#clawing at the bars of my incisor

[awkwardbakugou]

Training day is my favorite day 😩

[blushing-starker]

For @starkerfestivals kinktober prompts, vampire au and blood kink

(We need more power bottom Peter in the fandom, if you ask me.)

--

He doesn't ask the vampire to neck him in a nightclub full of monsters. That'd be stupid, incredibly stupid because there's two hundred creatures with enhanced senses around and they're all attracted to blood. Peter isn't dumb enough to go up to the owner of the bar, also, by the way, the most powerful man in the underground of New York, and say, "Will you pretty please bite me and gnaw on me like a fucking chew toy so I feel like I'm your favorite kept prince?" That's silly.

Peter demands that Tony Stark gnaw on his neck like it's a rubber dog toy and claim him in front of his followers.

He's dragged onto Tony's lap, knees tucked in between his lover's thighs and the throne's armrests. And God, it's a really amazing throne, a seven feet tall masterpiece Ned and MJ cooked up with their fire breathing abilities. Peter had laughed when Tony made the order, thought it was some sort of joke. Until Tony fucked him on it, Peter gasping and crying while bent in half over the same armrest currently limiting his range of movement.

His lover grins, drags sharp claws over the back of his jeans. "What's got you so needy? Not that I won't take you up on your offer, obviously." Peter hums, slides his hands under a black t shirt he's half sure Tony stole from Steve just to be a dick. Drops his entire weight on the immortal monster under him; anything to lower the chances of being thrown off.

"Flash is here." Tony snarls, eyes going red and it's both the sweetest and hottest thing he's ever seen. Peter nips at a chiseled jaw, pins the vampire to his throne. "Calm down before someone sees."

"You think I give a shit about my reputation as the ice cold Iron Man? Fuck that, where is the little shit? I'm going to tear his heart out and crush it for what he did to you." Flash had cheated on him when they were dating, long before he ever met Tony. Still, Tony had sworn to destroy anyone who had ever harmed his precious Peter.

Peter grinds down, rolls his hips the way Miss Natasha taught him and sinks his blunt nails on a scarred chest. Tony hisses in pleasure, eyes flashing blue instead of scarlet. Powerful ancient being or not, desire can undo anyone. "Or you can keep your other promise to give me what I want and claim me on your throne. Show everyone the king has a prince to keep him warm."

Tony grumbles, pulls him so close Peter's thighs burn from the stretch. His breath hitches and his lover does it again, yanks at his hips until they're chest to chest. "Who knew my little masochist would also be an exhibitionist?" It's a low growl, by Tony's standards, but the werewolf near the throne tenses, stares at the ceiling pleadingly. Peter grins at his lover, sees when those dark eyes recognize his tell tale smirk.

"Hey, Bucky."

A pause. "Hey, spiderling."

"How are you tonight, Bucky?" Tony looks at him like he's the cruelest being in the planet; as a general rule, anyone who dared speak with his treasure of treasures ended up with a broken neck or a torn throat. The ones given free reign were the waitresses and Peter's own friends. The White Wolf isn't quite a friend, but he's too good a bodyguard for Tony to kill him.

"I'm fine, little prince. Wondering what it'll take for Sam to shoot me."

"Sam would never shoot you, Bucky. Well, maybe your knee." The White Wolf, an appropriate nickname considering Bucky literally transforms into a pale wolf, grins at him, sharp fangs glinting in the neon lights of the club. His heart beats a little faster at the sight and Tony grasps his chin, hauls him close and devours his mouth, his own sharp fangs sliding out for Peter to play with. He makes a thumbs up at Bucky and hears him chuckling, makes a mental note to bring him May's chocolate truffles next time.

Peter sighs dreamily, runs his hands through slicked back hair and shoves his tongue onto a long incisor just to feel Tony jolt like a teenager aching to come for the first time. His lover sucks on his tongue and Peter's more than happy to feel the sting when the tiny cut is lavished and poked at. He can handle a bit of pain if it means getting Tony drunk on his taste. Gently, because one cut is enough, he doesn't want Tony to accidentally chew off his entire tongue, thanks, he pulls back. A string of saliva connects their lips and he knows most people don't like it, but Peter enjoys the depravity, the physical evidence of what they do.

Tony's eyes are hazy and the color of the sky after a rainstorm. He could ask the vampire for the moon and Tony would get it for him in an instant, wrapped up in a bow and everything. "Ok, I got the memo. No teasing. What else did you want, baby boy?"

Bucky coughs, indirectly lets his boss know they are still, unfortunately, in the middle of a nightclub. Tony snaps out of it and clears his throat, mutters his thanks. "I'm not fucking you in front of a crowd, Peter, fair warning. You may like it, but I'll end up ordering Barnes to slaughter them all for so much as breathing in your scent." Peter pouts and sees a crack begin to appear.

"Not even when I tell you I dressed up for you, Tony?" He guides a clawed hand under his jeans, has victory just out of his grasp when Tony's fingers curl over his bare ass and the vampire chokes on air. "Technically, I dressed down. But you like it anyway, don't you, your little prince being so bad for you?" Bucky growls for a replacement to come up to the throne and stalks off towards his own lover, dragging Steve into one of the rooms at the back.

Tony looks deranged, eyes flashing between red and blue so quickly they appear a dark purple. "If I get killed because of your stunt, you're coming with me, Peter. I know what you're doing."

He blinks innocently, cocks his head to the side and kneads the fabric of his red sweater just to stretch it out over his collarbone. "I'm spending time with my amazing vampire boyfriend. What else would I be doing when I have everything my king promises to get me?"

An eyebrow twitches and he keeps up the act, nuzzles a cold throat. Wants to be close to Tony's ear so the vampire can hear when he bites down on his own tongue, grimacing at the metallic taste. Peter rises slightly, lets Tony take his full weight in order to sprawl over a long torso. The back of his sweater lifts and Tony possessively covers any bared skin with trembling arms, breath coming out heavy.

Peter cradles his head tenderly and he's an inch or two higher than Tony so he feels like a god looking down at a monstrous worshiper, a devout sinner. "Will I have everything I ask for? Even if it's not what you want?" Blood covers his lips and Tony is hypnotized, hands lovingly gripping his hips hard enough there will be bruises blooming on them later. It's fine; he'll have Tony beg for forgiveness later.

The vampire nods shakily, says, "Anything my crown prince wants is his."

"So you'll bite me and show me you understand there are different ways to destroy people?" His lover blinks at him in confusion and you'd think he'd know this by now, being ancient and all.

"I don't want you to bite me so he gets jealous, Tony. I want you to bite me because you're mine to ask and I'm yours to drink from. And I want him to know that he's a fucking cockroach next to you. That he may have hurt me, but I'm doing better than ever. Do you understand, Tones?" He kisses his lover's forehead, is pleased to see his blood marking the vampire as his.

"This is as much for you as it is for me, isn't it? A power trip, having a creature of the night between your legs and having all your limbs intact afterward, knowing I won't even glance at anyone else because you have a hold over me? A lesson for everybody to learn. I know you're trying to control me, Peter."

"One, yes, it's a power trip. Two, I'd hate it, but I won't keep you from sleeping with someone else," Tony growls, buries his head in Peter's neck, shakes his head over and over, "Three, I like people knowing you're mine. And four, I can't make you do something you don't want to. I just, you know, subtly suggest alternatives I think would benefit both of us. In this case, I think you could make all my dreams come true if you-"

"Yeah, yeah, chew on you like a dog toy, got it," Tony tilts his head to the side and bites him, sinks his teeth so deeply Peter sees stars. His mouth opens on its own volition and the noise he makes is strangled, a groan and a scream and a whine rolled into one. The pain washes over him like a wave and honestly, it's not his fault Tony's neck is right there. He dives down, shoves his lover against the throne and closes his jaw around the most powerful being here. The splash of blood is a surprise and it takes him all of five seconds to realize he's drinking his own goddamn blood after it travels through Tony's body.

Tony moans once, sucks hard on the puncture marks twice and then lifts his head, searches for Peter's mouth and melts when he finds it. Peter lets himself be kissed lazily, inhales the panting breaths of a frantic looking vampire. "Get what you want, little prince?"

Peter smiles at his lover, bares his blunt teeth at Tony and at anyone who dares look; licks the blood off his lips the same way a vampire would.

"Don't I always get what I want?"

[loubuggins]

BBRae Valentine

@fireflyxrebel-writes

“He’s down here!”

Raven swurves around to the direction of Robin’s voice. Using her magic, she flies down the narrow hallway, barreling past Robin and down the direction he pointed at. He had led her to a hall full of cages. Prison cells for the captured and tortured. Only most cells were bare, leaving her dejected as she past each one. She looked into each cage hoping to spot a familiar face, but she came up short each time.

Then she finally found movement, a sign of life in one of the metal cages. Only it wasn’t the face she had hoped to see.

Two eyes with glowing narrow slits stared back at her through the darkness. She stopped in front of the cage and hovered, her cloak billowing out in her magical wind. A deep growl came from the mysterious beast that was trapped inside. The monster slowly came forward into the light and Raven could see his wolfish appearance. He had pricked ears, emerald fur with a long mane around his neck, large, pointed incisors, and giant, clawed paws.

The sorceress was no stranger to this beast, but she was surprised to see its return. She gasped, not out of fear, but out of horror when she saw the open gashes and wounds that littered the monster’s body.

“Garfield!” She exclaimed breathlessly.

The beast growled louder at the sound of its name.

“What did they do to you?” She asked out loud, but her only answer was the beast turning and pressing his side into the bars of the cage.

Raven dropped to the floor and stepped forward. Carefully, she extended her hand and lightly touched where his soft coat was sticky with red blood. The beast growled but didn’t move as the girl closed her eyes and echoed her mantra. The spell caused her hand to glow as light, cool blue. Instantly, the wound began to close up as the skin repaired itself with haste. When she was done, the glow faded away and the beast turned back around. With a long, wet tongue, he greatfully licked her hand. Normally, she would be repulsed by the gesture, but in this time of crisis she considered it to be a positive sign.

Her Garfield was still in there. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

The beast let out a whine in return.

[danger-xylophones]

Family Reunion (Darth Maul x reader) Pt. 6 Discretion

P.S.A-don’t do what the reader does to Wild-kids deserve the truth. I’m planning something so I needed it this way. 

Warnings: other than the reader fucking up royally, some real suggestive language, Maul being a little OOC, you’re all good here

Notes: This is another filler I’m sorry but I wanted the reader and Wild to talk. 

Words: 4684 

{masterlist}

<- Previous (Part 5)

……………………………………………………….

“What are you doing out here, my love?” The inquisitive voice coming from behind you startled you for a moment but you quickly relaxed at the hand Maul placed on your shoulder blade. You peered up at the zabrak who was looking down at you expectantly. 

“I couldn’t sleep so I wanted to look at the stars.” You answered quietly, feeling embarrassment start to invade your system. When you said it out loud it sounded rather ridiculous that you would leave the embrace of your zabrak lover in favor of staring at pecks of light millions of klicks away. 

“But it’s freezing out here. Come back to bed.” Maul hummed and moved to wrap around you, one arm curled around your waist to cage you to his exposed chest, the other moved up so he could take your chin between his thumb and index finger. The position was intimate and rather controlling in the best way possible. “Besides,” Maul could do whatever he wanted to you and you would go along willingly which terrified you to no end. “Why would you desire to look at the stars when you outshine them all, my angel?” 

Your nose scrunched as you pulled Maul’s cloak tighter around you. “Where in the galaxy did you get that one?” You asked amidst some breathy giggles. Maul’s face fell into a mock offended scowl. 

“I came up with it, angel.” Maul almost whined, making you laugh a little harder. Maul couldn’t keep the scowl for long though. With a playful growl, Maul swept you up in his arms and tossed you into the air, eliciting a shriek that cut through the otherwise silent night. The zabrak male caught you in a bridal hold, chuckling at your reactions while you were completely dazed by his shift in attitude. Mere hours ago he was hissing and spitting, taking his anger directed towards his master out on you in what was arguably the most sinful duel you’d ever been a part of with him and now he was nothing but soft, loving, and playful. Grinning down at you in an almost predatory manner, Maul began to carry you back into the ship (which in all fairness, was probably for the best-it was quite late and you needed to sleep). “If you’re going to poke fun at me, I would like to remind you that you did not seem to mind my praise while you were screaming my name.” The zabrak rumbled and you could feel his chest vibrate. 

Your giggling cut off abruptly as your face grew warm. Maul simply chuckled at your silence and leaned his head down to place a soft kiss on your cheek. You whined in response and attempted to bury your face in his chest. Tutting, Maul sat down cross-legged on his bunk and tauntingly poked at your cheek. “Don’t hide, my love, I want to see your beautiful face.” You gave him a deadpan look in response which pulled a rumbling laugh from him. “There you are.” He cooed. 

“I’m not going to sleep with you anymore if you’re just going to be mean afterward.” You threatened half-heartedly and worked to roll out of his arms but Maul only gripped you tighter. 

“We both know that won’t happen, you love me too much.” Maul grinned, incisors catching the moonlight that streamed in from the viewport. His lava-like eyes glowed in the dim light. 

You sighed in defeat and reached up a hand to caress one of your lover’s horns as you simply took a moment to admire him. “That I do, Sith, that I do.” You hummed moving to kiss at the corner of his mouth. You felt his lips quirk at the sensation and before you knew it, he had moved to lay down; which left you to sprawl out over his chest and tangle your legs with his. 

“I know, Jedi,” he teased lightly, nudging his nose against your temple, “and I suppose it is a good thing I feel the same.” 

…………………………………………………..

“Mom, wake up!”

With a soft, agitated groan, you pulled yourself from the dregs of sleep to address the persistent shaking of your left shoulder. You forced your eyes open and your gaze was immediately met with the luminescent saffron of your son’s eyes. “What’s going on, son?” You asked as you sat up and stretched. 

“He’s screaming again.” Wild sighed in exasperation, running a hand over his face. You leaned back, head tapping against the wall, as you just sat for a moment and listened. Indeed, Maul was screaming again, tortured howls of phantom pain and agony ringing throughout the metal walls of the ship. You were almost impressed that the man still had the energy to scream considering how raw his throat must have been by now. With a sigh of your own and a stifled yawn, you swung your legs over the side of your bed. “I’m on it. Can you go get me a cool, damp towel, some water, and a ration bar? Maybe he’ll eat.” The young boy nodded and skirted out of the room, eager to help you silence the agonizing screams of Darth Maul (presumably so he could go back to sleep, Wild always been a light sleeper). You padded pass Savage who was completely out of it, snoring into the extra pillow your son had unceremoniously tossed on his uncle’s face to quiet him down. 

Hopefully, come tomorrow evening, Wild would be able to get a restful sleep. Savage had decided that the planet Dathomir, his home, was the only hope you had for helping Maul and thus he had set a course for it. But, considering how far away Lotho Minor was from Dathomir, the trip had been excruciatingly long (a whopping eleven days so far). Maul barely slept, if at all. Most of his time was taken up screaming, muttering, or just acting like a caged animal and it had taken a toll on him. He had come down with a fever which only put him through more pain which only worsened his howling. Suffice to say, you, Savage, and Wild were all exhausted. You especially as he would only quiet down when you were near. 

When you got to the door separating the cargo hold from the rest of the hijacked freighter, you paused to press your forehead to the cool steel for a moment to steady yourself. The door slid open and you entered to, sadly, a common sight. The blankets you had used to make a makeshift bed/nest for Maul were strewn about, boxes were knocked over and tossed aside, scratches were etched into every wall and all over the floor, and in the corner, cowering and crying was Maul. His back was to you and his hands were over his ears, clawing at the skin. You felt your heart shatter at the sight of your poor lover.

Quietly, you went about gathering up the discarded blankets and set them down somewhere to be dealt with later. When that was finished, you settled on one of the overturned boxes. “Maul?” His cries silenced instantly as your voice cut through whatever waking nightmare he was suffering through. The man turned, eyes flicking around the hold before locking on you. “Maul, my love, come here.” You held your arms out to him and that was all it took for the zabrak to come running to you. It was still unnerving to see him charge at you with his lower spider body but the need to comfort him (even in this state) greatly outweighed your fear. He crashed at your feet, arms wrapping around your legs and face landing on your thighs, horns precariously close to poking you in your stomach. Regardless of that, you rested one hand on the back of his neck and gently massaged it while the other traced the base of one of his broken horns. You could feel his upper body shiver though from relief or the fever you weren’t sure. 

Maul couldn’t communicate much in his current state but what he could communicate, you latched onto tightly. And one thing that he had made clear was that he remembered you. “Far above, far above…” Maul had resumed sobbing though now he was far quieter, his face didn’t leave your lap. “Kenobi, Kenobi-” He growled, grip tightening on your legs. 

You shushed him, hand smoothing over his shoulder to steady him. “I know, Maul. He is to blame for this and he will get what he deserves but for now, Maul,” You dared to lean forward to place a peck on his head, careful not to poke yourself in the face, “stay with me.” You mumbled against his tattooed skin, subtly checking his temperature. He wasn’t nearly as warm as the last time you had checked. Maybe the fever had broken? You hoped so, for all your sakes. 

The door suddenly slid open as Wild entered and Maul shot up with a snarl in his direction. The boy blinked back at the feral male placidly, not even slightly perturbed by the reaction. You simply grabbed the zabrak’s chin and got him to look at you which immediately distracted him as to allow Wild to approach. The boy eyed Maul as he set the canteen down and hopped up on the crate to unwrap the ration bar for you. You thanked him quietly and took the towel he had also brought and delicately placed it on Maul’s forehead. The former sith lord sighed in relief at the cool sensation, his mutterings ceasing for the time being. “You should go get some sleep, Wild, I can handle him.” Your son looked up as you spoke, surprise written over his face which told you you had pulled him from deep thought. 

“How do you know Darth Maul?” Wild asked without breaking eye contact. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was trying to probe your thoughts. You closed your eyes briefly, knowing this question was bound to come up bt still regretting what you were about to do. 

“We go way back. He…” Maul suddenly shifted, letting go of your legs in favor of trying to mess with the towel on his brow, you had to grab his wrist to stop him. “He knew your father.” Wild’s interest peaked for a moment so, you swiftly grabbed the ration bar to stop yourself from saying much more on that topic. You released Maul’s wrist so you could break off two small pieces of the bar, the zabrak watched you carefully. You handed one of the pieces to Wild and ate one yourself; a trick you’d learned to get Maul to eat. The young boy followed your lead before you handed the remaining food to Maul. 

“How did dad know a sith?” Wild’s voice was hard to dissect. He sounded curious yet fearful. 

“He never really told me.” Gods, this felt awful-lying to your son. “We tried to keep talk of his...career out of things.” You patted Maul’s head when he rested it on your lap again and coaxed him to take a drink from the water Wild had brought. The aforementioned zabrak began to purr, softly, as he settled further and you nearly began to weep at the sound. Gods you had missed that sound.

“Maul, do you ever think about the future?”

“Constantly, my love, why do you ask?” Maul answered immediately, voice low and relaxed as the two of you stood in the confines of your room. The zabrak dragged his eyes away from the busy city below and to you where you stood at his side. Your hair was still damp from the bath you had taken and was putting up quite the fight while you tried to redo your padawan braid. Amused at your effort, Maul took the stubborn strands into his own hands and calmly began to braid them, a small rumble emanating from his chest as you pressed against him. It was dangerous for him to be here, in the Jedi temple, but the temptation had been too much for him. He had told you that his master had given him a new mission, one that could take a while considering the nature of it. He had to locate the queen of Na-

 “Why do you ask?” You coughed in an attempt to stifle the sorrow. 

“I was just curious. Are there a lot of red zabraks?” Oh no. You had to fight the urge to react, opting to do so by mocking thought. When you looked at Wild, he did not meet your eyes as he was too focused on Maul. Had he caught on? If he had, he wasn’t saying anything. 

“No,” you began carefully, monitoring Wild like a shriek-hawk, “I’ve only met two-Darth Maul and-”

“Dad?” Wild concluded. You nodded, Wild hummed. “Huh,” He began, bringing his legs up and crossing them as if he was getting ready to meditate, “were they related?” The young half-zabrak grabbed his ankles and began to rock from side to side-something he would do when he was anxious as a way to get rid of the excess energy. 

“...sort of.” Wild raised a brow at you. “Your father was from Dathomir...same as Maul and the men there are all partially related.” 

“Savage was telling me about Dathomir and the witches.” His carmine nose wrinkled in distaste, slightly warping the black v-shaped tattoos on the apples of Wild’s cheeks. “They sound awful...are you sure they’ll help Darth Maul?” 

“Considering all I’ve learned about them, the lure of his power will be enough to persuade them.” Your voice was clipped, unpleased with the thought of letting the witches anywhere near Maul but you did acknowledge that they would be your only hope. “It’s good to hear that you and Savage have been getting along.” 

“Yeah, he’s actually pretty nice.” Wild huffed amused, most likely, at the discovery and you two fell into a peaceful lull. Maul had long since fallen asleep, still clinging to your legs as though you were a lifeline but now faintly snoring as he did. Wild had returned to staring at him, contemplating something. Your own mind began to wander. 

.............................................................

“I’ve been thinking about it more often.” You confessed timidly. 

Maul hummed to show his intrigue. “And what do you think of?” 

“Us.” The word fell from your mouth with surprising ease and you could sense the shift in Maul’s aura. He was reminded of something at the word. “What...what we would do if I left the Order and you turned on your master.” Maul’s hands fell away from your hair and landed on your shoulders to which you were swift to grab one and hold it in both of yours, bringing his arm around you. “Do you ever think of that?” You idly played with his fingers while Maul was left to mull over your question and revelation. 

Maul trailed his free hand down your back till he could place it on your hip with a soft squeeze, a funny little breath escaped you at the touch. “Sometimes, when my master’s training becomes too much, I think of sweeping you away.” His thumb tenderly rubbed circles into your hip while he curled his other around your hands, ceasing your fidgeting. “Away from the Jedi, away from Coruscant, away from my master, just...away.” His grip grew tight, possessive. 

“What else?” You mumbled, reaching down to grab his hand on your hip and using it to pull him closer. His chest bumped against your back as Maul curled his arms around your waist with a questioning hum. “I can sense you’re not telling me everything.” 

The zabrak pressed a kiss behind your ear, an unspoken question which asked if you would stay. You answered by bringing your hand up to clasp the side of his face, blindly caressing the horn that protruded from his temple. It was enough. “I see us, side by side, forever as Empress and Emperor. We rule as one, me with an iron fist and you with the delicate grace I lack.” His voice was low in your ear, hypnotic even, as he willed you to see the vision he saw. You did, you could see yourself clad in red and black with a crown on your head to match the natural one of your lover. You could see droves of subjects all bowed before you to worship the ground you walked. You could see guards, ready to die for you should you wish it. But, above it all, you could see him, poised and regal and dangerous. Your lover, your emperor. Maul. Tears pricked your eyes as the vision faded. You wanted the life Maul saw though you knew it was wrong. “You’re beautiful, Y/n, my beautiful empress, and together we destroy the Jedi and we destroy my master. The galaxy would bend its knee to us, my love.” Maul’s lips trailed along the skin of your neck as he spoke, warm breath causing goosebumps to rise wherever he touched. “But what do you see?” 

Your chest heaved as you struggled not to sob. “Maul...all I see is us.” You turned in his arms then, your own looping around his torso so you could press your head to his chest. His dual heartbeats were erratic. “You and me, side by side, holding what we created. It is a quiet existence, my love, and one I cherish above all.” You were openly weeping by now, your tears splashing against his tattooed chest as you fought with something inside yourself that you had battled since Maul revealed himself for what he was. The Dark Side was tempting but Maul was even more so. “I would follow your vision, Maul if it meant I stayed beside you. I feel weak when I am with you and I do not enjoy it but, still, I crave your presence.” 

Maul remained quiet through your confession, tenderly petting your head as you collapsed. Amidst your soft hiccuping breaths, he began to speak. “And when I am with you, I feel powerful, Y/n. Such is the dichotomy of us; where you are weak, I am strong but where I am weak you are powerful. We must embrace this, my love.” The red zabrak moved your head away from his chest, blazing eyes burning into your very soul. Delicately, as though you were made of glass, he wiped your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Marry me.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

“Marry me, Y/n.” Maul’s forehead met yours which ensured that you kept meeting his gaze. “Marry me and we can both have what we want-we can have each other forever.” 

“I...of course.” You breathed out, new tears starting to fall in little rivers down the apples of your cheeks as they lifted into a smile. He mirrored it and you could see tears forming in his eyes as well. 

……………

“I think I’m ready to get more tattoos.” Wild confessed sleepily as you were tucking him in. Although he protested that he didn’t need you to (he was, after all an eleven-year-old and such motherly affection was for kids-you had snorted at his complaint, nearly waking Savage) you knew he strived to impress you every day and that this was one of the assurances he needed that you were proud of him. 

You raised an eyebrow at your son. He currently had three major tattoos (five if you counted them separately)-the two v’s on his face, one in between his shoulder blades which was comprised of three large dots, and one on either forearm in the shape of a four-pronged star with a dot in the middle and jagged lines surrounding it. While you had initially taken issue with the young boy permanently marking his skin up after he confessed a desire to follow the tradition of his father’s species you hadn’t stood in his way. “I thought you said you didn’t want anymore-that the ones on your face hurt too much.” 

“Yeah, but, Savage was talking about what his tattoos mean and…” Wild mumbled, slightly ducking under his blanket to hide. 

“What did you have in mind, hun?” You asked, taking care to convey that you were listening to him. You took a seat on his cot as he began to explain. 

“Well, Savage told me that every man on Dathomir has the back of his head tattooed black.” 

You bit back a grimace. You had, of course, noticed that the back of Maul’s and Savage’s heads were completely black and you could only imagine how painful that had been. “I’m going to cut you off for a moment to say this-if you want the back of your head tattooed, you will be asking Savage because that is a lot of ink, Wild.” Your son nodded, apparently expecting that answer. You quietly told him to continue, sensing he had more to say. 

“I know, he already offered to help.” He had? Your brows furrowed slightly. “And I was thinking about tattooing my nose kind of like Maul’s but instead of leading up the horn in the middle of his forehead-I want mine to make a crescent.” Wild finished, looking up at you expectantly. 

With a thoughtful hum, you tilted your head to the side as you tried to visualize what it would look like. “If you can remember, try and draw it out for me in the morning, sweetpea, and I’ll see what I can do.” Your son furrowed his brows at the nickname but you just giggled and leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Wild, get some rest. I love you.” 

“Love you too, mom.” The young half-zabrak mumbled back before rolling away and starting his drift back to sleep. You smiled at him one last time before taking your own advice and heading to your cot. As you lay on your back, blankly staring up at the ceiling you began to wonder what made Wild want to continue with the tattoos. He had previously expressed that he only wanted to get them after milestones. The three dots were from the first time he managed to beat back a bounty hunter that had tried to hijack your ship. The four-pointed stars were from when he learned to pilot. The v’s were from when you took him to be your apprentice and he had started to master the force. Why did he want another one? Still, without answers, you decided to ask him in the morning. 

………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Marry me, Y/n.” Maul’s forehead met yours which ensured that you kept meeting his gaze. “Marry me and we can both have what we want-we can have each other forever.” 

“I...of course.” You breathed out, new tears starting to fall in little rivers down the apples of your cheeks as they lifted into a smile. He mirrored it and you could see tears forming in his eyes as well. Blinking rapidly in an attempt to hide the watery eyes, Maul took your hands in his.

With no rings to exchange and no one to officiate, it wouldn’t be legally binding but you two didn’t care. “These are my lightsabers, my life. I give them to you to have and hold as I give my self to you.” You pressed the weapons into his hand, unable to speak without smiling.

“And, this is my lightsaber, my protection, and my weapon. I give it to you to show that I entrust you with my life.” Maul handed the double-bladed saber to you. “Y/n L/n, do you take me as your husband, your life-long protector?”

“I do. And do you, Darth Maul, take me as your wife, your life long protector.” You were beaming by now but so was he. 

“I do.” Maul surged forward to capture your lips in a passionate kiss that left your mind reeling and knees weak. His hand not currently holding your lightsabers snaked up to cup your cheek as he pressed closer. Your hand was pressed against his chest, anchoring yourself to him as the other hooked around his neck once again. Maul’s tongue dared to poke at the seam of your lips but you playfully denied him, earning a threatening growl in response which vibrated up your arm. Determined as ever to get his way, Maul began to march you back till your knees hit the edge of your bed and you two fell over in a tangle of limbs and muffled laughter. As you separated to catch your breaths, a knock sounded at the door. Maul was swift to peel off of you and stalk to the darkest corner of the room to remain hidden, swiftly you hid his lightsaber as well. 

Ensuring you didn’t look like you had just been in the middle of kissing, you opened the door to meet the gaze of your master, Ki-Adi-Mundi. “Oh, hello, master. What did you need?” You chirped happily which earned you a smile in return. 

“Good evening, Y/n. I’m sorry to disturb you but I have some wonderful news, padawan.” The cerean’s voice was calm (like it always was) but you had learned the undercurrents that often cut through to reveal what he was feeling. He was excited. You cocked your head and he began to explain. “I have been speaking with the council and they believe that the time is approaching for you to go through the Trials.” 

“...The-the Trials? Do they really think I am ready?” Your confusion was palpable, you had only been training for ten years which was the bare minimum for most padawans. 

Ki-Adi’s brow furrowed. “Do you not think you are ready, padawan?” 

“No, no, I...I think I am ready, master. It was just-I was not expecting them to come up so quickly.” You couldn’t help but glance towards Maul who was watching on with a strange look on his face. “Believe me, this is wonderful news, thank you, Master Mundi.”

The Jedi bowed his head with a kind smile before reaching out to lay a familial hand on your shoulder. His gaze was warm. “Get some rest, Y/n, your training will intensify soon. Good night.” With a single squeeze of his hand, he turned and began to walk away.

“Good night, master.” You mumbled after his retreating figure before letting the door slide shut. With a relieved sigh that Ki-Adi had not sensed anything amiss, you turned around to speak to Maul but before you could, you found your back colliding with the closed door and Maul’s face in yours. 

With a low chuckle that sparked a familiar flame in your chest, he spoke. “Where were we?” His hands were on your waist applying a gentle pressure that screamed that you were his. 

“G-getting married.” You stuttered out, terribly excited. Maul needed little encouragement for him to slant his mouth against yours once again. In contrast to his earlier kiss, this one was gentle and sweeter. He still dominated but in a much warmer away, like darkness takes control when a star dips below the horizon of its orbiting planet. As Maul’s tongue slid past the seam of your lips to explore, he pressed you harder against the door. The cold durasteel stole your warmth away though it was swiftly replaced by the flame Maul was fanning into a blaze. 

Maul suddenly pulled away, leaving you to chase after him desperately until he pushed you back. “Y/n, listen to me. I know that this marriage isn’t official but I want you to know that I am going to marry you, legally, as soon as I return.” His hand came up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Wait for me, please.” Your eyes grew wide, in all your time together, you had never heard Maul beg. “Will you wait for me?” His voice was soft, barely even a whisper and you found yourself entranced. Your heart swelled. 

“Forever.”

<- Previous | Next  ->

[legendaryorangeloot]

Collarbone

The moon is just cresting the horizon when I reach South City. Its cool light pulls on the roots of my hair, makes my teeth itch. I spent all day today goofing off at work, pacing like a bored zoo animal. These feast days are so rare, and my excitement hangs in the air like charged particles before a lightning strike.

And now it's time.

The moon fills my heart with a ferocious lust, buoying me up as I let my long, loping stride eat up the Gravois pavement. I can hear the music at Greatness already. I go there "straight" a few nights a week, let myself be seen. I'm a regular. I even dated the previous bartender, learned the cameras, the exit routes, the watching spots, the nearby alleys. Greatness is my garden, and I tend it carefully.

I like it because it attracts normal boys. They're sweet in a way you don't have to take seriously, smart in a way that never threatens you. They tend to have carefully-groomed hair, endearing sincerity, and well-marbled flesh.

Not all the produce is sweet, though. When I transform, I'm little—more coyote than wolf, more coydog than coyote. All-black, bristle-brush fur; pricked ears that make me look smart and alert. A dog you'd take home with you if it followed you down the street. I grew to trust the bartender, the first relationship I'd had. Born of necessity or not, I thought it would be forever. He was wild, too, in his own all-human way, and loved my secret. But it was because he had his own. One night, without warning or consent, he leaned over me, whispered in my alert black ear as he sank into my body, "I wanted you the second I saw you like this. You're the sexiest dog I ever fucked."

I like to think that he saw the sorrow in my eyes as I turned my head and clamped his trachea shut with my strong, strong jaws. It was intimate, almost erotic. For minutes he fought, thrashing, sweaty, nude, his erection waning, waxing, finally waning forever once I began to eat his throat, and all his blood left his body and soaked into his bed. His teeth felt like tiny hard candies to my canine senses. When I ripped out his tongue at the root and savored it bite by bite, I imagined I could taste everything he'd ever tasted, somehow stored within the muscle he'd used to gain my trust.

But that time is not this time. That time was just the first, and now the kills are deliciously unadulterated by love or regret.

As I near the bar door, I put on the right personality – wild, but not vicious. Available, but not easy. Challenging, but harmless. I check my reflection in an antique-shop window to make sure all this personality-shifting hasn't affected my shape.

Without careful control, sometimes you'll think "act harmless" and the power inside you makes it mean "look smaller, look younger". I have nothing but careful control. There are a few other people with the power to change into a wolf, a specific wolf that looks rather like their human form, but I have finesse that they can only dream of. I can play this body like one of those expensive synthesizers with all the sliders and knobs, as long as the form is human, canine, or both. And I work at my craft, mostly preferring the wholly-unnatural, anthropomorphic, six-foot-tall "wolfman" shape, complete with the goofy clawed hands and feet. What can I say? They're useful, if hideous, constructions. Second choice: a real wolf, a timber wolf, huge. The kind you see in nature documentaries, every hair in place, unmistakably lupine.

I am so proud of all the carefully-sculpted forms that I feel vaguely ashamed of my natural one. Not the average-build, solidly-muscled human one, with the deeply tanned olive skin and the untameable black curls, but the real one, the one that looks half-coyote, half-Schipperke. It was the thing I was most embarrassed to show the bartender, the boyfriend, even after he'd seen me as a slavering movie-monster nonsense beast a dozen times. He saw my true form and thought me weak, small, fuckable. A dog.

But now his opinion is gone, digested, and irrelevant, because I am alone, and I am hungry.

I won't lie and say I notice you across a crowded room. That when I walk in, all the other people fade away. That it is lust at first sight. No, you escape first notice in an inoffensive way, a practiced way. You're a listener, I can tell. You move your eyebrows involuntarily when you're eavesdropping. Wolf-creature that I am, I can't tolerate eye contact, but I do watch those charming brows from the corner of my eye.

I sit at the bar and chat amiably with a girl I kind-of know, at a volume I know is audible to you. I surreptitiously look at you while you're not looking. You're lovely. You're rakish, scruffy, endearingly asymmetrical around the eyes. Your gestures all speak volumes. You even smoke adorably, like you learned it much too early.

My story for tonight, my bait, cast out into the noise of the bar: recent breakup, broken heart, need distraction. It's a hard one to turn down, I've found. Your brows go up minutely on "distraction". I know you think you know what I mean, and it will make the eventual reveal that much more satisfying.

I contain my eyeteeth before they can visibly lengthen, because that's a rookie mistake, but, oh, how I want them to be longer. I want them that much closer to your skin. I can imagine how it will taste, all sweat and smoke, the fine hairs crumpling under my rough tongue, the restraint I'll have to exert when I use just the sharp, sharp points to tease the first bite.

I let my kind-of friend talk at me about her kids, her day, her husband. But what I'm thinking about is where I'll start on you. Your loose plaid shirt reveals the edge of your clavicle, and the sight of it has my mouth watering in an instant. It's been so long. I'm torn between speeding things up by making the first move, and resisting the temptation to rush through this sensual experience you and I are going to share.

I never could resist temptation.

You're writing in a notepad, so this is an easy introduction: "Whatcha' writing?" I try for "chipper, good-natured interest", but lust makes it come out more "sultry purr". I don't think you mind. You're falling all over yourself to answer, the love of your work and your obvious interest in me giving you a puppylike eagerness that I instantly adore, and preemptively mourn.

I listen, mostly. You're a writer; you write. In conversation, you do the same kind of IQ-gauging I did in my human dating life, throwing out a breadcrumb trail of wordplay that gets progressively more challenging. I do understand, and I laugh at the right times, I let our eyes meet for spare milliseconds so you know I understand. I parry back, I surprise a few laughs out of you. I play off of your self-deprecating humor, testing your boundaries for submission, loving what I find.

But my brain really isn't in peak wordplay condition. I just want you now. I want the moment when I gently bite the skin above your collarbone. I want to hear you gasp and moan, hear that unnameable noise-with-an-edge when you feel my real teeth, hear your hazy excitement bloom into bright fear as you realize what will happen next. I want that first bite, the crunch of that beautiful, delicate bird bone against my incisors, and the next bite, and the next. When we're done, I want the walls to double as a red Rorshach test. I want to make the crime scene techs vomit.

You compliment my loud sudden bark of a laugh, and for once, maybe for the first time ever, I am genuinely flattered. I feel like I probably shouldn't give you the compliment I thought of in return, which is: "That made me like you so much that I want to find out what you taste like." But then I say it anyway, and you blush, and I imagine licking your cheek hard enough to burst some superficial capillaries, imagine tasting everything about you, even your embarrassment.

Even though I've laid out a welcome mat for you between my thighs, you still just talk to me, still treat me like a person. It throws me a bit at first, but I figure we have all night. There are drinks and jokes. We tell stories that quickly get more and more personal. I find out about your parents, your brother, your wonderfully strange upbringing. I tell you some carefully-censored tales of living in rural Texas. I tell you a completely-false story of how I got my completely-true nickname, "The Terror of Bulverde". To make up for the lies, I tell you the real true truth of how much I love my family.

The conversation is weirdly nourishing on its own, and the bottles of Shiner are cold and remind me of home. You talk with your hands more and more as you get drunker, and my accent gets stronger and stronger as I exercise my rarely-used human voice. We laugh at ourselves, how ridiculous it all is, can you believe we've never met before, it feels like I've known you forever.

Next thing I know, we're being shooed out of the bar at closing time, and you're suddenly serious when you ask me if I'm sober. I say "As a goddamn judge," solemnly, but my accent is all the way up to 11, and we grin at each other stupidly. You invite me over, and I had almost forgotten that this was the whole point, that this was the endgame. I'll get to still those talking hands, eat them from fingers to palm, bathe my muzzle in your well-educated brain, see if I gain your powers when I consume your heart. I've already made up my mind not to waste one single bit of your beautiful body. I'm going to den up in your house for days, gorging myself until you're gone.

I don't care that everyone saw us leave together. I am Icarus, my wolf-wings melting in proximity to your purely-human kindness. This kind of sentimentality is what gets creatures like me killed, I remind myself. But then you take my hand, gently, and I feel like I should go confess my crimes and be skinned for a coat. Or, given my absolute size, some kind of shawl. Your gentleness is both warming me and burning me alive. I wonder to myself if this is what hard drugs feel like. Drugs don't really work on werewolves. The drug that you are is working on this werewolf, though.

We stop several times on the walk to your apartment to shove each other into little alleys, indented doorways, and once, accidentally, a shrub, and we make out like it's the last thing we'll ever do, which seems appropriate to the occasion. You kiss like you talk: not a monologue, but a friendly give-and-take, with your hands frequently involved. We crack jokes continuously, and interrupt each other, and play-fight, and the feel of your wiry muscles and their light shield of fat under my play-punches makes my stomach rumble. The moon is full, and fully out, and I know I've let my hair lengthen, and that my eyes are probably less human-looking than I'd like, by now.

On your doorstep, fiddling with the key and lock, you tell me that I don't have to sleep with you, that if I'm too drunk, that if I have reconsidered, you won't be upset. I ignore you and step over the threshold and start undressing before you've even closed the door behind us. For a second, you look as though perhaps you aren't sure if you're awake or asleep.

We race to the bed, shedding clothing, and you practically pounce on me, not predatory, but playful, and we forgot to turn on any lights, and it's so exciting and I'm so hungry I think I might die. Your hands are everywhere on my body, always followed closely by your mouth, and that, and everything I can touch on your body, and every glimpse of you I catch, lit by the wan streetlight, is making me want you more than I thought was possible.

And I am somehow in your lap, and you're a much larger person than I thought you were, or maybe I've gotten smaller, and the next thing I know I'm me, the real me, the little black wolf, just muscle and fur and teeth, and I'm sinking those white, white teeth deep into the soft, beautiful junction of your neck and chest. And I didn't even give myself time to appreciate it, but here we are, and here's that bone I wanted, crunched to pieces, half-eaten already. And your look of shock and betrayal and realization makes your bone and flesh curdle in my jaws, but it's too late to put it back.

We freeze this way. It's a Moment, one that feels like we exist outside of time, yet we don't; the seconds are marked by the rapid pulsing of your blood onto the sheets, onto the floor, your delightful soft-pink skin paling before my eyes.

And you say, plaintively, "I thought you liked me." I am consumed by regret, it's a pyre, I'm being burned at the stake by a single sentence, and the pain makes me desperate for a solution, until I realize I may have one. Just one. My shape shifts without conscious thought to some kind of confused dog-with-hands, but I use them to shove whatever fabric I have near me against the wound at your throat, and press down hard. I bite the inside of my cheek and hot blood wells there instantly, mixing with the remnants of yours in my mouth. You're so, so smart that even near-exsanguination can't keep you from figuring out what I'm doing. You look by turns terrified, hopeful, disgusted.

I bring my lips to yours and try to will whatever particle transmits lycanthropy into my mouth's blood, hoping this is really how the process works. You look ill. You look bloodless. You pass out, and I'm left holding my discarded shirt against your fatal wound, and remembering how to pray: god if you just let him heal just let him live he will figure this out I will make it up to him I will make it up to you I will go and sin no more oh please, oh please, oh please

Epilogue

The bizarre, crushed-looking scar atop your torso always elicits questions you can't answer truthfully when you're naked with other people. The bone never grows back, and your new physiology prevents an implant or a surgical fix. You'll never need to see a doctor again. You might live to be hundreds of years old. No one knows our potential lifespan. No one knows anything about us.

You seem to take it all in stride, telling one woman it's where you were hit with a warhammer, telling another man it's from a skydiving accident. It makes you very mysterious and intriguing, and the gossip about you is always entertaining, if painful, to overhear.

You say you forgive me, and maybe, since you've now experienced numerous full moons yourself, felt what I felt that night, you mean it. But you've never hurt a soul. I selfishly infected you with a kind of insanity, and you infected me with your gentleness, your curse of caring about others. So I skulk around the edges of your life, and I bring you raw red beef and whole chickens and half the rabbits I catch each month. We never speak, or kiss, and I never, ever look you in the eye.

[reliciron]

Cathar Biology Headcanons

What’s that? Ya’ll want more painstakingly thought out Star Wars biology headcanons? No? Well screw you, we’re doing it anyways. 

Here’s my Nautolan Biology Headcanons for anyone interested.

Prepare yourself, it’s a long one. And like before, I’m not a biologist, this is just for fun, and if anyone IS a biologist and thinks this stuff is waaaay off, I’d be happy to hear your take on it.

Fur

The thickness and length of their fur used to depend on what region of Cathar their ancestors originally hailed from. Cathar from the warmer savannas of the equator, had very short fur and a thinner undercoat. Those from regions closer to the poles and the chilly Uplands tended to have shaggier fur with a dense undercoat. This variation is not nearly as pronounced as it used to be. The Battle of Cathar cut the entire population down to so few individuals that most modern Cathar have a mix of the two.

Cathar generally don’t like water, not because they can’t swim or because they are frightened of it, but because it’s such a bitch to dry off. Even after toweling off the worst of it, it can take and hour or two to air dry. Blow dryers are usually too small to be worth the effort and can damage their fur. Occasionally some ‘freshers have a blower setting for furred species, but most don’t and it’s expensive to modify one.

Instead of showers, fur and hair cleaning usually means brushing it out every day. A soft hand brush (think horse brushes) and sometimes a long handled brush for reaching the back, are usually the bare minimum, but many Cathar use more, especially if they have longer fur or a thicker undercoat. Most Cathar only take showers every few weeks, assuming of course they don’t get covered in something that can’t be brushed out, and the dirtier the environment, the more times a day they need to brush their fur.

Fur brushing is also an important time for bonding. Cathar are a social species, and its common for close friends, family, and mates to help with brushing. A “long handle” is a less than flattering term for Cathar who have no one to help them brush out their fur, and must use a long handled brush to reach the places others would have helped them with (similar in rudeness to the modern use of “spinster”).

Claws

The Wookieepedia article on them states that they have retractable claws, and while this is probably true for main-line Cathar, the more human-like Cathar generally have smaller, fixed claws. Both fixed and retractable sets are very sharp if allowed to grow to their natural points, but it is fairly common place for Cathar to file them down enough that they can’t easily break skin. Cathar who regularly wear gloves file them even further to keep from ripping through the fingers.

Teeth

Cathar have sharp incisor teeth, long canines, large premolars for slicing, and heavy molars for grinding. Their bite strength is only a little better than a human’s, but with those teeth, a Cathar’s bite can do a LOT more damage. In SWTOR, the Cathar’s canine teeth are a little over-exaggerated (at least the males are, I haven’t played enough of a lady to know if the female model’s teeth are a little more reasonable), but I figure the visible length of their upper fangs is about twice the length of their regular incisors, and their lower fangs are a bit shorter. Still, in order to clear those fangs enough to actually fit something in their mouth to bite, they have to open their jaws pretty far. The voluntary gape angle of a human is about 50 degrees, Cathar can push 85 degrees if they tilt their head back enough to allow their full range of motion. It’s very disturbing to see them do this, and outside of scary party tricks, they rarely need to.

Diet

Like earth cats, Cathar are obligate carnivores, which means they exclusively eat meat. They can eat fruits and vegetables, and many do for flavor, but they gain no nutritional benefits from them, and if they are forced to eat only non-meats for an extended period of time, they will starve. Cathar have cast-iron stomachs and can handle food that has gone bad much better than other species, it takes A LOT for them to get food poisoning. That doesn’t mean they LIKE it of course, they’d take a fresh, well-cooked meal over meat paste 3 months out of date any day, but their strong stomachs make them uniquely good at colonizing difficult new areas (like Taris).

Flexibility

Like the cats of our world, Cathar are naturally very flexible. They can usually fit through any space they can get their head through by collapsing their rib cage (this can get dangerous, the longer they stays collapsed, the more likely they’ll suffocate themselves, so most Cathar only do this if it’s only for a brief moment, like slipping through bars), and they tend to land on their feet.

Senses

All Cathar can see in the dark, and anyone unfortunate enough to see them do this gets the eerie effect of seeing the light reflect off of their eyes. Like cats, they only need about 1/6th of the light that a human needs to see at night. As a trade off, they don’t have great color vision; it’s much less saturated than a human’s perception of color and they tend to have trouble with shades of red. Great night vision also has the drawback of being sensitive to sudden bright lights, so a flash bang grenade screws with them a LOT more than a human.

Speaking of sound, Cathar also have a better sense of hearing. They can hear much higher pitches than a human, and can detect variances in sound so a much smaller degree. Their ears are fully mobile, and can pinpoint the location of a sound faster and with a much greater degree of accuracy than humans. It comes in handy if someone is trying to mimic another person’s voice, or use a recording, because a Cathar won’t be fooled. It’s extremely difficult to sneak up on one, and if they can’t see you in the dark, they can most definitely hear you. Again, this sucks if they’re exposed to loud noises, and many have to wear ear protection if they’re going somewhere loud, like a club.

Their sense of smell is about ten times better than a human’s and they are very good at detecting pheromones in the air. These mostly help them tell the general health of other individuals and can give them an idea as to the emotional well-being of the people around them (and yes, they can smell when someone’s horny, and its awkward for everyone involved). I love @starrypawz headcanons about their scent-based and non-verbal communications.

Litters

Cathar usually give birth to a litter that ranges from 3 to 5 kits. Again, @starrypawz has some great headcanons about how kits tend to snuggle together as infants. I’ll also add that as they grow older, this need to cuddle up with other people when they sleep never really goes away. It’s a little less socially acceptable as an adult, seen as childish, but bonded mates are ALL ABOUT that cuddle.

This need to snuggle with others is also worsened for those who were either born alone (which is rare) or were orphaned alone (sadly less rare). If a Cathar grows up without this closeness as a child, they tend to mature into very anxious individuals with persistent insomnia, and they place an unhealthy amount of importance on getting and maintaining romantic/intimate relationships just so they can feel that closeness.

-----

Did I need to spend 3 hours doing this? No.

Did I do it anyways? Yes.

I just... I just really like Star Wars aliens, guys, and Wookieepedia’s articles are a consistent let down in the biology department.

[masshirohebi-moved]

GAME OVER (Hit me with your best shot!)

Send ‘GAME OVER’ to get a glimpse of one of the worse possible endings that can happen to my muse in their life regarding your muse.// @super-kame-loveTheir figure is lost amid the sea of scrolls that cover their room, lining the floor and every elevated surface. They lose themself in these words because as it so often happened, they and Kame were once more verbally battling in this endless war of who was to blame. So when the opportunity arose for a one-man mission came up, it hadn’t surprised them that Aina took it. That she snatched the assignment and was gone before anyone truly had a chance to say goodbye. And they can only assume she will be battering her head against a tree before soothing herself with solitude and nature.That would be her way of coping with the constant tension, while the serpent would sit lost in their work. Ignoring basic needs and holing themself away to complete research that needn’t be done with such tenacity. But despite the constant fighting, the Sannin never liked her going on missions alone. Never enjoyed the idea that she would be in the outside elements. She was far too naive for them to trust, that she may fall victim to her own delusions, that she may overlook a danger or error. So they send her with one of their companions despite her wish to be alone. A small summon, that could at least alert the viper should something go wrong. And they think it is only fair, she didn’t want human company. Surely the small bronze snake would not be a nuisance. And it would only be two days later that the small reptile returns, that a message is delivered for them to come to her aid. That she is writing to them without quite knowing if they will arrive in time to hear her goodbye from her own lips. That she is succumbing to injuries after a battle. After completing the mission. That the home she has taken refuge in is doing all they can to spare her, but that she is losing her hope it will be enough. It’s a sensation that has their blood running cold for the first time in years. Where they can not hide the shock that has clawed at every bone in their body, restricting their lungs, forcing them to take sharper breaths.It isn’t even a moment of thinking, for them to abandon every scroll that had seemed so bitterly important moments ago. To dart through a labyrinth like maze, to cut through endless forestry. A small figure nimble as ever amid large branches, amid muddied floors. But there is no certainty they will get there in time, not to wish her goodbye - for that would never placate them, but to save her. There is, after all, too much to apologize for. And while ones life would usually flash before their eyes during their own death, it would appear they could experience the same thing while in limbo about the death of someone they held dear.

“I’ll tell ya what. For somebody who reads so much…you can be a right awful fool.” she says.“And I’ll tell you what, for someone who cries at the smallest injustice in the world, you can be quite the callous bitch,” they say, a smile ever so false coming to their lips.

To think the had spent so much of that time with her in bars, spewing venomous words back and forth. Trying to cut the other deeper with verbal insults and mockery, with judgement and accusation.

“tell me how you actually feel for once.” she asks, ambitious as ever to get through their impenetrable defenses. But she never manages to break inside fully, only ever seeing a glimpse more than others, but a glimpse too little to make sense of them.“Tell me, has being honest about your feelings ever gone well for you?” they ask, “I hide my feelings because it’s better that way. For me, for you, and for everybody else.”

To think they had never once told her how they felt in a clean and transparent manner, that they had hidden every word in a lie, dressed up every truth in an elaborate disguise. That after so many times she had proven her loyalty, they had remained masked, hiding away.

“I’m so sorry! I am so so so sorry! I-I-I didn’ mean it when I said nobody can stand you longer than a night! Well, I–I did mean it but–b-but I’s angry an’ hurt an’…I really thought you wanted me t’ do what I did ‘c-c-cause you like it when somebody’s bold an’ forceful! An’ then when you r'jected me anyway, I…Orochimaru, I love you! If I could spend ev'ry single night with you, I would! B-but that ain’t what'cha wanna hear right now, is it…? I’m sorry. Please don’ stop bein’ my friend. P-please don’ leave me alone again…what can I do t’ r'deem myself?”But the viper barely even looks up to give this moment the seriousness it demands.“You needn’t do anything,” they respond, their focus remaining on their previous activity. Golden eyes never leaving the vial in their hand, a liquid far too garish a colour to be safe, “we’ve done this song and dance enough times by now dear. I’ll save this moment for the next time I mess something up. It’s bound to happen eventually. And then the score will be equal. Now pass me the empty vial to your left won’t you?”

To think they never did accept her apologies, nor her shows of affections, nor her promises of devotion. That they had brushed it all of, that they had thought themself safe if they were indifferent.

“Do you know how sad you look sometimes?” she says.Caught red handed, exposed under her gaze. Revealed to be human when they so desperately cloaked themself in the skins of the innocent they damned, trying to appear monstrous. A camouflage to keep them safe. And they have only one answer, when worn eyes give evidence to her words, a weak but stubborn reply. “I’m just in thought.”

To think they hadn’t realized they could hide all they wanted, but that she knew them more intimately than those who had known them since a child. That no matter how fiercely they guarded their heart… she already had possession of it.What should take them a day only takes them hours, though it feels far more endless when they fear her death every passing second. The house that is mapped out for them is soon clear in sight, and they don’t hesitate to take a few adrenaline fueled steps inside. Panting, labored breaths that have their chest falling in and out frantically, hair losing its usual shimmer and damp with sweat. Eyes disbelieving, as if they are desperate for a sign they will not lose her. But when they push the door open, and their form enters in to the middle of the room, they are not greeted by what they thought they would be.She is there, sitting uninjured, with an unreadable emotion marking her eyes. Is it pity? Anger? Apology? It takes them a moment too long to realize what has happened, as they slowly look away from her and around the room. Seals mark every inch, faint, but noticeable if one paid close attention. Inked markings that snake along the ceiling, walls and floor. Seals that instantly have their chakra frozen, immobilized. And they are still trying to piece it together for themself, until the approach of Konoha shinobi arrive, until Aina moves away from her chair, ever in good health, and goes to stand by Tsunade.It takes them a few moments to react, to allow themself to register that their friend had never been in danger. That their friend had turned them in to the Hidden Leaf, that she had helped them lure the serpent in to this trap. A smile cracks upon their lips, a laugh only half formed falling from them. And it is almost as if they are impressed, a deranged form of applauding Aina. Golden eyes meet honey brown ones, they do not acknowledge anyone else in the room. Even if their fate hangs on the shoulders of the Fifth Hokage and her platoon. Even if the group of shinobi approach to detain the serpent, able to ensnare them without the risk of being killed. For a snake is no threat after it has been defanged. And Aina had ripped each incisor from sharpened jaws without their notice.“My my, that was quite the show Kame. You truly had me fooled.”They don’t resist the arrest, for they know any movement will have this rapidly changing in to an execution. Compliance may be the only way to spare themself in this moment, as their arms are roughly tugged behind their back, as a small device is buried in and around their wrist to feed on their chakra and control it. As every precaution known is laced around their form to prevent them having an ounce of an opportunity to fight back. And they know, they should feel hurt by this betrayal. They should feel as if their entire world had come crumbling down around them. They should feel a fool for having ever trusted, a child for having fallen in to an obvious trap. But none of those feelings surface, and it is a daze like state they are not quite sure they wish to fall out of. But there is one promise in their eyes, and a promise they offer her.“It won’t be long before you get yours, my dear. Traitors like us don’t get to win.”

[stusbunker]

Known: Mark Your Move

A Supernatural Dark Fan-fiction

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Demon!reader, Sam, Dean x Female Vessel OC

Series Masterlist // Full Masterlist

Summary: Chloe’s beginning to feel the demon inside her while Dean accepts the Mark of Cain.

Word Count: 2784

Warnings: Possession and therefore dub!con smut, angry sex, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, spanking, cream pie, voyeurism (sort of?), Angst.

Location: West Newton, Pennsylvania

Time was never noted until lives were on the line. Then it was seconds and space between her and the victims, distance from her to making the kill shot or whipping her knife across a room. All her life, CC managed to avoid the business week blues and oddly nostalgic rites of passage because she had never been a normal kid. And as an adult, she lived on the schedule of the hunt, traveling and existing outside of the designated 9 to 5 concept of working hours. But now that she was losing chunks of time, every other certainty seemed to be failing her. It happened in moments of intense adrenaline, episodes where she got from one place to another without consciously making the choice to move. Vampires were decapitated, werewolves were shot, and ghosts were burned all with little to no knowledge of her contributions. Until she washed the blood and graveyard dirt from her hands, she hadn’t realized the jobs were done.

Then there was Dean, an hour white-knuckling through interchanges all because she found out Kevin Tran was dead. Because Dean Winchester let an angel infest Sam. What the hell had he been thinking? Then suddenly, nothing. She woke to a stale half eaten doughnut and two unmade beds. Chloe stayed in the motel for another day and night after Dean left, her mind leaving her with bigger and bigger questions and although it was blaringly clear this wasn’t just a particularly nasty hangover. She begrudgingly started to question her stability. Screw genetics.

January 21, 2014

Dean was getting to be too predictable, but he was on his own, which meant this rare window of opportunity was not to be ignored. Crowley kept a tail on the girl Dean left at the motel while he found himself a seat at the bar. Always the salesman, he let the juicy details of the penultimate weapon ooze from his mouth. After all the time he spent holed up in their basement, he was going to enjoy the game. All around the mulberry bush, the demon teased the squirrel.

Pierre, South Dakota

February 6, 2014

           “How you doing, Squirt?” CC leaned to look Sam in the eye as they shook hands.

           “Good, yeah, well, better,” Sam shrugged.

           “Man, I knew you were a magnet for the most extreme, but another Angel possession? That’s not something you forget. My Gran—”

           Sam cleared his throat as Dean stalked out of the precinct, notepad still in his hand. Relief evident as the line of questioning was interrupted, “So?”

           “Richard Evans, 58, healthy, died while shoveling,” Dean started. “But get this, he was frozen from the inside out.”

           “Same as the others,” CC added, not surprised.

           “Yes, but he had no beef with anyone. In fact, everyone loved the guy.” They walked to the Impala, CC following to slip into the backseat.

           “Okay, let’s start with the widow and then maybe find out more from the other families. Maybe there is a connection the locals missed?” her voice was smooth and to the point, but Dean tensed as he caught her eyes in the rear view mirror.

           “Yeah, sounds good,” Sam agreed. “We have enough going on, between the three of us it should be an easy close.”

           “Don’t say that man,” Dean sighed.

           “Wait, what else is going on?” Dean and Sam had a silent argument in the front seat as CC watched in mild amusement.

           “What Dean doesn’t want to tell you, Chloe, is that he decided to let Crowley convince him to get Marked by Cain. You know, the first murderer,” Sam snipped as Dean drove down the street.

           “You’re just jealous I didn’t bring you an autograph, Sammy,” Dean’s deflection fell on deaf ears.

           The story unfolded, the gravity of the situation and the unknown effects of the curse tossing you into a demonic tizzy. One the one hand, Crowley was free and ever present in the life of someone you wouldn’t leave be. On the other hand, an ancient primal evil now resided in Dean’s flesh, damning and devious, making you tremble with anticipation. CC was much more affected by the first hand’s affairs. Climbing out of the car, CC quickly caught up to the Winchesters on the sidewalk.

           “Dean, do you not fucking listen?! To any of us? I just told you to stop making deals with fucking monsters and what’s the next thing you do? Leave me in a motel to answer your Angel buddy’s concerns about Sam and grace tracking, only to follow it up by going on a hunt for an Old Testament villain, WITH the Goddamn King of HELL?!” She had a fair point.

“Alright, enough!” Dean glared at CC before heading into the victim’s house. “Look, you want to chew me out, fine. Not here, not now. We’ve got a case, when we have the time, you know where to find me. For now, zip it, Cease.”

If you had a jaw of your own, you would have been scraping it off the pavement. She had provoked him in a way you hadn’t seen, it sent your every nerve on fire. CC seemed almost as shocked as you were, a cold strip straightened her spine as she gaped back at Dean. He waited, chin hitching at the sudden silence. If he had more to throw at her, he held back, rapping his thick knuckles on the simple front door.

Sam quirked his head, brow pinched, and lips pursed. Even though he seemed to share your (and CC’s) sentiments, you really wanted to smack that look off his face. Luckily for every human involved, the vic’s wife answered the door.

***

Through some subtle hints and piercing glances, Dean ditched Sam for the afternoon. CC felt the heat of her anger and a pull from the power inside him, battle for her will. Some twisted judgement won bringing her to Sam and Dean’s motel room, after intentionally making Dean wait for it. Chloe knocked twice before straightening her shoulders to look him dead in the eye.

Dean’s wide palm rested against the door, barring her from entering. His heavy glare pinned her to the spot, a deep chill ran through her, clawing you awake inside her mind. Heat pinched at her temples, her body reacting as your lust fueled the fire that started within her veins. Dean watched, seeing the strain simmer in her eyes, contracting pupils and breaths giving him all he needed. The Mark was ruddy on his smooth skin, it taunted her; you longed to bite it. The fear elevated her senses as he leaned forward, his body heat hummed a forbidden melody. Menacing and meticulous.

He spoke to the door, his voice low and gravelly, eyes on the over-painted wood grain, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t?” she snipped back, head snapping to lock on to Dean’s darkening irises. Chloe regretted it instantly, because his lips were at her eye level instead. Dean snapped his tongue behind his teeth, licking his lips knowingly. She rolled her eyes, impetuous, while his whiskey and grease tinged breath straightened every hair on the back of her neck. She couldn’t hide the shiver, her eyes falling closed as she tried to roll the tension from her shoulders.

His amusement rumbled in his chest, the arrogance spreading her frustration across her face.

“But you want to.” Dean finished, looking down at her with a mix of playfulness and an unnamable glint.

“I’m not the only one,” she whispered once Dean’s warm lips fell on the gentle slope of her neck. He rocked his hips into her side, a hearty affirmation.

‘Bitch, do you hear yourself?!’ you balked. If she didn’t keep it together, you were taking over, this wasn’t a game. Her pornographic sigh brought you back to the surface, finding his hands now gripping her waist firmly as her hands worked his belt. In a frenzy of unfastening and some scrapping of nails, they freed each other from their clothing. She ached with want and as he led her down to the perfectly made bed, you took hold, locking her away with a single thought.

Everything was impossibly soft, except him. Dean was bulk and angles, hidden behind the smoothest of skin. His length dug into your stomach and as you felt him whole and ready in your hands at last, a visceral growl escaped your lips. He shifted, gripping your collar bone as his mouth popped open letting out the sweetest of gasps. You watched him hungrily, taking in each subtle reaction as you stroked him.

As much as you loved the show, it was time to find your seat. With a brush of your lips over his, you slid down his body, nails of your free hand leaving a delicious path down Dean’s heaving chest, stopping at his flat, yet soft stomach. Your knees fell beside his feet, and he finally opened his eyes to look down at you. His desire and reverence twisted in your gut, in attempt at averting them completely: you shoved down those thoughts that bordered on feelings.

You braced yourself against his thigh and began to drag your tongue from base to tip of his pulsing cock. When Dean hissed you repeated the motion, soon his massive hands were in your hair, pulling you closer without ceremony. You dragged your teeth over the path you had laid, and he loosened his hold, palms finding their way to rest on your shoulders, heavy and warm. You hummed in satisfaction and got to work.

His swollen head offered you a sample of his flavor, taking it with your tongue as your lips encased him.

***

Dean was trying to stay upright, his toes curled, digging into the floorboards as Chloe’s mouth pulled him into pure bliss. Her lips were strong and tongue sinful, lapping at the broad veins and channel along the underside of his dick. Her rough hand was nibble, cupping his sack with each bob of her head. Just as he slowly began to roll his hips to add to her rhythm, the softness of her mouth gave way to the burning drag of teeth, Dean pushed off reflexively. Her tongue tsking against her traitorous incisors.

She fell back on her heals, a menacing smirk settled on her face and she spread her legs wide. Fuck.

***

His eyes flashed, taking in your challenge, while staling along the glistening entrance you teased him with. Dean visibly swallowed, looked to the ceiling and swore beneath his breath.

“On the bed,” you said plainly, standing as he gathered himself. His distrust only deepened your resolve. He pursed his lips and looked down at you, in a jarring motion a firm arm pinned you to his chest.

It came out as a rumble against your ear, “Ladies first.”

Your neck rolled, exposing your throat to his hot mouth, body instinctively submitting to him, despite your every effort to control the situation. He took the opening and sucked forcefully against the sensitive muscles. He backed you into the bed, thighs hitting the mattress top and suddenly he was gone, releasing the vice like grip of his lips and his roaming hands in a calculated gesture. It was his turn to taunt you, he rubbed his long and reddened member as you debated your next move.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Dean moaned, want and frustration burning you with a mossy glare.

“Hey, you’re the one jacking off while there is a pussy wet and waiting right here,” you snapped, turning your back to him, climbing on to the bed. He didn’t disappoint. Dean grabbed your hips so fast you lost your breath. He bent you further, nipples brushing against the stiff comforter. His hand connected with your ass cheek as the opposite hand rolled his cock over your folds.

“Now that’s what I like to see,” his voice a delicious bark, as he placed his head at your aching entrance. Suddenly he thrust through, stopping before he sighed, “better than promised.”

Dean was large and forceful, every entry of his impressive length, stretching and working you from the inside out. He perched one leg on the bed behind your thigh, holding you down on the small of your back. The pressure grew as his weight pinned you in place. You melted into the fabric, the pleasure simmered in you as he hit his target over and over again. You moaned against the chill in the air, your exposed shoulders tingling against the fire that Dean stoked within you. Every sensation built on the last, your walls shook against him and Dean muttered his appreciation.

“That’s my girl,” Dean’s voice dropped into a groan as you pushed back, trying to reassert yourself. He pounded harder, his powerful hips slamming into your ass, his nuts slapping against your clit in the most audible of ways. The fluttering started before you felt the rush and soon you had fallen over the edge.

“Deeeeeeeeeaaannnnn-,” you warned, but it was too late. You clamped down on him, frozen in place. Unable to meet his ministrations or try to gain the upper hand. You had finished first, leaving him the self-righteous victor.

“That’s it, baby, you like that?” Dean’s fingertips dug into your side while his thumb bruised your ass, the bite of his short nails adding to the heat between your legs. “You’re not done here. Stay with me, C.C.”

Right, Chloe.

That’s who he was fucking, not you, not really. The maddening realization flooded you and you locked your arms, pushing him back on two feet. His cock twitched inside your core as he heaved with strain. With both feet back on the ground, you used only her natural upper body strength to balance against the bed, countering his every thrust. You fucked him back and the motion turned violent, your ass tender and clit throbbing with it all.

He landed a heavy palm on your unmarked cheek, clenching the meat between his thick fingers. You felt her clawing at your control, her name bringing her back to the forefront of her own thoughts. You grinned at her helplessness, letting her feel the burn of his cock inside your shared cunt, but not letting her see or speak. Not yet. You felt your eyes blacken as Dean huffed and let out a sob like moan.

“Fuhhhhhh-,” he almost whimpered, and as his hips locked you felt his finish coat your insides. It was thick and heady, you pitched up on your tip toes, his strong thumbs pulling your cheeks apart to watch his seed spill around his softening shaft. “Damn, that pussy takes me so good.”

You whined once he pulled completely out, the emptiness only sated by the juiciness of his spendings. You fell forward on to the bed, reveling in every spot he had marked and abused. She was going to be sore and you owed him for the reminders. His broad chest hovered above your back, his body heat radiating against your nakedness. His mouth was tender and soft, a telltale contrast to the beast you had just wrestled.

“Told ya,” you could feel his smirk against your skin.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” His chin rested on your shoulder, his face flush against your curtain of hair that had come lose.

“Good call, Tweedle Dean,” you quipped, clenching as he tickled your sides. Falling against him and the pillows, you kissed. It was short and almost timid after everything. But, all too soon he was excusing himself to shower, while you refused to move. Reveling in the freedom and the power shutting her way had granted you. She enjoyed it, loved the feel of watching him fuck her without being the one participating. It was a narcissistic form of voyeurism, you knew as well as she did. But you had also let her into your own thoughts.

Sharing on that level was dangerous. And so, you spent the remainder of the afternoon repainting her memories, reliving the events in her mind added another layer of arousal between your thighs. With eyes closed and mouth open, you feigned sleep, feeling his gaze the moment he left the bathroom. You thought of all the ways he would take you next, but her mental and physical exhaustion won out, and you let her slumber wash over you both.

Once Dean was cleaned and ready to get back to the case, he left. Meeting an annoyed Sam at the bar they had run into Chloe at the night before. He couldn’t keep the smug look from his face and Sam couldn’t keep the disapproval off of his.

Tags: @mogaruke @dontshootmespence @because-imma-lady-assface @mrswhozeewhatsis @smi727 @sassykayla255 @supernaturalboi @eve05glee @veroinnumera @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @fanfictionrecommendations-com @soullesscollection-world

Next Chapter: The Prick

[drnikolatesla]

Nikola Tesla and His Best Friend Macak🐱

"I was the happiest of all, the fountain of my enjoyment being our magnificent Macak—the finest of all cats in the world. I wish I could give you an adequate idea of the affection that existed between us. We lived for one another. Wherever I went, Macak followed, because of our mutual love and the desire to protect me. When such a necessity presented itself he would rise to twice his normal height, buckle his back, and with his tail as rigid as a metal bar and whiskers like steel wires, he would give vent to his rage with explosive puffs: Pfftt! Pfftt! It was a terrifying sight, and whoever had provoked him, human or animal, would beat a hasty retreat.

Every evening we would run from the house along the church wall and he would rush after me and grab me by the trousers. He tried hard to make me believe that he would bite, but the instant his needle-sharp incisors penetrated the clothing, the pressure ceased and their contact with my skin was gentle and tender as a butterfly alighting on a petal. He liked best to roll on the grass with me. While we were doing this he bit and clawed and purred in rapturous pleasure. He fascinated me so completely that I too bit and clawed and purred. We could not stop, but rolled and rolled in a delirium of delight. We indulged in this enchanting sport day by day except in rainy weather.

In respect to water, Macak was very fastidious. He would jump six feet to avoid wetting his paws. On such days we went into the house and selected a nice cozy place to play. Macak was scrupulously clean, had no fleas or bugs, shed no hair, and showed no objectionable traits. He was touchingly delicate in signifying his wish to be let out at night, and scratched the door gently for readmittance.

Now I must tell you a strange and unforgettable experience that stayed with me all my life. Our home was about eighteen hundred feet above sea level, and as a rule we had dry weather in the winter. But sometimes a warm wind from the Adriatic would blow persistently for a long time, melting the snow, flooding the land, and causing great loss of property and life. We would witness the terrifying spectacle of a mighty, seething river carrying wreckage and tearing down everything moveable in its way. I often visualize the events of my youth, and when I think of this scene the sound of the waters fills my ears and I see, as vividly as then, the tumultuous flow and the mad dance of the wreckage. But my recollections of winter, with its dry cold and immaculate white snow, are always agreeable.

It happened that one day the cold was drier than ever before. People walking in the snow left a luminous trail behind them, and a snowball thrown against an obstacle gave a flare of light like a loaf of sugar cut with a knife. In the dusk of the evening, as I stroked Macak's back, I saw a miracle that made me speechless with amazement. Macak's back was a sheet of light and my hand produced a shower of sparks loud enough to be heard all over the house.

My father was a very learned man; he had an answer for every question. But this phenomenon was new even to him. "Well," he finally remarked, "this is nothing but electricity, the same thing you see through the trees in a storm."

My mother seemed charmed. "Stop playing with this cat," she said. "He might start a fire." But I was thinking abstractedly. Is nature a gigantic cat? If so, who strokes its back? It can only be God, I concluded. Here I was, only three years old and already philosophizing.

However stupefying the first observation, something still more wonderful was to come. It was getting darker, and soon the candles were lighted. Macak took a few steps through the room. He shook his paws as though he were treading on wet ground. I looked at him attentively. Did I see something or was it an illusion? I strained my eyes and perceived distinctly that his body was surrounded by a halo like the aureola of a saint!

I cannot exaggerate the effect of this marvelous night on my childish imagination. Day after day I have asked myself "what is electricity?" and found no answer. Eighty years have gone by since that time and I still ask the same question, unable to answer it. Some pseudo-scientist, of whom there are only too many, may tell you that he can, but do not believe him. If any of them know what it is, I would also know, and my chances are better than any of them, for my laboratory work and practical experience are more extensive, and my life covers three generations of scientific research."

--Nikola Tesla

"A Story of Youth Told by Age. Dedicated to Miss Pola Fotitch." By Nikola Tesla. Hotel New Yorker, 1939.

[dazaran]

Simulated Heaven

ship: Dazai Osamu/Shibusawa Tatsuhiko rating: G genre: fluff / domestic fluff AO3 link: here! warnings: DEAD APPLE SPOILERS

summary: If he could speak to that unfair, mocking Eros above, he would ask: why this person? Though, Dazai knows he would not get an answer. This sort of thing is always left unanswered.

The concept of a gentle awakening is something Dazai finds so foreign, even after the strings keeping him as a puppet for Mori’s mafia had been severed. Every time he opens his eyes, something inside him - a simple thought, instinct perhaps - says that he is waking up because there is a knife to his throat, the barrel of a gun between his brows. Waking up to sunlight filtering through translucent curtains swaying in the breeze that filters in through the window, that’s away to wake up he feels is too generous, too elegant for someone as sinful and tarnished as him.

His reaction is delayed because of this, staring up at the off white ceiling of an apartment that’s not his own, in a neighborhood that is not his own on the other side of the city - nowhere near the agency’s dorm.

It’s for his - their - own good that it isn’t, all things considered.

He exhales slowly through his nose before sitting up, running a hand through his hair. A few strands tickle his nose from the ongoing breeze, cause the curtains to catch on one of his shoulders. Dazai studies the fabric: it’s a translucent white, covered with a layer of golden dust. They were two colors he never thought would suit him.

He’s used to black - blood stains are less noticeable, easier to ignore; you can slip into the shadows and disappear; when you’re a monster - inhuman - it’s where you belong. White is bright, pure , not suited for things like demons or monsters.

... Or, so he thought.

A tilt of his crown, then a shift of caramel hues. They focus on the figure sharing the single-sized bed with him, sleeping on their side with their back turned to him. It makes him want to laugh at the irony , as well as the sheer naivety the person can still display. (Or perhaps it’s because this person is neither here nor there, waxing and waning between life and death - a balancing act Dazai wishes he could understand, but his facade is only so deep. He knows that in the face of this person, he is more transparent than he’d like to be; he knows that this person can tell death is not what he truly desires... not anymore. It is a similarity between them that has been stripped by the time spent apart.)

The body stirs, white hair fluttering against the bed with the movement from where their hip curls inward.

Dazai stares, watching, waiting, as if expecting something. When nothing comes, he presses a palm against the bed, using the other to pull away the hair that shields their face. Three long claw marks scar their face - the footprint of the desperate struggling to live, a reminder of their past cruelty they hold no guilt towards. That they can wear such a thing without remorse, without pride, merely acknowledging its existence as thus - it’s a level of indifference Dazai wish he could have.

His own body is a canvas of mistakes, of scars, reminders and repaid debts . He could have gone without many if he chose any life but the one he had lived, but the repercussions of that is not something he even wants to indulge in metaphorically.

(There would be no conversations and laughter echoing into the night at an alley bar, no desperate plea for him to feel he should aim to be a better man, no - whatever this is, this cathartic and slow-spreading poison he acknowledges as a simmering, then sweltering emotion that burns in his chest. If he could speak to that unfair, mocking Eros above, he would ask: why this person?

Though, Dazai knows he would not get an answer. This sort of thing is always left unanswered.)

“Shibusawa,” Dazai speaks in a voice that is nothing above a whisper, as if the very name would invoke the cry of an angel, the hiss of a demon. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”

Shibusawa does not stir this time. His eyes open without the sluggishness of starting the day, staring across the small bedroom for a few moments before red eyes shift to glance up at Dazai. “How unlike you, to wake after me.”

Dazai smiles lightly, amused. “Perhaps it was a good omen for the day.”

Shibusawa stares up at him, tilting his head with a blink. It still holds that same curiosity as the short time spent together in that crumbling castle, looking at Dazai beyond the mere words he speaks and the smile on his face. “... Someone like you - doesn’t believe in omens, Dazai-kun.” he turns, lying flat on his back with hands folded against his chest.

He looks as if he’s a corpse laid out for his funeral, accepting his fate, knowing no one will come to mourn him. He lives and breathes tragedy, and that in itself pulls Dazai in even closer .

“You’re right,” Dazai agrees after a pause, moving a hand to brush Shibusawa’s bangs out of his face, trace a cheek with a thumb before stopping to twirl a few strands of hair around his fingers. “But, today holds some value above the norm.”

“I will humor you: what value is there?”

A chuckle, accompanied by just the smallest flash of teeth. “It’s your birthday. You’re 30 now, aren’t you? How lucky you are, you look as if you’ve barely aged a day since we met.”

Shibusawa gives a muted ‘ah’. His expression does not change, outside the small raise of his brows. “That sort of thing became irrelevant to me a long time ago. The body I owned after my first death was fabricated, and returning to the missing part of my body - I suppose it’s carrying where it left off. Or, maybe it won’t move forward at all, given all that I am.”

“Are you saying you won’t celebrate? My, and here was I, hoping to do something fun with you!”

“How much can be done, when I am wanted by your allies, your enemies, and everything in between?”

Dazai’s smile widens, something dark glittering in his eyes - a darkness Shibusawa finds comfort in, however strange it may sound. “Silly of you, to doubt my ways. When have you or myself had trouble with slipping away?”

“Slipping away sounds too romantic.”

The brunet hums pensively, laying back down on his stomach this time, the upper half of his body against Shibusawa’s. There’s something strangely soothing in feeling the rise and fall of the man’s chest - perhaps Dazai doesn’t want to look into it too far and normalize it because it will lead him to admit he’s in love. (Perhaps he’s already admitted it somewhere and conveniently made himself forget.) “How disappointing. You could be quite the romanticist, if you had the desire.” he says, cupping the older’s cheek with a gentleness unbecoming of a demon prodigy . He doesn’t do anything at first, merely staring into those carmine hues, until finally - he gives up, he closes his eyes and leans forward, claiming the lips of a man who is the closest thing to death.

Kissing Shibusawa is sometimes dangerous in itself. Gentle pecks hold no problems, but anything further and there’s the possibility of a split lip on the courtesy of his sharp incisors - Dazai never minds it, maybe even welcomes it when he feels the sharpness cut into his lip enough to bleed. He’s never liked blood in his mouth, but doesn’t mind it if the person who draws it is Shibusawa, doesn’t mind it if it’s like this. There’s a gentleness in this slow murder of his heart he somehow wants to indulge in.

When Dazai leans back, Shibusawa cups his chin, tracing a thumb over the cut on his lip and smudging the new blood that surfaces.

A thin, eerie - yet ethereal, in the same breath - smile makes its way onto Shibusawa’s face. “Thank you, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai stills for one beat, two, three - and he succumbs to the embarrassment he will not speak of as he flops back down on the older’s chest. (He’s glad Shibusawa isn’t quite so cunning in such an area, or Dazai is certain he’d be done for.)

“On second thought, let’s just stay here together instead,” he suggests, kicking his feet into the air idly while a hand moves to fiddle with one of Shibusawa’s braids. “You’re better off here, for my eyes alone.”

Shibusawa scoffs in amusement, and Dazai feels his heart stutter. “You never stop finding ways to tether me to you.”

I’m fine with that, is the unspoken thought they share in unison.

AN: This is an au based off of Shibusawa having survived at the end of Dead Apple because his self that was fabricated by Draconia merged back with the parts of him that was missing (his memories / his skull) so he gained his body back... If that makes sense I guess. Because it's his original skull again, the scars remain. Bones are fucking cowards for not giving Shibu those sexy scars. Or sharp teeth since he was turned into a scaley twice. I gotta do EVERYTHING around here smdh.

[exequie-somnia]

☥  European Vampire Bloodlines ☥

((this isn’t finished yet but my brain is melting so I’m going to post it As Is so y’all can get some basic information on my Original Lore Vampires))

Origins:

While no one can know the origins of vampires for sure, it’s believed that the curse of vampirism started, originally, as a blessing from the Goddess of Night -- enhanced strength, stamina, speed and an endless lifespan were given to her chosen but in return, they would have to forsake daylight. When this blessing became a curse, no one knows but eventually, it did and the Chosen of Night began to turn into monsters, dedicated more to themselves than to their human brethren. 

☥ Basic European Vampire Information  ☥

While the European Vampire is split into (at least) seven distinct “bloodlines” or “sub-types” certain traits are common among all variants these include:

Enhanced strength, speed and stamina -- though certain bloodlines (Revenant, Lamia, Feral, Child of Dracul) possess  far greater strength than others, it can be expected that every vampire will be a good deal stronger, faster and more resilient than they were as humans.

Increased Emotional Volatility -- Thanks to the vampiric curse, the emotions of vampires are highly volatile. Everything a vampire feels will be magnified -- but negative emotions will be felt especially strongly

An Addictive Personality -- All vampires have a high likelihood of becoming addicted to something, whether that be gambling, drugs, dangerous behavior or simply blood (the most common of all) nearly all vampires will have something that they cannot say no to.

Highly Attuned Senses -- All vampires have enhanced senses as compared to a human. In addition to this, they have excellent night vision thanks to a highly reflective layer at the back of their eyes (similar to a cat’s)

Sensitivity to Sunlight -- While this will vary from bloodline to bloodline, there is no vampiric bloodline that is immune to the damaging effects of the sun’s rays.

Low Level Mental Manipulation -- While some bloodlines take this innate, instinctual ability to new and terrifying heights, all vampires are able to influence the mental and emotional states of those around them.

Low Level  Telepathy -- like the mental manipulation, all bloodlines are able to pick up on the general emotional/mental state of those around them and can often pick up on things such as fear, dishonesty or lust before the mortal feeling them is even aware.

Highly Addictive Blood -- Vampire Blood has a number of properties, ranging from inducing a euphoric state to promoting healing to making a mortal more susceptible to a vampire’s mental/emotional powers and manipulations to causing a mortal to feel an emotional bond/connection to the vampire in question when no such emotional bond existed before. 

A NOTE ON “THE VEIL” “The Veil” is not unique to vampires but rather, something which effects the entirety of the Supernatural. As human belief in their existence waned, the Supernatural began to fade from the sight of Mundane humans, not because it ceased to exist but because humans simply stopped being able to see if for what it was. 

A vampire, to the average mortal, will show a few signs of what they are (such as an incredibly languid pulse, lack of respiration, unnaturally cool skin, a sickly/pale complexion) but most signs of their true nature will be invisible to the human until they’ve “Crossed Over” (i.e., been inducted into the supernatural world, thus opening their eyes to its existence). 

Most children are naturally able to see through The Veil (due to the imaginative nature of children) but often lose this ability by the time they reach puberty. Some humans maintain this ability (called The Sight) into adulthood and some will only develop this ability at puberty. 

READ BELOW FOR THE INDIVIDUAL BLOODLINES (this post is gonna get LONG)

☥ The Nightingale Bloodline  ☥

One of the Common bloodlines -- the Nightingale are social hunters who hide and hunt in plain sight. They are one of the bloodlines that are best able to blend in among humans as, even without the Veil protecting them from being Seen by Mundanes, they have a mostly human appearance with only their eyes really standing out. 

They have slightly pronounced canines which extend by roughly 2x before feeding or with any intense emotional state (anger, arousal, fear, surprise, etc.,) The Nightingale has a venom which causes a euphoric, almost orgasmic state in their victims, allowing them to feed even in public places without much risk of notice. 

Despite tending to hunt in social settings, the Nightingale tend to be rather solitary and sometimes even territorial -- preferring to live on their own or in very small “covens” (which will sometimes contain members of other bloodlines) These covens are generally loosely allied, comprising the Nightingale Courts that are present in most larger cities.

Considering themselves to be the “nobility” of vampires, the Nightingale Elders generally believe that it is the “duty” of this bloodline to protect the existence of vampires from any and all threats to the existence of their kind... Whether that be Mundane mortals, individual vampires or even entire Bloodlines, they will pursue and destroy any threat with single-minded dedication. Because they are so dedicated to the preservation of vampirekind, Nightingales usually select their progeny for talent, beauty or any other perceived “benefit” to the Nightingale Court.

While, like all vampires, Nightingales possess highly enhanced speed and strength as well as acute and finely tuned senses... What truly makes the Nightingale dangerous, is their mastery of mental powers from a hypnotic gaze to telepathy and full-on mind control. Nightingale are one of the bloodlines that are least sensitive to sunlight/light and wake the earliest and rest the latest out of all the Common bloodlines.

☥  The Revenant Bloodline  ☥

The other Common Bloodline -- Revenants tend to prefer hunting those who live on the outskirts of society: criminals, transients and those less likely to be missed. They prefer dark alleys and dingy bars to the bright, noisy clubs most likely to be frequented by Nightingales. This may be in part due to the fact that Revenant, having permanent fangs and claws, unnaturally colored irises and dark, bruise-like under-eye circles, is less able to hide from Mundane notice and thus, relies more heavily on the Veil to blend in than Nightingales do. 

Like the Nightingale, their fangs extend during feeding or intense emotional states. Their venom is a paralytic which can last for hours after the vampire finishes feeding, tending to create a state of fear, numbness and dissociation in their victims. One is more likely to forget being bitten by a Revenant than a Nightingale thanks to the dissociation but you’re also far less likely to enjoy it.

Revenants tend to gather together in large family groups and, like their prey, tend to live on the outskirts of society, choosing to live in abandoned subway tunnels, abandoned buildings and other places that they can hide. 

Largely considered by Nightingales to be the “commoners” of vampirekind, Revenants are actually quite organized and have a large network through which they communicate via specialized graffiti (much like hobo marks) and news travels fast among this bloodline.

When it comes to their power-set, Revenants rely mostly on their highly enhanced strength and speed, along with their highly attuned senses. They lack the robust “mental” abilities of the Nightingale but trade this lack of ability for incredible resilience to being effected by those kinds of powers. 

☥ The Siren Bloodline ☥

One of the rarer bloodlines -- the Siren is usually mistaken for a Nightingale, though they tend to be more sexually oriented than the Nightingale, preferring to hunt using seduction and romance, generally feeding off of long-term “romantic” partners. 

Possibly part of the origin for the “Snow White” myth, without the Veil to hide their true appearance, Sirens have clear and vibrant skin that’s usually a shade or two lighter than the color they possessed as mortals, naturally reddish lips and luminously bright irises. They have small, delicate fangs (usually the outer incisors OR the canines, rarely both) that are generally invisible until feeding or a sufficiently intense emotional state. 

Like the Nightingale, they have a venom that causes a euphoric, almost orgasmic state in their prey but with the added effect of, often, causing the victim to become emotionally attached to or obsessed with the Siren who bit them, leading Sirens to have large pools of partners which they regularly feed from.

Since Sirens usually pass for or are mistaken for Nightingales, they don’t really have much structure of their own, taking part in Nightingale Courts. It’s said that at one point, Sirens did have their own political structure but after being hunted down by Nightingale as a “threat” to the existence of vampires as a whole (likely due to the tendency of their bite to cause obsession in mortals), no such thing exists in the modern day. 

The Siren bloodline is possessing of particularly incredible resilience and healing capabilities, even compared to other vampires. They are able to withstand sunlight best of all the bloodlines, often able to spend short periods of time in daylight or, according to legend, being able to walk around for hours on an overcast winter day. In addition to the usual bevy of vampire abilities and this incredible resilience, the Siren bloodline possesses the ability transfer emotions to those around them, projecting feelings such as lust, anger, fear or adoration to chose mortals.

They can also transfer feelings that they themselves have felt, using this to devastating effect when threatened by forcing their attackers to experience the pain of their Change in a split second. Sirens are also perfectly capable of learning the mind manipulation of the Nightingale bloodline (with extended effort, of course) and naturally possess a stronger level of empathic ability than other bloodlines (though they tend to have a harder time with learning directed telepathy)

[nicksstoryvault]

Snuggled against the warm expanse of his father’s chest, the chubby wolf pup released a soft growl of contentment. Months had passed since he had first awoken to this feeling of utter safety and security within the gloom of this darkened den. The cold lingered in the airwaves but was as potent as a soft breeze measured against the warmth he was feeling. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, or even wanting to be. The outside world was dangerous, but he would grow strong one day-like daddy-and he would make all the other animals afraid of him. The inner predator wanted that delicious feeling of dominance to be sated along with his own natural inclination towards hunger and the taste of blood on his tongue. The thoughts and feelings were strange to him. He had never killed-but he had seen his daddy do it once when he didn’t know he was watching. It enthralled and scared him all at once. Until now, the only thing he hungered for was the succulent taste of milk, but as he got bigger, he got hungrier and daddy could barely feed him and both his sisters. The thought of them made the wolf shift instinctively to look at them, sleeping peacefully against the rise and fall of daddy’s chest.

They annoyed him-well just Rora-but he loved them and would protect them against anything. But to do that, he needed to be strong. He needed to be… “huh?” The chubby wolf raised his tiny muzzle and sniffed once a foreign scent entered the airwaves that had not been there before. Alarm and confusion had set in. He might be little, but he knew something was wrong. Raising his paw, the wolf began to scratch his tiny claws against Bucky’s sleeping form. “Daddy. Daddy something’s out there.”

A low growl erupted from the slumbering dire wolf, Bucky sluggishly opened his eyes to the receding darkness, his luminous blue irises resolved intently on his inquisitive and reckless pup. He had been extracted out of a contented sleep, and he wasn’t in the mood for scouting outside his den. The falling snow outside their burrow was an interlude of the coming northern storm.

It was a harsh December morning, and he needed to refuel his strength in order to produce enough milk to feed his hungry babies. Lifting his head after parting his jaws to yawn, Bucky regarded the dark pup with a frosted glare, conveying his disinterest. “Bren, go back to sleep, it’s nothin’, probably a stupid bunny…” He grumbled in slurring timbre, effortlessly shifted his massive paw, and nudged his son closer to his bloated stomach as Aurora cuddled against little Mattie. He relished the feel of his pups, the warmth, and belonging that had once seemed unimaginable to accept. Now, that he was forever changed into a devoted father; it had become addicting for him every day. Instead of the metallic weight of his bionic arm, he felt their tiny and furry bodies pressed against him. Nothing compared to that anchor. “You gotta stay close Daddy, it’s too cold out here for us. Breakfast will come soon, I promise-”

“Daddy!” Brennen whined aggressively, nudging and squirming his way out of his alpha’s enormous arm until he, at last, managed to climb his way up and over. He landed on his chubby little backside with a “oompf” that evolved into a frustrated little growl. “It’s not wabbit, daddy! Wake up!” Bounding up onto his little paws, the pup barreled forward and tried to scratch and nudge the alpha to regain his attention. But as moments passed, the little pup listened to the deafening snores coming from the enormous muzzle and realized his daddy would not be getting up to investigate the strange smell. A flare of anger pulsed through his tiny little body as he felt ignored. “Fine, sweep! I can check it myself!” Stomping his paws into the ground, the chubby little pup turned and glared at the entrance of the den, his muzzle bristling with anticipation as the scent became stronger. The short few steps he had taken away from his source of heat and already begun to fill him with an unshakable chill. Daddy wasn’t wrong about the cold. It was bad, but as he felt a churning in his stomach, Brennen decided his hunger was even worst.

He needed to eat. Turning towards his alpha once again, he persistently waddles towards him and begins to nuzzle the area of his chest. “Need Bweakfast, daddy.” He growled and whined all at once. The den began to feel colder and more constricting. The room spun for a moment and the pup began to feel as if he were going to fall asleep. He needed to eat something-anything. Recalling his father’s words, he raised his muzzle and let it guide him towards the entrance to the den. He would find that wabbit, and kill it.

“Don’t even think about leavin’, Bren,” Bucky dismissed a thick growl, deep resonance of an effective warning, he could easily sense his son’s resolve to wander out of their den. The searing coldness penetrated under his layers of chestnut, gripping every bone of his canine body. He grimaced faintly, before setting an unwavering glare of icy blue at his chubby little guy. “Whatever you’re smelling out there, it’s not worth to engage, Bren,” he advised tiredly; feeling Aurora’s greedy snout burying into his fur. Hungry was a force he couldn’t relent against at the moment. “I know your gut needs a good fill in it, but you gotta trust Daddy, I’m not gonna to let you play with our little darlin’s without a big breakfast…” His intent gaze drifted to the rocky entrance of their den, he could even budge a muscle. He needed to sleep.“S'just give Daddy another hour and we’ll be fine.”

Outside, the enforcer had craved for the vulnerable smell wavering over mounds of snow. His massive and daunting form edged to the clusters of pine trees, weighted branches raked over his pelt as his shoulders tensed in automatic response. Even if a pup crossed his sight, he would kill it on contact. Breeds of filth would taint his domain, and infect the hierarchy of his ranks. He had smelt the intruder before, at first recognizing the stink of human flesh, but then wolf. Now, the myriad of scents belonged to young pups, he guessed around a few months, still depending on mama’s milk. It didn’t matter, he was a heartless killer, bred to execute orders and stain his muzzle with blood.

Nearing the drifts of snow that form over the earthly burrow, the he-wolf froze in his methodical paces, pointed ears twitched registering volumes of little squeaks and growls. Definitely a pup. His piercing white eyes trained hawkishly on a small and pudgy furball slipping away from the shadowy den. The pup was unaware of his lethal presence but focused on his marked kill: a small rabbit caught in his sights.

Sitting on his hackles, the ghostly enforcer observed the dark furred pup stalking away from the den, it had been a long time since he discovered an exceptional young soldier for his ranks, so young to be conditioned for the kill lines. Brennen’s true skills were being illustrated with fluid and stealth movements, the little pup was already mastering how to use darkness as his cover of approach, almost like he was born to become an assassin. Perhaps his pack could find use with the baby since the elders were unfit for battle. He needed to reach out to the pup, use a false sense of trust to obtain him.

In seconds as his soulless eyes tracked the rabbit thumping under a bush, he sprang into the air with deadly precision, soaring over Brennen like a dark wraith and sunk his fangs into the exposed rabbit. He snagged the animal with a forceful bite, clamping his jaws around its weak neck, and then pierced through bone as the bunny went limp. He dropped the body into the snow, right in front of Brennen. It served as a peace offering, but also a test to see if the pup desired for blood. “You shouldn’t be out here alone in the cold, little one, hunting isn’t a game. It’s life.”

Brennen would have howled with fright if his tiny lungs were capable of such a feat at his point. What came from his muzzle was a sharp yelp, startled and completely taken by surprise he stared at the enormous creature in front of him whose size easily dwarfed his own. It was a big monster. That was the only thing his mind could reveal to itself. Despite the fact it looked like a wolf the same as his daddy, the look on his face was scarier than anything Brennen had ever seen. There was no kindness or warmth in those frightening orbs shimmering with malice. They were blue and scary, they had the power to make him feel frozen in the snow. His sharp teeth were red and dripping with fresh blood, staining the flawless white flakes beneath their feet with crimson death. The dead bunny forgotten, the little pup could only stare up at the enormous wolf timidly, expecting to be picked up by his teeth and made into a chew-toy just like the bunny.

A surge of defiance bubbled inside of him at the thought. He wouldn’t act scared. Daddy taught him to be brave and stand up to bullies, even if it meant being mean just the same. “W-Who are you? What do you want?” The little pup managed to purr out a timid growl, shifting uncomfortably in the snow.

The enforcer trained a vexed glare that the quivering pup, breath frosted out his long muzzle as crimson dribbled over his gray furred mane. His eyes flared at Brennen’s questions. It wasn’t a natural order for a young pup to display resistance, they were usually weak and defenseless, but this one was seeking the light of genuine truth behind a dark nightmare. He leveled his scowling face closer at the baby pup; barring his incisors -a tactic of intimation.“Do you have no sense to clamp that mouth of yours shut, runt?” he growled viciously, his voice cutting deep and raw. Brennen visibly flinched as his sour breath ghosted over the pup’s fur. There was no disguise of his intent. “To answer your question, I’m an enforcer Beta, and my mission is to search for new recruits…I take what I want and kill anything that tries to obstruct me. Including a runt like you, pup…”

Back inside the den, Bucky awoke with an alarming realization as his nose detected the absence of his pup’s scent. It was harrowing to dismiss.“Bren,” he rasped heavily, jolting his massive body up onto his grounded paws while being mindful of his dozy little girls. His icy blue eyes narrowed deeply a the heap of ragged sweaters, as he dug his muzzle into the pile, searching with frantic pulses thrumming into his heart. His precious son was missing. An illusion of fear struck his rampant mind; he couldn’t focus as the constant squeaks of his daughters’ became an obstructive noise.

“Not now little darlin’s,” he drawled in a tentative cadence, stilling his canine body and mind when a pungent stench greeted his nose. Danger…He couldn’t leave Aurora and Maddie alone, but his son was out there facing a threat that his lazy ass didn’t react towards when his son urged him to investigate. Right there, Bucky felt unavailing sickness infect his veins as his moonlit gaze steered towards Brennen’s tiny paw prints in a dust of snow. A dark presence looming near his home, and he needed to protect his pups from whatever intruder waited for him. In careful ease, he picked up Mattie with the gentle clamp of his jaw and nudged Aurora, bringing his daughters further into theentwining roots, it was the only safe place for them. He licked each of their heads and whispered dismally. “Stay here babies, Daddy’s gotta find Bren…Don’t leave this hiding spot until I come back.”

Brennen had never known true fear until the moment. The monstrous wolf in front of him was unlike anything he had ever seen or encountered before. The little pup felt smaller and more petrified then he ever felt before, but he tried, with every fiber of his little being to carry on a façade of courage. Try as he would, he unconsciously began to take several steps backward. The soft growl in is voice receded into tiny squeaks. The Beta’s threat was terrifying and true, he knew it. He watched how it killed, how it relished the blood on its tongue, and the terror he instilled in other creatures. This…this was a real wolf. Not like him, not like Rora, Maddie or even daddy. This was a wolf that never knew the compassion and familial comfort that humans carried deep in their souls. This creature in front of him could rip him to piece and wouldn’t feel a thing except satisfaction. What good would bravery do for him now? “D-Don’t hurt me, pwease…” Brennen uttered with a timid voice. He wanted his daddy now, more than ever.

His patience was fraying as the pathic echoes of the pup’s mercy cries evoked a dangerous flare to ignite within his core. His pale white eyes flashed with containable rage, but it was limited. In fluid ease, he stepped an inch closer, grazing Brennen with his forepaw. He desired to embed his fangs into the pup’s neck, listen to him squeal out a dying breath. It was pleasurable to dismiss, but he saw a little killing machine ready to become activated once the blood lust stormed the pup’s mind. “Those words can’t be tolerated in our ranks, if you want to live, you will be silent and follow me without questions, runt…”

As the Beta moved in to ensnare the little pup into his service, he was oblivious to the darkened shadow that flared like a phantom across the white slopes. It wasn’t until a fluttering wind blew across the trees that the wolf realized something was coming. A growl echoed on the wind and almost instantly, a devastating force collided with the Beta’s side, sending him toppling along the ground at harsh speed until his resilience allowed him to find his footing again. Brennen stood petrified as a statue, staring up at the new yet familiar presence shielding him from the Beta’s view with a deadly posture. The seething growl of not only a malicious predator, but an angry father entered the airwaves. “Touch my son, and I’ll kill you.” Growled Bucky Barnes.

It was a violent rush of blood, heated and cooled at the same collision of aggression, the Beta quickly flipped onto his paws, stunned momentarily by the sudden force that broke his stance. His muzzle stiffened, recognizing the stench of milk wafting from a nearby female. Obviously the runt’s bloated mother. He would kill her first. Huffing out a breath, his glaring eyes fixed on the bulky and dark-furred dire wolf, unknown to his recesses of memory. As he stared at his opponent, he noticed a row of plump teats hidden under Bucky’s undercoat. “What the hell are you?” he questioned viciously, connecting his eyes to the unwavering depths of glacial blue. There was soul ablaze in that canine visage. “ANSWER ME?…Are you a female?

"If I were you, I’d worry less about what I am, and more about what I plan to do with if you don’t get the hell away from my son!” Bucky growled threateningly, the blue of his eyes taking on an icy glare as they became affixed to the foreign intruder. His movements and posture were fluid as they entered a battle-stance, his forward paws stretched forward into the snow, his torso slanted while the whites of his canines gleamed with saliva. The natural impulse to engage and shed blood was becoming potent in his veins, as sure and natural as raw hunger needing to be sated. But he couldn’t not give into the beast just yet. Not when Brennen was still in danger. “Brennen, go back into the den. Now!” Bucky barked loud and suddenly, startling the little pup from his reverie.

Releasing a soft whine of both unease and worry, the chubby pup quickly followed his alpha’s instruction and spun on his paws to scramble back towards the entrance of the den. Only the alpha and the beta remained.

A storm of dread hung over the den site as bloodlust into a potent urge that couldn’t be restrained. Everything was fused within him and he wanted to taste blood pouring out of the dark-chestnut furred wolf’s throat. Rage seared into his bones, as his forepaws scraped into snow; he was preparing to intercept Bucky. A maniacal snarled ripped from the depths of his throat and white orbs blazed with merciless intent. “First, I’ll kill you, and then go after your babies, make them yelp out their dying breaths…”

The malicious threat wavered against his children set a fire in Bucky’s blood that had not been quelled in a long time. The desire to inflict merciless death and destruction had begun to become overwhelming. His teeth glazed with dripping saliva, he released a low pitch growl that evolved into a lethal roar. “You’ll be dead before you try!” Squaring his shoulders, the wolf took off at unprecedented speed across the path, his sizeable limbs allowing him to cover ground quickly towards his quarry at the edge of the treeline. His adrenaline racing, Bucky made the first move in what he believed to be a quick and decisive assault on a lesser predator such as the ones he had ravenous ripped to pieces until now. He was soon to be taken by complete surprise…

The Beta enforcer glided through the snow like a sleek blade, his body poised with unwavering and rapid speed as he closed the distance between his defiant and engaging target. For a moment they stood in a deadlock, intense gazes emanating heat as the black cores of their irises expanded into a dark eclipse of unshackled thirst. He chased Bucky’s fluid paces, waiting for the opening, and then collided his head into the darker he-wolf’s chest, knocking him off balance into a level of submission. Pleased with his grounded attack, a haunting growl erupted from his throat, as he struck his fore paws violently into Bucky’s exposed stomach; clawing into fur. “I’m going to enjoy making you bleed!”

The wolf’s attack had surprised Bucky who was unaccustomed to being overpowered. The fights he’d waged in the past fell into his favor due to the intimidation his powerful form exuded onto his lesser foe. But this wasn’t a lesser animal he was exerting his ferocity onto, this was as a wolf—a real wolf that was as cunning and fierce as himself. The force of the creature’s attacks were winding as well as painful. Bucky released a howl of pain as he felt the wolf’s claws pierce his torso with pressing force—grinding him into the ground. Any further and Bucky knew his blood would stain the purity of the white snow. He could not allow to that to happen. Gazing up at the wolf with defiance, Bucky snarled, “I’m going to enjoy making you scream.”

Using his augmented strength, Bucky snapped his body into a roll, taking the wolf with him as they tumbled through the snow like the loose wheel to a wrecked vehicle. “You picked the wrong den!” Bucky growled, opening is jaw, wrapped his razor sharp incisors over the wolf’s frontal paw.

Breathing heavily, the enforcer recoiled his muscles back in a faint whimper, not accepting defeat. His jaws clamped tightly as he unleashed a unmerciful onslaught into Bucky’s exposed leg, piercing his blood stained incisors into flesh, expecting resistance. His opponent didn’t relent. Flashes of red ensared his vision as he thrashed under Bucky’s plump weight, their canine bodies clashing like storms, quick as lightning with heartbeats fierce as thunder. Each move was a test of resilience and pain; everything had formed into a chaotic fringe, blood tainted the snowy air as claws and bared fangs became weapons of defense. He held no regard for Bucky’s life, not when pups were his objective. In slow motion, his jaw enclosed around the leg, with enough force to dislocate bones. “I’ve killed many wolves in the past, you’re no different than those weak and gutless mothers…” He dragged his fang into muscle, causing a gash to spread under fur. “Tell me do you enjoy pain?”

The stinging pain Bucky felt in his leg was tolerable only by the spike of his adrenaline coursing through him. It numbed the pain, but he knew he was at a disadvantage. The animal he was fighting with fought just like that: an animal, without a human soul binding him to attachment or fear of loss or death. A dangerous existence where nothing was at risk of being lost, save the satisfaction of a kill. “You’re not getting my kids, you ugly wolf,” Bucky growled out, his humanity taking hold of his mind and speech-pattern, which served to confuse his adversary if anything as they continued their struggle.

Unleashing a vicious snarl, the enforcer became aware of Bucky’s acute, instinctive plea that ghosted from his menacing resonance, snaking over his dormant and rotting heart. He never reacted to such feeble words; most of the young mothers he slew tried to protect their litters, but he was infectious and cunning–they all died the same death. Blood would leak from their punctured throats and breath crackled against their broken necks. He needed to distract Bucky with effective words to make doubt breach the surface, and then deliver his killing bite. “That male pup of yours will make a perfect killer for my ranks, he’s got the drive, I just need to accelerate it.”

Bucky felt his concentration slip for a moment once the wolf’s ominous words played into his thoughts. The haunting images of his adorable little boy being broken down, terrified, angry and forced to give into the darkness that would rob him of his identity and the humanity within his soul; becoming a mirror-reflection of the monster his father once was with eyes cold as death and malice driven by commands. A Winter Wolf. He wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t—“Argh!!” A howl breached Bucky’s throat, its affliction driven by the sharpened fangs that sought the opportunity with the distraction as they pierced his shoulder.

Snickering against the dark inferior wolf’s pained yelps, the enforcer drove his incisors at penetrating force into Bucky’s muscle, feeling a reactive pulse vibrate against his locking jaws. It was inevitable…He had dominance over Bucky, wielding brutal strength as he offered no mercy. Blood oozed down his throat as his snarls rose into dangerous and erratic volumes. Once the blood lust ensnared his vision, there was no escape. He was going to kill Bucky and the defenseless females and take the pup, leaving heaps of lifeless fur for the raven spies to devour. Death was coming and he was the reaper of it. “Say goodbye to your pup…” he breathed out hauntingly, gripping into layers of fur. “He belongs to me…and so will the blood of your daughters.”

“No…” Bucky couldn’t form an aggressive response, his aggression pouring from him with his very life-blood from the wound that the Beta had afflicted onto him. His muscle had betrayed him, frozen in a state of perpetual shock from the violent pain that he had not endured for a long time. Helplessness was a familiar feeling—one he despised and hoped to never feel again. But as he watched the Beta, magnificent and wild in his snow covered form, begin to make his way towards the entrance to his den, Bucky felt terror enter his body. “No! Don’t you dare hurt my babies!” He howled, desperation and fear driving him. His body began to feel cold, which had little to do with the snow coating his body from head to paw. “No!!!” The roar that escaped him was more human than wolf, his paternal instincts gripping him to consider any avenue that would allow him to get back onto his feet.

The pit of despair lingered below him, it would only swallow him whole should he allow himself to do nothing but lie and watch. A scratching at the back of his mind began to ensue from a place that was once dormant. A resonance that demanded to be allowed control for the sake of his mission—to protect his pack. With surrendering defiance, Bucky reflected on the hallowed words that would allow the beast within to take control. “Longing… Rusted, Seventeen, Daybreak…”

Every pulsating urge controlled his senses, his menacing shadow eclipsed the flawless brilliance of the snowy ground with methodical beats of his paw steps. His muzzle jutted out once the intoxicating scent of young pups; their vigorous blood would sate his bloodlust. He longed for a fresh kill; and the unbidden pleasure of terminating future rivals of his pack. The he-wolf  had engaged proved unequal to his rabid tactics. His white eyes hollowed into a dark abyss, no light reflected back as he locked onto his squeaking prey. Growling, his jaw parted as fangs thrusted out in the infinite seconds he silently neared the rocky entrance of the den. He smirked with listless satisfaction, catching the puppy scent of lavender and vanilla—little females. “Come out and die little runts…”

A screeching noise that resembled a siren began to blare in Bucky’s distorted memories. Electroshocks, icy cold, needles… They flowed into his memory with the speed of a wild car as he continued to utter each words that drove him closer to his darker-half. “Furnace, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One…” He was so close, the feeling of absence was beginning to take over while his mind was a turbulent storm of screams, sirens, and metal colliding with bruising force. With a guttural roar, the wolf bellowed at the top of his lungs. “FREIGHT CAR!!” It was in this moment, all traces of fear and emotion disappeared from within, along with the shredding sense of pain in his shoulder. It was as if his humanity, the animal within, had been unplugged from all sensory while a hostile program took over. Vacant blue eyes open up to the world with a chilling glare. “Ready to comply…”

Before the beta engaged his lethal assault on invading the den to relish in the blood of the pups, a unmerciful and solid force of weight rammed into his hind flank, whacking his body off balance. A sharp yelp ripped from his depths as recurrent surges of pain seized his focus. He didn’t relent–instincts drove him to thrust his muzzle in the direction of his roaring opponent—this bloated mongrel, who dared to obstruct his hunt. Snarling out a vicious chorus of murderous volume, his salivating jaws parted to exposed white incisors viciously. As the last remnants of pain receded, his irises darkened into a soulless black, the void of bloodlust. There was no illusion of mercy reflecting in his livid gaze as he glared at the young alpha male. “Now I’m really going to enjoy ripping you apart into a bloodied heap of fur….”

The vicious swing of a paw smacked the Beta with staggering force across his muzzle, sending him rolling across the snowy path until he regains his feet. The audible impact was shuddering, the attacker stood in an unflinching posture that was eerily robotic. It was surprising as well unexpected. Where the Beta once saw a fat pathetic, soft excuse for a wolf, there now stood a creature who looked at him without fear—without emotion. He was being labeled only as a target to be eliminated. “Teper’ ty umresh’ (Now you die).” Words finally came off the tongue of the Bucky, his tone hollow and cold. The Winter Wolf begins to move and circle his prey across from him who matched his stride, both beasts unyielding and measuring the other’s strengths and weaknesses as they prepared to reengage in a brutal second round that would be likely to only end in bloodshed.

In flash of muted calculation, the Beta enforcer didn’t break his stance, he mirrored Bucky’s poised intimation, parallel and attuned to a blaze of hostile ignition. His ears pricked up, identifying the distressed baby squeaks emitting from the cave, the pups were defenseless–no den mother to shield them from a cold grip of death. His eyes sharply glanced at the opening of the burrow, challenging Bucky’s unshakeable guard with a fanged sneer as they circled each other in measured paw steps of distance, following the menacing rhythm of their combat interlude.

He knew Bucky’s weakness–the pups–he would use that to gain his kill. No limits would avail. They were faced in a deathlock–he needed to claim the pups’ blood, unleashing a vicious–snorting growl, he slashed his forepaw at Bucky’s exposed throat, with full momentum of his precision, and gunned for the den, in second Bucky recoiled back against the sting of blood.