as Whumper smiled down his horrible smile at Whumpee. “Don’t worry, darling, I told her I won’t do that. I want you to still be able to fly… but your punishment remains.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and yanked his hand down until it was parallel to the ground. Whumpee struggled, trying to pull against Whumper’s strength, but his grip was strong, sure. Fed. Whumper wasn’t starved like Whumpee. Whumpee’s resistance was futile and they both knew it.

“Now, since your hands are the actual offenders, getting you out of your chains, I think this will be a fitting punishment.”

Whumper didn’t wait a beat before slamming the spear through Whumpee’s palm and burying it into the ground below. Whumpee screamed and thrashed under Whumper, begging, pleading for him to take it out, take it out, I’m sorry.

Whumper clicked his fingers and another spear appeared. Whumpee kicked and tried to worm his way out from under Whumper but every small movement aggravated his impaled hand and he cried out.

“You got cooped up, little bird, it’s okay,” Whumper cooed. “You wanted to be outside, you should’ve just asked, boy.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s free hand. “No! No! Please, Whumper! Please!”

“See? With those manners, I’d give you anything, darling.”

Then he impaled Whumpee’s other palm into the ground, effectively pinning him to ground, arms stretched out wide to his sides. Whumpee screamed as fire raced through his blood, no longer struggling but every breath, every tremor threatened to move his limbs and he wanted to be sick. The stench of dirt and cold and metal from his blood filled his senses which roared like a beast inside him.

Whumper’s smile dropped from his face as he stared down at Whumpee. He stroked a hand down Whumpee’s wing and Whumpee couldn’t stop the knee jerk reaction that tore against his hand and he screamed again.

“Now boy, you’re outside. Just as you wanted. A nice night below the stars might do you some good.”

Whumpee trembled as Whumper’s heat pulled away from him as the bastard stood. His mind only processing Whumper’s words after he walked towards the streets line with tents.

“Wait! You- you can’t leave me here!” Whumpee yelled after him, panic seizing his throat. “Whumper!”

Whumper didn’t answer, just kept walking further and further away. “Whumper! WHUMPER!”

“WHUMPER!”

There was no response. Whumpee stared up at the stars winking down at him, beckoning him to the sky and he sobbed.

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warden-of-light · 5 months ago

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You wanna know what's cool about Corvus Corax? The way he appears before space marines and their primarch.

More beneath the cut.

Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter.

Corax appears before the Night Lords.

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

‘My lord…��

Curze silenced him with a gesture. His head came up, sniffing at the air like a hound. ‘We are no longer alone.’

Tovor’s auspex let out a single ping.

‘Weapons!’ commanded Sevatar. The command Claw brought up their bolters.

‘I am detecting battleplate power outputs all around us,’ said Tovor. ‘Multiple returns. Eight at least.’

‘I have clear biosign readings,’ said Manek. ‘By the walls. In the shadows.’

‘There’s nothing there!’ said Vor.

Shadows moved around the periphery of the auditorium. Uncertain target locks flickered over undulations in the dark. White outlines on red lens feeds twisted awkwardly, attempting to find something that did not wish to be seen. The sensorium did better than Sevatar’s eyes. He blinked, but his vision stubbornly refused to see what his armour told him was there.

A single Nostraman rune blinked steadily on Sevatar’s helm display. *Threat.*

‘Draw in. Protect the primarch,’ he commanded. He activated the magnetic binders on his bolter and slapped it to his thigh, and plucked his chainglaive from his back. The command Claw fell back around their lord. Curze remained motionless, disinterested. Bolts racked into chambers. The shadows ceased their movement.

‘I have steady targets,’ said Tovor. ‘Sharing.’

The white outlines flickered on Sevatar’s displays into the shapes of Space Marines in full war-plate. And yet he could not actually see them.

‘Should we open fire?’ said Vor, his voice thick with the desire to fight.

‘Hold,’ said Curze. ‘Lower your weapons.’

Reluctantly, Sevatar’s warriors obeyed.

The shadows rippled. Black armoured Space Marines detached themselves from puddles of darkness, like plastek sculptures rising from tar. Where only targeting data had been before, Sevatar now saw a full squad of XIX Legion veterans, materialising from darkness to fill the outlines painted by his cogitator. His eyes ached, begging him to tear off his winged helm and rub them.

This could not be. Nostraman born could see into any shadow. The Ravens should not have been able to hide so completely, but they had. Occupying a broad ledge that had housed statues, now broken on the ground, the Raven Guard had the higher position. Unlike the Night Lords, they had their weapons raised.

‘You have us at a tactical disadvantage,’ said Curze. ‘I trust neither you nor my sons will do anything regrettable.’ He looked at Sevatar. ‘Am I right?’

‘If they move, take them down,’ said Sevatar. He held his glaive ready, his finger hovering over the activation stud.

None of the Raven Guard spoke. They left that to their lord.

Very little shocked Sevatar. Even for a Space Marine he was solid as stone, unmoved by the remnant emotions his brothers suffered so much from. But when Corvus Corax emerged from shadow far too shallow to accommodate him, he blinked in surprise. Nothing that big should have been able to materialise that way – his battleplate alone should have revealed him; every mark of power armour growled and thumped and whined with activity. Corax’s did not. His armour ran silently, with no grinding joints, no teethitching hum. He appeared from nothing as noiselessly as oil running over water. Masters of fear and pitiless killers all, the Night Lords felt the unfamiliar pangs of disquiet.

Warsuit cogitators redrew the target outline around Corax, expanding it from the legionary it thought it had seen to the primarch he revealed himself to be. With an apologetic flourish, their sensorium aids graced the weak points of Corax’s sable armour with floating recommendations for targeting. The hum in Sevatar’s helm changed pitch as his war-plate reconsidered the primarch’s threat rating, appending a rune of high danger to Corax’s head. It flashed but did not change when Corax removed his helm. The warnings weren’t worth a damn. The primarch would be on them before their fingers could squeeze their triggers, even with the Night Haunter there.

‘Brother,’ said Corax. ‘I come to you without violent intent, but please, explain to me what is going on in this city.’ His voice was soft like the Night Haunter’s, though not as sibilant, and with a more measured tone. Sevatar refused to let it beguile him. The threat Corax made was clear enough.

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

Shadow of the Past.

A warp-turned Corax confronts Lorger.

#warhammer 40k #corvus corax #raven guard #i hope he makes a return soon #need warp-turned corax slaying chaos #excuse the mess #had to copy and past from notes #these are my favourite and only known ways he appears before a primarch #and their legion*

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sleekervae · 10 months ago

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Wicked Games ❅ 1

Masterlist

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x socialite!fem!reader

Summary: At 22, Coriolanus Snow is rising in Panem’s authoritarian regime, using his fame and cunning to navigate Capitol politics. Sable Hanover, known for her strategic charm, sees potential in an alliance with him. Despite their different backgrounds, they share a hunger for power, and their partnership becomes a complex mix of ambition, deception, and desire as they maneuver through Capitol society, spinning manipulative narratives to strengthen their influence.

Warnings: politicians being politicians

Word Count: 3,912

The lights of the Capitol's grand debate hall glared down on the stage, reflecting off the pristine marble floors. The audience, a sea of expectant faces, watched with bated breath. Coriolanus Snow, at 22, stood tall and poised at his podium, his platinum hair slicked back, his eyes sharp and calculating. The applause from the crowd was polite but measured, a testament to his controversial rise.

Across from him, his opponents stood ready, their expressions a mix of determination and disdain. Lucky Flickerman, ever the showman, flashed a grin as wide as the gaudy tie looped around his neck, and his voice bounced with the familiar, dramatic flair the Capitol loved.

"Well, well, well! Good evening, beloved citizens of Panem! Oh, what a treat we have for you tonight! Our candidates, oh-so-brilliant and ambitious, will lay out their grand visions for this wonderful nation of ours!" He paused, eyes gleaming under the bright studio lights, before continuing, "And you, my dear friends, will be the ones to decide who’s fit to lead us into a dazzling future. Exciting, isn’t it?"

Lucky turned, his gesture theatrical, to Coriolanus, the glitter of his jacket reflecting in the camera lights. "Now, Mr. Snow, darling of the Capitol! You've got your critics—and your admirers—but some say your policies have a rather... shall we say... Capitol-centric lean. How would you respond to those who feel you're leaving our friends in the districts in the dust?"

He leaned in slightly, his trademark grin still plastered across his face, as if the whole spectacle was nothing more than a delightful game. "Let’s hear it, Coriolanus! Don’t leave us waiting too long—this is live!"

Coriolanus leaned forward, a confident smile playing on his lips. "Thank you for the question. Our nation thrives on unity and strength. My policies aim to create opportunities for all citizens, ensuring that we move forward together. The districts are the backbone of Panem, and their prosperity is our prosperity."

One of his opponents, Eldridge Barbery, a seasoned politician with a stern demeanor, countered. "Mr. Snow, your actions during the Hunger Games and your subsequent rise to the senatorship have left many questioning your integrity. Can you assure us that you are committed to the welfare of all citizens, not just your own advancement?"

Coriolanus's smile didn't falter. "My past has shaped me, yes, but it has also taught me the value of resilience and dedication. I am committed to serving Panem with integrity and transparency. My vision is for a unified nation, where every citizen has the chance to thrive."

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. Coriolanus could feel the energy shift slightly in his favor. What he wasn't aware of was a group of young women, society socialites crowded around a table, nearly all of them with dull, unimpressed expressions on their faces. All except for one, a slim, mousy woman with shiny doe eyes and a choppy pixie cut framing her pronounced cheekbones. She was adorned in a silk, long sleeve phtalo blue dress, her eyes fixed to the debate with a mixture of intrigue and appraisal. She found the whole world of politics absolutely fascinating.

"God, this is so boring," one of the girls, Poppy, murmured, her hand propping up her chin as her eyes drooped.

"Do you even know what they're talking about?" another girl, Lucretia, asked.

"Something that has no effect on us, I'm sure," Gamma replied as she pulled a nail file from her clutch, "Why my father insists on forcing me to these things, I'll never understand,"

"To find us husbands, of course," the last girl, Sable, finally spoke, her eyes never left the podiums.

Poppy scoffed in dismay, "Here? Please, the only thing we're liable to find here is tinned crab in the hors d'oeuvres," she picked glumly at the food on her plate.

"Such talk from a woman who's hailed from the fishing district," Lucretia said.

"My great grandfather did, so?" Poppy shrugged back, "I have good taste in seafood,"

Gamma rolled her eyes, "You wouldn't know a salmon from a flounder, and you know it,"

"Sh!" Sable hushed their bickering in a fell swoop, her focus continued to be fixed on the debate.

As the debate continued, Coriolanus deftly fielded questions and criticisms, his responses measured and eloquent. He felt a surge of adrenaline, the thrill of the challenge coursing through him. He could see his opponents' resolve wavering, their arguments losing momentum. They were much older, had fielded their time in office. Coriolanus was young, ambitious, and well-spoken. Being a handsome, now rich young man certainly helped his public image.

"At least this election will give us something nice to look at," Gamma sighed, watching Coriolanus more than she was listening to what he had to say.

Lucretia simpered, "Perhaps that's why Sable is so starry-eyed? Are you in love, dear?"

"Oh, please. There's no point in being in love with politicians," Sable replied, turning to her friends with a sympathetic smile, "They all lie, who's to say they don't lie to their wives and children as well?"

"Why would you ever want to marry anyone in government? I couldn't imagine," Poppy huffed.

Sable gave her a level stare. "For security, of course," she replied simply. "Do you think our current positions in society will protect us forever?"

Lucretia scoffed, "Sable, we're young and beautiful. We'll snag ourselves husbands by the time we're twenty-five," she said.

"Mothers by thirty," Gamma nodded.

Sable turned her sharp, piercing gaze to her ginger friend. "Gamma, your family came from District Six, did they not?" she asked.

"Yes," Gamma replied.

"And wasn't last year's tribute from District Six also young and beautiful?" Sable's gaze flitted over her other two friends. "I believe she was blown up by a land mine."

Gamma rolled her eyes. "What's your point, Sable?"

"We're not secure. No amount of money or status can protect us forever," she explained.

"Are you kidding me?" Poppy laughed with ridicule. "We're in the Capitol, we're safe from the games!"

Sable leaned in, her voice low and urgent, "The games aren't the only threat. Power shifts, alliances change. Marrying into the government isn't just about prestige—it's about ensuring we have the protection and influence we need to survive in an ever volatile world," she then pointed to the podiums on the stage, "That's what this is all about,"

Lucretia's face fell as she pondered Sable's words, the reality of their status settling in. Poppy meanwhile continued to laugh, both in disbelief and whatever audacious delusion Sable was put under.

"Sable, you've been reading too many books," Poppy decided.

Sable simply shrugged back. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Why don't you get up on those podiums and make a speech?" Poppy suggested, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Sable smiled faintly, "Maybe I will, one day?"

Lucretia sighed dramatically, "You always have to be so serious, Sable. Can't we just head on to the gala?"

"If you all care to go ahead, then please do," Sable replied, her expression calm and confident, "I'd like to see this play out,"

Gamma chuckled along, "Let's face it, girls -- if anyone here can trick a president into marrying her, it would be Sable,"

Sable's smile widened, a hint of mischief in her eyes, "Well, someone has to think ahead. And who knows? Maybe one day you'll be thanking me for it,"

Coriolanus adjusted his cufflinks for the third time, the heavy velvet curtains of the grand ballroom swishing softly as the entrance to the gala beckoned. His reflection in the polished marble columns showed a man dressed impeccably in a dark red suit, but the slight furrow in his brow betrayed his inner turmoil. Tonight had to go perfectly.

Garrison Romulus, his seasoned political advisor, walked beside him, a look of mild irritation creasing his weathered face, “Coriolanus, I can’t stress this enough. You’re lagging in the polls --"

"Really? I thought the debate was quite successful," he replied.

"You can debate all you like. But you'll forgive the public of being skeptical of a twenty-two-year-old running for president,” Garrison continued, "Be that and your -- scandal with the Hunger Games of 10 ATT--"

Coriolanus sighed, cutting him off with a swift glare, “I know, Garrison. I’ve heard it all before,”

“Yes, but have you absorbed it?” Garrison’s tone was sharp, “You talk like your father, but you are still seen as a liability to the public. You need to prove your maturity and stability tonight,”

Coriolanus nodded, forcing his features into a mask of confidence, “And what better opportunity than making an appearance at the Reed's Aid Ball? I trust your assistant sent my contribution ahead?”

Garrison’s eyes softened slightly, but his voice remained firm, “Of course, sir,”

"Than tonight should be a success," he assured the older man, "I'll shake a few hands, take some pictures, look like the hero Panem needs,"

Garrison continued to ramble on, however, the words barely registered as Coriolanus’s gaze drifted past the advisor’s shoulder, drawn by a dazzling shimmer. There, across the room, stood a woman who seemed to command the very air around her. Her gown, a shimmering cascade of icy blue fabric, clung to her form with an elegance that was both arresting and subtle. Her hair, a slicked back pixie cut, framed a face that was contrastingly sharp angles and soft allure.

“Coriolanus, are you even listening to me?” Garrison’s voice broke through his reverie, but it was distant, an echo in the periphery of his mind.

He blinked, trying to pull his thoughts back to the conversation. “Yes, of course. Make connections. Show them stability,”

Garrison frowned, following Coriolanus’s line of sight, “Are you seriously gawking at women at a time like this? This is serious!”

“Your chirping is irritating,” Coriolanus murmured, "I know that woman, I've seen her in the papers,"

"Yes, yes, that is Sable Hanover. Of the district three Hanovers," Garrison huffed.

"Hanover?" the name rolled off his tongue with a strange sense of familiarity.

"They made their money in pharmaceuticals, I believe. Their daughter is on the front cover of every rag mag in the city," Garrison muttered with little interest. Coriolanus watched as she conversed with her group with the grace of a dancer, her laughter like the delicate chime of crystal. She was a vision, a shimmery beacon in a sea of monotonous suits.

“Coriolanus!” Garrison’s tone was more urgent now, but Coriolanus couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sable, “Focus. Remember what we discussed,”

“I am focused. Why don't you fetch yourself some champagne?” he replied, though his mind was already drifting, lost in the magnetic pull of the woman across the room. Every step she took seemed to draw him in further, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. Garrison scoffed with dismay and went off to find the refreshments.

The music swirled around the room, creating a backdrop of elegance and sophistication. Coriolanus stood rooted to the spot, his eyes still locked on Sable Hanover as she moved gracefully through the crowd. The way she commanded attention with every step, the subtle tilt of her head as she listened intently to those around her—everything about her was magnetic.

“Mr. Snow!” a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to the present.

Coriolanus turned to find himself face-to-face with Senator Allister Reed, one of the most influential figures in Panem's political landscape. The senator was a tall, imposing man with a silver mane of hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through him.

“Senator Reed,” Coriolanus greeted, extending his hand with a practiced smile. “It’s an honor to see you here tonight. Lovely party,”

“The honor is mine,” Senator Reed replied, his grip firm and confident. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you lately, Mr. Snow. Your campaign has certainly made waves.”

Coriolanus nodded, the smile never leaving his face. “I’m doing my best to bring about positive change for Panem.”

Reed chuckled, a deep, resonant sound. “Ambitious words, young man. But ambition without action is merely a dream. Tell me, what makes you think you’re the right person to lead us?”

Garrison’s words echoed in his mind: Prove your maturity and stability. Coriolanus straightened, meeting the senator’s gaze with unwavering determination. “I understand the challenges our society faces, Senator. My experiences have shaped me, taught me resilience and strategic thinking. I’m committed to leveraging those experiences to build a stronger, more unified Panem,”

The senator studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Interesting. You speak with conviction, but actions speak louder than words. How do you plan to address the concerns of the people?”

Before Coriolanus could respond, a cacophony of laughter caught his attention. His eyes flickered back to Sable, who was now engaged in a lively conversation with a group of high-ranking officials and her female cohorts.

“Mr. Snow?” Senator Reed’s voice sharpened, pulling Coriolanus back.

“Apologies, Senator,” Coriolanus said, forcing his attention back to the conversation. “I plan to implement policies that promote economic stability and social reform. We need to rebuild trust in our government and ensure that every citizen feels heard and valued.”

Reed nodded slowly, a hint of approval in his eyes. “A noble goal. But remember, the path to power is fraught with obstacles. Stay vigilant and true to your ideals.”

“I will, Senator. Thank you for the advice.” he grinned, "I trust I can count on your vote in the election?"

Reed tutted, "Slow down, there. You have six more months of campaigning to do, and it's not just me you have to impress,"

"Of course," Coriolanus nodded, "I'm hoping to touch base with many of your colleagues tonight,"

Reed's expression lifted, a withered but warm smile pulling at his lips, "Why don't I save you some steps? Come!" he motioned for the boy to follow him, and Coriolanus did without question.

They weaved through the crowd of Panem's who's-who, finally coming to the group that had been drawing Coriolanus's attention since he'd arrived. Reed was the first to speak, his booming voice cutting through the hum of conversation.

"Gentlemen! And ladies, of course," he smiled briefly at one of the women, "I'd like to introduce you to Coriolanus Snow: our potential new president!"

The cluster of senators turned as one, their expressions ranging from curious to skeptical. Coriolanus felt the weight of their scrutiny but maintained his confident smile.

Senator Agnes Caldwell, a formidable woman with strawberry blonde hair styled in an elegant hive, was the first to approach. Her eyes were sharp, assessing. "Mr. Snow," she said, extending a hand. "I've heard much about you. Tell me, what is your stance on economic reform for the districts?"

Coriolanus took her hand firmly, looking her directly in the eyes. "Senator Caldwell, I believe economic stability is the foundation of a strong Panem. My plan includes investing in infrastructure and creating jobs within the districts to ensure a more balanced distribution of wealth and resources."

Her eyes flickered with interest as she nodded thoughtfully. "Ambitious. We need leaders who think beyond the Capitol."

Before he could respond, Senator Julius Park stepped forward. His demeanor was less severe, a twinkle of curiosity in his eyes. "And what measures will you take to strengthen our military and ensure our security?"

Coriolanus shifted smoothly, adapting his tone to match the senator's lighter approach. "Senator Park, I myself spent some time as a peace keeper, I've picked out our weaknesses during my service. I propose increasing our military training programs and investing in advanced technology to ensure our security while also maintaining peace within our borders,"

Park's smile widened. "A practical approach. Your experience will surely come in handy, I trust,"

As Coriolanus navigated the questions, he felt the eyes of the room on him. He answered with precision and poise, each response calculated to impress and persuade. But as he turned to face the next senator, his gaze was irresistibly drawn to a figure standing just outside the circle—Sable Hanover.

She stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and curiosity. The soft, knowing smile on her lips hinted at a challenge. "Mr. Snow," she began, her voice smooth and captivating, "I'm curious. Given your... unique experiences, do you truly believe the Hunger Games are necessary for maintaining control over the districts?"

The question hung in the air, catching Coriolanus off guard; he hadn't expected such a loaded question to come from a socialite. He felt a slight tightening in his chest, his practiced composure momentarily faltering. He knew the room was watching, waiting for his response.

He took a breath, his mind racing, "Ms. Hanover," he began, meeting her gaze, "the Hunger Games have long been a tool for maintaining order and reminding the districts of the Capitol's authority. However, I believe we must also explore other means of fostering unity and understanding. The Games serve a purpose, but they should not be our only method of governance. Letting the districts believe in their own worth will be the key to Panem's thriving,"

Sable's smile deepened, and she tilted her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his as another senator cut in, "An interesting perspective, Mr. Snow. It seems you aim to balance strength with perceivable empathy,"

"Well, what more can we offer the people of Panem if not empathy?" he replied.

Senator Reed clapped a hand on his shoulder, the booming voice breaking the tension. "Well said, Coriolanus! Well said!"

The group murmured their agreement, some nodding thoughtfully. Coriolanus felt a rush of relief mingled with the lingering impact of Sable's stare. He was intrigued by her perfection, an expertly poised and packaged doll here for mere entertainment. Or perhaps, something even more worth his time?

"I wouldn't have expected to see a woman like you here tonight, Ms. Hanover," he commented.

Sable's giggle was melodic, like the jingle of Christmas bells tinkling sweetly, "A woman like me? Tell me, what does that mean?" she asked.

"He means because you're tabloid fodder," Senator Park cut in, taking a sip from his champagne glass.

Senator Reed gaped at him, "Julius! Is that any way to speak to my guest?"

"Oh, calm yourself Allister, it's alright," Sable assured him, her smile never faltering as she turned back to Coriolanus, "Every girl needs a hobby, mine just happens to be... national affairs,"

Her speaking voice was a captivating blend of soft allure and confident assertion. It was breathy, with a melodic lilt that seemed to wrap around each word, drawing listeners in with a hypnotic charm. Her tone was sultry, yet delicate, with an undercurrent of playful mischief that hinted at deeper complexities. Each sentence flowed effortlessly, her voice caressing the air with a warm, velvety smoothness that left an indelible impression on everyone who heard her speak.

Coriolanus wondered for how long she worked on that voice.

"A complex, but exciting topic, Ms. Hanover," he nodded.

"I find life would be boring without complexities, Mr. Snow," she agreed, "Twenty-two and running for president must be quite complex,"

"Very. But all exciting, never the less," he grinned back at her.

The gala’s lights dimmed slightly as the music changed, signalling the beginning of the evening’s events. Several couples made their way to the dance floor as a waltz began to play, a beautiful and luscious tune that shifted the mood from business to something more inviting.

Some of the senators dispersed from the group, seeking out either their partners or another drink. Nevertheless, Coriolanus suddenly found himself standing side-by-side with Sable, the opportunity presenting itself to him on fine china, practically. Despite her position in the tabloids, Sable Hanover was here for a reason. Certainly, she could win him some societal points.

"Would you care to dance, Ms. Hanover?" Coriolanus asked, his voice steady but laced with an undertone of intrigue.

Sable's eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement as she regarded him, "Certainly,"

She placed her hand in his, her touch light but firm. As they made their way to the center of the ballroom, the music shifted to a slow, elegant waltz. Coriolanus felt the weight of countless eyes on them, the collective gaze of the Capitol's elite assessing their every move.

They began to dance, moving in perfect synchrony. Sable's gown swirled around her like liquid silk, the icy blue fabric catching the light and contrasting beautifully with his dark red suit. Her presence was magnetic, drawing him in with every step.

"I watched your debate earlier tonight," she started off.

"Oh?" Coriolanus raised a brow, "And what did you think?"

"You navigate your affairs quite well, Mr. Snow," Sable said, her voice a soft, alluring murmur. "But I'm curious—how do you handle the more personal challenges of leadership?"

Coriolanus looked into her eyes, finding himself momentarily captivated by their depth. "Leadership, like dancing, requires a delicate balance. One must be firm yet adaptable, always anticipating the next move while staying grounded in the present."

Sable tilted her head slightly, her smile both knowing and enigmatic. "And do you find it difficult to maintain that balance?"

"At times," he admitted, surprised by his own honesty. "But it's a challenge I welcome."

They continued to dance, the world around them fading into the background. For a moment, it felt as if they were the only two people in the room. The music, the chatter, the political machinations—all of it seemed distant and inconsequential.

Sable's voice broke through his thoughts, soft and intimate. "You've captured the attention of many tonight, Coriolanus. But attention can be fleeting. What do you truly seek?"

He hesitated, the weight of her question settling over him. "I seek to build a legacy, of course. A society where the Games are not the only means of control."

Her eyes searched his, and he felt a connection forming, a subtle but undeniable bond, "You're quite ambitious, Mr. Snow. And very well spoken. But even you must admit: being willing to face the truth, even when it is uncomfortable, is the ultimate skill of leadership,"

"You speak as though you have experience with such things," he noted.

"Well, you know who my father is, do you not?" she asked.

"Phillip Hanover, the commanding officer and owner of Panem Pharmaceuticals. Your family supplies the districts with all the medications they need," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Yes," she nodded, "And being heir to such an empire places... expectations on a person that they may not find fair..."

"Expectations? Like what?"

Before she could answer, the dance ended, though Sable did not immediately step away. They stood close, their hands still intertwined, the electric tension between them palpable. Coriolanus felt a surge of determination, a resolve to prove himself not just to the Capitol, but to this enigmatic woman who had challenged him in ways he hadn't anticipated.

"Thank you for the dance, Mr. Snow," she said, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper, "I look forward to our next conversation,"

Coriolanus' smile was enigmatic, his voice low, "As do I, Ms. Hanover,"

As she walked away, Coriolanus watched her go, a newfound sense of purpose coursing through him. He knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but he felt ready to face them. And in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what other secrets and insights Sable Hanover held, and how their paths would continue to intertwine.

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making-your-fave-in-fr · 1 month ago

Note

Benji the dog from the original 1974 movie!!! 🥰🥰🥰

I made Benji the dog from Benji (1974) in Flight Rising!

H Imperial (Dark Earth eyes) Goldenrod/Ripple | Obsidian/Saturn | Sable/Stained

#flight rising #fave scry #fandragon #benji the dog #benji 1974 #dog

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wallofchynax · 2 months ago

Text

PROVE THY LEGACY: CHAPTER SIX

ORIGINALLY POSTED ON AO3

Synopsis: It's the Attitude Era and Kiran Smith has been training her whole life to be a star and prove that women aren't just pretty faces. Immediately, she faces push back and is forced to job. She finds an ally in Chyna who trains her, eventually inviting her into Degeneration X where Kiran finds her place. However, the excess of the Attitude Era begins to slowly poison everything Kiran has worked so hard for…

Ships: Shawn Michaels/OC, Stephanie McMahon/Triple H

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: Kiran gets her first rivalry with Sable who gives her harsh advice that makes her consider her relationship with Shawn.

The lights in the arena dimmed, and the titantron bathed the stage in a soft, golden glow, shimmering like the beginning of a grand spectacle.

Sable’s music hit.

The crowd exploded, a deafening wall of sound, cheers, whistles, catcalls, all of it blending into a fevered roar as she strutted down the ramp like she owned the building and the business itself. She looked every inch the golden goddess, basking in the sea of attention, her hips swaying confidently, her smirk daring anyone to think they could touch her. Cameras flashed as she tossed her hair over her shoulder, the very image of untouchable glamour.

Backstage, Kiran watched from behind the curtain.

She wasn’t nervous. Not exactly.

Her fingers twitched with a tension she couldn't quite place. She knew the script by now, Sable would bask in the glow, preen for the fans, flash a magazine cover, maybe blow a kiss or two. Business as usual. The same old song and dance everyone expected.

But not tonight.

Kiran’s heartbeat thrummed steady and strong beneath her ribcage. This was her first time stepping out completely alone since her forgettable debut squash match, a moment no one remembered, except her. She didn't even have her own entrance music yet; she was still tucked under DX's rebellious umbrella, their defiant anthem ready to crash into the speakers on her behalf. Dressed head to toe like a walking billboard: black DX crop top, ripped jeans, heavy boots. The tough, chaotic sidekick.

But this… this would change everything.

Sable hit her signature pose in the center of the ring, microphone raised, ready to soak in her spotlight.

And then the titantron cut her off.

DX's theme blasted through the arena.

The crowd popped hard, instinctively, but confusion rippled underneath the cheers. Heads turned, shifting, trying to make sense of the interruption.

Out walked Kiran.

Alone.

No backup. No crotch chops. No cocky swagger.

Just her, steady and deliberate, walking into the fire with nothing but her own weight behind her.

The audience didn’t know how to react. They cheered because she was DX, but their cheers wavered under the confusion. The energy shifted, taut, tense, as if the whole arena leaned forward at once, breath held.

Sable’s smirk faltered.

Kiran climbed the steps and slipped through the ropes, moving with a quiet, coiled purpose. No mic. No theatrics. Just calm, cold resolve.

She didn’t need the flash.

Sable’s gaze narrowed, her smile turning brittle. Her voice oozed fake sweetness. "Can I help you?"

Kiran tilted her head slightly, studying her like she was sizing up a weak opponent.

Then, without a single word, she reached out and plucked the microphone right out of Sable’s manicured hand.

The crowd roared.

Kiran stood tall, letting the mic hang lazily at her side for a moment. She let the weight of the silence press against them before finally raising the mic to her lips, her voice cool, even, and sharp as a knife.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn’t realize this was a one-woman fashion show."

Sable’s jaw tightened, but she forced a smile, stepping back with the false grace of a queen humoring a jester.

"Sweetheart," Sable drawled, voice dripping condescension, "this is a show for stars, not… backup dancers."

A chorus of "Oohs" rippled through the crowd, sensing the tension spike.

Kiran didn’t flinch. She smiled instead, a slow, dangerous smile, and stepped closer, invading Sable’s space.

"Backup dancers don’t steal the spotlight," she said, voice laced with quiet menace.

The crowd popped again, louder.

Sable’s eyes flashed dangerously, but she covered it quickly, tilting her head with feigned amusement.

"You’re cute," she said. "But this business? It's about more than riding coattails and wearing a T-shirt."

Kiran chuckled, low and humorless. She turned slightly, giving the camera a full view of the DX logo stretched across her back.

"Maybe," she said, turning back to Sable, her voice sharpening. "But it’s funny. Every time I’ve stepped into this ring lately, people actually remember it. Can you say the same, or do you still have to strip down to your bra and panties just to get a reaction?"

The crowd erupted, a mix of cheers and scandalized laughter.

Sable’s mask cracked fully now. The smile disappeared, replaced with naked fury. She took a step forward, getting right in Kiran’s face, her body tense with rage.

Kiran didn’t move. She held her ground, her face a mask of cold defiance, daring Sable to make the first move.

And Sable did.

The slap rang out like a gunshot.

Kiran’s head snapped to the side, her hair whipping around her face. She stood frozen for a beat, the crowd gasping around her, the arena holding its collective breath.

Then, slowly, she turned her head back, a wicked smile curling on her lips.

And she tackled Sable to the mat.

The crowd exploded.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t pretty. It was pure chaos, hair pulling, fists flying, nails raking. They rolled across the mat, locked in a furious brawl as referees and officials sprinted down the ramp, shouting over the roar of the crowd.

Kiran barely registered the hands grabbing at her, trying to pull her off. She had a fistful of Sable’s hair, and Sable’s nails were clawing at her arm, and neither of them looked ready to quit.

It took three officials to finally drag Kiran off, her boots scuffing against the mat as she struggled against them, wild-eyed and heaving for breath.

The crowd was on its feet, screaming, chanting her name, some just roaring at the sheer spectacle of it.

As Kiran was hauled toward the ropes, she yanked free for just a heartbeat, lunging forward to shove Sable one last time, sending her sprawling backward.

Kiran’s hair was wild around her face, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with fierce, undeniable life.

For better or worse, Kiran had just arrived.

And the whole world was watching.

The women's locker room buzzed with post-show energy, a chaotic mixture of laughter, exhausted chatter, and the distant thud of boots against tile. The faint scent of sweat and hairspray clung to the air. Kiran sat on the bench in front of her open locker, still lacing up her boots, a rare, fleeting smile tugging at her lips. Her ribs ached from the scuffle with Sable, but she didn't care. Not tonight. For once, she felt like she had belonged out there.

Kiran could still hear the crowd in her ears. The way the crowd popped when she took the mic, the energy shifting the second she stood her crowd. The adrenaline still simmering low under her skin and she for once, felt untouchable.

Not bad out there. She thought to herself.

Kiran ducked her head, pretending to fuss with her gear to hide the grin threatening to break free. Maybe, finally, she was getting somewhere. Maybe this was the start of something real.

The door swung open with a loud creak.

Sunny sauntered in like a storm, tossing her glittery bag onto a nearby chair with a loud thud. Her sharp gaze immediately zeroed in on Kiran, eyes gleaming like she’d found fresh prey.

“Well, well,” Sunny’s voice cut through the room in a way that was loud enough for everyone to hear and listen in, “Look who’s feeling herself,”

The room fell quiet. Everyone knew exactly who she was talking about. Kiran remembered that for some undisclosed reason, Sunny made it her mission to hate Kiran every second of the day. Although, Kiran wasn’t exactly nice to her anyway.

Kiran didn’t look up. She kept tugging at the laces of her boots, willing herself to stay calm, to not give Sunny what she wanted.

Sunny prowled closer, her arms crossed, and a wide smirk plastered across her face. "Big moment out there, huh? Took the microphone right out of Sable's hand. Real bold move for someone who’s been living in the shadows."

Kiran's jaw tightened, but she kept her head down.

"Enjoy it," Sunny said sweetly, leaning down so only Kiran could hear, her perfume thick and cloying. "It’s the closest you’ll ever get to a career like mine."

“Knock it off Sunny,”

And there Sable was, not bothering to look up from packing her bag to bother looking at Sunny, as if she wasn’t with the effort of looking at.

Sunny straightened up sharply, her smirk faltering just slightly. She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a practiced flick and let out a dramatic sigh. "Just giving the new girl a reality check," she said, her tone falsely innocent.

She breezed out of the room with a dismissive wave, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence in her wake.

Kiran blinked after her, feeling the weight of everyone's stares pressing down on her. Her heart pounded, her brief high from earlier fading like smoke.

Sable approached; her expression unreadable. She dropped down onto the bench across from Kiran, resting her forearms on her thighs.

"You did good out there," Sable said simply, her voice carrying a strange sort of gravity.

Kiran’s shoulders loosened a fraction, a small breath of relief escaping her lungs.

"But," Sable added, voice lowering, "you need to stay focused."

Kiran frowned slightly, uncertainty flickering across her face.

“I’m going to give you some girl advice,” Sable said, cooly and almost condescendingly, “If we’re going to have a good rivarly, you’re gonna need to sort out whatever shit is going on with you and Michaels,”

Kiran’s stomach twisted violently.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Kiran finally spoke up, “There’s nothing going on with me and Shawn,”

Sable raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“You might believe that” she said casually, “But no one else does. Do you think Sunny is ribbing you because she’s bored? She’s ribbing you because she’s pissed that he won’t look at her anymore,”

Sable’s words hit harder than Kiran wanted to admit. She felt the blood rush to her face, stinging her cheeks with a heat that had nothing to do with the fight earlier.

“I’m serious,” Sable said, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her tone was almost dismissive, like she wasn’t about to argue. “You think you’re the first girl around here to catch his attention? You’re not. But you are the one everyone’s watching right now. You want to be taken seriously? You can’t let yourself get dragged into that kind of drama.”

Kiran swallowed hard, her fists clenching in her lap.

Sable gave a small shrug, as if to say take it or leave it.

“Get your head on straight. I’m not gonna carry you through this feud if you crash and burn because you’re too busy playing high school games backstage.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Kiran sitting there in the thick, suffocating quiet of the locker room.

And for a long moment, Kiran didn’t move. She stared at her boots, heart hammering in her chest.

She didn’t know why she was freaking out.

Nothing was going on between her and Shawn. She had made sure of it. She was certain Shawn wouldn’t be interested in her after her running out on him. This wouldn’t be an issue.

But Kiran knew that the seeds of doubt were already there, buried deep in her skin. Sable was right and it didn’t matter what the truth was, people always believed what they wanted to believe in.

The door creaked again as someone else entered, but Kiran didn’t look up. She wasn’t ready to face anyone else just yet.

She needed to get out of here. Needed air.

With a sharp exhale, she finished lacing her boots, grabbed her jacket, and pushed to her feet. She ignored the glances from the other women as she made her way out, head down, shoulders tight.

Outside in the hallway, the noise of the backstage area washed over her

The bar was loud that night.

Too loud.

Packed with noise and people, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the clink of glasses. DX had taken over a spot, as they normally did, and their presence was as rowdy as ever. Hunter, Billy, and Dogg were halfway through a bucket of beers, making dirty jokes and flipping off anyone who gave them the slightest weird look, laughing loud enough to be heard over the already deafening music. The floor was sticky underfoot, the neon lights casting everything in a dizzy, uneven glow. It smelled like beer, sweat, and bad decisions.

Kiran wasn’t feeling it.

She sat on the edge of the booth, one leg tucked up, one boot tapping restlessly against the floor. Chyna was off somewhere else, so she had no anchor. She was nursing a drink she didn’t really want that night anyway, the glass sweating in her hand, leaving wet rings on the table. The adrenaline from earlier had turned sour with Sable's words, leaving a bitter taste she couldn’t wash away. Every loud laugh or slap on the back around her made her flinch just a little inside.

Especially now.

When Shawn was sitting across the table from her, laughing with the others. That wasn’t what bothered her though. It was the fact that every now and then, she caught him looking at her. Quick, searching looks that he tried to hide behind his beer bottle. She refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on a random crack in the tabletop. Her pulse thudded in her ears, making it harder to drown out everything else.

The tension between them felt thick enough to choke on.

She shifted in her seat, considering getting up, but before she could say anything, Shawn set his drink down, leaned towards her, voice low, almost lost in the din.

“Come outside with me.”

His voice cut through the noise, low but clear.

“Hey. Can we talk?”

Kiran looked up. The table got a little quieter, the air suddenly charged.

The only person who really looked at her was Hunter. He gave her a sort of unreadable look but didn’t say anything. The Outlaws were pretending to be interested in their glasses even though they were clearly listening in, waiting to see what would happen. Billy nudged Dogg under the table, grinning like they were witnessing something worth betting on.

Kiran turned her attention back to Shawn.

“I’m good here,” she said, voice even, casual.

Shawn exhaled through his nose, trying to stay casual. “Just five minutes, Ki. That’s all I’m asking.”

Kiran hesitated.

The booth was warm. Familiar. Safe in that dangerous DX way. But the weight of his gaze didn’t go away. There was tension stretching between them, strung tight since last night, since she left him without a word. Since the kiss. Since everything else she wasn’t ready to face. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs, a traitorous reminder that she still cared.

She glanced around the table once more. Hunter immediately turned away from her but there was no judgment, no real resistance.

Kiran sighed heavily.

“Five minutes,” she said, standing up.

Shawn was already moving toward the back hallway, his hand hovering just close enough to guide her without touching, giving her the space to choose. She followed, ignoring the way the others’ eyes followed her, the curious smirks and muttered comments she didn’t quite catch.

Once the cool night air hit her the second they stepped outside, she exhaled the air she didn’t realize she was holding, the heat and the noise of the bar dulled behind them, muffled by the door as it swung shut. The crispness of the night bit at her skin, refreshing and bracing. Kiran crossed her arms, leaning against the brick wall of the building. She didn’t say anything at first, just stared out toward the nearly empty parking lot, littered with cigarette butts and the occasional stray flyer. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting long shadows.

Shawn didn’t wait. Didn’t give her the grace of time.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Kiran stiffened, arms crossing defensively over her chest. She kept her eyes on the cracked pavement instead of him.

“I’m not,” she muttered.

“Bullshit.”

She turned her head slowly to look at him. He was standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, the usual smirk nowhere to be found. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept. Maybe he hadn’t.

Thoughts of that night were in her head. The way they had kissed like the whole world had fallen away. The way she let herself get pulled under his spell so fast until he did the unthinkable and touched her, not in a bad way and not even in a way that was pushy, but it reminded her of all the reasons she couldn’t let anyone close. She panicked. She couldn’t let anyone see her like that and because of it, she left him. She hadn’t seen him last night and she hadn’t been ready to see him again.

“You don’t talk to me. You don’t look at me unless you must. And when you do, it’s like...” He exhaled sharply. “It’s like you’re bracing for impact.”

Kiran’s throat felt tight. She didn’t want to be having this conversation. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to bury it all under another fake smile and another drink.

But there they were, having this conversation.

She finally spoke; her voice lower. “Because I don’t know what we’re doing.”

Shawn blinked, caught off guard. “We’re not doing anything. You left.”

“You kissed me,” she snapped. “Then you touched me, and I,” She stopped herself short, taking a step back and running a hand through her hair. “I panicked.”

Shawn studied her carefully. “Why?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Because if I let you see me, really see me, you’ll leave like everyone else.

Instead, she said, “Because I don’t trust you.”

And that landed. Hard.

And she didn’t even mean it. She did trust Shawn. She trusted him in a way that made her anxious. That was the problem. She trusted him in a way where she could not trust herself around him.

She had to push him away.

“I don’t trust you,” she said, the words scraping out of her like broken glass. “I know your reputation. I know what Sunny says about you. I know what everyone says about you.”

Her voice cracked, but she pushed through it.

“You’re the kind of guy that leaves when it stops being fun. And I’m not fun, Shawn. I’m not easy. I’m not soft or delicate like the girls you’re used to. I’m a mess. I’m rough. I’m...”

Shawn’s shoulders stiffened, and for a second, it looked like he might argue. But he didn’t. He just looked at her, jaw set, the muscle twitching at the edge of it. The words were heavy between them, more brutal than anything she could have thrown. For a moment, Shawn didn’t move, he just stood there breathing through it like he was trying to figure out how to make this right.

Until he stepped closer.

Slow, cautious, as if approaching something wild and wounded.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” his voice was low and steady, “Yeah, I’ve been that guy. Hell, most of the time I’ve been worse.”

His eyes searched hers, open and unguarded in a way that made her stop and listen.

“But you’re not just another girl to me, Kiran. You’re not just another night I’m gonna forget about.”

He let that sit for a second before adding, softer, “You matter to me. More than I know how to explain.”

Kiran shook her head, biting down hard on the lump in her throat.

“You say that now...” she whispered, “But when it gets hard, when I’m hard to love...”

“I’m already in it,” he interrupted, stepping closer again, close enough she could feel the heat coming off him. “You think I don’t see the way you fight everything good that tries to get close? You think I don’t get it? I do.”

He reached out, slow enough that she could’ve pulled away, and cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone.

“You’re scared,” Shawn said, voice rough. “But so am I.”

Kiran’s breath hitched, her fingers clutching the hem of her jacket like a lifeline.

“What can I do to make you trust me?”

Kiran’s eyes snapped back to him. She wasn’t expecting that. Not like that.

He didn’t say it with swagger. He didn’t smirk or joke or deflect. He just stood there, raw and unguarded for once.

She swallowed; her throat tight. “I don’t know.”

Shawn took a step closer, slower this time. No games. “Then figure it out. I’ll do it.”

The old part of her, the part that learned the hard way to expect the worst, screamed at her to run from him and pretend this didn’t matter but then...

The way that he was looking at her, the way he meant his words, was beginning to crack through the armor she had spent years building. Slowly, carefully, she reached out and grabbed the front of his jacket, bunching the material in her fists.

“Don’t promise me things you can’t keep...”

Shawn shook his head once firmly.

“I’m not promising anything,” he said, placing his hands on hers, “You can shove me away, you can yell at me, you can panic all you want...I’ll be here.”

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a fairytale. It wasn’t clean or easy.

But it was real.

And real was all she’d ever wanted.

Before she could stop herself, Kiran leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t rushed or panicked, it was slow and deliberate, trembling at the edges. A kiss that showed herself, her fears that she couldn’t say out loud, and every hope she didn’t dare believe she was allowed to have. Shawn kissed her back immediately, his hands sliding up to cup her jaw so gently that it made her ache.

When they broke apart, they stayed close, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same shaky breath.

“You’re a lot,” Shawn murmured, smiling against her skin.

Kiran let out a breathless laugh, her fingers still twisted in his jacket. “So are you.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, that familiar cocky grin threatening to return but softening under the weight of the moment. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Kiran shook her head.

“You’re such a dumbass,”

But she smiled.

Despite it all.

“Let’s go before someone sends a search party,” she said, voice steadier now. Shawn was already feeling comfortable as he slung an arm around her shoulder as they made their way back toward the door.

As soon as they stepped back inside, the noise and heat of the bar swallowed them up again and back to their table, but inevitably, there were comments.

Hunter raised an eyebrow, giving them a look that said really? without saying anything at all.

Billy and Dogg nudged each other like middle schoolers, laughing under their breath.

“Look who finally kissed and made up,” Dogg called out, raising his beer with a smirk.

Kiran flushed instantly, ducking her head as she let Shawn steer her back toward their booth.

“No comments from the peanut gallery, please,” Kiran said as she slid into the booth with Shawn next to her.

“You are all just mad you didn’t get a show,” Shawn said, grinning.

Hunter snorted and shook his head, letting them slide back into the booth without any more teasing for now. The others were already moving on, distracted by more drinks and louder conversations.

Without thinking about it, Kiran slid her hand onto Shawn’s thigh under the table, shy but steady, her fingers curling lightly against him.

Shawn glanced down, startled for half a second before he tilted his head to look over at her.

He didn’t say anything...didn’t make a big deal out of it...he just turned his hand palm up and laced their hands together under the table, squeezing her hand once like a promise.

Kiran squeezed back.

And for the first time that night, she let herself breathe.

Really breathe.

Maybe it wasn’t perfect.

But it was real.

And it was hers.

#wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #wwe x oc #wwf #wwf fanfiction #90s wrestling #shawn michaels x oc #shawn michaels fanfiction #shawn michaels #shawn michaels x reader #wwe fic

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amnevitahwritesstuff · 4 months ago

Text

Desperate to avert the growing suspicions of her community thinking she’s a witch Rey, resident midwife and herbalist (and yes, witch), happens upon the local lord Benjamin Solo…mid-transformation into a werewolf. She proposes a deal with him: marry her so she can use his wealth and power as a shield and in return she will keep his equally dangerous furry secret. Begrudgingly, Ben accepts.

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Knotting

Chapters: One-Shot

Length: 8,826 words

Read on AO3 or below the cut

[Now that everyone has been officially revealed…surprise! I joined the @reylofanfictionanthology Valentine’s gift exchange this year and had so much fun writing this for SteadfastStar! 🥰]

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In The Pale Moonlight

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The whispers were beginning again.

This wasn’t necessarily unusual. Every year it seemed, Rey heard whispers about witches. A farmer had a failed crop? Must be a witch. A babe was stillborn? Must be a witch. A husband had taken a fancy to the younger, prettier daughter of his neighbor instead of his beleaguered wife? Well, obviously she must be a witch to have so thoroughly entranced him.

Such murmurings and gossip was so common an occurrence that it had become akin to the quiet din of a babbling brook. Easily Ignored. Easily dismissed.

Until now.

Because for the last few days…she’d begun to notice those whispers directed…at her.

And that was dangerous.

Because Rey is a witch.

Not the kind she heard spoken of in the church pews and gossip circles though—the ones who supposedly danced with Satan around a fire and flew naked on broomsticks—no. She was a far less exciting kind of witch. The kind who delivered babes and made sure the mother survived the ordeal. The kind who brewed medicines and potions to heal all manner of maladies. And if she used a little magic to ensure her success in those endeavors…well. It wasn’t as if she was hurting anyone.

Not that the other villagers would see it that way.

She could leave town of course. Move away to another village where people were none the wiser. But this was her home. The place she’d been born. Where her family was buried. Where her magic was strongest. Leaving felt…wrong. And starting over would be difficult. Almost impossible really, as a woman with no husband or family to vouch for her.

She needed a plan.

She needed protection.

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The solution came to her almost like a gift from the heavens.

It was late when she saw him. Few wandered into the woods this late. But Rey was running low on certain herbs and it was safer for her to look for them in the dark when no one else was around. It was in the cold and damp, stumbling about in the dark and the mud and squinting at plants—was that pennyroyal or just another weed?—when she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

At first she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing. A shadowed figure on the hill. A man? A beast? It turned toward her, its face revealed in the light of the moon and Rey faltered. She recognized that noble-pale skin and sable hair. That tall, powerful build. That frowning countenance.

What in Heaven’s name was Lord Solo doing alone out in the woods this late?

And…naked?

She nearly spoke. Almost called out his name in surprise. But whatever Rey would’ve said to him lodged in the back of her throat when she saw…when…

He…changed.

She saw a queer, horrifying ripple of skin. Joints shifting in what could only be the most painful of ways. The sudden and alarming growth of night-black hair that blanketed his entire body like a cloak.

Lord Solo was…

He was a…!

Growing up, Rey had heard stories of monsters who hunted in the moonlight and dragged children from their beds, all while wearing the faces of men in the light of day. Tall tales spun for her by older village children, eager to share their ‘wisdom’.

“Such nonsense,” her grandmother had told her afterwards. “They’re no more monsters than the creatures of the wood are. Is a wolf a monster simply because it feels hunger? There are those who would call us monsters, my dear.”

“But I’m not a monster!” Rey had cried indignantly, still young and naive to the ugliness of man.

“Of course you’re not,” her grandmother had agreed. “Which is why you should not pay any mind to the ravings of the ignorant. They fear what they do not understand.”

It was a lesson Rey had taken to heart.

But now, seeing a werewolf with her own eyes, she stood frozen in fear. A strange mixture of horrified awe locking her limbs and rooting her into place like an old oak. But the creature—Lord Solo, she thought in a daze—took no notice of her. Perhaps she was downwind or perhaps he simply had no interest in her. Either way she found herself watching as he trotted away and was swallowed into the gloom. As if the darkness were welcoming one of its own back into the fold.

Eventually she found the strength and will to slink away, herbs entirely forgotten in her rush towards the dilapidated hut at the edge of the forest that she called home.

Lord Solo was a werewolf.

Lord Solo was a werewolf!

Never in a thousand years would she have believed such a thing. Like so many in the village Rey had seen the previous lord and his son numerous times growing up. Whether to hear the grievances of their serfs or to collect their annual taxes, the two were a common enough sight to all who lived in the village outside their estate.

Lord Han had been a good lord. Gruff but fair. Always coming down to the village to drink with the common folk and race with the men in the summers.

His son though…Benjamin Solo…he was nothing like his father. Rey remembered seeing him when he was still a young man, sullen and awkward next to his father as he spoke to the tax collector. Clearly desperate to be away from the muddy common people his father so preferred. She heard tell that his mother was a princess—though why a princess had married a lesser lord out in the back country was anyone’s guess—which would certainly explain his aversion to anything below his station.

After Lord Han had died, she saw the new lord less often. Without his father there to strong-arm him into visiting, he seemed content to send his steward to speak to the villagers in his stead. Only during holy days did anyone see their lord, when he came to the church to pray and sit for mass under the benevolent gaze of his uncle, Father Luke.

Had he been hiding all this time because of his…affliction?

Rey felt a strange pang of sympathy for that sullen boy she’d watched as a girl. Perhaps he had been desperate to stay away from the people because of, not who he was, but what he was?

She could certainly relate.

A thought occurred to her then.

A wild thought. An impossible thought. An intriguing thought. It buzzed about her head like a fly. Whispering things to her.

Lord Solo was in just as precarious of a position as she. He may have a title and more wealth than she could possibly imagine…but if anyone discovered his true nature…he would face the pyre, same as she.

But there was one thing all that wealth and title could buy...silence.

There were rumors about her, just petty gossip and whispers. But whispers could grow into something more. Something dangerous. She had no one to protect her. No father to stifle such rumors. No husband to plead her case and defend her…unless…

Unless she married.

She had never dared consider marriage before. Rey, unlike so many of her peers, had never been pushed toward matrimony. Her parents had died long before they could have ever thought to sell her off to the highest bidder. Her grandmother had been more than content to raise her only grandchild up on the ways of herbcraft and healing over those of married life and motherhood.

But she was alone now.

And lone women were rarely looked upon kindly.

Oh she still saw plenty of business from the many womenfolk of the village. Still sold them their pennyroyal tea and love charms upon request. But it was hard to please everyone. And when some people didn’t get what they wanted…they lashed out.

“My sister told me the charm she sold her broke!” Rey had caught Lizzie whispering to her friend at the butcher’s.

“An ill omen!” The other girl had cried, glancing at Rey.

Such encounters had only grown more frequent as of late. But they were the easiest to deal with. The worst a silly girl could do was whisper gossip behind her back. Other incidents though…those were harder to manage.

“Get out!” Her patient had screamed when her babe had been pulled from her womb, lifeless and pale. “Witch! You killed him!”

Rey had only narrowly escaped from that home, the woman’s husband enraged at the loss of another precious son. Of course it was not Rey’s fault that their child had died. Truly, she had done her best for them. Even whispered a few beseeching words to Mother Earth, begging her for a safe delivery. But the child, like every child born to that couple, had died long before he had ever taken his first breath.

She did not know how many more dead babes it would take before the entire village finally turned on her.

A husband wouldn’t stop the gossip…but one would be able to protect her from the worst of it. A dutiful married woman made for a less vulnerable target than the orphaned spinster who lived at the edge of the old wood.

But… a lords’ wife?

Well…no one would ever dare speak against the lady of the land.

Now the question was…how to break the news to her liege lord.

Rey did not for a moment believe that Lord Solo, the sullen, scowling man she had seen growing up, would be interested in marriage to her. Lords did not marry peasants. It simply wasn’t done. But if that lord was a secret werewolf…

It would be a risk, blackmail. A great risk. She could just as easily find herself hanged for such insolence as raised to a status normally unreachable to those like her.

But what other choice did she have? What choice did he?

Well, she thought with bitter humor. Better the noose than the pyre.

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It was shockingly easy to sneak into the keep.

Tiny women with baskets of herbs were, apparently, not considered much of a threat. All Rey had had to claim was that she had been called upon to tend to the ailing cook—who had caught a chill, or so she’d heard from one of the women who still came to her for potions—and she was swiftly ushered inside without further fanfare. Unsurprisingly, the cook did not turn away her help. He, in fact, was most grateful for her tonic and tea—laced with a bit of magic of course—and fell asleep in his bed long before she left the kitchens and went looking for her real quarry.

Unfortunately for her, Lord Solo proved far more difficult to locate.

The keep was a maze. A veritable labyrinth of cramped hallways and endless rooms. So many rooms! Why did any one man need so many damn rooms? Surely he didn’t sleep in all of them?

In the end, she found him not through her excellent tracking skills or magical know-how, but by sheer dumb luck.

A scullery maid is who did it. As Rey rounded the corner—of yet another winding hallway—she spied a woman at the end of the hall. A woman she recognized.

“I thank you!” She’d told Rey when she’d brewed a tonic to prevent the maid’s husband’s seed from taking root. “My children are a blessing. Don’t you think they aren’t! But there’s only so many blessings one woman can feed!”

Rey fought down a rising sense of panic as she glanced around for a hiding place. That woman knew Rey’s face, of that she was sure. She couldn’t risk being discovered. Being recognized. Too much rode on this insane plan of hers. Praying to whatever gods were listening, she ducked into the nearest door and quickly shut it behind her. She leaned against it, an ear to the heavy wood, waiting for the woman’s footsteps to fade to the other end of the corridor.

“Who are you?”

Rey jolted. A sliver of dread pierced her heart. She recognized that voice. Had heard it the night before when he cried out during the pain of his transformation. She turned. Slowly. Cautiously. Her eyes caught on a fine dark velvet tunic and expensive leather boots. She dragged her gaze up.

And there, in the flesh, was Lord Benjamin Lukas Solo.

He’s so tall…, she thought as he loomed over her like a dark specter. His face was close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. The constellations of moles scattered there. His lips set in a deep frown, clearly unhappy to find some strange, common girl had invaded his home.

She swallowed.

“Speak.” He said, his voice deep and rich. A strangely musical quality to it. A voice at once demanding and accustomed to being obeyed.

“I…” Her words were gone. The carefully practiced speech she’d memorized in her head now nothing but wisps of smoke.

This hadn’t been how she’d imagined this would go. She’d thought–perhaps naively–that she would sneak her way into the castle and surprise the lord with her perfectly logical plan to save both their skins–though, admittedly, mostly hers. Instead she had found herself the one caught on the back foot, as it were, staring up into the predatory gaze of a man who very much could see her dead in an instant. One way or another.

“If you don’t tell me this instant who you are and why you’re here I will summon the guards and have you thrown in the dungeon.”

She panicked.

“Y-you’re a werewolf!”

Rey wished to snatch the words back—stuff them down deep where no one could hear them. But, of course, he had heard. He’s a werewolf you fool!

Lord Solo was not happy.

The look he gave her chilled her to the bone. Golden eyes, a predator’s eyes, bored into hers and she felt her heart beat hard and quick, as if ready to leap its way out of her chest.

Quick as a viper, he seized her and hauled her away from the door. Rey yelped with surprise as she was dragged to an armchair by the fire. He shoved her into it, knocking the air from her lungs. Lord Solo loomed over her, fingers digging so hard into the armrests she heard the creak of warping wood.

“Think very carefully about your next words.”

Oh she was. He could be assured of that.

“I know what you are,” she whispered. “I saw you. In the woods last night.”

His jaw clenched.

“I saw you…in the forest…” Naked, she thought, fighting off a blush. “And then…you changed. Into a…creature. A black wolf.”

“You are mistaken.” He spoke quickly. Too quickly. A more obvious lie Rey had never heard. There was fear in his eyes. He was terrifying, yes, but he was also terrified. Rey knew that cornered animals were always at their most dangerous.

Best step lightly, she thought.

“Am I?” She said, pitching her voice low. Soft and fragile. The voice of a helpless maiden who was no threat at all.

That scowl of his, if possible, deepened. “You are.”

“But you see,” she said in that syrupy sweet voice, “I don’t think that I am my Lord. We have something in common, you and I.”

His eyes sharpened and he leaned in, inhaling loudly. Was he…was he smelling her? Suddenly she felt self-concious. Did she stink? But she had only just washed this morning!

“What are you doing?”

Lord Solo looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You don’t smell like a werewolf…”

Rey blinked.

He thought…oh!

“I’m not.” She said quickly.

He frowned. “Then why…?”

“I only meant that we…both wish to avoid the pyre.”

It was a gamble. The greatest gamble she had ever made in her too-short life. To even hint at her true nature was enough to have her dragged through the street and set ablaze. And she was trusting a man who was all but a stranger to her. She had to believe that his self-preservation instincts were as robust as her own.

He stared at her. Really stared at her. A wolf sizing up something he’d thought prey only for it to fight back with tooth and claw. He leaned back, just a bit, his face thoughtful.

“Speak plainly, girl.”

“You turn into a monstrous beast that eats children,” she said with a wry twist to her lips. “I cavort with the devil and dance naked around a fire. Or so Lizzie has been telling everyone at market for the last fortnight.”

She wondered again how many of those stories about him were true and how many were just baseless gossip like the ones told about her.

“You’re…a witch?” He sounded, not as disgusted or horrified as she would have expected, but…pensive. Even curious.

Cautiously, hopefully, she pressed forward. It was the biggest gamble she’d ever made and the stakes were her life.

“Yes.” A whisper.

Rey had never spoken it aloud before. It was far too dangerous to speak of such things openly. Even when her grandmother had been alive, they had spoken of their kind in veiled language. Speaking without speaking. Sharing knowledge without drawing attention to its source.

“I know your fear, My Lord, because I share it too.” She took a risk and laid her hand over his own. Lightly, just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under hers. “We could help each other.”

He took in the sight of their hands together. One over the other. The tanned skin of a peasant over the moon-pale skin of a noble.

“And how exactly,” he began gruffly, suspiciously, “Do you intend we do that?”

Rey took a deep breath. It was now or never. It was this or taking her chances on the road. In the woods. Anywhere but the pyre.

“I want you to marry me.”

He stared. Clearly, whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“Is…is this a jest?” He asked. He seemed…confused. Rey frowned. Well, skepticism was better than malice.

“I assure you, My Lord, I do not make jests about my life…or yours.”

“So,” he said with a mixture of baffled shock and complete disbelief, “You just thought you’d…what? Sneak into my home, accost your liege lord, and then blackmail me into marrying you?”

Rey shrugged. What could she say? He wasn’t wrong.

“You are…a fool,” Lord Solo laughed, incredulous. “You cannot honestly believe that I could do such a thing. You’re a—”

“A peasant?” She finished for him. “A filthy commoner?”

His smile was as condescending as it was wry.

“I confess, I am all those things My Lord,” Rey conceded with another shrug. But then she looked him in the eye, refusing to look away. “But I am also a witch. A witch who knows your secret. Perhaps I’ll go to Father Luke and tell him what I saw in the forest last night…”

She heard the creaking of her chair again and glanced down to see his fingers had gone bone-white. Lord Solo leaned closer, breath hot on her face.

“Or I could just kill you.”

She swallowed. Heart hammering a frantic drumbeat against her ribs.

“You could,” Rey agreed, sounding calmer and more self-assured than she felt. “So why don’t you?”

It was, quite possibly, the most audatious thing she’d done so far. Goading a werewolf—her liege lord! But there was no other plan if this one failed. Rey was well and truly out of options. Better she die here and now—a quick death—than set ablaze in the village square for the entertainment of her peers.

He reeled back as if struck.

“What?” He sounded…confused.

She saw the opening and took it.

“You shouldn’t make threats you don’t intend to follow through with,” Rey chastised. “Are you going to kill me or not? I only ask that you make it quick.”

Lord Solo looked ill.

Rey pressed her advantage, looking into those wide, golden eyes, her gaze unrelenting. “Don’t let me suffer My Lord.”

“I…” he replied, his voice wavering. He stepped back, then again, nearly stumbling into the mantle over the fireplace.

“Well?” Rey felt…strangely heady. Was this how lords felt all the time? No wonder they were all so bossy.

“Fine.”

Now it was Rey’s turn to startle. She blinked.

“Err…what?”

“I said fine.” Lord Solo bared his teeth in an animal grimace. As if the words were being forced from his throat. And then, almost to himself, “My advisors will be furious.”

Rey shrugged, too awash in relief to care what his advisors thought. “You’re lord of this land. You can do whatever you want.”

There was that condescending smile again, as if she had said something particularly ignorant.

“A peasant would say that.”

“A peasant you’re about to marry,” Rey smirked.

Lord Solo huffed, eyes drifting up toward the heavens.

“Lord save me.”

And Rey, still riding high on her victory, got in the last word.

“Not a Lord, but you’re most welcome.”

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They were married on a miserably rainy day the following week.

Lord Solo had no parents to attend his wedding—or that’s what Rey assumed when there was no sign of anyone other than a sneering ginger-haired steward to act as witness as the two bound themselves together in matrimony under the suspicious eyes of Father Luke.

Several times she caught the two men glancing at her waist. Clearly, Lord Solo had spun some tale about a secret pregnancy to hasten things along. Certainly there could be no other reason for a rich nobleman to marry a penniless peasant. Rey did nothing to dissuade either of them from their assumptions. Whatever helped draw attention away from any rumors of the real reason for their rushed nuptials.

There was no celebration for their wedding. No feasting or days of merriment. Nor, she found out quickly, would there be an official bedding. It seemed—what with Rey’s ‘condition’—that she would not be expected to perform her wifely duties just yet. After all, proof of the ‘consummation’ of their union was growing in her belly…or so she continued to allow everyone to believe.

She rarely saw her new husband in the days that followed. Lord Solo, it seemed, was desperate to continue living his life as he always had.

Alone.

Not that she was particularly aggrieved by this. She soon found herself busy enough to distract from her absent husband, Her new station bringing with it a whole new set of expectations and rules that she hadn’t thought to imagine when she’d come up with this hare-brained scheme.

Every day she was expected to consult with the cook over the menu, oversee the castle staff, and the overall running of the keep. It seemed, she thought, that noble ladies did a lot more than just sit around in their castles growing babies. Most such work she was happy to do, eager to fill her new leisurely life with purpose. But one duty, she discovered, was not so easily shouldered.

“What is this?” Rey asked curiously as she opened a large tome that had appeared quite suddenly on her desk one morning.

The steward, a young man with red hair and a perpetually pinched expression on his face, smiled with contempt.

“The castle finances my Lady.” He said those last two words with a sneer.

She ignored him.

“And why is it on my desk?”

His smile grew smug.

“Why, it’s the Lady’s duty to oversee the records of her domain. The running of the household. And one cannot run a household if she does not know how much money is being spent on such expenses.”

Rey realized what he meant immediately and blanched. She had never been taught how to manage a lordly household. Those were the skills expected of a noble-born woman. Not an orphaned peasant who didn’t know how to read or write. Even now, looking down upon the neat script written there, she could not fathom its meaning.

“I…see.”

“Of course, if my lady does not think herself up to the task…”

Rey heard the unspoken words there. A real wife would know these things.

Or, she thought vindictively, he just doesn’t want to continue doing ‘women’s work’.

She smiled at him. Serene and gracious.

“Perhaps I will leave such things to you for now, Armitage. After all, you’ve done such a wonderful job of it for my Lord Solo over these many years. I would hate to interfere with such great work.”

The steward scowled.

“As you wish…my Lady.”

And so it went.

But even household management couldn’t distract Rey from her most pressing issue. One which only grew more obvious with every passing glance out her window at night.

The full moon was drawing closer.

And with it, Lord Solo’s transformation.

It was impossible not to notice it now that she knew. He was more irritable. Snappish. Growling at some servant or advisor over the smallest of things. The fatter and rounder the moon grew, the more ill-tempered and grim he became.

It was clear he was fearful of his coming change. She did not know what it was like, transforming into such a creature. Was it truly so terrible? Rey was a witch. Her magic and power came from the world around her. The earth beneath her feet and the plants that grew there. Nature had gifted her its magic, but Lord Solo’s…his magic came from within himself. Some secret place inside that Rey could only guess at.

Perhaps that was why she felt drawn to him. As different as they and their magic were, they were the only ones who truly understood one another. Understood the isolation the other felt from their fellow man.

It was that awareness that eventually drove her to him. Empathy and, yes, her own loneliness, propelling her from her bed on the night before the full moon in search of him.

She found him drinking before the fire in his chambers. A bottle of wine in one hand, his chin perched precariously upon the fist of the other. There was a hollow look in his eyes as she drew close. A fearful sort of expression set deep into the lines of his face. He seemed…old to her suddenly. Not in age, but in spirit.

“My Lord,” she said carefully. “How do you fare?”

He did not even look up at her arrival. Seemed, in fact, quite unsurprised by her appearance there. Instead, he laughed. A scornful, ugly sound.

“How do you think I’m faring Wife?”

“Not well, I imagine,” she said, not rising to the bait.

He glanced sidelong at her, lips pursed with irritation. “Is that why you came here? To mock me?”

Rey shuffled from foot to foot. “No, I only…is there nothing to be done to make things…easier for you?”

He scoffed.

“Can you cure me?”

Rey looked away uncomfortably.

“That’s what I thought,” he said uncharitably. “What use is a magic wife if she cannot even ease me of my magical burdens?”

“That’s…not how that works.”

“Oh? And, pray tell, how does it work? What does a witch-wife do? I’ve not seen you cavorting with any devils lately. It seems to me that you are no different from any other wife.”

“My magic isn’t like that,” she insisted. Gods, this was awkward. “It’s…different.” She cringed.

“Better, you mean,” he spat bitterly. “Well. At least one of us does not carry these devilish gifts as a burden. I must say I’m rather envious.”

She frowned. “Surely it’s not all bad…”

“Tell me, my Lady, do you know what happened to my father? Do you know how he died?”

Rey was caught off guard.

“I…heard…a hunting accident…was it not?”

Lord Solo laughed. A dark sound. An ugly sound. Rey felt a queer twist in her stomach, unsure of where this was headed.

“I supposed there is a sort of truth in that.”

Rey shifted uncomfortably. “I…I don’t understand.”

“It was my mother who passed this curse to me,” he said off-handedly, as if this information weren’t rewriting Rey’s entire perception of his family. The…the princess? Really? “She never showed signs of course. Not my perfect mother—the daughter of a queen you know—but her father…my grandfather…he had the beast in him.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t even think she could as he continued, only stood silent as the grave while a creeping chill grew over her.

“I think perhaps they believed the curse was dead when my mother and uncle were born. They were such perfect children I’ve been told. No one could’ve accused them of being monsters.” He laughed that bitter laugh again and the sound of it cut at her heart until it bled. “And then I was born.”

“My mother…I don’t think she knew what to do with me. She spent her summers in the capital. I hardly saw her. Father was…better. He tried his best. He was always trying to help. A lot like you.”

He glanced over at her. She could see the flicker of the flames in his eyes.

“But my father couldn’t help me. No one can. You ask how my magic works? Well here’s a secret: I am not the wolf. I am its jailor. A vessel. The wolf is inside of me. My father didn’t understand that. That night, he was in the woods when the moon was high in the sky…and the wolf came out. Burst from its cage inside of me to hunt.”

Rey swallowed, as she realized with rising horror where this story was going.

“So, yes, Wife. My father died in a hunting accident. But what you don’t understand is that it was not my father who was hunting that day. It was the wolf.”

“I am the monster they speak of in your village. I am the creature in the night who drags children from their beds and eats its own father’s heart, still hot and pulsing.”

He stared at her with those unfathomable golden predator’s eyes.

“You should fear me.”

“You’re no monster,” Rey insisted, even as she stared back into haunted eyes. The flicker of the flame reflected there. He had never felt like a monster to her. Only a broken and lonely man. Her instincts—her magic—wouldn’t have driven her to his side if he was a danger to her.

Lord Solo sighed and looked away, as if she were a child he had grown tired of indulging.

“A monster wouldn’t have married me.” She continued stubbornly.

“Perhaps I pitied you.”

“Monsters don’t feel pity.”

The look he gave her was weary.

“Perhaps you are a monster on the full moon,” she mused. “And perhaps you do lose yourself entirely those nights…but,” her gaze turned inward. “What if you didn’t have to?”

The look he gave her was one of skepticism…and pain.

“It is not kind to say such things to a condemned man.”

“You’re not condemned...cursed, maybe.”

“Then this ‘curse’,” he spat it like an epithet. “Feels as if I die a little every time the wolf comes out. How many more until I’m truly lost to the monster?”

“Well that’s just it, what if you didn’t have to change at all?” Because that was the problem, she realized. Change. He didn’t need a cure. Just something to stop the change.

“That is the nature of a werewolf. To change.”

“But what if we could change that?” Rey repeated stubbornly. “What if I could help you retain your humanity?”

“No one can cure me.” His tone was dismissive.

“Not a cure,” she said. “But perhaps I can ease the change? Or…delay…maybe even stop it?”

He looked at her in that way she’d seen old men look sometimes. Tired and worn down by so many years of disappointment that they daren’t even hope for better. He thought she was spinning him a fairytale. A fanciful lie to distract him.

But he seemed to have forgotten that she has magic too.

“I appreciate the sentiment, my Lady, but you cannot help me. Not with this.” He sighed. “There is no delaying the wolf.”

“I can try.”

He waved his hand. “By all means my Lady, do as you like.” Those golden eyes held hers.“And know that I will not blame you when you fail,” he promised.

She raised her chin. Rey had never been one to back down from a challenge…even when Lizzie had asked for a love potion, poor thing.

“I’ll do it. You’ll see.”

She swept out of the room leaving him to his melancholy.

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Lord Solo disappeared from the castle the following night.

Rey did not know where he went when the moon was full—though she could certainly guess—likely back out into the shadowed woods. All she knew was that he appeared the next afternoon looking more haggard than she’d ever seen him.

The sight spurred her into action.

Every night, after the cook and servants had gone to bed, Rey would sneak down to the kitchens to work her magic in secret. She had always had a talent for brewing, her grandmother told her. Knowing exactly the right mixture of herbs to use, the right feelings to imbue into her concoctions to give them power.

But this was the most important brew she’d ever created…this one had to be perfect.

Love charms and tonics to prevent pregnancy were easy. Simple even. Rey could brew those in her sleep. A potion for a werewolf was a much more difficult task. It took her almost the entire month of trial and error to create what she hoped was the correct recipe.

Her magic guided her to use ingredients she never would’ve with any other potion. A flower that only bloomed by the light of the moon. The sap of a tree that had never lost its leaves. And, most embarrassing to obtain, a lock of her husband’s sable hair.

“You need…my hair?” He asked, baffled. “Why ever for?”

“Just one lock. You won’t even miss it,” Rey insisted, face red as the skin of an apple.

His own face, she noted, was nearly the same shade as hers.

“Is this for…” his voice lowered, as if afraid someone would hear him—though they were very much alone in his chambers. “A love token?”

Rey startled.

He thought…

Oh.

It was on the tip of her tongue to correct him. Tell him of what she truly needed it for…but his expression was so nakedly…hopeful. As if…he wanted her to want his hair as a love token. Something to sew into her dress to forever keep a piece of him by her heart.

The way a real lover would.

“I…err…yes.” Somehow, it didn’t even feel like a lie, though she knew it was.

He cut a few strands with his own dagger right then and there. Had laid them in her palm with a strange sort of reverence. Looking back, she should’ve known it was this moment which led to what happened later. She felt the magic radiating from those strands, searing into her skin as her fingers closed over them. She was suddenly drunk on the possibility of her success.

When Rey dropped those hairs into the bubbling cauldron that same evening, she was ecstatic. It seemed that she would finally be able to repay her husband for his protection with a bit of her own. She imagined his gratitude when she came to him with her potion. His joy at being able to walk under the moonlight in his own skin. Perhaps he might even reward her with a kiss…

It was with those thoughts in mind that she finished her work and stood triumphantly before her husband the next day.

“What is this?” Lord Solo asked, sniffing the contents of the bottle suspiciously.

“A balm to your ills,” she assured him with a knowing smile.

He gave her a look that told her exactly what he thought of her incessant optimism. But Rey was riding high on magic now. She knew her formula was the right mixture to help him. She wouldn’t be able to cure him. But she may have created a potion to help at least to ease his suffering.

“Please try it, my Lord,” she urged. “It won’t hurt.”

Making it clear that he wasonly doing it to humor her, he downed the entire bottle in one noisy gulp.

“Ugh,” he complained with a grimace. “That’s terrible.”

“It’s not meant for pleasure,” Rey shrugged, unrepentant. “Should this work, you’ll be begging me to feed it to you every month.”

His lips twisted with skeptical disgust.

“I don’t know which I prefer less.”

Rey smiled, serenely.

“You’ll see.”

And they did.

They stayed together in Lord Solo’s chambers that night, watching the moon rise and arc across the sky, first in anxious anticipation, then with wonder, and then finally with…hope. Even as she glanced between the moon—full and fat and round—and Lord Solo—still pale and speckled and grim as ever—she almost couldn’t believe it. There would be no transformation on this night, she thought with giddy relief, as she gazed out at the moonlit garden below. No murderous monster erupting from the flesh of its captor.

It had worked.

While Rey had been sure of her abilities there was always a small chance of failure. Nothing was perfect after all. But, seeing her husband remain hale and whole and human, she felt that sliver of anxiety bleed away. Smiling, she turned away from the window. Perhaps now her husband would share a celebratory drink with her and…

She knew immediately that something was wrong.

Oh no.

Lord Solo stared past her with glazed eyes.

“My Lord?” Rey said, noting the way his throat bobbed and his fevered expression. This was not the look of a man relieved and grateful for her assistance. Instead he looked…unwell. Not as if he were about to transform into a beast, but instead as if he had taken ill with fever.

“Benjamin?” She tried again hesitantly. She’d never used his Christian name before. Had never dared.

He turned to stare at her then, and she noticed that his pupils were blown wide. His jaw slack with…something.

“You need to leave,” he moaned, grabbing his hair in his fists.

Rey blinked at him. “What?”

But…it had worked…hadn’t it?

“It’s…I’m not changing but I still feel…” he shook his head from side to side and seemed wholly not himself. Uncomfortable. Twitchy. His golden eyes shifted from place to place, as if trying to focus on anything that wasn’t her.

“I…don’t understand,” she said, doubt creeping into her mind. Had she been too arrogant? Had something gone wrong after all? Had she made a mistake with the potion? Added too much moonflower? Not enough sage? Not enough…sympathetic magic?

He didn’t seem to hear her. He looked right through her, mumbling to himself as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“I want…” Lord Solo squirmed in his seat. Sweat gathering at his temples and darkening his already night-dark hair.

“What do you want, my Lord?”

“Your potion…” he gasped, turned away from her and clutched his waist. “I think it…is it supposed to do this?”

“Do what?” Rey asked, flummoxed by his reaction.

“Make me feel…” He grimaced as if in pain and turned to face her once again.

And then she saw it.

The bulge underneath his tunic. The restless way he shifted and moved about.

He was…oh.

Rey realized then what had gone wrong. When she had stirred in those hairs and thought of how he would be so gracious for her help. So happy that he might…

Oh.

Her potion had been a success. Just…too successful it seemed. And now he was in desperate need of attention.

Her attentions.

It was strange to think that in all of Rey’s years working as a midwife, tending to the results of the unions between man and wife she had never actually partaken in such…activities herself. Never truly known the touch of a man. Yet here was a man, her husband, ravenous with need. Desperate for the touch of a woman. Of his wife.

She shuffled forward then, reaching out towards him, fingers shaking. Her magic drawing her in, pulling her to him and he to her like a moth to a flame. She was suddenly desperate to touch that pale skin. That glossy dark hair. The moment her hand met the warm skin of his cheek he leaned into the touch. Just as desperate for it as she. Like a hound anxious for a single scrap of affection from its master.

It was…heady.

“Forgive me,” she whispered. “I think…I think this is my fault.”

Gold eyes glanced up at her underneath dark lashes. Have his eyes always been so lovely? She thought.

“I…” he rasped, his voice deeper than usual. The sound of it alone raising gooseflesh along her arms. “What do you mean?”

Rey swallowed noisily. She couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

“I…when I made your potion I…added to it. Something I mayhap shouldn’t have.”

“Added what?”

“My…” She swallowed again. Affection, she wanted to say. But would he be flattered by such an admission? Or would he be furious?

“Tell me,” he begged. It was such a strange thing to see. Lord Benjamin Solo begging for anything. It made her feel…hot. Flushed with…something.

“When I make a charm or a potion I have to think about what I need it to do. It’s…intention. And when I was making yours I…I, oh! I only thought it for a moment but…I thought of you…kissing me.”

He didn’t react with fury. Nor did he seem especially upset by this admission. Instead he gasped in surprise.

Rey chanced a look into his eyes and was startled by the need she saw there.

The hunger.

“Is that…” he began, face flushed and chest heaving with heavy, hot breaths. “Is that something you…want?”

“I…I am your wife.” She said, as if that answered his question.

“But…is it what you want?” Lord Solo asked, desperate to know the answer. As if it mattered to him.

She stared at his lips again. His red, red mouth. With more effort than she thought possible, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

“Yes.”

His response was swift. With a squeak of surprise, Rey was pulled bodily onto his lap, her skirts rumpled around her thighs and her knees planted on either side of his hips. She felt his hands curl into her hair, pulling until the pins fell to the floor with a soft clatter.

“Kiss me,” he begged.

Rey felt her body flush. With shock. With excitement. And with…pleasure. Heat raced through her veins as sure as the magic that pulled them together. Rey felt…overwhelmed. Hot and fevered in a way she never had before. She didn’t think she could have denied him even if she wanted to. She leaned forward, lips grazing his open mouth.

That was all it took.

His kiss was fierce. Hungry. A hurried meeting of mouths and shared breaths. Rey felt his hands petting at her hair, her waist, her thigh, and gasped. This only emboldened him though, and she felt the hot, slippery muscle of his tongue lick against her own.

She pulled back in surprise and saw the fevered gaze of her husband staring back at her.

Rey had seen kissing before. Both the sweet pecks of married couples in the market and the passionate embraces of young lovers in the field, away from their minders. But never before had she been on the receiving end of such affections…and certainly not with one’s tongue!

“Do you…is that how you always kiss?” She asked, face hot.

He looked as if he wanted to eat her alive.

“And how is that my Lady?”

“With…with your tongue.”

Amazingly, he smiled. A true smile full of humor—and heat.

“Oh yes. And that is not the only place I wish to use my tongue.”

Heat bloomed—hot and syrupy sweet—between her legs.

“Where else?” She couldn’t help but ask, breathless.

“Here,” he said, brushing his lips and—yes—his tongue along the soft skin under her ear,

Rey gasped as shivers raced down her spine and she found herself rocking atop the warm, sturdy thighs of the man underneath her. Chasing a feeling she couldn’t even name.

“I can smell you,” he hissed as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Your sweet cunt.”

His words rattled between her ears and made the restless, pulsing heat between her legs grow and grow and grow. His big hands cupped her bottom, urging her to rock faster as hers clutched the front of his tunic, crushing the delicate silk.

“I…” she panted. “I…feel…”

“Yes,” he growled, his voice taking on a wolfish tone. And then, yes, that was definitely a growl as he held her firmly against his unyielding flesh, “Yes.”

She felt possessed. As if she had truly become what everyone believed her to be. One of those wanton creatures who danced around a fire and writhed in the laps of demons. Perhaps she was. Or perhaps it was only with her husband, a devilish creature himself, that she was able to allow herself such freedoms.

Her peak hit her like a swooping, rushing sensation in her belly that had her clutching at the man in front of her as she cried out.

Before she’d even come down from that feeling, Lord Solo rose up, arms locked around her, and she found herself being whisked across the room, and then dropped onto the soft mattress of her husband’s bed.

“I need…” he grunted impatiently, fingers tearing at the hem of his tunic. “I want…”

Rey sat up, still breathless.

“What do you need?” She asked softly. “What do you want?”

“All of it,” he said.

She opened her arms.

“You can have it.”

His only response was a moan. Long and tortured. And then, shockingly, he fell to his knees before her, face level with her open thighs. Her breath hitched as he pushed her skirts up to her waist and then she felt the heat of his breath though the fine linen of her shift.

“I’ve often wondered,” he hummed sweetly, “What you taste like.”

“What—” Her voice choked off into a gasp as he mouthed at her clothed cunt before shucking her shift aside. That throbbing, pulsing feeling returned. Roaring through her veins and making her grasp the coverlet beneath her.

They locked eyes and she felt frozen, like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator as he lowered his head…and finally tasted the wet place between her legs.

“Oh!” She cried, legs jerking, hips arching away quite without her consent, before those big hands reached up, grasped her hips, and held her in place.

He huffed, his lungs working like a bellows as he buried his nose at the center of her, inhaling deeply. He closed his eyes, euphoric, as a flush appeared high on his cheeks.

He’s enjoying this, Rey thought wildly. He likes this.

He dove back in, tongue laving up the length of her and she couldn’t help but sob, overwhelmed.

“I was wrong,” he muttered to himself as if drunk. “You’re much sweeter than I imagined.”

“Ah!” Rey couldn’t help but cry as his tongue made another swipe up to the little bead of flesh at the top of her cunt that made her eyes cross.

“Divine.”

Rey moaned—a tormented sound that vibrated from deep in her chest—as hot, syrupy pleasure grew and drove her to restlessness. It felt like there was a drum beating in her cunt. Pounding away all thoughts except the feeling of sensitive, swollen flesh and pulsing heat. Idly, she wondered if one could expire from such a feeling.

“Please!” She said, not knowing what she was begging for.

Lord Solo grunted and attended to his task with even more fervor.

Her second peak was…more. More sensation. More heat. More shivery aftershocks as his warm, wet tongue lapped at her cunt a few more times, dragging her pleasure out like one would soak up the last few moments of sunshine on a warm summer evening.

She glanced down at her husband through heavy-lidded eyes and shivered as he licked his lips, mouth red and swollen and glossy with…her. His eyes glowed gold in the shadowed canopy of his bed.

He shrugged his clothes off as if they were a cumbersome second skin and stood before her, as naked as the day she saw his true self in the moonlight, wild and beautiful. He grasped a hold of the heavy member between his legs, long and thick and pointed straight at her. His own personal sword that he would use to stab her where she was softest.

“It aches,” he moaned.

Rey reached out for him—her intentions clear—and that was all the permission her husband needed to climb onto the bed and kneel between her legs.

“Let me in,” he rasped, breath hot and hungry.

All she could do was nod. Yes. Yes, of course. Of course she would let him inside. To not do so was…unthinkable.

She felt the hot press of him as she helped guide him to the mouth of her cunt. Rey quivered, her eyes never leaving his. Nerves and emotions and magic all jumbling together into a heady rush that scrambled her senses.

Oh please, she thought. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease—

He groaned as he slid inside. A forceful, needful stretch that left them shaking and panting against each other’s skin.

“Christ Almighty!” He choked.

Rey was…so full. Full of her husband, yes, but also filled to the brim with that shimmering, vital pulse of magic. That belonging and contentment that she only ever felt when she was brewing potions or growing herbs in her garden. It felt…right. She felt…like she was home. Truly home. As if she had been searching all her life for this without ever realizing it.

Oh, she thought deliriously. Of course.

She made a soft sound at the back of her throat and Lord Solo nuzzled into the hair at her temple, snuffling like some great beast searching for comfort.

Rey arched her back, rubbing her breasts against his chest, eager for more. For more of that heady, sunshiny feeling her husband drew out of her when he’d joined his body to hers.

She licked her lips. “More.”

Lord Solo was more than happy to oblige.

She felt the magic binding them together rise with the heat between her legs as they coupled—her husband growing ever more frantic.

“I—” he grunted. “I think…I feel…”

“I feel it too,” Rey gasped.

Her husband cried out, a great heaving moan as he shuddered and then…and then—

Something swelled within her. It grew and grew until she could feel his heartbeat thrumming away in her cunt. Pulsing and throbbing and stretching her until she saw stars.

She felt it with his release. A curious meeting of souls. The taste of sunshine and growing things entwining with the cool light of the moon.

I see you, she thought dizzily. I know you.

And deep inside of herself she felt his reply.

And I see you.

Lord Solo clutched her tighter, as if trying to absorb her into himself—bury her right next to his heart.

“It seems I could not leave all of the wolf behind,” he said, still trembling.

“I like it my Lord,” Rey whispered. And it was true. Though the stretch was considerable and almost overwhelming she felt…strangely at peace.

“Please,” he said softly into her hair. “I liked it when you called me Benjamin. Or you could call me…Ben. It…has been some time since anyone called me Ben.”

Rey snuggled closer.

“Ben.” She agreed with a soft sigh.

They stayed like that, entwined in a warm glow of hope and contentment, until the sun rose.

Perhaps, Rey thought sleepily as she watched the first rays of sunshine bleed through the window. This arrangement may work out well after all.

#my fanfiction #my fanfic #in the pale moonlight #star wars fanfiction #reylo gift exchange 2025 #reylo fanfiction anthology #reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfiction #amnevitahwritesstuff

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mittenk1tten · 1 month ago

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~Lua~

1/9 of the friend-themed mini bags!!

x -- x -- x | x -- x -- x | x -- x -- x

names

Astrex, Aurora, Angora, Brun, Bay, Bunneary, Bunnie, Coral, Cove, Clover, Joy, Jubi , Kesil, Luna, Lapin, Lune, Lux, Luz, Lagoon, Lop, Marina, Meteor, Malach, Marsh, Nebby, Nebula, Nautilus, Powder, Primarina, Quilt, Rain, Raine, Sable, Shore, Vortex

Levanah / לבנה (the moon in hebrew)

pronouns

ay/ayngel, bay / bays, brook/brooks, burrow/burrows, blanket/blankets, bubble/bubbles, cot/cotton, cotton/cottons, cove/coves, cloud/clouds dune/dunes, flo/fleece, foam/foams, happy/happys, hop/hops, joy/joy's, lop/lops, Lune/Lunes, marine/marines, Mar/tian, paw/paws, pomf/poof, pearl/pearls, plush/plushs, pitter/patter, rip/ripple, ripple/ripples, st☆r/st☆rs, sea/foam, squeak/squeaks, soe/soft, star/fish, starfish/starfish's, thump/thumps, UFO/UFO's, Wax/wane, yip/yippee, 𓇼/𓇼s, 🫧/🫧s, 🐚/🐚s

(ᴗᵔᴥᵔ)/(ᴗᵔᴥᵔ)'s , ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎/₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎'s , ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎/₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎'s, ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱/꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱'s

ʚ₍ᐢ ›̥̥ ༝ ‹̥̥ ᐢ₎ɞ / ʚ₍ᐢ ›̥̥ ༝ ‹̥̥ ᐢ₎ɞ's ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚/˚ʚ♡ɞ˚'s

astro/astro/astros/astros/astronomicalself

#[personal]#[for friends]#[Angel]#This was gonna be my like. project for sinsiter potion #having known them all for a year in a few months #buttttt #I've been so tired that I know I won't do it all in time #so I'm gonna post Lua's now anddd hope that doing so gives me the energy to finish everyones that I've started;;;;

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msb-lair · 4 days ago

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Clutch #3820 - Mirella/Mireti

Mated On: 2025-06-17 # of eggs: 2 Hatched On: 2025-06-22

Progeny:

Hatchling 10159 - Undertide Female, Sable Ripple/Umber Hex/Flaxen Ghost, Unusual

Hatchling 10160 - Undertide Male, Umber Giraffe/Soil Hex/Buttercup Ghost, Uncommon

Comments: More fossil dragons.

#Clutches #Mirella Dragon #Mireti Dragon #Hatchling #Undertide Female #Undertide Male #Undertide Breed #Undertide Hatchling #Ripple #Giraffe #Hex #Ghost #Sable #Umber #Flaxen #Soil #Buttercup #Unusual #Uncommon

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ozgog · 5 months ago

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𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖜𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗 . atop it's dappled ripple , a wake does stir , skirting shyly from whatever bulk doeth roll in the black . the steam that roils and plays just above the glitter feints , the bubbling water churning over itself in a hushed murmur , a nervous burbling perhaps indistinguishable from the natural bubbling clustered in the here and there to blemish the hot spring's waters , the great stone banks . it feels good in here , this warm , earthen womb . she is almost weightless , the ancient bulk of herself a yoke eased from off the echelons of her sable - d bones in the carbonated pools of the north . she never goes this far from the wyr thicket . but the game here is bigger , the herds more vast ; the lands vaster . ozgog must share the shoals of the sea . here , her fill is plentiful . the sleep , is sounder .

and yet despite this , still , there is a little life up there , just past the surface of her spring . ozgog's agitation swells .

@machaera // starter

#machaera #machaera . 001 #on spa day of all days >:(

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itsabouttimex2 · 1 year ago

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Well I just woke up terrible after being drunk last night.so since I expect reader to probably be a teen and what

do we teens do,we party and drink.what about reader before being kiddnapped show up to a hangout with a headache,they causally say it’s because they were drunk.Wukong and Macaque reactions

Drunk Teen Reactions:

Ol’ Sun Wukong is not stupid, kiddo. This simian picks up on your “shitfaced” status the moment he eyes you wobbling through the front door, lurched forward and clutching at your forehead.

He’s not stupid. But stupidly well can this old pilgrim can act the part.

“Hey, kiddo! Bump your head, huh?” He casually asks, eyeing the redness of your eyes, whiffing the vomit on your breath.

Already, something in him is stirring, a protective rumbling emanating from deep inside his chest.

(How dare your parents let you do this to yourself? How could they let you drink, let you leave the house in this condition?)

Sun Wukong spits out a chuckle and comes over to swing an arm over your shoulders, a motion that he forces to be casual when something inside starts to scream at him to take your neck between his hands and start throttling a home address out of your mouth.

Instead, he leads the way back to his cozy little couch and nudges you down, grabbing a thin blanket and wrapping it around you.

“Why don’t you sit here and let me get you a drink? Something tells me you need lots of water, bud!”

“Hmmm,” you mumble, stirring the sounds on your tongue like a cocktail. “Kay. M’really tired, Monkey King. Headache, y’know,” you lie, smiling weakly up at the blur of ginger fur.

“I know it, bud!” The king lies back, your falsehoods exchanging easily. ‘You’re a kid’, he reminds himself. ‘No need to get angry.’

“So, buddy, why’d ya wanna hang out today, if you weren’t feeling so hot?

“Just wanted to,” is your next lie, lazy and relaxed. The discontent it inspires in him motivates the crushing of a little white pill in his hand, then a subtle palm tip that spills grainy powder into your coming-up cup of water.

He circles the counter twice, giving you a moment to laugh at his “pointless” pacing.

Giving the pill particles a moment to dissolve.

Then he’s right beside you, one hand squeezing your shoulder as he nudged the glass rim to your lips.

“Here,” Wukong softly offers, tilting the cup.

Too drunken to sniff out the still-melting grains of white at the bottom, you eagerly down as much water as possible.

And a sudden surge of drowsiness hits you, knocking you clean off of feet that you aren’t even standing on.

Then a sharp swell of delayed nausea blooms in your stomach and ripples to the back of your throat, a few moments after Wukong scoops you up.

Shifting and shuffling about until he’s got you comfortably nestled to his chest, Wukong finally smiles, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek:

“C’mon, bud- I’m gonna take you home.”

“Hey, Uncle Mac? S’it getting, uh, I dunno… hot in here…? My head’s dripping sweat. N’ my hand are real clammy. And my ears hurt.”

Yeah, your ass is cooked.

Maybe if you were a little less talkative, a little more alert, a little less unsteady- you might have been able to fool the sable simian.

But Macaque doesn’t need any kind of mystical power to see through your bullshit.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, the room is too hot, too bright, too loud. And you’re the only one complaining about it,” he snaps, poking your stomach with a clawed finger.

“You think you’re fooling me? I’m not one of your idiot friends, Y/N! You aren’t gonna trick me with a half-baked lie, and I’m not-“

“M’gonna puke,” you whimper aloud, cutting the monkey off as he leaps from the couch and goes racing for a trash bin.

Macaque can act villainous all he’d like- and to be fair, he is a pretty awful and unrepentant person (why do the Monkie Kids let him stick around, you sometimes wonder) - but you turn him soft faster than sunlight melts shadows.

The Mystic Monkey rounds the corner with a little round bin, the metal shielded by a plastic bag that lines the rim.

Into your hands is the cylinder shoved, Macaque roughly slapping at your back in an awkward attempt to comfort you.

With an awfully unpleasant sound from the deepest confines of your throat, the contents of your stomach promptly upended into the sack.

No food. Just a puddle of sticky dark liquid.

“You have been drinking,” he hisses, now that you really have no ground to deny him. Really, you didn’t to begin with, but there was always plausible deniability to invoke.

“J-just a few. Tried something-“

Another splatter of rough and thick bile, stained brown with what he’s starting to think is rum.

He sighs and folds up his arms unhappily, tapping a glossy black boot against the floor. “Y/N. That stuff was way too strong for you, no matter what it was.”

“Mh-hm, I know. M’not gonna- eugh. M’not gonna do it again, promise.”

“No, you won’t,” he confirms, grabbing the scruff of your shirt and yanking it upwards. He’s strong enough to boost you free of the floor, stomping to a spare room. His tail snags the trash bin without trouble, hauling the soiled cylinder along with your prone and dangling form.

“In fact,” he tacks on, grimacing at the strong scent your breath carries, “you aren’t going to do anything. I’m grounding you for a week- and I’m taking your phone. tough luck, kiddo.”

He tosses you onto a bed that rises only a few inches off the ground, slinging a few blankets around your shaking form.

“Phone. Now.”

Fishing the little device from your pocket, you quickly it into the Macaque’s hand- he’s never been this stern with you before. Honestly? It kind of scares you.

A beep sounds, catching your attention- already, the ancient demon is initiating a call.

“Listen close- no, you don’t know me, no, Y/N isn’t hurt. They’re tired and sick -shut up and listen- they’re tired and sick and staying at my place tonight. I don’t care. They’re staying until this sickness passes. Don’t call back.”

(Realms above and below, it hurts to play the “no violence” card here, even though he was just saving it for later. What Macaque really wants to do is quietly follow you home and destroy every cubic ounce of alcohol inside. And then maybe grind your irresponsible parents against the floor after he’s coated it in glass shards.)

He hits the “end call” button with a little too much force, dangerously straining the phone’s screen. Thankfully, it leaves no cracks or scratches.

Macaque turns back to you with a frown, shaking his head- only to soften slight when the sight of your nauseated and quivering form fills his eyes.

“Don’t… don’t give me those puppy-dog eyes, Y/N. You can’t… ugh, fine. I’ll get you something to drink.”

He stomps off to the kitchen immediately, fighting back the urge to comfort you. Just water. And some crackers. And then he’ll let you stew in that little bed for a few hours with your filthy trash bin.

Maybe the wretched smell and lack of painkillers will teach you a lesson. Or it’ll leave you vulnerable and quaky, desperate for attention and affection.

Thinking on the possibilities, Macaque pulls the guest-room key from his pocket, twirling it around in one hand.

It was going to be nice, having you all to himself.

It was going to be even nice getting your parents out of the picture.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque

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laybrush-larcenist · 1 year ago

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Keep a little dirt under your pillow for the dirt man…

Silt (#96038568) - Dirt Ripple / Umber Peregrine / Taupe Gembond - Light Common

Clay (#96038569) - Dirt Ripple / Umber Peregrine / Latte Gembond - Light Pastel

Loam (#96038570) - Sable Ripple / Soil Peregrine / Sable Gembond - Light Unusual

Peat (#96038571) - Sable Ripple / Soil Peregrine / Dirt Gembond - Light Common

…in case he comes to town 👀 On the AH for gems; DM for treasure/mixed payments. L/nks in the notes.

#m #flight rising #fr dragon sales #flight rising sales

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pocketmouse-fr · 1 year ago

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coatl / rare eyes / ripple - latte / flair - sable / firebreather - coral

decided to scry the exhalt bonus prompt!

#flight rising #dragon scry #exhalt bonus #fr coatl #fr

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ladylilithprime · 1 year ago

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In Health

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Magical Twins Of Two Types, Touch Starvation, Tattoos, Faerie Culture, Trust, Discussion of Magical Gender Reassignment Through Faerie Glamour, Trans Amelia Novak, Mentions of Contractual Pregnancy

Summary: Meeting your boyfriend's magical twin who shares his body can be a tricky situation, especially when that twin is king of a hell dimension. It goes better than expected, and gives Sam the confidence to share another secret with his lovers.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 28: Shy

Read on AO3

MEETING YOUR FAERIE boyfriend's magical twin under safe conditions was apparently a bit of a process when your boyfriend's twin was known to be much more aggressive and prone to violence. Per Cas's request, they waited until nobody was sick (Jimmy unfortunately caught the same flu, though Sam managed to escape it) and Jack was safely over at Donna and Amelia's place for a sleepover with Donna's foster son Matt before Sam sat the twins down on the couch and stepped back.

"Remember, I don't really know how he's going to react to you," Sam cautioned them. "The kinds of people he's most used to dealing with are demons and people trying to kill us, so just... be as completely honest as you can and keep your hands where he can see them?"

"We will," Jimmy and Cas agreed, nodding. Sam nodded back, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

For a moment, nothing visibly happened save for a kind of frozen stillness coming over Sam. Then his skin seemed to ripple and change, becoming slightly darker and then darker still in patches black as ink as a black nine-pointed star appeared in the center of his forehead and spread outwards in twisting, angular lines, intricate knotwork and runic patterns tracing their way across his face and neck and bare chest and arms and every other place Cas and Jimmy could see. The simple jeans Sam had been wearing seemed to blink out of sight to be replaced with black leather that matched the massive black and red bat-like wings that seemed to unfold from the shadows at his back, a matching black and red tail with a three-wedged spear-like tip sweeping around to hover just in front like a weapon at the ready. Chestnut brown hair darkened to sable and lengthened until it was to his waist, even as curving black horns with sharp golden points seemed to grow up from beneath his hair above his closed eyes. Then those eyes opened, showing a full sclera of glowing gold surrounding narrow slitted pupils.

"You are John Castiel Novak and James Constantine Novak," the much more resonant voice of their lover intoned. "My name is Gethserefael."

"You're just... telling us?" Jimmy couldn't help but ask, blinking. It had taken months and an alicorn attack before Jimmy and Cas had learned Sam's full true name from Dean yelling it, and a couple of painfully awkward conversations afterwards before any of them had cautiously broached the subject and Sam had told them what his name meant and given them permission to call him by it in private. "Just like that?"

"Serendderch holds both your names and trusts you with his own," Gethserefael said with a one-shouldered shrug that also moved his corresponding wing. "As well, you are both fully human and not magically inclined. What can you do to me from knowing my name?"

"Nothing that we'd also be willing to do," Cas admitted, earning a flicker of a smile from Gethserefael. Jimmy kind of suspected that his question had been rhetorical. "Do you have a preferred nickname or alias that you would like us to use?"

"Not especially," Gethserefael said after a momentary pause. Those golden, glowing eyes were harder to read than Sam's usually were, but Jimmy thought he might have been surprised by the question. "Lucifer calls me Samael, but then he also calls Serendderch that name, as if there is no difference between us. Most of the demons I must deal with call me 'my Lord' or 'Majesty' or some such title, which feels inappropriate to demand of my twin's lovers."

"Is it alright with you if we come up with a nickname or two for you ourselves?" Jimmy asked. "What's your name mean? I'm guessing something to do with stars..."

"'Dark star prince' is the most direct translation," Gethserefael said, one hand coming up to gesture at the star mark on his forehead and incidentally drawing attention to the blackened fingers and gold-tipped claws on his hands. "You may choose a shorter form of name for me if you prefer. I believe my twin's son refers to me as 'Uncle Geth', though we have yet to meet."

"We'll think on it for now," Cas said, exchanging a look with Jimmy. "May we ask questions about your chosen glamour?"

"You may," Gethserefael agreed, eyebrows going up. "I may decide not to answer them."

"We accept that," Jimmy agreed as Cas nodded. "Why the tattoos? Don't get me wrong, they look amazing, but they also look like they go everywhere ."

"They do," Gethserefael said, extending his arms and turning them for them to see, then folded his wings in and twisted a bit so they could see the lines across his sides and back. "These are the same wardmarks that Serendderch has beneath his own glamours, except that his are blue and I glamour them black to match the color and level of intimidation from my other glamoured features."

"Do you feel sensation from your glamoured extremities?" Cas asked, leaning forward very slightly and studying the curving tail that was actually twitching at the tip much like a cat's might.

"Of course," Gethserefael said, sounding a bit surprised. "It would not be very effectively intimidating to be knocking into walls or people or overturning furniture by accident because I could not track the positioning of my wings or tail. Likewise the need to avoid low doorways or light fixtures to avoid knocking into them with my horns."

"But they're illusions, right?" Jimmy blinked, tilting his head to get a different angle of line of sight on the wall behind the wings. Sure enough, there were shadows of them and the tail. "How do they have substance?"

"How is Amelia Jane Everett's womb able to allow her to conceive a child with her egg and your seed?" Gethserefael asked with a shrug. "The magic is the same. Just because a glamour is considered an illusion does not mean it isn't real."

That was producing some very interesting thoughts and Jimmy had to ruthlessly keep those thoughts from wandering down a more lustful path. The mention of Amelia's pregnancy worked as a decent distraction, because he had been wondering about how it had worked and how it differed from the spell Sam had done for him and Cas, but it hadn't felt polite to ask. It still didn't, but... "Is it going to affect the baby that Amelia's egg is part of the glamour?"

"Doubtful," Gethserefael said, a visibly thoughtful expression crossing his face. "The eggs were formed from extant sperm cells present in her testes when they became her ovaries, so the genetic material is the same and once the child is born it won't matter." He shrugged. "If you want a more comprehensive explanation of the mechanics behind glamour magic, it would be best to ask Serendderch as he is the one who studied extensively with Math after my genesis and Ceridmael's temper tantrum over my existence."

The name was vaguely familiar, but it took a moment for Jimmy to place where he had heard it and he very nearly swallowed his tongue. "Er, Dean definitely hasn't given us permission to use his true name."

"So don't," Gethserefael said with a negligent shrug. "My use of it has little to do with you. You already knew it, so I am not giving you new information, and he is not here to complain. I don't see him frequently enough to bother with his aliases, and I don't like him enough to grant him a nickname."

"Do you have a nickname for Sam?" Cas asked curiously.

"He has never indicated a desire for one."

"Well, if you feel inclined to call us Jimmy and Cas, we don't mind," Jimmy offered. "Or other nicknames if you'd rather make up your own."

"We like you enough to use nicknames with you, even if it's taking a bit to think of a good one," Cas added.

That got them the biggest change in expression yet, as Gethserefael's eyes went wide and his pupils expanded to nearly swallow up the golden glow in black, his wings quivering. He looked so surprised, so utterly bewildered at the pronouncement that Cas and Jimmy liked him, that Jimmy almost wanted to track Dean down and punch him. Hadn't Sam said Gethserefael was only about five or six hundred years old? Jimmy didn't know exactly what that translated to in faerie years, but he knew it was still almost a third of Sam's own age!

"You really mean that," he said, almost wonderingly.

"We know the futility of lying to a faerie, and we have no interest in lying to a friend," Jimmy told him with a shrug of his own. "We would very much like to be your friends."

"Curious," Gethserefael murmured, studying them both with that same thoughtful expression from before. "Iago," he said after a moment, pointing at Jimmy, then pointed to Cas. "Ioan. These are your given names as they would be spoken in Serendderch's homeland, but no one else here in this realm would think to call you by these names. They will be my names for you."

"Austra," Jimmy said, smiling a little sheepishly. "I've kinda been calling Sam my North Star in my head since he told us what his name means, and 'Austra' means 'south' in Latin while also sounding like 'astra' which means 'star'."

"Aurus," Cas suggested. "Latin for 'gold' like your eyes and the tips of your horns and claws. Also similar to Austra without being exactly the same so that it's distinctly my nickname for you and not Jimmy's. Can we hug you?"

"What?" Gethserefael actually blinked at them from surprise this time. "You... what?"

"Can we hug you? Well, may we hug you, really," Cas amended. "I know we probably can, but it's still polite to ask first, and asking if we can touch you might have come out wrong."

"If you would rather not be touched or hugged, you can say no," Jimmy added when Gethserefael continued to just stare at them. "We won't be offended."

"Why?" That bewildered expression from before that had tugged at Jimmy's chest so hard was back, and it was no less gut-wrenching for being more prepared.

"Platonic affection," Cas answered promptly. "For you as yourself and not just as a part of Sam, who is your brother but not the same person."

"Again, only if you're comfortable with it, Austra," Jimmy reiterated. "And that's because we want to respect your personal boundaries. We respect your intimidation factor, which is seriously awesome by the way, but we aren't afraid of you."

The assurance seemed to take Gethserefael even more aback than the initial request. Or maybe it was the active use of the nickname, Jimmy couldn't tell. He made himself wait, letting Gethserefael take his time to think about it, watching the way his hands flexed and his wings and tail kept twitching. Beside him, he could feel Cas making an effort to stay still and relaxed as he waited with Jimmy for their answer.

"Okay," Gethserefael said at length, extending his hands palms-up to Cas and Jimmy as he swept his tail to the side and out of the way.

He tensed visibly when they leaned forward to stand and Jimmy made sure to keep his body relaxed and his hands in plain sight as he slowly got up from the couch, Cas beside him. Together they approached Gethserefael and very gently took his hands, feeling the way they were trembling. Gethserefael was trembling.

"You can change your mind if this is too much," Jimmy said softly.

"No judgment," Cas added.

Gethserefael shook his head shortly, swallowing. This close Jimmy could see the varying shades of gold beneath the glow in his eyes around the catlike pupils. "I want to know how it feels."

Over five hundred years old and never hugged. Jimmy carefully didn't let himself think about that heartbreaking admission as he stepped closer, Cas at his side, and slid his hand carefully along Gethserefael's arm until he and Cas were fully embracing him, being mindful of the long hair and wings so as not to pull or pinch. After a few seconds, Jimmy murmured, "You can hug back if you want."

"Oh," Gethserefael mumbled, barely louder than a breath. Slowly, haltingly, his arms came up and very carefully wrapped around Jimmy and Cas, breath and tension rushing out of him in a whoosh as Jimmy smiled softly against his shoulder, catching a faint scent of sulfur and smoke clinging to his skin. "Oh!"

Jimmy noticed the moment Sam came back. He didn't precisely shrink in their arms, but the presence that had accompanied the horns, wings and tail vanished and the arms that held them became firmer and more confident. "It's okay," Sam murmured, the change in voice equally noticeable. "Everything's okay... he just got a bit too overwhelmed."

"Getting hugged more would be good for him," Jimmy murmured as he nuzzled into Sam's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scents of sage and clover and cinnamon and sandalwood.

"Exposure therapy," Cas hummed in agreement. Jimmy felt the shift and then heard the sounds of his brother and their lover kissing. "Mmmm... hi."

"Hi, Cas," Sam chuckled softly. "Jimmy? You gonna come up from there?"

"In a minute," Jimmy said into Sam's shoulder, offering the skin beneath his lips a kiss. "Wanna make sure you get your own hug, too."

"You're amazing," Sam murmured, arms flexing tighter in a squeeze. "You're both so amazing... how did I get so lucky that the Universe conspired to bring the two of you to me?"

"Mutual gift-giving," Cas suggested, making Jimmy giggle just a bit. "Hm. The blue brings out the silver-gray in your eyes."

...Blue?

Jimmy's eyes snapped open, going cross-eyed in an effort to get a look at the bare skin beneath his face without pulling away. It didn't work, and with a disgruntled sigh he lifted his head and drew back enough to look up into Sam's face. His eyes went wide. "Oh, wow!"

It was definitely Sam, with all the usual features Jimmy was used to seeing in most of the usual shades. His chestnut hair had the familiar highlights of blonde hidden in the rich brown. His eyes were the same bursting kaleidoscopic sunflowers of color that always made Jimmy's breath catch a little to meet directly, though the pupils remained slitted rather than round. However, the delicately pointed ears Jimmy enjoyed nibbling on when they were getting amorous were threaded with silver piercings he had never seen before, and his warm, pale brown skin was covered with the same tattoos Jimmy had seen on Gethserefael, only in a deep and vibrant blue rather than black.

And they did bring out the silver gray in Sam's eyes, just as Cas said.

"This is me without any of my glamours," Sam murmured, answering the question Jimmy hadn't even thought to ask. "All the tattoos are all me... and yes, they do go everywhere."

"Will you show us?" Cas asked, his voice dropping lower the way it did when he was thinking about dragging Sam to bed.

"And tell us what they mean?" Jimmy added, matching his twin's tone and relishing in the soft pink blush and shiver of desire Sam gave them in return.

"Yes."

#fluffy february 2024 #rk writes #supernatural fic #sastimmy #urban fantasy au

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