#dark forest profile

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Residences: Fathomcry & Goldenrue

Fathomcry

Aliases / Nicknames: Flint, Fathompaw

Gender: male

Sexuality: demisexual

Family: Quiver (mother), Gravel (father), Goldenrue (mate)

Other Relations: Goldenrue (mentor [Clan]), Marshglare (mentor [rogue])

Clan: BayClan (Southern)

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: vengeful, obsessive

Murder Motive: vengeance

Number of Victims: 5+

Number of Murders: 4+

Murder Method: varies

Known Victims: Dunestream, Harebreeze, Stoat, Pikefin, Driftbite, Goldenrue

Victim Profile: Clan cats who hurt rogues

Cause of Death: old age

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story: 

Flint would never forget the sight of his father's dead body.

Nor would he forget the sight of his savior.

Goldenrue had rushed in, demanding what happened from Dunestream.

"He tried to kill me."

Flint had shaken his head from where he was crouched underneath the bush. Dunestream hadn't seen him. But Goldenrue had, and shushed him when Dunestream wasn't looking.

Flint heard the gossip a little later. Dunestream had been thrown out, on the testimony of Goldenrue. Flint would have just lived his life, if not for the stories.

Sawdust, an exiled cat who had created a small colony of cats who would test others. Rehabilitate them. Or kill them.

Sawdust had died a long time ago, but his legacy lived on. Flint wanted to be part of that. Marshglare, a cat who had been left to die by another apprentice of Sawdust, thought he was ready as well.

So he grew up, getting lessons from the other rogues around the city, or training himself.

When the time was right, he caught a rabbit shortly outside the city, and brought it to the leader. Driftstar had retired, so Ospreystar was the current leader of Southern BayClan. She let him join as an apprentice, and there he was. Goldenrue.

Everything was in position, and it was time for him to start his work.

Harebreeze, a cat who would always back up the falsities of the other warriors, was his first victim. A bear trap, an old favorite of Sawdust's apprentices. Though it made Marshglare tense to look at it.

Fathompaw and Goldenrue were sent to investigate it. Fathompaw fought hard to keep down his excitement. Goldenrue could see his work. He wasn't really upset, he just didn't understand yet.

And then, Marshglare showed off something incredible he had been born with.

Cavecrawl's spirit was summoned, and it spoke to the senior warriors gathered to investigate the murder of Harebreeze.

The mangled spirit spoke of a reformation, telling the warriors that they have fallen into darkness. Harebreeze failed, would they do the same?

Next up was Finchback. This one was personal for Fathompaw. Well, not really. Finchback had left Goldenrue alone, while the two were chasing down two stray dogs. Goldenrue gained a nasty scar that day. If he had died, Driftstar wouldn't have left Finchback alive. Fathompaw was glad he had. That meant he could have all the fun to himself.

This time, he recruited Stoat, a rogue with a pretty fast running speed, to lure the dogs to Finchback, who he had knocked out and dropped into a tangle of silver thorns. He promised that if Finchback got out, he would call the dogs off.

Finchback didn't get out, and Fathompaw hoped to everything and everyone that he didn't imagine the positive look in Goldenrue's eyes when looking at the gory scene.

And then, to allow himself to set up the tests more frequently, he faked his death. Skinning Stoat after the cat fell ill, the blood covered up the differing scents and the fur color was similar enough.

He went after Pikefin next. A cat who covered up the cruelties of BayClan. She drowned, and it was beautiful. To get rid of the ones who had hurt so many. To watch Goldenrue put the pieces together, and go and find his old friend.

Before the biggest test yet, Marshglare decided he was ready, and gave Fathompaw a warrior name. Fathomcry.

This one was a dual act. Slicing the back of Dunestream's legs, throwing him into a ditch in a cavern, and placing Goldenrue on a nearby ledge. Giving him a choice.

Dunestream died, and a flicker of movement had Goldenrue chasing down Marshglare in the tunnels connecting the cavern to the surface.

Fathomcry revealed himself, smiling as he told Goldenrue of his true identity.

And then....

Goldenrue

Aliases / Nicknames: My Savior, Angel, Love of my Life

Gender: male

Sexuality: bisexual

Family: Breezesting (mother), Driftbite/star (father), Fathomcry (mate)

Other Relations: Dunestream (mentor), Fathomcry (apprentice)

Clan: BayClan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: exasperated, defensive, distrustful, heart of gold

Murder Motive: protect innocent cats

Number of Victims: 6+

Number of Murders: 6+

Murder Method: N/A

Known Victims: Various warriors

Victim Profile:  Clan cats who hurt rogues

Cause of Death: old age

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story: 

"It's time for your final test."

Goldenrue's fur bristled. Fathompaw--No, right, he was Fathomcry now, turned and gestured for him to follow. He did, trying to instill anger and resentment in every step. The resentment was deeper, though.

There really was nobody he could trust.

The tunnel opened up into a larger cavern, where Driftbite hung from an old Twoleg fishing hook. A spirit, the crushed limbs making the identity clear. Cavecrawl was holding into the chains of the hook, looking down at the confrontation with interest. Outside, Marshglare was leading several warriors of BayClan on a wild goose chase.

Fathomcry stood in front of Goldenrue.

"I have an offer for you. Goldenrue, you took a stand against the cat who killed my father. What did that get you? There's nobody in BayClan you can trust. Nobody except for me."

Goldenrue was about to point out how incredibly stupid that was considering the situation he was in, but Fathomcry didn't give him a chance to talk.

"I mean, Finchback abandoning you. That fox-heart won't get to repeat that mistake. And Harebreeze, I wouldn't have started off with him, but he covered up for so many other atrocities. You, Goldenrue, you're different. Find me the best targets, and I'll do the rest. You wouldn't even get your paws dirty."

Goldenrue squinted at Fathomcry, who did really seem hopeful about this. "You....want me...to help you kill my Clanmates?"

"Just the bad ones. They aren't really your Clanmates, are they? None of them trusted you, none of them even liked you." Fathomcry replied.

"....Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'm in. But let Driftbite go."

Fathomcry's face fell. "Just a second." He turned around, looking at Cavecrawl. "You know what to do." He turned back to Goldenrue.

"I'm going to give you a choice. You go with me, you join me. Your father dies, like he deserves to. You could try and attack me, which results in the same fate for your father. Or you could free him. Kill me, we lose. Free your father, and I lose the battle but not the war. Join me, and this is the happiest day of my life."

Now, that was something Goldenrue was going to unpack later, but not now.

"Driftbite, when he was the leader, let certain things slide. Why did Dunestream feel free to kill my father? Because Driftbite let him. The Clan felt safer because the warriors were willing to kill innocents."

Goldenrue looked from his father to Fathomcry, back and forth, back and forth, until....

He lunged, taking the narrow path up to where Cavecrawl was languishing. The spirit gave a bored nod, and dragged the hook over to solid ground. Fathomcry sighed, and began to walk towards the tunnel out.

Things happened fast after that. Marshglare burst out of a tunnel that led straight to Driftbite and Goldenrue, followed by a few warriors too many then what they had thought. Goldenrue bolted down the path and to Fathomcry. One of the warriors went for Cavecrawl while Marshglare escaped, and went right through the spirit, slamming into Driftbite. The fall killed him.

Fathomcry escaped. Marshglare escaped.

Goldenrue was left to deal with the aftermath.

-------

"Hey."

".....Hey."

"You know what I said was true."

"I know. I just need some time to think."

"I understand."

-------

"Let's do this."

-------

Marshglare sighed in contentment as he rested his head on the shoulder of Cavecrawl. "It's nice. I think he's the only one of us who tried to follow Sawdust's teachings to die of old age, and to die happily."

Cavecrawl rolled his eyes. "What, you didn't die happy?"

Marshglare smiled. "I couldn't be happy until I was able to touch you again."

"Oh, and who's fault is that?" Cavecrawl responded.

Marshglare ducked his head. "....Mine."

Additional Information:

--Submission by @frightnightindustries

--Quiver is a distant relative of Rabbithollow.

--Warrior cats version of William Schenk from Spiral: From the Book of Saw. Took some liberties with the story. After Driftbite dies, it goes to fully original.

Also Warrior Cats version of Ezekiel Banks from Spiral: From the Book of Saw. Rue is also a synonym for regret

--BayClan has four sections. Northern, Southern, Eastern, Western. It's a massive clan in an abandoned city based off of Baltimore.

--Fathomcry was warrior aged when he became Goldenrue's apprentice. People who know about Saw, try and guess who Sawdust, Marshglare, and Cavecrawl are.

--Goldenrue is the one who matches Game of Life, Fathomcry is the one who matches Gasoline.

--Other notable residents of BayClan: literal poster child for cannibalism, falcon tamer with a brain disease, someone who fell into a brick, someone who killed his cheating mate, child who is done with this shit and part eldritch moor.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Hollylion

Aliases / Nicknames: Bitch, Cheating Bitch, The Worst Mate Ever, Disloyal Foxheart, Heartbreaker, Dearheart, My love, Sweetie

Gender: female

Sexuality: heterosexual

Family: Goldsting (mother), Airnettle (father), Poolflake (aunt), Splinterwisp (uncle), Elderfleck (sister), Chasmmoon, Pricklestar (brothers), Torndrop, Boulderbloom, Sleekspike, Olivedapple, Mallowspots, Ratspeckle, Frigidshock, Stoneslash, Volcanonoise, Burdockpaw, Goosefluff, Ripplefrost, Cresspaw, Smokehare, Minnowspore (daughters), Shinefur, Echoheart, Scorchhaze, Pearpaw, Nettlefoot, Shatterram, Daffodilstripe, Nutpad, Fawnfleck, Fluffyheather, Birdfluff, Sootseeker, Flipjump, Jaypaw, Bluekit, Brightlily (sons), Laurelmurk, Archpatch, Summitdusk (granddaughters) Poolthrush, Shalequake (grandsons), Splashstar (grandmother) Jumpmask (grandfather), Pearfeather, Tabasco, Zelda, Chiquito, Alyconefleck (former mates)

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, Jaypaw, Boulderbloom (former apprentices)

Clan: Thunderclan

Rank: elder

Characteristics: cheats on mates, charismatic, connection to the Dark Forest

Number of Victims: 41

Number of Murders: 0

Method of Harm: cheating on mate, dragging her kits into her mess

Known Victims: Pearfeather, Tobasco, Fork, Zelda, Lazlo, Shadowkite Chiquito, Burrowfur, Lilacpatch, Burnetspot, Shinefur, Echoheart, Scorchhaze, Pearpaw, Nettlefoot, Shatterram, Daffodilstripe, Nutpad, Fawnfleck, Fluffyheather, Birdfluff, Sootseeker, Flipjump, Jaypaw, Bluekit, Brightlily, Torndrop, Boulderbloom, Sleekspike, Olivedapple, Mallowspots, Ratspeckle, Frigidshock, Stoneslash, Volcanonoise, Burdockpaw, Goosefluff, Ripplefrost, Cresspaw, Smokehare, Minnowspore

Victim Profile: mates, kits (indirectly)

Cause of Death: heart attack

Cautionary Tale: heartbreak has consequences

Story:

When she was a kit, she dreamed of having a loving mate. Pearfeather wasn’t that though. Always ‘too busy’ to spend time with her.

So who could blame her for seeking attention from others?

Tabasco was fun for a while.

When Pearfeather died, she turned to her new mate, Zelda, for a time, but he was so boring! Always so nervous around everyone.

So she may have messed around a bit.

And Zelda may have hated her by the end of their relationship, but it was fine, because she had a new mate!

But then Chiquito got mad because she had an affair, so she may have gotten a new mate, but then he died, so back to Zelda it was.

She ended up having a whopping 31 kits, and even loved some of them.

Sure Sootseeker murdered two of his siblings, but most of them turned out ok! So what was the big deal?

It wasn’t like a lifetime of breaking hearts could have consequences…

Additional Information:

--Submission by @ambitiousauthor

--Ambitious: "I have discovered the ‘have affair’ button on Lifegen"

--Her kits are listed as victims bc their mom constantly having blatant affairs really messed them up.

--For a split second I thought that this was extreme of StarClan to condemn her for this but then I remembered all of Squirrelflight's Hope.

[bonefall]

Better Bones Profile: Houndleap

"The horrifying eldritch fallen angel likes ME best because I'm hot"

[ID: The Better Bones AU version of Houndleap from Warrior Cats. He is a black-and-white tom with ginger flecks in his black parts, and a fluffy white tail tuft. His ears are burned away, and he has orange, swirly keloid scars. He also has a heart-shaped paw pad.]

Here by popular request! Holy MOLY you all jumped on the offhanded manwhore comment lmao.

Houndleap's a great example of cats who are in the Dark Forest for breaking non-violent commandments. The only thing he's killing is the gene pool, with his 6 known mates and the 16 kittens between them all. No, he wasn't in love with them all either, he just liked to play the game.

He is as close to the ideal Clan cat as one can get, and he knows it, and flaunts it. Tri-colored with beautiful ginger flecks, he fell victim to a terrible moor fire and came out with severe burns. His surviving was already a great mark of strength, but then he became even luckier when his shiny scars raised, and slightly spread from the initial injury.

Clan cats didn't have a word for keloids, they only knew it was gorgeous. As if StarClan had given him a scar that dances and shimmers.

Houndleap "abused" this gift, seeing as many cats as possible and cheating on his 'official' mate back home. In the modern era, he might have just been a very popular Honor Sire, but this was before the Queen's Rights and the Aftergathering. He was eventually caught, and after his death, he was banished to the Dark Forest for violating the Law of Loyalty on more than 5 counts.

Yes. More than 5 counts. StarClan was able to see that he had even more than 5 halfclan mates (and they're not even counting the wife he cheated on) but only 5 got pregnant.

Alignment: Dark Forest, ex-WindClan

Time Period: Skyfall Era

Relations: Too fucking many

Houndleap's addition to the Dark Forest is Lover's Beck, a twisted, romantic version of a spot in the Gorge where he used to meet with his secret lovers. It's his worst memory because he planned poorly and two of them showed up at the same time and that's how he got caught.

More trivia below!

Canon said he's solid-colored and I said no. Pretty boy.

There are several minor features in his design that will be seen in modern family lines. I won't point them out but there's 3 total (so far.)

I decided to use him as an example of nearly ideal beauty standards in BB, since I famously overhauled them from canon. He is brightly colored with complicated patterns, slightly chunky, and has a HUGE scar on the face.

Personality is slut. He just wants to flirt, man. Theme song is Mambo #5 he's just like that.

He works with Tigerstar in OotS mostly because it's not like there's anything better to do. Plus some of the trainees are hot, "hellooooo Ratscar"

When Antpelt dies, Houndleap is one of the cats who needs the most convincing to come back into the alliance. It's one thing when it's funny haha Attack And Dethrone God or whatever, but PERMAdeath??

Thankfully, Hawkfrost is a fantastic diplomat.

Generally, Houndleap is motivated by whatever's fun. He was one of the first to fall in line under Ashfur and will do basically anything if he's bored.

"We're teaching people how to kill? sure lmao. Oh we're attacking the living? Ok cool. Guard the prisoners? Not like I had plans anyway. Anyway wanna get evil dinner later, handsome <3 ?"

Likes drama, tea, stories, games, anything that brings him a little excitement really.

He can usually be counted on to join whatever silly project the group's up to this time, like catching Shrewpaw's Pheasant.

I cannot stress enough how much of a normal Crummy Dude he is. He's just some standard jerkwad guy. The Dark Forest in Better Bones contains several people like him, who might be sleazeballs or jackasses, but we would generally agree don't deserve Hell.

When canon comes up with a Houndleap backstory, I'll consider what to do with it. But for now we only know that Hound came from WindClan, which I've included.

[know-it-all-freak]

Paul McGann's (perfect) profile, Part 2

[girl-hobbit]

🌿🍄My bedroom wall decor🕯️🍁🌿

[suskindkore]

Acid Witch (dump)

credit: suskind

En postant le set de bannières, je me suis dit qu’avant de continuer les nouveaux autant faire un dump de ce qui traîne sur mon pc (essentiellement des trucs pour mes anciens personnages). Plutôt que ça reste dans un dossier, pourquoi pas les partager ✨ Ce sera plus ou moins récent, mais si ça peut rendre service !

[marmotclaw]

Ashfur

Name meaning: Grey furred

Short furred blue spotted tabby tom with dark blue eyes, he has short, thick fur and a torn ear

Cause of death: Killed by Hollyleaf

Cause of Spirit death: drowned

Voice claim: Kyle McCarley

Family and Education

Mother: Brindleface

Father: Darkstripe

Brother: Tulipkit

Adopted Brother: Cloudtail

Sisters: Ferncloud, Moorkit

Mentor: Dustpelt

Apprentices: Birchfall, Lionblaze

Personality

INFP

Rebel Evil

Social

Platonic Love: Birchfall, Brindleface, Cloudtail, Ferncloud, Moorkit, Tulipkit

Romantic Love: Bristlefrost, Squirrelflight

Best Friend(s): Thornclaw

Friend(s): Bramblestar, Dustpelt, Hawkfrost

Mixed feelings: Berrynose

Enemies: Alderheart, Bristlefrost, Firestar, Greystripe, Hollyleaf, Jayflight, Lionblaze, Shadowsight, Sparkpelt, Spotfur, Squirrelflight, Stemleaf, Tigerstar

Favourite food: Pheasant

[wills-woodland-warriors]

Profile: TurtleStepper

A detailed profile for my oc, TurtleStepper. Some things might be subject to change

Name: TurtleStepper

Allegiances: BriarClan, LilacClan  

Afterlife: Dark Forest / ghost, currently revived. 

Age: 27 moons (2 years) 

Rank: Medicine Cat, Daylight Herbalist 

Sexuality: Panromantic, Achillean leaning

Gender: Tom 

Eyes: Cornflower Blue 

Pelt: Mostly white body with short fur, white ears and white paws. His left legs are white, and his right right are pale brown with black patches. He has two black splotches on his back and two on his shoulder. The back of his neck is a slightly darker brown and he has dark brown stripes on his face. His face is mostly pale brown with a cream muzzle and black nose bridge with dark grey splotches on it. His ears have black tufts and he has a stubby golden tail. 

Scars: A thin pale scar from a bramble along his throat

Additional Features: He has asthma and allergies. A grass-reed pouch that hangs around his neck, resting on his chest. It’s a dull green, and frequently has feathers and pebbles poking out of it. Because of the satchels weight, his head is usually held low. 

Body Structure: small, slightly pudgy belly and an angular muzzle. 

Voice: soft spoken, very quiet and kind of high. Has a slight southern accent. 

Personality traits: meek, timid, shy, naive, skittish, caring, always wants to help, timid, curious, excitable, gentle natured, nerdy, skilled with herbs, pacifistic 

Basic Likes: water, herbs, feathers, collecting random pebbles, kits, elders, weaving reed pouches and herb bundles, honey. 

Basic Dislikes: flowers, hunting, fights, mouse bile, maple sap, underbrush, squirrel, training grounds, dust, pollen, pineclan territory,  

Parents: unnamed mother, unnamed father

Siblings: RiddleCharm (half brother) 

Mate: LionCatch 

Apprentice: n/a 

Primary skill: Herb knowledge, reasoning with others, caretaking 

Powers: Can go into others dreams (only after revival) 

Weaknesses: poor fighter, can’t run long, short of breath, socially awkward 

Battling 0/10

Hunting 3/10

Agility 3/10 

Stamina 1/10 

Loyalty 9/10

Stealth: 5/10

Trust 10/10

Speed 5/10

Climbing 6/10

Fishing 7/10

Leadership 4/10

Faith 5/10

Mentorship 5/10

Trusting 9/10

Sight: 6/10

Hearing: 6/10 

Prettiness: 4/10 

Herb knowledge: 10/10

Talkative: 3/10 

Tracking: 0/10 

Clumsiness: 6/10 

Fighting style: He’s pinned very easily so LionCatch taught him how to kick at a cats belly to wind them. 

Basic Relationships 

Even as a kit, his mother often ignored him and spent more time with his older brother. Because of this, TurtleKit hated his brother growing up and that never changed as he got older.

YarrowStar took on the role of his mother because his own mother refused to raise him, and into his apprenticeship he still slept in her den. YarrowStar was very gentle towards him, and the two were quite close and she even introduced him as her son at a gathering. 

SkipperBug became his medicine mentor and despite his stern nature the two got along well. SkipperBug developed a soft spot for his apprentice and would always support him through times when his allergies were bad by setting aside herbs for him and taking over some duties so TurtleStepper could sit at the cliff base to clear his lungs a bit. 

LionCatch and TurtleStepper got very close when they were apprentices, and LionCatch developed feelings for him and confessed when they were made warriors. They were loving mates for a year before their deaths. LionCatch was very, very protective and was willing to give anything up for TurtleStepper. LionCatch tried to murder a clanmate and because of TurtleStepper’s lack of fighting skills he accidentally killed the clanmate himself while trying to save him. TurtleStepper ran, terrified of his mate and they both fell off of the barn beams. In the dark forest they typically avoid each other, but LionCatch keeps trying to talk with him and explain what happened. 

ThriftTail and TurtleStepper met at the barn, and because both of them had short fur they became good friends that winter by keeping eachother warm in the barn. The two were quite close, best friends even, and ThriftTail told him he had a crush on him, and TurtleStepper said he didn’t feel the same. ThriftTail respected his decision and the two carried on being friends as usual. When TurtleStepper told LionCatch about his confession, LionCatch killed ThriftTail and framed it as a brutal attack by loners. 

Claire and TurtleStepper were great friends, and the two went swimming every day where they would weave reeds and just talk. Claire also had allergies, so they had a common ground. Claire even viewed him as her younger brother. While swimming, she jokingly asked him why he was so weird when he got excited over a school of minnows. TurtleStepper didn’t realize she was joking, and felt hurt. He pounced on her in the water and instead of pushing her like he intended she hit her head on a rock and she drowned while he fumbled to save her in the waves. Up until his death, everyday he would leave a cluster of buttercup flowers on the beach for her. 

After his revival, he becomes close friends with the whisperclan med cat named BirdLeap.

Facts: 

He is autistic, and often makes too much eye contact with cats. 

Picrews: 

[thejaymo]

A Machine-Made Mirror | Weeknotes

The notion that the internet will become flooded with machine-generated sludge is something I’ve written about before. It’s always felt like a distant storm on the horizon. But nothing prepared me for how soon I’d see my own reflection in the sludgy waters of the machine web. A Machine-Made Mirror Until the other day I hadn't come across any obvious LLM written media. To have the first one I encounter BE ABOUT ME is surreal and weird.

[sp1resong]

worm man

there's no need to feel down

i said worm man

NAME: Maggottail

PRONOUNS: He/Him

ORIENTATION: Unknown

FORMER AFFILIATION(S): ShadowClan

STATUS: Semi-Faded

CAUSE OF DEATH: Poisoning

CRIMES/REASON FOR SENTENCE: Murder, Mutilation, he fed people to worms and idk what that'd be considered but it sure is something

ABILITIES?: The host of a colony or 'hive' of nondescript maggot-like worms, which he has full control over.

OTHER: Current follower of Ashfur.

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Resident: Bluecreek

Aliases / Nicknames: ??

Gender: male (demi)

Sexuality: demi-homosexual, demiromantic

Family: Sparrowsmoke (mother), unnamed ThunderClan father

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, Frogpaw (apprentice)

Clan: RiverClan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: poor impulse control, cold, grumpy, loves his mom

Murder Motive: vengenace

Number of Victims: 

Number of Murders: 

Murder Method: leading into traps, feeding to foxes, suffocating, bashing skull, slitting throat

Known Victims: Frogpaw, Brownstar, Mudfoot, Lowstone, Tigerfin

Victim Profile: cats who causes his mother's exile, cats who spoke badly to his mother

Cause of Death: throat slit (executed)

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story: 

Bluecreek's earliest memory was his mother's warm embrace, her purrs, and her voice as she told him how much she loved him.

His second earliest memory was when he had to watch, helpless, as his mother was exiled.

No one would listen to him. He protested, tried to cling on to her legs and wailed for her not to leave, for anyone to stop her and make her stay. But despite of his devastation, the Clan would not heed.

No one stood up for her. They merely stood by in silence, letting it happen without so much as twitching their whiskers. Anyone who did speak called Sparrowsmoke a traitor, a disloyal fleabag, and other such words that Bluekit's little mind was utterly distraught to hear.

She had had her son with an enemy warrior, and for that crime of love, she was to be ripped away from him, and Bluekit was to be raised in a Clan that saw his very existence as an insult to StarClan.

Not that most warriors said those thoughts out loud. That was mostly the words of the elders and senior warriors when they didn't think Bluekit was near enough to hear, but that didn't matter.

It wouldn't have mattered if they all treated him like StarClan's prophet.

They tore his mother away from him.

They were all complicit in her exile.

Bluecreek hated them all.

But he kept these thoughts to himself, shimmering anger that he kept under control as he played the role of the perfect little Clanmate.

Then word spread that Sparrowsmoke had died, crushed beneath the massive paws of a monster while wandering Twolegplace.

Anger burst into full out rage.

They took his mother away from him, ripping her from his side while he was still barely weaned. Then she died away from him, away from her home, in a horrible accident that she never would have been in if it weren't for all of them--then they had the audacity to act sad! As if it weren't their fault in the first place!

Bluecreek couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't stand to be Brownstar's perfect, obedient subordinate any longer.

He would hurt him.

He would kill him.

He wasn't sure how to do it at first. He didn't know how many lives Brownstar had left, but surely it would be more than one. Doing the deed was hard enough without getting caught on its own, but when his victim could come back from the dead to tell all what he's done?

He didn't have to think for long. The answer came to him in the form of two trespassing foxes. Bluecreek simply had to race back to camp for Brownstar when the camp was mostly empty--the presence of the canines caused an increase in patrol sizes. Bluecreek feigned panic as he explained that his apprentice, Frogpaw, was trapped and needed help.

Brownstar, as the fittest in camp, was the only one available to run after him.

There was a trap. Bluecreek didn't lie about that part.

Bluecreek only had to step subtly over it, and Brownstar, behind him, raced after-- and screeched in pain as the Foxtrap ensnared his leg in an agonizing grip. Bluecreek was going to finish him off himself, but Brownstar's cries of pain drew the attention of the foxes. Bluecreek simply had to hide in a nearby tree and watch as they ripped that mother-killer alive. No risking second lives, after all!

No one thought that Bluecreek was involved. It was just those horrible foxes that killed their dear leader and the poor apprentice that was so close to earning his warrior name.

Frogpaw hadn't been alive when Sparrowsmoke was exiled, but Bluecreek had no qualms killing him. He was a spoiled brat, and being Bluecreek's apprentice and having to follow his every step, he was also a liability.

Bluecreek had killed the leader. The hard part was over, but he was far from finished.

Next came Mudfoot, the elder who spat at Sparrowsmoke and called her a faithless fox-heart before he went on to call Bluepaw "the very embodiment of StarClan's disgrace." Bluepaw had silently promised then that the old bat would choke on his words, and he did, in a way, with the help of thorns tucked into his food. They stuck into the inside of his throat on one end and held onto the mass of half-eaten fish with the other, blocking his airway--not that anyone noticed. Mudfoot had simply scoffed down a morsel too big, that was all there was too it. There was simply no need to study his insides to confirm a story that everyone already believed to be true.

Then came Lowstone, the easiest. She was the oldest in the Clan, with frail bones and shaky steps. She left the camp for fresh air, but thanks to stones slippery from a recent rainfall, she 'lost her footing' and cracked open her head. At least, that's the conclusion everyone came to.

Funny. She left the camp and never made it back, almost like the same cat that Lowstone had called a frog-lover.

There was another elder that would have died by Bluecreek's claws as well, but he succumbed to last season's bout of greencough. At least Bluecreek could take solace in knowing that he suffered, if the endless coughing fits were any indication.

Bluecreek's final victim was Tigerfin, the one who caught Sparrowsmoke meeting with a ShadowClan tom. It was his fault all of this happened at all!

Bluecreek suggested they patrol together. Tigerfin was obviously put off, but he had no good reason to refuse. Alone and far away from help, Bluecreek confronted him. When Tigerfin snapped and called his mother a selfish betrayer, Bluecreek lost all self-control and tackled him. They moved together in a whirlwind of teeth and claws until finally the sound of tearing skin cut through their yowls.

Bluecreek broke away and watched, chin raised and eyes narrowed to slits, as Tigerfin wriggled on the ground, desperately trying in vain to stop the blood from pouring out of his throat.

Tigerfin begged Bluecreek to help him, pointing out that Bluecreek wouldn't want to be responsible for the death of a Clanmate. Bluecreek had laughed back at him and stated that he already was.

Bluecreek stood triumphantly over his body. He would have yowled out his victory if he wasn't shoved to the ground by Reedheart, Frogpaw's littermate.

The younger tom had disliked Bluecreek even before his brother's death, thanks to Bluecreek's inability to protect the apprentice that had been put under his care. But now that Bluecreek had all but confessed outright that he had killed Frogpaw deliberately, Reedheart now glared at him with a burning hatred.

Reedheart shouted at his face, calling him a traitor and a murderer.

Bluecreek had sneered in response, and sarcastically asked him what he would do. Kill him and become the same?

Reedheart responded that he wasn't like Bluecreek. Instead, he dragged him back to the camp. Already bloodied and exhausted, Bluecreek wasn't able to put up a strong enough fight.

In the centre of the camp with a hissing crowd around him, Bluecreek refused to show any signs that he was sorry. He looked them all in the eye and told them that if he could kill every last one of them, he would, and to not think for a second that any of them were safe just because he was exiled--just like they exiled his mother!

Needlestar responded that he didn't have to worry about meeting the same fate as Sparrowsmoke.

Additional Information: 

--It's possible that Tigerfin wanted to be with Sparrowsmoke, and was furious when she had kits with someone else (someone dead, otherwise they would have spoken up during her exile), and lied about her having a mate from ShadowClan.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Residences: WolfStar, GoldfishFur, & HollowStar

WolfStar

Aliases / Nicknames: Cursed One, WolfFern, Champion 

Gender: demi-tom 

Sexuality: asexual, demiromantic 

Family: SerpentWing (mother), PuppyNut (father), Rainkit, Bristlekit, Mistlekit (kits), 400+ other family members, 60 who were alive at the same time as him. 

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, HalfSpeckle, BeaverJay, BlotchPad, SmallBlossom, AspenLight, MidnightTail, (apprentices) 

Clan: WolfsfootClan 

Rank: leader 

Characteristics: bloodthirsty, good fighter, reclusive, confidant 

Murder Motive: ambition, fun 

Number of Victims: 80+ 

Number of Murders:  80+ 

Murder Method: luring to fox, clawing/ripping throat out, drowning, shaking to death, disemboweling, skinning, poisoning, hypothermia, burning alive, breaking bones, blunt force, placing maggots into open wounds 

Known Victims: RobinKit, MorningKit, PatchKit, BoulderKit, RunningHare, RaccoonFur, PranceBlossom, PheasantJaw, GoldPelt, BadgerRiver, PinkFoot, TawnyPatch, SheepFang, WolfFeather, BlackKit, DayFur, CrestedSlip, FirePoppy, GrassKit, HayBird, ChasingShade, BristleFur, DuskCatcher, HatchNose, QuickKit, ThunderHorse, BreezeSplash, BriarNose, HollyPaw, SmallBeam, MallowLightening, HeronStorm, SleekDrift, LongRump, JumpLotus, SpiderWhiskers, PrickleFur, BroomDust, HollowStar/Stripe, CicadaStar, WolfFade, NeedlePelt, BitternFur, LarchKit, CrookedStone, PloverTuft, BogEar, BraveSkip, RainFur, FawnSnow, RushWish, FawnLeaf, LoudPelt, BlackSpeckle, ShardSpeck, Jayhorse, BubblingSky, OrangeRoar, HalfSpeckle, TroutPeak, PiperNoise, BeetleShade, DancingWhisker,   BayBlaze, SnapDragonBerry, ShrewHeart, CoconutTooth, GoldPelt, BadgerRiver, many rogues 

Victim Profile: Clanmates, rogues. 

Cause of Death: blood loss from many injuries

Cautionary Tale: beware the quick cats with long legs and sharper claws that haunt the forests

Story: 

WolfFern was born in a very large Clan mostly made out of his kin, but he never got very close to anyone except GoldfishFur. 

WolfFern grew up to be the incredibly ambitious apprentice to the deputy, WolfFade. 

It was truly a shame when sweet, elderly WolfFade showed up dead outside camp after WolfFern was made Champion. 

He didn’t have any issue with killing his mentor. It was just a necessity to become leader. WolfFern spent a moon planning how to get rid of CicadaStar, but in the end he didn’t need to. The anxious, thin leader who never shared how many lives he had left got sick and, to WolfFerns luck, was on his last life. 

Within a moon of becoming a warrior, he was deputy. Within a moon of becoming deputy, he was now leader. 

WolfStar starting killing. Sometimes those who annoyed him, sometimes for fun. 

He began washing his paws very frequently, which his best friend GoldfishFur noticed. GoldfishFur helped him kill many more cats, and forced WolfStar into a code of sorts. Helped him cover his tracks. And in return, GoldfishFur was made deputy. 

Over many moons his kill count grew, and he even found a mate of convenience. He had very few friends, and needed a way to keep connected to the Clan. To seem devoted to them. They had RainKit, MistleKit, and BristleKit together. 

Many, many more Clanmates died, and Wolfstar realized that he didn’t feel any grief in killing any of them, not even his kin. 

He took on many apprentices, and even appointed a Champion: HollowStripe, however he would have to wait until HollowStripe was no longer with kits. 

GoldfishFur helped him commit countless more murders and continued to do so after he retired early from his chronic joint pain in his front leg. BroomDust was an easy deputy to manipulate, but everyone knew GoldfishFur called the shots. 

The only time WolfStar truly grieved for was their father, PuppyNut. Wolfstar never received visions, but that night he prayed for PuppyNut to visit him. 

The secrets, the constant lies and covers, all the small injuries hidden in his long fur caught up to him and he lost it. He killed ten Clancats in front of the clan, and everyone was too scared when GoldfishFur turned on them as well to stand up to the cruel duo. 

And, to his Clan's horror, he began skimming the corpses and piling them in the centre of camp as an example. 

At the next elder's ceremony, he slashed SpiderWhiskers throat out. A couple cats died from the stress, more killed by GoldfishFur and WolfStar. HollowStripe was an easier deputy to manipulate anyway. Eventually WolfStar and GoldfishFur organized an attack with a group of rogues. 

WolfStar died of his injuries, but not before nearly exterminating the Clan. 

GoldfishFur 

Aliases / Nicknames: Two-faced Tom, Goldy

Gender: demitom 

Sexuality: bisexual 

Family: CoconutTooth, WhirlAster (parents), HerringBreeze (mate), GuppyShadow, TallyPaw  (daughters), MilkPaw, KoiPaw (sons) 400+ other family members, 60 who were alive at the same time as him

Other Relations: unnamed mentor, PoppyHeart, LaurelNight (apprentices) 

Clan: WolfsfootClan 

Rank: deputy (retired)

Characteristics: cold, goofy, good kitsitter, manipulative 

Murder Motive: to protect his best friend 

Number of Victims: 80+ 

Number of Murders:  80+ 

Murder Method: luring to fox, clawing/ripping throat out, drowning, shaking to death, disemboweling, skinning, poisoning, hypothermia, burning alive, breaking bones, blunt force. 

Known Victims: RobinKit, MorningKit, PatchKit, BoulderKit, RunningHare, RaccoonFur, PranceBlossom, PheasantJaw, GoldPelt, BadgerRiver, PinkFoot, TawnyPatch, SheepFang, WolfFeather, BlackKit, DayFur, CrestedSlip, FirePoppy, GrassKit, HayBird, ChasingShade, BristleFur, DuskCatcher, HatchNose, QuickKit, ThunderHorse, BreezeSplash, BriarNose, HollyPaw, SmallBeam, MallowLightening, HeronStorm, SleekDrift, LongRump, JumpLotus, SpiderWhiskers, PrickleFur, BroomDust, HollowStar/Stripe, CicadaStar, WolfFade, NeedlePelt, BitternFur, LarchKit, CrookedStone, PloverTuft, BogEar, BraveSkip, RainFur, FawnSnow, RushWish, FawnLeaf, LoudPelt, BlackSpeckle, ShardSpeck, Jayhorse, BubblingSky, OrangeRoar, HalfSpeckle, TroutPeak, PiperNoise, BeetleShade, DancingWhisker,   BayBlaze, SnapDragonBerry, ShrewHeart, CoconutTooth, GoldPelt, BadgerRiver, many rogues 

Victim Profile: Clanmates, rogues. 

Cause of Death: thrown into pit of starving rabid cats, snake bite. 

Cautionary Tale: beware the quick cats with long legs and sharper claws that haunt the forests

Story: 

GoldfishFur got along perfectly with his Clan. In fact, he was very popular.

When he caught WolfStar in the middle of a murder, GoldfishFur killed the cat before it could scream to him for help. 

WolfStar exposing the murders was very against their original plan, but GoldfishFur still used it to his advantage. The Clan now fully trusted him instead. 

He regretted the murders when he saw his Clanmates grieving, and he grieved for all the cats he had killed. One, however, nearly broke him: ChasingShade.

The two were fighting with a fox when GoldfishFur’s weak leg gave out, and the fox tore out ChasingShade's throat. 

When the deputy, BroomDust, spoke badly about WolfStar, GoldfishFur killed him before the Clan as an example. The sweet, goofy cat turning on his family. 

GoldfishFur had kits whom he loved, and desperately tried to keep out of the way of the rogue attack. The Clan fought back, stronger than they’d expected, and GoldfishFur was bitten by a snake after being backed up over the snake rocks. 

Before he could succumb to the venom, he  was torn apart. 

HollowStar

Aliases / Nicknames: HollowHearted Leader, HollowStripes

Gender: tom 

Sexuality: unlabelled 

Immediate Family: DuskCatcher, MallowLightening (parents), ShardKit, BrookLeopard, RubbleShade (daughters) LongKit, GrassKit (sons), many unnamed siblings

Other Relations:

Clan: WolfsfootClan

Rank: leader, Champion 

Characteristics: proud, ambitious, good fighter, excellent den builder

Murder Motive: exterminate all of QuickStar’s descendants 

Number of Victims: 60

Number of Murders: 60 

Murder Method: poisoning via deathberries and lilies, hiring rogues. 

Known Victims: WolfLilac, BrookLeopard, RubbleShade, many unnamed Clan cats

Victim Profile: cats from QuickStar’s family tree 

Cause of Death: neck torn out by wolf 

Cautionary Tale: beware the quick cats with long legs and sharper claws that haunt the forests

Story: 

HollowStar lasted a few moons after he became leader to the once thriving ClubmossClan, now shaken down and beaten from the inside. 

With so many cats having been murdered at the paws of WolfStar and GoldfishFur, the lan was left in shambles. Cats turning on each other, Clans spreading word of curses. It was all too much. They had to be right! It was all a curse! 

For decades, the Clans have been plagued by QuickStars legacy. It had to end. But first, HollowStar had something to do first. 

He only killed one cat directly, and that was WolfLilac. He couldn’t stand to hear her name called across camp. 

She was fierce, and put up a big fight. He earned a couple scratches along his back in exchange for her life. 

Next, he gathered as much deathberries as possible alongside his two surviving daughters, born secretly to a rogue and haven grown up in Twolegplace. They were young, and listened to him out of an eagerness to impress their father. 

They squeezed the deathberries into the pond, and within a day, half the Clan was seizing, frothing at the mouth, and convulsing on the ground by the drinking pond. 

His daughters waited patiently by his side while the screams slowed, more and more surviving cats deserting. If they were of QuickStar’s decent, they were swiftly disposed of by some rogues who were helping in exchange for safe passage through the forest. 

His daughters should have checked the prey he’d given them, for maybe they would have noticed the lily petals left inside it the day prior. 

It was finally over! Starclan would be so proud of him! 

The scent of blood quickly overtook the forest, leaving HollowStar in the middle. He should have realized that the starving wolves would have been interested in the easy meal.

Additional Information: 

--Submission by @wills-woodland-warriors

--Wolf:

Wills: "I left a lot out, but he’s one of my favourites and is incredibly interesting. He hid that he was killing for years from his clan. He never had an attachment to his kits or mate, only ever getting close with GoldfishFur and HollowStripe."

*He drove the Xlan mad. No one was brave enough to stand up to him. 

*He’s a very big and strong cat, and he’s about as ruthless as Alder/Myrtle and GremlinFrost. 

--Gold:

Wills: "also a very interesting cat from clangen, and again one of my favourites."

*Almost all events from these two stories are from clangens generated story itself!  cv Clangen Images are  from the brief moments he was in starclan during his trial. 

--Hollow:

*Few of QuickStar’s decendants possibly got away, but not very many. 

*HollowStripe was actually a very sweet child before WolfStar took him under his wing (arm? Paw?) 

*The end of QuickStar’s legacy! 

[truebiger]

[sapphiremusings]

bride {vampire!aemond targaryen}

WARNINGS: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

[ladythornofrivia]

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part One)

word count: 2,733

author’s note: i’m sorry that i didn’t post much stories, as I’ve been reblogging and changing themes in my profile. i’m trying my best, but I’ll make up for it.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

There hasn’t been a day that you never left your homeland. All in prosperity. All in solitude, all in mindful thoughts that even the castle walls were unable to perceive. Oldtown is known for the oldest kingdom within Westeros.

We light the way, those are the words from House Hightower, a tall, silver tower with a green light of flames atop. Members of the Hightower court are known to be proud and resilience. Perhaps too greedy to your taste. Less fickle to their needs, their desires, their secrets, their ambition.

All minds think alike, as they said. But your mind is unalike from theirs.

There hasn’t been a single day where your life change—steady as it goes. But when your older sister, Alicent, sent a letter to you from a raven fled from miles, you instantly ripped the seal and unveiled her letters, written in neat cursive. In the days where you can recall that Alicent taught you to read and write, before accompanying your father, Otto Hightower, to aid the ailing king and his throne.

In King’s Landing, where Aegon has set and had trees felled after his conquest in Westeros. The stories of dragonlords and ladies has caught you into a slighted dot of peculiarity. But with your father, you knew that your father wanted more than being as the Hand of the King. Like any folk in Oldtown, he’s all in the same cloak of mind and heart as the rest. The only difference is he has resided in King’s Landing with the Targaryens, warming the throne with Alicent’s political stead.

With you, as Alicent’s half-sister, one thing you adored about her is her resilience, no matter how the power struggle may have been, Alicent held her head high, it inspired you to do the same cause, not for the greater good, but for you to steady your heart. With Alicent’s brown eyes, anyone would be easily swayed at her beauty. With your eyes like glowing water, the subjects were to assume that you’re either a sea creature in the ocean, or have been reincarnated as a woman. Common folks assumed that you’re a goddess sent by Maiden herself. But others theorized you’re born in the sacred pond within the forest.

Despite the nonsensical rumors, you carried out your duties dulled within life, but with your brother, Gwayne Hightower, entered in your chambers without a warning.

“Sister!”

“Good heavens, you gave me a fright,” you screeched, hand clutching over your chest.

“A word from the raven,” he resumed, pulling out the letter. “It’s from our dear sister.”

She hasn’t written you a letter for months. Understanding of her high authoritative position, thankfully enough you aren’t the queen. You couldn’t bear to think about gifting children into the world from your maidenhood.

“Alicent!” Departing from the chair, you snatched the letter from Gwayne’s hand and ripped the letter open, straightening the scrolled paper.

My dearest sister,

I regret to inform you that I cannot visit in the Oldtown due to personal circumstances that our father has been trifled with the matters in King’s Landing. As queen, I must fully prioritize my duties and smite the inconsiderate undutiful thought of others. My dear husband, King Viserys, has been unwell as of late, growing slower day by day, but still the same man who loves his histories and shed upon endless favoritism on his daughter and her plain-featured sons, as well his miniatures he rarely finished. As of this moment, we are preparing the feast for the upcoming celebration. Misery and dread and politics has been my company, and I’d be happy if you come to King’s Landing and stay here for more than a month. I also send Gwayne and his men to escort you back. I hope you still have the new dresses and jewels the seamstress sorted to your taste; I always know that you hated attire that itched your flesh or suffocating. Words cannot expressed about how I miss the sweetness of your smile and laughter. We shall meet soon.

Signed,

Alicent Hightower

Jumping with joy, your body lunged at Gwayne, locking him into a tight hug, slightly hopping in place with a big grin stretched onto your lips.

“Have my things ready, brother,” you said, hasting, forgetting about the silks and fabrics in your hands.

“But you need more time. You’ll stay in King’s Landing as our queenly sister instructed.”

“Send the maids, then. I can’t do this alone.”

“You mustn’t make haste!” Gwayne shouted as you ran off, never minding the silks on the ground only for him to pick up.

“The sooner the better,” you shouted back.

~~~

The trailed ship took no more than three days to reach King’s Landing. Alicent hasn’t mentioned anything particular to the celebration. But you have come to acknowledge that Alicent lessened the details.

By the time the ships rested at the shore, you rushed down to the clear path and greeted your father, who was rather cold and emotionless. Nevertheless, you gave the courtesy of shallow inclination of your neck bent down. Though your heart shattered at the motionless greeting; a chilled wind spiraled on your thickened sleeves.

“Father,” you said, grinning ear to ear.

“Queen Alicent awaits,” is all he said, then left without abiding on you.

“But—”

“Ser Gwayne, escort this lady in the Red Keep,” he wasn’t saying it with care.

This lady.

Months without communication and souvenirs, you’d ought it’ll soften your father’s resolve regarding onto the estrangement.

Another clash of heartbreak has struck again. But it comes as no surprise.

Both of you hadn’t spoke since of his second wife—your mother’s—passing.

As numb as it may be, the small pang in your heart resolved again as Gwayne Hightower escorted you to the high steeps close, reaching the royal grounds of Red Keep.

~~~

Infiltrating from climbing the steps until reaching the indoors, the green queen appeared.

Your sister.

“Alicent,” you rushed and clung her to embrace.

“Sister, how good of you to come,” Alicent replied.

The halls greeted you in cold and dreaded air clinging onto your sleeves, goosebumps flooded over your skin, the thick air of candles and torches has impaled your stomach. You didn’t like this feeling. These halls, darkened in heralds of statues and stars that your pupils recognizant.

Faith of the Seven.

Hightowers held their religion in the highest regard, while you, don’t cherish the ideologies of the religion, filled with fanaticism and hypocrisy. Even Targaryens have the queerest customs, of marrying brother to sister, relative to relative since Aegon I. It dire consequences of genetics and birth, and the fruition of a child birth into an unshakable world of politics and desires. According to the Citadel, in secret debate, those who are born of incest are nothing but sort of monsters lurking, a defect to a bloodline.

The Targaryens disagree—couldn’t care less, of course. As you often heard of keeping the bloodline pure.

Bloodline pure. People speculated that the Targaryens are closer to gods than men. Thus their words ‘Fire and Blood’ is in order. In Valyria, their source is magic and dragons, long before volcanic eruptions swept the lands and dragons into ashes. The last Targaryens resided in Westeros, and thus, their last kind is dwindling, hence creating pure bloodline. As theatrically hysterical as it is, you trudged along the halls.

“It has been so long since I saw you last,” Alicent began.

“It has, but we rarely sent letters as of late.”

“Being a queen is no simple task. Our father’s ambition has gotten stronger.”

“Your father,” you said bitterly.

“My dear sister,” Alicent resumed, her voice soothed. “Father is doing his best to stabilize the realm.”

“Cold, cruel and calculated,” you answered. “Your strength and dutiful as queen is one of the things I admire about you. But, sister, it feels as if my existence is no longer needed. I feel as if I’m useless. My mother received no love from your father.”

The doe-eyed look in Alicent’s eyes protruding. “Sister, I—“”

“Half-sisters,” you reminded. “Everyone thought I was some sort of creature that shouldn’t belong in the realm. I’m no fool; I could hear everyone whisper, even closed doors.”

“Creature or not, you’re still a Hightower. We share the same blood. Nothing will ever change between you and I.”

“But your father will never accept me,” you replied.

Alicent clasped her hands onto yours. “The next time we see each other, I’ll be visiting the Oldtown.”

“You said that the last time on our previous letters,” you chimed. “Let him stabilize the realm alone.”

“That is why you’re here. I needed time apart from the council and subjects,” Alicent reasoned. “Men are often ambitious with their politics and trifling over gold than their wives.”

“It appears so,” you agreed, huffing.

Ironically, Alicent served men, and still is. First Jahaerys, then Otto, then Viserys. Though you wouldn’t so recklessly give your personal opinion away to Alicent.

“We have yet to explore the grounds. We must rest at the gardens. I know how much you love staying in the gardens.”

Your cheeky smile was showing. “I do.”

Alicent squeezed your hand. “Let us be off. It’s considered bad luck if we let our food grow cold.”

“Never knew that it involves bad luck.”

“I’ve been told.”

“By who?”

Not once, Alicent answered.

~~~

“Make yourself comfortable,” Alicent said, indicating the spare chair, and watched you sat with ease, eyeing the lavish outdoors where the Weirwood stood as main view.

“Quite nice out,” you complimented.

This was Alicent meant when she said gardens.

“I chose this spot for a reason,” Alicent said as the servants settled the meal over the table—bowed and left. And the last servant entered, placing a stacked candied almonds and candied plums on a gold platter, alongside of Dornish wine.

Alicent watched your eyes lit up.

“I took the liberty of having the kitchen staff ready for your sweet-tooth,” she clarified.

“You know me well, sister.” You grinned.

“My lady,” a soothing masculine voice said behind you.

“Ser Criston,” Alicent addressed, glancing. “I’m occupied as of this moment.”

“There has been urgent matters regarding to your son.”

Puzzled, Alicent spoke with, “Which son?”

Appalled, your eyes darted at her. On the other hand, you never retain information from Alicent.

“Aegon,” Criston answered, eyes turning away. “I’m afraid his excursions have rather been…” Then his dark brown eyes flicked to yours, his mouth opened, choosing his words carefully.

“We’ll speak no more of it,” Alicent pleaded. “I’m under the liberty of entertaining my sister at the moment. Do ignore Aegon’s excursions for now.”

Somewhere in between the lines, you knew Alicent’s calm demeanor struck hard when the excursions take place, wrath kept within, as you read between Alicent’s lines furrowed on her forehead. Ser Criston glimpsed at you and bowed before withdrawing from the outdoors.

“My apologies,” Alicent said to you in a dreaded voice. “The excursions in the daylight hour upon King’s Landing hasn’t ended.”

“I never knew you had a son,” you said, munching on the candied almonds.

Alicent swallowed the contents of the food. “I mentioned it once before in the letter. That I was having a babe in my belly.”

You pondered for a moment. It was back when Alicent married Viserys and carried a child in her.

“But you never mentioned that it’s a son,” you commented.

“But I’m sure you heard Aegon’s name the moment he arrived into the world.”

Your teeth clenched. “I can assure you I did.” The Oldtown spoke of Aegon in high regards, but as you grew older, you never hear much of Aegon’s doings, hoping to meet your nephew, you waited, but as usual, you sister never once sent letters to offer you an invite.

“Things have been hectic for the past years, and I doubt that’ll cease. With the Iron Throne empty and with all that it stands, we’re keeping the place intact with politics and debate,” Alicent reasoned.

You stayed in silence.

“If you would like,” Alicent continued, “I would be happy to take you to the gallery. The Red Keep has been nothing but a dread. I shall escort you and give you a tour to the Red Keep unless you want someone else to—”

“No, I’d be thrilled if you were to accompany me,” you paused, then said, “sister.”

Alicent gently beamed at that.

~~~

When you and Alicent both went inside the Red Keep, the royal subjects and guards bowed before the green queen as their eyes lingered onto yours, and an incoherent of whispers were passed to your ears.

The sister of the green queen.

And as you ascended the staircases, from there, you saw the shaded eyes of violet and curled hair—a young girl, a few years younger than you.

“Mother, have you seen my—” The girl’s youthful stare darted to yours, backing away gradually.

“This is my sister, (y/n), your aunt,” Alicent introduced. “This is Princess Helaena, my daughter,” Alicent said to you.

“A pleasure.” As you made an inclination to your neck, smiling to the princess as you hadn’t realized that the others accompanied none other by two young men behind Helaena, both with Targaryen features.

Your heart stopped—leapt with warmth—when you first glanced at the tall prince with gold, lithe hair as his other eye covered with eyepatch.

“These are my other sons…” Alicent said, searching for the third son with a slight frown on her features. “Where is Aegon?”

“Drunk as usual,” Daeron rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.

“That blasted fool…” Alicent hissed, then smiled merrily in a way to appease herself. “I hope you and Lady (y/n) would get along.”

“Yes, I remember now! You’re that boy—that cupbearer in the council!” you said to Daeron.

Daeron beamed. “I am proud to serve my mother’s family in Oldtown. Ashamed we never met circumstances in the Reach, yet here we are!” he chuckled. “For my dear father’s name day contained in private ceremony, I’m glad you came.”

You sensed the sarcasm in the word “father”, but shrugged it off.

The dread of unwanted unwelcome washed away with glee. “Indeed. I shall look forward to the festivities.”

Aemond lifted and placed his kiss upon the back of your hand. A kiss placed with gentle fire ignited your dulled soul, envision with flames of blush blaring your dewy cheeks. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

Breath caught in your throat, eyeing on his hand still lingering his intertwine fingers to your skin. “Likewise, my prince…”

For the first time in your life, the gentleness of a dragon has captured your heart and soul.

As for Aemond, with the slighted news of your presence, there’s nothing more than mere maiden who needs to be soiled with his perversions trapped and coiled and enflamed in between his legs. When he first laid his gaze on you, he pictured your flushed skin wrapped with his own, his lips captured yours as his presence trapped into your mind for eternity. But alas, with a wandering thought just now, it wasn’t like him. He mustn’t be capricious and avarice on the spot.

With your grand arrival, Aemond had already decided you’ll become his.

One day at the time, he reminded himself.

“It’s unusual for you to be courteous to someone,” Alicent commented.

“I never wish to scare anyone with my presence, mother,” Aemond said. “It is my duty as a prince to make our special guest comfortable.”

A hot tingle between your legs stirred as you eyed on him—on his lips—how rolled off words with his tongue, finding yourself imagining at the thought of your nephew tasting your folds as you ride him, warming the bed—riding him whilst lace and corset of your precious dress torn apart by his own rugged and young hands.

“He’s only being courteous like Prince Daeron,” you noted, clearing your throat. “Everyone must fulfill their role to the realm. We mustn’t decay our customs to rudeness.”

Aemond’s eye gleamed at your flushing features whilst you looked at Alicent in the eye, you speak with assurance yet your body wavered, dying for your hungered coil in you—the scorch caged within your dress to be set free.

You cannot fool me, my princess, he thought.

In the end, nobody can fool a dragon like him.

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[suskindkore]

The pond in the woods (dump)

credit: suskind