#if forest leaves claw marks on a tree on plains's territory he will leave claw marks higher

[vancilocs]

Can i get a uu plains and vesper?

writing on phone bc cant be arsed to get the laptop

1. How does your OC feel about their full name?

It's very. Plain. *wheeze* but no it's just him, he is plains, nothing special to it

They like their first name, picked it themselves hundreds of years ago to strengthen their own identity

2. What do strangers notice about them first?

Big boy no matter the form, humanoid form also has the fur shawl so that's an eyecatcher

Tall, fairly striking with the red eyes and white skin, facial tattoos

3. How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?

He's quiet in general but alone even more so and more focused on naps and berries (especially if there's not a Forest to pummel)

They're quite outgoing and witty and sarcastic in company, and active even when alone, doesn't sit still much

4. How do they act around a crush?

Fairly normally, is just more attentive and more physically affectionate

Gets closer, laughs louder, more physical contact like punching them in the arm

5. Do they have a “tell” for when they’re lying?

Ears go flat. Never lies though

No, they don't lie much but when they do they do so with a completely straight face

6. What do they smell like?

Grass, leaves, petrichor, fresh air, soil, some flowers

Lovely scented deodorant, sweat, laundry stuff they wash their clothes with

7. What is their hair texture like?

Softer than the bear fur, but still on the rougher side

Silken smooth

8. How much jewelry do they wear, and do they have a favorite or distinguishing piece?

Doesn't wear jewelry apart from the occasional flower

Doesn't really wear jewelry, kept Orion's engagement ring for a while but ended up selling it

9. Do they have a word or phrase that they tend to overuse?

MOM

Swears like a sailor

10. What is a weird quality that they have (ie their hands are always cold, they’re always hungry, they snort when they laugh, etc)?

Sleeping for 4-5 months a year is one thing, leaves claw marks on trees sometimes just for fun and to show where he was

Cannot sit straight, always lifting legs on table, sitting on counters, sprawled over couches and people, manspreads

11. What color do they look strikingly good in?

I think brown and green are his colours. Some yellow could be nice

Any colour tbh but red would compliment their eyes

12. How do they show affection to someone they love?

Cuddles and other affectionate touch, scratches their back, makes some flowers, brings snacks, chats.

Throws self on them basically, kisses, lighthearted teasing, asking about day, bites if you're not careful

13. Do they make strong/frequent eye contact when they talk to someone?

Not strong, but occasional

Very strong and intimidating

14. What attributes do they have that are inherited from their parents or shared with their siblings/other relatives?

Well his mom is Earth, so nature and godly powers are very strong in him. But also being lovable and kind and good-natured are things she gave him and his brothers. Plains is especially calm and tranquil (lazy) of the three.

Both their parents made them extremely stubborn, competetive and honestly kinda toxic, has affected their relationships a Lot. Always has to "win" any argument. Has worked for a long time to get better and while they still are fairly confrontational can actually admit that they're wrong/this shouldn't even be an argument because both are right

15. Are their greatest flaw and their greatest strength related and in what way? (ie very caring and helpful but a doormat, or very observant and shrewd but often paranoid)

His weakness is being passive and lazy but it doesn't hurt him or nature, everyone thrives

Good at reading people, good at jumping to conclusions and needlessly poking at weak spots.

16. How has their childhood affected the way they view an aspect of their life (people, education, society, themselves, etc)

His childhood is hard to compare to regular ones, if anything it makes it so people who disrespect or don't understand nature make him sad

Don't trust anyone, don't trust institutions, nobody has your best interests in mind and aim to use you for their own gain

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch.12 (Creepypasta x Fem!Reader)

MAJOT TW WARNING: blood, gore and violence so if youre not able to take that please do not read

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There he stood, under the moon's dull light, looking up at the stars, a single cigarette tucked behind his rough fingers as smoke escaped his lips. Usually, he would use this time to calm his nerves before work, but right at this moment, he was furious. He, the Operators greater soldier, his right-hand man, was sent to do scut work. To clear the mess his comrades made. It was absolutely below him. Crossing his arms sharply and inhaling the last of the cigarette, he angrily threw the bud to the ground. But that wasn't even the worst of it, he was sent to do that work with non-other than Jack. The man he despised most in this world, even the mere thought of him made the masked man shake in rage.

Looking down at his pocket watch he saw the time, twelve-thirty-one-am, he was late. Both of them were supposed to be there on time at exactly twelve-thirty-am, but it was so like Jack to be inconsiderate of others time. The man grumbled tilting down his head as he propped his back on a lamp post. It was the dead of night in a rich neighbourhood, this place was the last thing from dangerous, the type that most people who lived there would leave their doors unlocked at night. Most of the houses looked the same, blending into one another, with a white picket fence and freshly cut green grass the smell of which wafted through the night air. It looked sterile, right out of a horror movie. But that wasn't the man's concerned, right at this moment, he was focusing on the one in front of him. A nice large white home with a big front yard and a front porch.

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped him out of his thoughts. " You're late." He declared, not bothering to turn around and look at the person behind him. " I got the memo late all right, it's not my fault, get off my back." The tall man quickly shot back standing next to him, starting to analyze the house. " Yeah of course it's not." Masky spat under his breath staring at his pocket watch once more, calming his nerves. "So why were we called here? This isn't exactly our jurisdiction." Jack asked, beginning to carefully approach the house. "It's The Rake, he went nuts and ran out of bounds, we were sent to subdue him and get him back before they kill him. Here take this." Masky replied while quickly throwing Jack a small silver pistol. "It's got three sleeping darts inside of it, so use it sparingly, it's all we got. Also, be VERY careful the darts are strong and sharp it can knock someone cold with just a prick." " Yeah yeah, But why do I have to use it? Aren't you the one with the shooting experience? Plus shouldn't you also have something to subdue him with?" Jack asked in confusion as he analysed the gun, it was a standard-issue shooting pistol with a nice leather handle, where the operator symbol was engraved on, and metal body. " My shooting arm is broken, it happened a while back. And for your information I do have a way, I have a blade laced in a similar liquid the darts are made from, it's only a little bit weaker." Masky finished quietly climbing up to the front porch, the wooden steps cracking softly under his weight as he neared the front door. Jack only sighed in exasperation as he quickly followed suit.

Masky put his gloved fingers on the doorknob and without any effort, it creaked wide open, exposing the barren hallway. Dead silence filled the room in a flash as both of the men stepped inside, things were very off. The small hallway led to three doors, one was on the right and centre of the wall presumably leading to the garage. The one across from the front door led to the living room and the third door was right under a staircase on the left side of the hallway that led to the second floor. Jack readied the gun holding it tightly in both of his large hands, while Masky gripped the knife. The hallway itself was quite cold, both of the men had begun to examine it, at first they only noticed the few misplaced shoes and the dirty circular carpet but looking at it further under the dim light protruding from the front window there's seemed to be scratches littering on the floor.

" You take upstairs and ill take this floor," Masky said peering at his protege. Jack quickly nodded as he carefully began going up the stair. Masky took in a deep breath, steadying his nerves and once again checking his pocket watch for reassurance, before approaching the garage door. Carefully opening it he scanned the inside, empty. Closing it gently, he went towards the living room door that was slightly open. Pushing it further he was careful to go in, something in the back of his mind was telling him to be extremely careful, he gripped the somewhat large knife even tighter as he fully walked in. The room was very plain, immediately he noticed the tv was on, but the sound was muted, though he didn't try to turn it off as it was the only source of light in the room. Masky learned from his past missions that turning the lights on in a house can be the stupidest thing you could do. Walking further his steps silenced by the large almond carpet as he tried to find any kind of clue as to Rakes whereabouts.

The Rake, one of the most dangerous creatures in the forest, and to most, the most terrifying, with its large, pale, human-like body and sharp talon-like claws, able to cut through a thick tree with a single swing. But what made Masky fear him wasn't his appearance but his behaviour, unlike most of the brain-dead, animalistic monsters that littered the forest, that acted on only instinct, he was fully aware of what he was doing, having this level of intelligence and sentience that made shivers run up the mans spine. He was unbelievably dangerous if not handled with the utmost care. Though the stranges thing is, he wasn't the type to kill humans, he was a monster that didn't need human meat to sustain itself, The Rake was also a territorial being, so him going out of his territory bounds was rather peculiar.

Making his way through the room, he noticed there was a sign of struggle, crimson stains dirtied the carpet and there were more of the same scratches on the walls and floor. A few chairs from the wooden dining table, that was in the middle of the large room, had been misplaced or knocked on the grown. There weren't any kind of decorations on the walls except one large painting hung right above the fireplace, depicting five people, a mother, a father and three children. A dash of blood was covering the father's face. Advancing his way even further there were no singes of any bodied all until he reached one last door, the door that lead to the kitchen. The first thing masky noticed were the dark drag marks leading to it, they were very faint, barely detectable if you didn't pay attention. Taking in one last breath he swung open the door and bolted inside.

The first thing he saw would make most people scared for the rest of their lives but it barely fazed the masked man who only seemed to get more frustrated. There, in the middle of the narrow kitchen, piled atop of one another like trash, where the lifeless bodies were the residents of the house. Their bodies, barely recognisable from their past forms. A giant puddle of blood had formed around them, seeping into the crack of the kitchen tiles. The stench was almost unbearable as flies flew around them in circles, the mother's cold dead eyes stared into Maskys soul as her tongue hanging loose from her dislocated jaw. Chunks of flesh were smeared across the walls and furniture indicating that the struggle lead over into the kitchen, but something was missing. Masys eyebrows furrowed as he counted the bodies. One, two, three, four...the father was gone.

Meanwhile, as Jack climbed up the stairs he carefully investigating every step, being very mindful with every stride he took, not wanting to make any unneeded noise. The first five steps out of all ten didn't have any tell-tale sign, but the moment he reached the sixth he too started to notice the strange scratched on the hardwood, and all the wait up the remaining four there were faint drops of blood. That seem to peak Jacks interest as he quickly walked up the rest of the steps. Now standing on the edge of another narrow hallway he made a layout of it in his head. On the right wall was another single door while on the left wall were three doors and right across from him, at the end of the hallway was the last door.

First, he approached the door on the right, preparing his gun he softly opened the circular handle and checked inside, an empty bathroom. Closing the door once more he went to check the door on the left side, first checking the one that was closed to the stairs. It was a bedroom, most likely for a young boy, other than an unmade bed there was nothing out of the ordinary. Next, he checked the middle door, another bedroom this time belonging to a preteen girl, and again the only unusual thing was the unmade bed. Confusion laced the tall man's masked face as he made his way to the final door, right before he opened it something caught his eye, more bloody drag marks. They were again faint but still somewhat recognisable. They both lead to the last room on the left and the room at the end of the hallway.

Jack readied the gun once more quickly opening the last door on the left, revealing another bedroom with an unkempt bed. But something told him to fully search it. At first glance there was nothing out of the ordinary, it just looked like a room a teenage girl would live in, all until he walked up to the bed and threw the thick purple blankets to the side. Lying stiffly on the bleached white sheets was a long severed finger, staining the sheets with a dull red. Jack grunted, picking it up with his gloved hands and inspecting the stump. It was sliced off with something very sharp. Placing it in his front jean pocket he made his way to the final room, it was the parent's bedroom. A king-sized bed was placed in the middle of the room, which itself had a very minimalist look to it. But unlike the other rooms this one was destroyed, again showing signs of strain, with torn pillows and bedsheets, red-stained feathers everywhere and most importantly, large, deep claw marks.

But even so, there was still no one in the room, as the tall man was about to search further he heard his comrade calling him. " Jack, you got something," Masky said, loud enough for him to hear. " No. What about you?" He shot back leaving the room carefully, still being on guard. " Me neither, but there's something wrong. Five people live in this house, three kids two parents, four of their bodies I found but one is missing. I think that Rake might have taken him somewhere, have any idea where that could be?" Masky replied with correctness, his voice full of authority. " No, but I found a severed finger in one of the kid's rooms, and something went down in the master bedroom." Jack quickly replied going down the stairs, Masky only humming in response as he stood in front of the entrance. " Is there a change he took the last body and fled?" Jack asked finally reaching Masky. " There's no indication, plus Rake isn't the type to flee like that with extra baggage." Masky said calmly, going deep in thought. " Then where the hell could he have gone?" Jack muttered in frustration, staring bullets in the back of Maskys head. "There's only one room we haven't checked..." Masky began talking to himself, quickly strutting to the door under the stairs, he glanced at Jack before twisting the knob. Briskly opening it, he saw a narrow concrete flight of stairs going downwards. " There was a basement!" Jack whispered in delight as he began to walk down with his protege. They both took small precise steps, making sure that whatever was down there could hear them coming, both preparing their weapons as they reached the last step.

It was a large rectangular room, its walls made out of cold concrete blocks that bearly isolated the room. There was a washer and drier bolted to the wall and a few misplaced articles of clothing, but the thing that truly caught their eyes was the hunched over monster trembling in the middle of the room. Disgusting slushing sounds escaped from its large agape mouth as blood sprayed all around it. Right next to it was the decaying body of the last member of the house. It hardly had any meat on its bones, its ribcage fully showing from its paper thing skin, slowly its head began to turn to expose its large sharp teeth smeared in flesh and blood, its stiff dead eyes wide open and staring at both of them with hunger, in its arms it held the severed head of the father. His brain was fully showing as half of it was completely eaten. Jack stammered back a few steps, shocked by the sudden sight.

Regaining his composure he cocked the gun and turned off the safety. But before he could shoot it lunged...

[petri808]

my story for the @bakudekubigbang w/artist @kurisutythehero

Summary: Kitsune yokai Midoriya Izuku is a simple shrine fox protecting the Tamaki-jinjja shrine as well as the surrounding forest. One day he comes across hunters who dare to poach in his forest along with an injured wolf they'd shot. But after nursing this wolf back to health, Izuku learns... he's a yokai too.

Tags: fantasy AU, Japanese folklore, Sex, A/B/O elements, marking, elemental magic. Kitsune & Okami.

Ch 1 of 4 to be posted in completion between now and New Years 😊 and when the artist posts I’ll add a link into the story.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352196

The loud cry of a wolf rings out through the sacred forest surrounding Tamaki-jinjja shrine. It’s spirit keeper, a kitsune fox yokai named Izuku Midoriya looks out, training his ears towards the direction it had come from. A second guttural growl pierces his ears causing him to flinch; the animal was in pain, followed by the fainter sound of male human voices. How dare! Hunters in his forest and so close to the shrine! Furious, the kitsune races through the dense brush using his keen senses to track the hunter’s movements. They would pay dearly for coming here.

In the 1100 hundred years since the shrine had been created, a kitsune yokai has protected it and all those that sought to gain enlightenment through Shugendo. Nature was sacred to these mountain worshipers and they believed that deities could be communed with there. The forest surrounding Mount Tamaki was precious to Midoriya and he didn’t care if a wolf could provide meat for the humans, they needed to leave this place in peace! He was only 200 years into this job, and he would be damned if he let a bunch of hunter’s ruin Tamaki’s tranquility.

The men were traipsing through the brush as well searching for the wolf. Midoriya could hear them talking now, the animal had been hit by an arrow twice but managed to escape into the dense underbrush. He needed to be careful, scare these men away and not become a victim too, but his cleaver and somewhat devious nature was one of the reasons a fox yokai guarded the temple. His two-tails swish excitedly as he survey’s what turns out to be only two men, one with a bow and the other brandishing a large broad-bladed knife. Based on their attire, he assumed they were most likely just peasants from a nearby village at the base of the mountain.

He needed to work quickly for the stench of blood rang true in the air. The wolf was definitely hit and bleeding badly enough for its smell to permeate the surrounding area. Midoriya turns on his invisibility magic and moves in to where the hunters would be able to see him.

“Who dares to disturb this sacred forest! We will not allow you to hunt within our territory!”

“What the hell is that?!” Midoriya sees the hunters ready their weapons and frantically scan the area. The one who’d asked the question has their bow knocked and raised.

“This land is protected by the spirit guardians of Mount Tamaki.” Midoriya sends out a blast of spiritual, blue-flamed fox fire close to the men as a warning. “Leave now and never come back or face the wrath of the kami!!”

“I told you this place was inhabited by spirits!” The second man now speaks up, punching his friend in the shoulder. “That’s why no one hunts up here, baka!”

“I don’t believe in stupid spirits!”

‘Oh, you don’t huh?’ Midoriya sends out another blast of fire this time hitting the man’s bow. The man screams and drops the weapon as the fire quickly consumes it. He takes off without a second look, running along with his friend, and heading down the mountain. “Good riddance,” the kitsune grins and turns off his invisibility. Now to find the wolf.

It couldn’t have made it very far. He tracks the trails of blood and scent through the forest for about one hundred feet back toward the side of the mountain. Perhaps it was heading for a cave? But beneath one of the ancient cedar trees, he finds the wolf barely clinging to life. One arrow had hit it in a hind leg, and the other the chest area. The frightened wolf growls at him.

“Don’t be afraid,” Midoriya shuts off his cloaking magic to show the wolf he was no ordinary human. “I am the spirit guardian of the mountain and shrine. I can help you.” He tries to reach out, but the wolf continues with a low growl. “You will not survive unless we take care of those wounds.” Frankly, until he inspected the chest wound, he wouldn’t know for sure. He lowers his ears to show concern, “please let me help you. It is my duty to care for this forest and its inhabitants and I do not want to see any die.”

Now that he was up close, this wolf was unusual for the area with its yellowish fur and red eyes. Japanese wolves were usually a brownish gray color. He kneels next to it and tries again to reach out his hand, very slowly, allowing the wolf to take in his scent. The wolf’s heartbeat was strangely calmer than he expected it to be, shouldn’t it be beating rapidly? But just as Midoriya lowers his hand again, the wolf tries to get up and run. It makes it only a few feet before collapsing with a pained cry.

The kitsune rushes over and drops next to the wolf with tears building in his eyes, its tail flicking with agitation. “Please let me help you!” He reaches for the wolf, but this time, it growls low, and turns its head away, communicating its intention not to stop him.

Midoriya assesses the wolf to determine the best way to get it back to the shrine. He would have to carry it as gently as he could. The terrain shouldn’t be too difficult for him, but ugh, it would be so much easier if he had more powers. Those came with age and experience, and at 450 years old, he was still young in the eyes of other yokai. “I’m sorry,” he whimpers as he picks the wolf up, knowing the jostling and shifting of its body would cause more pain. It shrieks, but at least doesn’t try to bite.

He takes the wolf to his part of the temple, a section reserved only for the spirit guardian where the human priests are forbidden from entering. There he creates a simple make-shift bed and begins collecting medicinal herbs to treat the wounds. The monks keep many on hand in case lost or injured travelers are found. Midoriya places a few drops of Hokuto mint into the wolfs mouth, hoping it will have the same pain killing effects on an animal as it does for humans.

“This will hurt, so I am binding your mouth and limbs to keep you from injuring yourself or me,” Midoriya explains as he wraps a strip of fabric around the animal’s mouth. “I need to remove the arrow.” Luckily, based on what he saw from the hunters, they were only using plain pointed sticks rather than full arrow heads. If he’d had to dig out arrow heads, things would be a lot more complicated.

“Okay guy, brace yourself,” he warns regardless if the wolf understood him or not. But when the wolf looks away and locks the muscles its jaw, Midoriya realizes that somehow it understood. Odd, but nevertheless a minor mental note is made for later.

Using his sharp claws, the kitsune slices through the skin where the arrow has lodged itself to make freeing it a smoother transition. Surprisingly, the wolf’s body only reacts with a slight tremor and nothing more. Animals often refrained from showing weakness, but this was strange. Shoving that intrigue to the back of his mind, Midoriya focuses on his task, removing the two arrows and using various medicinal rubs to stem the blood loss. He stitches up the wound’s gaps, then wraps bandages around the area to keep infection to a minimal.

He sits back on his haunches, twin tails flickering as he gauges the animal. “You’ll need time to heal Mr. wolf, but you can stay here where no one will bother you. I’ll have to change the ointments and bandages daily, and hopefully you’ll be back to new in no time. Until the flesh mends and the stitches are no longer required, you shouldn’t move around.”

The wolf just stares at him but makes no movement to get up from where it lay.

Midoriya smiles and chuckles, “It’s so weird that you understand me. Stay here, I’ll fetch you some food and water, you must be hungry.” Maybe it was a part of his magic that allowed animals to understand him. Wouldn’t it work both ways if that was the case? Again, he pushes the idea to the back of his mind for now. He places a bowl of water next to the wolf along with some fresh meat and goes back to his shrine duties, promising to check on him through the day.

He swore every time he entered the room where the wolf lay, it’s ruby red eyes would track his movements like a predator stalking its prey. No sounds, no head movement, just the eyes. If it was a human, Midoriya would have sworn it was glaring at him. He didn’t blame the wolf for being wary. All across Japan, wolves were slowly being hunted, and in some areas to extinction. Well, as long as there was a forest guardian, they would do their best to protect this area.

“Not hungry?” the kitsune questions the wolf when he sees the food untouched. “Does it hurt to eat? You really should put something in your stomach,” he holds the bowl closer, “to help you keep up your strength.” But the wolf doesn’t make a move. “Here,” he picks up a piece of meat and holds it next to the animals mouth, “please?”

After a couple of seconds, the wolf blows out a puff of air as if it was huffing in annoyance but takes the meat gently from Midoriya’s hand. Did it roll it’s eyes at him? Regardless, the kitsune repeats the action, and again the wolf takes the meat. Well at least this was working. He continues to feed the wolf until all the meat was gone, then holds the bowl of water close enough to the animal’s mouth so it can lap up the liquid.

“I’m going to check your wounds, okay? To make sure it looks okay.” Midoriya feeds the wolf a few drops of the mint once more, enough to last him the night. He then slowly unwraps the bandages, careful not to pull in the areas where the drying blood has stuck to the wounds.

The wolf flinches and growls lightly when he tugs to get the last of the stuck areas off. “Sorry, sorry!” the kitsune flinches too, ears drooping. He’s never endured such a wound before, so he couldn’t even imagine what kind of pain the animal might be in. When the wolf settles down, Midoriya leans closer to inspect the flesh. There was a bit of bruising, but the area was a nice pink color indicating the blood flow was good and working on healing. So far, so good, no indication of infection, and the bleeding had stopped.

He smiles at the wolf, “you’re on the road to recovery my friend.” After removing the old bandages and placing them to the side, he readies fresh ones. He wipes off the old honey and ointments gently with a wet cloth, then pats the area dry. Then he applies a new coat of medicinal ointments and honey, explaining as he goes along. “I know, it probably seems weird right?” he chuckles, “but the honey helps against infection.” The kitsune finishes securing the new bandages and sits back to admire his handywork; not bad for his first time tending to a wounded creature.

“Are you comfortable mister wolf? Hmm, you know I should give you a name.” He taps his chin, “how about Akaime?” The animal blows a deep puff of air at him and growls. “No? Okay, um, what about Tsuyoshi?” Again, the wolf just stares at him looking irritated. “Alright fine, how about Ryota since you’re such a strong one.” The wolf puts his head back down. Midoriya couldn’t tell if the wolf was annoyed, gave up, or really didn’t care. “I’m just gonna call you Ryota then.” He bundles up the old linen to wash and stands up, “I’ll see you in the morning Ryota. Good night. Oh,” he turns back around and smiles, “I’m Izuku by the way.”

He finishes tidying up, depositing the soiled linens into the laundry pile, washing the food bowl, and putting away the medicine jars. After one last look at the wolf who appeared to be asleep, Midoriya grabs his candlelight and moves into an adjacent room to set up his futon bedding. It had been a tiring, but exciting day for sure and he was ready to get some sleep.

Part of him wondered if the wolf had been waiting until the cover of darkness to sneak away in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t surprise him considering it was a wild animal that shouldn’t be very comfortable around a human establishment. But then again, in its condition Midoriya also knew it wouldn’t be able to get away very quietly. Judging from the fact it hadn’t moved at all through the day, not even to adjust its position, the wolf had to still be in a lot of pain.

‘I wonder if there are other wolves in the area?’ These animals tended to live in packs, but where was Ryotas? It wasn’t impossible for it to be a lone wolf, just odd if it was. Maybe because he looks very different from the others… In fact, why was it a different color? Is there something special about it? All the questions that had concerned him were coming back up as he tried to get to sleep, but probably the biggest one was why did it seem like the wolf understood what he was saying? ‘I’ll probably never get an answer,’ considering the animal couldn’t talk.

Guess it can’t be helped.

As the week went by, each day Midoriya would dutifully care for the wolf’s injuries, making sure it was fed, and carrying it outside whenever it needed to take care of bodily functions. It was a strange little relationship that by the second day, the monks were aware of the animals presence in the shrine because the kitsune required extra meats and supplies. Not that they questioned anything, nor would they dare to venture too close, but it was unusual.

Slowly but surely, the wolf was getting better. By the end of the week, it could limp outside to do its own business, and yet would still return to the bed Midoriya had made for it. This only added to the kitsune’s confusion, confirming that the animal truly understood it was being cared for. Confused, but it brought a smile to his face to know he was doing something truly good. Under his tender care the wound was almost fully closed up and soon the wolf would be able to return to the wild good as new.

But another part of him wasn’t happy about that idea. It was almost a full two weeks since the day he’d saved Ryota from those hunters and the wolf was becoming like a roommate to the kitsune. Even though the animal couldn’t talk back, it didn’t stop the forest spirit from conversing with it, sharing things that happen at the shrine or just things about himself. It passed the lonely hours away especially in the evenings and he looked forward to hanging out with the wolf once his shrine duties were finished. He couldn’t tell for sure and yet it felt to him as if the wolf was tolerating it... maybe even enjoying the company too? Yeah… he was sure gonna miss his new friend when it left.

“Well, Ryota,” Midoriya sits back after unwrapping the last bandage, “you’re pretty much all healed up now.” A bit of moisture gathers in his eyes. “You could go home now, wherever home may be.”

The wolf looks at where the injury had been as if inspecting it for itself, giving it a sniff, before looking back to the kitsune. After a minute, it stands up, stretches it’s body and legs, then bolts out of the door into the night.

Midoriya hangs his head, wiping the fresh tears away. Knowing this day was coming didn’t make it any easier, but hey, ‘you did a great job,’ he assures himself, ‘you saved that wolf.’ “I know,” his voice murmurs out to no one but the empty room. Maybe he’ll see the wolf around again. “Goodbye, Ryota.” ‘I’ll miss you.’

For the rest of the night, Midoriya putters around through his normal routine. He disassembles the makeshift bed the wolf used while under the kitsune’s care and disposes of the soiled linens. When he was finished cleaning up, it was as if Ryota had never been there at all. With a heavy heart, Midoriya climbs into his own bed and closes his eyes. Tomorrow will be a new day. It was time he resumed his normal life once more.

“Mmm, warm…” Midoriya mumbles and wraps his arms around the furry warm body. His mind was only semi lucid and certain it was a dream, but a really amazing one for Ryota had come back and curled up next to him in his bed. “Missed you…”

When he opens his eyes the next morning, Midoriya yawns and stretches, reaching out but finding nothing. He frowns, it really was just a dream that felt so real! Wait a minute? The kitsune sniffs at the bedding. It smelled like Ryota! The wolf had come back in the night but left before he woke up. Why had it done that? This wolf brought about a plethora of unanswered questions for the kitsune and even after two weeks he really knew nothing.

Days turn to weeks as a strange new routine takes root between the kitsune and the wolf. On random nights the wolf would return after Midoriya has gone to sleep to curl up with him in bed. There was no rhyme or reason to these visits. Sometimes the wolf would sneak in for several nights in a row while at other times it would disappear for many days. Always waiting for him to be asleep and always gone by morning, leaving only his scent and the lingering warmth he’d brought to the kitsune. It was odd to say the least, like having a ghost for a pet.

Life at the shrine could get lonely at times, so these gestures filled Midoriya’s heart with happiness. He hoped Ryota was doing it because he cared for the kitsune. Sort of like accepting him into its pack. His only wish was that it would show itself when he was awake. So many nights would go by with Midoriya’s last thoughts centered around the wolf and those ruby red eyes that almost peered into your soul.

But this wasn’t the only change in their relationship.

Because of the shrines location set away from urban settlements and knowing that visitors would leave money in the offering box, wayward robbers would occasionally pass through and break into the prayer box. It happened so infrequently, that Midoriya and the priests didn’t try to stop them because it would require someone to be on guard all night, every night. All that would remain was a broken box empty of its contents.

“What’s this?” Midoriya surveys the broken offering box laying on the ground that morning. It appeared to have been cracked open, but the money was still in it. He looks around curiously and notes a few more signs of the intended robbery. The gravel area next to the box was disturbed as if a scuffle had taken place as well as finding several drops of blood still tacky to the touch along the stone walkway leading away from the shrine.

Someone or something had evidently thwarted the robbery. The kitsune tips his nose to the air scenting for any other traces, then follows it to a nearby shrub. There he finds a tuft of yellowish blonde fur stuck to the brush. “Ryota?” Midoriya looks around even though the wolf’s scent was no longer in the immediate vicinity. Had the wolf stopped the robbery? And where were the robbers? He hoped the wolf had not killed them, for even though what they did was wrong, he didn’t believe in killing unless absolutely necessary.

A part of him wanted to search for his missing friend, but his duties at the shrine were more important for now. He washes the blood off the stone walkway, smooths back out the gravel of the garden, and takes the offering box to his rooms to fix. Ryota’s scent was definitely on the box, so it must have touched it at some point during the fight. Was this the wolfs way of paying him back for his kindness? If it was such a gesture, the kitsune was appreciative and so were the priests.

Almost a month later, a similar incident is discovered bright and early one morning. Another broken offering box, another thwarted robbery. This time the thief had gotten farther than the last one. There were coins scattered across the stone walkway, but the bulk of it remained inside the vessel. To Midoriya, it looked as if the box had been dropped, perhaps when the savior had caught the robber in the act. He gathers up all the coins, placing them back into the box before taking it back to his room to fix, while another priest takes care of cleaning up the area.

As he works on fixing the wooden container, Midoriya can’t help but think about what’s been going on. He was certain that Ryota had snuck into his room last night… and come to think of it, the wolf had been here during the previous robbery as well. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, only that it made the thwarted robberies easier on the wolf to deal with. “Maybe that’s why he comes here?” He thinks out loud. “So, he can be closer?”

But on the third incident a few weeks later, that logic doesn’t apply. Ryota hadn’t made his nightly visits to Midoriya for several days, and on the night of the latest attempted theft, the wolf never came to his room. Yet it was clear based on a few strands of fur left behind, it was Ryota that had saved the offerings once again.

[shabre-legacy]

another random piece from princess rising because the feedback is motivating me to get back into this story

                                     AMBRINA

Ambrina straightened out of her battle stance and brushed her bloody bangs out of her eyes as she surveyed the field in front of her. The grass was mostly ash near her and further out was covered in blood and corpses. Her familiar, a massive gorgeous lioness, stood in the middle of a circle of mangled bodies, blood dripping from her muzzle and onto her claws. Ambrina had managed to take out all 6 without too much effort and only had to burn one of them, and Lyca, that wonderful cat, had taken down 3 at once.This was a job well done and the payout would be excellent when they delivered the target home. She moved swiftly over to the large rock at the edge of the field and reached behind it, pulling out the young girl hiding there.  The poor girl was clearly terrified, shaking like a leaf, with huge eyes. Ambrina sheathed her sword and pulled a knife from her belt cutting the girls binds. “ relax kid, I’m just here to take you home. Your parents sent me” the girl nods, still scared, but willing to do whatever would get her home. Ambrina led her over to the horse nearby, a large cream paint gelding, they mounted up quickly and headed for the nearby city. Lyca tailing behind them, just far enough for the girl to not pay attention, she slipped ahead of the duo and entered the shadows of the city, heading home as Ambrina went to collect their money. 

    A few hours later, Ambrina steps into The Singing Oak  tavern and collapses onto a stool near the bar, grabbing a bottle from behind the counter. She had successfully rescued the kidnapped girl and returned her to her parents and collected the large reward. Now she could relax for a few hours or until she got another job. The life of a sword-for-hire wasn’t the easiest but she was damn good at it and honestly enjoyed it, some days it seemed that the same fire that flew from her fingertips drove her to need a fight most of the time. This was the life, go out into the open air, kick a little ass, get paid for it and come back to cozy apartment or a loud, boisterous tavern with the best drinks in Sea City.   She leaned back against the bar and looked around the room, taking in the atmosphere and and the familiar sight of the Singing Oak. Full of the best people in Sea City. Thieves, Pirates, Mercenaries (like herself), former slaves, mages, sailors, ect. Hard-working people on the low end of society, rejected by others and trying to get by or to disappear. Honestly, this place was as close to home as Ambrina had ever known. Get rich or get drunk trying was how many of the people here, including her lived their lives. A group of sailors over near the back wall started a loud drinking song, Turning towards her slightly, she had had some good conversations with the guys over the few days they had been in port. She leaned over the bar and pulled a case from the shelf underneath. She lifted the fiddle into place and started a jaunty tune to go with the sailors song. Within a few notes the bar was full of people singing and dancing to her tune. This was her second favorite form of magic, the intoxication of music and the power her fiddle held over everyone who heard her play, at least in this tavern. After a couple of tunes, she let herself fall back onto her stool and swung her fiddle case back to it’s shelf as she ordered another round.  She leaned back and laughed as the day got later and the tavern swung into usual crowd and antics. A few crews of Sailors were sharing tales of the sea and trying to beat each others drinking records. A few games of dice and cards had sprung up among sailors and thieves and the few street gangs that were hanging around were staring each other down as they did all the time, it wasn’t that unusual for them to start glaring on site, but they would never fight inside. Those were the rules that kept this place the best place in all of Sea City.  Ambrina never felt out of place here, this was her world; her violence and anger, the fire that burned inside her was accepted and embraced. And yet strangely, it sometimes felt like she was part of the scenery of the tavern, like she was accepted but not seen, not belonging, simply there. There seemed to only be one person who saw her, like actually as a person and not another angry sword in a room of them, her roommate Lyra. The red-haired elven thief was her best friend in this city that she loved.  She burst out laughing as the girl entered and flopped into her seat. Ambrina reached over and clapped her shoulder, leaning over and grabbing another drink before swinging onto the bar and leaning over towards Lyra, “good haul today, I see” 

The girl sighed and pushed at her leg, “stop it” 

Ambrina pushed her drink at her, grabbing another and throwing a few coins on the Tavern owners tray as she passed, earning her She drained her mug and nudged lyra again. “Out with it” 

“Totally botched job, I mean, I got out with a painting, but I mistimed the return of the caretaker and almost got caught and had to leave almost all those other nice things behind, all that money gone.” 

Ambrina patted her arm  and downed another drink that was the unfortunate reality of their lifestyle, sometimes a job just doesn’t work out, but it always sucked when that happened. “ don’t worry bout it. I just finished a job, I can spot the rent till you grab something that’s worth a damn thing”         

She jumped off the bar and headed over to the job board. Her and Lyra had been sharing a small apartment above the tavern for a few years now and rent was usually a concern with how much she was trying to save. This taverns rep was known through the city and a few requests could always be found alongside the wanted posters and city decrees. 

This time though there was an envelope with her name printed on the fine paper in an elegant script pinned among the other papers. A small  She reached up and grabbed it. She’d open this later in her apartment. For now she wanted to relax. She turned and with a quick half step she leapt onto the nearest table, “Next rounds on me” she yelled to the jovial crowd. And as the drinks were ordered and the usual chaos of the evening crowd built up, she felt as close to home as she ever did.

                                                                   Kiria

Kiera sighed and continued to trudge through the forest. They would probably reach the galpin plains soon. This wasn’t good. She knew that they had to travel through the plain to get to Xaeria, where they should be able to rest for a day or two before moving to the coast. They couldn’t stay in Xaeria. Not with the position of Queen Varalyne on the existence of mages.  She couldn’t drag her brother into that. That same little black colt had been following him for as long as she could remember; that, plus how Daemon could disappear better than any of the others she knew. There was no way she could drag him to Xaeria or Prouba. They could possibly try the wild woods beyond Taeslaes, but that area was Elven territory and the only humans that were even rumored to be able to survive in those forests was some temple and Bluecall. They were a traveling troupe that made people vanish after every performance. Between the wild magic and the beasts of the forest, they might be able to survive, but it was risky. Their best option was probably to head to Everfield, catch a ship, and disappear to sea for awhile. 

    Since she ran, they’d already had to fight off the first two teams sent to bring them back. Daemon had to fight the people he had trained with and lived with and fought with for years. She couldn’t imagine doing that, though she knew in her soul that she would be forced to do the same to those she had called sister for years. But there was no choice for her, but to go on. When what you believe becomes incompatible with the popular line of thought, it is necessary to separate from that thought and find a way to build a life away from that which you can’t support. And she could no longer support a group of assassins that broke their assassins through torture and the torture of the innocents. Death was one thing, a life of pain and fear and relentless agony that goes on endlessly with no stop in sight was an entirely different situation. She had a broken rib, two head wounds and a stab wound in her side; her brother had a twisted ankle, a new head wound, probably a concussion and a few other injuries, both horses had injured legs, but right now, they had their freedom, and that was everything. 

    Unfortunately, it was under threat yet again as Daemon signaled that there was someone following at the same moment that Kiria felt eyes on her. She steadied herself as much as she could as the trees melted into brush and they entered the Galpin Plains. As they headed further in, Kiria noticed the trees seemed to part and in the distance she could see their pursuers. Raven-marked horses, four in red, three in black. This was an extermination group, a hunting party,  they had called them. They probably wouldn’t run them down. She knew their tactics, she’d led a hunting party or two herself. They’d stay back, far enough to be able to disappear if needed, but close enough to keep the pressure on and keep them moving ‘til they dropped or slowed down. Then they’d swoop in and wipe out the entire group they were chasing. It was a terrifying tactic, and and effective one. They would die at some point soon. It would take some kind of miracle to save them and Cornoth would never provide that. But even with that knowledge, Kiria wasn’t one to go down without a fight, no matter what she’d still try to fight her way out if she could. As she limped through the grass and shrubs to Daemon’s side and they trudged their way, limping and injured, she felt him reach out and gently squeeze her hand. He was scared, she realized, he probably didn’t know why he had left and more than she truly understood why she had. Yet he had come with her as soon as she asked. And he would die for it and he knew that as well as she did. “I wish I knew more than how to blend into shadows and blur tracks” he murmured “i’m sorry, i can’t throw fire or some shit like that”.

    She squeezes his hand back “At least we’ll die free from their torture and we’ll take a few of them with us.”

[justatadmystic]

Holy shit it’s finally time to reveal it, isn’t it?! I can’t believe it! I actually had this mostly finished like a month ago when I first got the assignment but I’m so happy to share this!

To the lovely @official-volta, I present you your gift for tagss2018! I hope I did your prompt well!

Oh, and perhaps for an easier reading experience, I will be posting this on AO3 under the same title! Not posting a link cause of the obvious issue.

Of Charred Bones

All that remains now is the gnawing hunger, and the dirty white of bone splinters. Regardless of her prayers, her gods cannot pass into the claimed territory she calls a home. Only the Devil and his demons remain here, awaiting their prey to drop dead.

The shallow tally marks on the headstone marked the 77th day Volta had called the abandoned, overfilled graveyard her new home, at least that was the last time she counted. Attempting to count backwards, it would be… a lot of days since she was taken from her family and village, deposited in a burned down husk of a village far, far away from home. She had been deemed useless by the raiders, and tossed aside like garbage. She sits down beside the headstone she had used to mark any semblance of time passing besides the sun, thinking back as best she could.

They left her with only the dirtied dress on her back, her leather boots, the smallest parcel of food she had even seen, and a knife. They rode off, leaving her abandoned in the smoked out tomb of her people, with no hope of escape.

She scoured the buildings for any hope, for any scrap of food or drink, of reliable shelter. She found very little, and in the end she couldn’t even call the husk-like buildings a definite home. She wrapped herself in the smoky-smelling blanket she scavenged, collected her tiny supplies, and sought out shelter.

She found the cemetery quickly, just a few minutes walk from the smoking town. On the grounds was a small building, most likely used to prepare the dead for their burials. The town’s water supply luckily flowed into it, and it was still fresh and untouched by the fires, or perhaps luckily kept it clean for her. She drank happily from it, thankful that at least one thing was secure in her exile.

There was at least a bit of shelter in the graveyard, but it was a terrifying place and she didn’t know if it were any safer then the burnt out village. She returned to the remnants of the village, and just tried to find somewhere that would guard her, at least partially, from passersby and the weather if it got rough.

Settling down in what had to be an old seamstress shop, she picked carefully at the few bits of food she had, and tried to think. Her mother had told her that keeping her mind straight in times of terror would be the way she would survive, that pushing away confusion and delirium would allow her to live through the horrors of their day-to-day.

She stretched her food out for a week. Her blanket kept her warm in the partly chilly nights. The sounds of raiders in the far off forests and towns scared her, but she held firm. During the late afternoons of the day, she foraged for anything and everything nearby. Much of the berry bushes were burned away, but there was just enough for her to get by.

On the two week mark, raiders came back. She had been getting a drink from the waters flowing through the undertaker’s building when she heard them, and smelled fire. Looking through the dusty window, she watched the raiders burn the little that remained of the village.

She was grateful she had grabbed her blanket, and that she had carried her few little berries back to her, as sour as they were. That night, she sat on the steps of the building, and watched the buildings of the village burn into piles of ash, now only left with the cemetary to call a home.

From that day on, her life spiraled into a living hell.

She had water, but food was quickly disappearing. Berries wouldn’t sustain her, and the rats that occasionally weaved through the tombstones soon became too fast for her to catch. She was terrified of taking a further step with the bodies around her, and promised herself to never go so far. She continued to try and forage and hunt anything, but soon all of her prospects dried up. She cut down heavily on her water to avoid the pains that had already begun.

Her shoes were first. Leather was far from edible, but starvation was slowly twisting her mind around in confusing and debilitating circles. Whatever could fill the void in her stomach was better then letting it grow. Raiders moved in once more, ignoring her graveyard pointedly, perhaps fearing the consequences of stirring the dead like many would. She dug into the shallowest graves, her fractured and hungry thoughts breaking her promise. She gnawed on the bones of a person buried, sucking out whatever she could out of the coarse and dirty things.

A braver band of raiders came to her home. She only had a knife to defend herself, but at this point, she was practically rags and bones. A cruel man maimed her, blinding her in her right eye. Blood was spilled, and they left her behind screaming pathetically. Now without her right eye, her knife broken, and hunger still tearing her up from the inside-out, she was left with little hope of survival.

She ripped up parts of her dress to cover her wounds. She stared into the reflection of the water at her eye, her eyelid hiding the worst of the damage to the eye. They had torn and popped her eye open, leaving it a mess of whites and her original brown irises. Time moved on, and she stopped counting the days in the graveyard. Her wounded eye soon faded from brown to a white-brown mess. What will she had to try and have her eye work left as quick as her hope for salvation.

Her memory-searching is broken with the painful growl of her stomach, still trying to get anything to fill it. The words of her mother were but muffled whispers in a storm, meaning nothing in the tempest. She stood up slowly, clutching the dress that barely hung on her shoulders. It was deep into the night, she realized.

She dug on her hands and knees until she hit her target at the foot of the headstone, pulling out a small, shattered bone from the dirt. She sucked at the ends for the marrow, and gnawed on it to get anything else. Shards of the bone stuck into her throat, but the pain barely rivaled the horrific sickness of starvation. She threw it away when there was nothing left, and didn’t bother to settle the grave. She shuffled to the door of the undertaker’s building, still standing somehow despite everything.

Resting her foggy head on the crumbling steps, and pulling her fraying blanket over her shoulders, she tried to find the will to sleep, and to wake once the sun was up again. Her eyes shut quickly, too heavy from exhaustion.

“Such a poor, pathetic thing…”

The words were unfamiliar, the voice deep and terrifying down to her own brittle bones. The voice came out of the darkness of her slumber, a rumble not unlike horses approaching.

“You must be so hungry.”

I am, she whispers into nothing around her, I really am.

“Such a strong girl, to survive so long without real food.”

I want to eat!, she finds herself sobbing, her starvation inescapable even in her own dreams (or perhaps now it was her nightmares), I miss eating, I miss being full, It hurts so much!

“What if I told you, starving girl, that I could give you that which you wish for?”

The blackness opened up into a grey field, a grassy plain left in greyscale. Color didn’t exist here, leaving it feeling empty. It was a hollow, unsettling feeling, but not even it could best her overwhelming hunger. Before her stood a tall being, with fur and claws, and horns upon his head. Staring into the eyes of a goat-headed man, her hunger-muddled mind told her it was reality. The weak rationality she clung to spoke in terror of the being.

“Y-you could?”

Red eyes bore down on her, evaluating her pathetic, bony, and dilapidated body. Desperate for a miracle, she didn’t shield herself from the gaze of the being. They rounded her like a predator eying its dinner. She mindlessly thought that there had been vultures circling the graveyard earlier that day. In the distance of the dream, the cries of the vultures echoed, the reminder of what would become of her soon.

“...could you really do it?”

The being smiled at her, a toothy grin. He reached out and gently patted her head, smoothing down the wild and ratty strands of her hair. With the tip of a claw, he parted a more stubborn strand out of the way of her dead eye.

“I can feed you. In return, you will do something for me.”

It was crippling, the overwhelming feeling of happiness at the thought of eating once again. She could eat food again! She could finally feel full, and content, and not have to gnaw on bones and leather and bugs to survive any longer.

“I could eat again… what would I have to do?”

“Help me. While you help me, I will ensure you can eat anything you desire.”

“I would just… help you? And I could eat?”

“Help me with some of my endeavors, and in exchange you will be fed. That is all I ask. Do we have a deal, Volta?”

Her name on his lips didn’t scare her, though it should have if she had been in her right mind. It was perfect, the only escape she had from her hell in the graveyard. The being offered his hand to her, and she… hesitated. Claws and fur awaited her consent, her final agreement.

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the forest around rustling. Blinking her eye quickly, she lessen the amount of sunlight crossing her face. She sat up slowly, looking to the rising sun not yet peeking completely over the trees. Her dress slumped forward, baring her chest with little care for decorum. What was once covered in muscle and a little fat was skeleton, her body eating away at her own flesh to try and keep moving. She shrugged it back up what was left of her shoulders, and watched the sun.

Her dreams lingered, and for a moment they chased the chasm of her hunger away. Her body had chased away her chance, though it felt bone-deep that it would return to her. Shadows behind her stirred and shook, the sun dispelling them from their hold on the world. She stood up quietly, slowly folding up her blanket and stowing it inside the undertaker’s building. The shadows were more pronounced in the building, the few windows only allow a little into the still air.

It had been home for her for… who knows how long now. The village was burnt to ash just as long. Her separation and isolation was in a time she had long forgotten, her happy life just as easily lost and replaced by red and anger and hunger.

The being’s offer. He could feed her, in exchange for helping him. Her muddled thoughts ignored the obvious ‘how longs’ and ‘what kind of help’ questions, focusing on what she earned and gained.

Food. Feeling full again.

Whispers chased her as she wandered during the day, aimlessly moving just to avoid her limbs from locking up. She ventured through the empty grounds of the village. She ventured into the forests, ignoring the pain in her soles as she stepped onto stones and branches, watching life move on as it should. The cry of a vulture sounded. She returned to the graveyard as the sun begun to dip back behind the trees. She dug down further into an already desecrated grave, looking for the longer bones that had to be there.

She didn’t have the strength to continue digging, her brittle and broken nails unable to dig enough to get the bones she needed. In the end, she had dug only a little further down, and was left with nothing. If she wanted bones, she would need to dig for hours… hours she didn’t have now that the sunset was upon her.

She lay herself on the grave she defiled, ignoring the chittering of the woods, and the ever approaching vultures above.

Staring into the melting sky, reds and purples and yellows spreading over the blue, Volta wondered for the first time since she was dumped there what had become of her family.

“Are you ready?”

Pulling herself up to sit up was painful, her skin and bones aching alongside her stomach. She looked up at the being, who offered his hand to her once again. Reality bleeds away with the sky as it splatters across the ground in grotesque fashion, burning the green of the grass into brown and black.

“Can I know your name?”

The question seemed to phase the being for a moment, before he smiled to her again. The undertaker’s building shatters soundlessly, dissolving into the empty sky.

“The Devil. Now, Volta… will you take my deal?”

Knelt in the dirt of another’s grave, stomach eating away at what little remained, she reaches out for the Devil’s hand. The world around her gives away to a roar of beasts, and an overwhelming red. She grasps his hand tightly, and he squeezes it back. His smile turns wicked as he lifts her to her feet.

The world turns upside down, and she’s left staring into the red-black of the Devil’s eyes. Chains fill her vision, wrapping around her gently. They encircle her, wrapping around her limbs as light as a feather. She watches them curiously, too focused on the hollow hole her stomach was. They fade once one of the chains has wrapped around her stomach, leaving her curious about what they were.

The Devil beckons her with a gentle call of her name as an apple appears in his hand. Red and shined, it was the first real piece of food she had seen in many days. She pounces for it, snatching it out of the Devil’s hands, clutching it in her own. In the grey world she ignored, the red apple was a thing of beauty.

She realized her mistake quickly, looking sheepishly up at the Devil. She had rudely taken it, ignoring the being who so graciously fed her. The Devil didn’t look mad at her, instead giving a soft huff, and patting her head.

“I promised to feed you. Now, eat.”

She doesn’t need anymore approval. She takes a bite of the apple, crying as she tastes the flesh of the apple, the juice dribbling down her chin.

She doesn’t notice the blood dripping out of the apple she feasted on, nor the Devil’s accomplished grin as she seals her deal for life.

“There will be more to eat. Now… you’ll help me with a problem of mine.”

[illyrianwingspans]

A Court of Wrath and Moonlight: Chapter 1

Hey guys! So I’m about halfway through my fic and after a lot of fussing over the first few chapters, I’ve finally decided to post it because I can’t wait to share this with you guys! I’m still waiting for an invite to Ao3 (I’ve never used the site to post before so that’s all new territory to me) so hopefully it’ll be up there soon for those that prefer reading it there! 

This is set seventy five years after ACOWAR and will centre around Feyre and Rhys’s son (an OC of mine) and Tamlin’s daughter (another OC of mine). Some pronunciation guidelines:

-Keorah (kee-oh-ruh)

-Keke (kee-kee) (yes, like the drake song)

-Milo (my-low)

-Vesna (Vess-nuh)

-Nyana (knee-a-nuh)

-Isra (Ee-z-raa) (here’s a link to the proper pronunciation, the arabic one)

-When Keorah says Mama and Papa, they are pronounced with a central-american accent, not southern united states

Without further ado, here is A Court of Wrath and Moonlight!

CHAPTER 1

Calloused, slender and careful, those hands drifted across the page, filling in whatever spaces they deemed fitting with fine brushes of charcoal. The surroundings were blurred around the edges, only a pale-stained wooden table littered with thick, creamy stationary, some new and waiting to be used, others crumpled up at failed attempts. A set of the finest charcoals gold could buy sat carefully poised near the unknown artist’s right hand, always within reach in case they felt the need to switch. Though it was a little messy, just by the care and precision those hands handled their tools, I could tell that they worshipped this art. 

One moment, there was only shading and vague figures and shapes, coming together to reveal awful, black hands that seemed to be reaching into the artist’s very soul, an evil, ancient and malicious crook to the fingers that only aimed to taunt and terrorize. Darkness surrounded them, thick opaque darkness that made me want to scream out to the artist, to wrap my hands around his, protect him from this pain that gripped his mind. But one sweep of his hand over the page and the lines were completely rearranged to portray a naked female body dead beneath the surface of bath water, dark juice lining her lips pale lips. My eyes snapped open. I gulped down choked breaths, unable to shake the image of that drawing from my mind, and cursed the Cauldron for ever creating nightmares. Before I even knew where my feet were taking me, I was ripping back the sheets and stalking to my wardrobe to pull on my fighting leathers, strap my knives into belt, then winnow to the forest as far from the manor as I could possibly be. The wind tore at my hair as I ran through the forest, my leather-clad fae thighs pushing off the ground far faster and more powerfully than most fae I knew. It seemed as though hours passed as I dashed by tree after bush after meadow. The leaves from the tall trees rustled in the night breeze and the moonlight guiding my path was fractured by the canopies that overhung above. As those canopies became thicker, I shifted my eyes into an animal's, my view instantly becoming accustomed to the dark of the night. I barely had time to register the strong, steady beat of my heart pounding throughout my body as I cleared the forest and was left with a grassy strip of land that separated myself from the jutting cliff that overlooked torrid sea thrashing a hundred feet below. I accelerated as the jut was only feet away, then pushed off as hard as I could from the rock ledge and dove down, down, down into the dark chaos. Just as my fingertips touched the water’s surface, I folded myself between the pockets of the world, the smell of sea brine and roses tangling together until I was slouched and panting underneath a willow tree, my favorite spot in my court. Its branches swayed softly in the wind, and I closed my eyes, picturing those moments with my mother that'd happened ages ago, feeling as though they were yesterday. "C'mon, my rose petal," she chirped, beckoning to sit with her under the shady refuge of the willow offered from the beating sun. It was a warm spring day, and the smell of the blooming roses filled every puff of breath I took as my infant legs waddled over to my mother's side. Slumped against the tree, I nestled myself into the crook of her shoulder, then gazed down at the book in front of us. “Alright, Keke,” she murmured encouragingly, “just as we practiced.” I nodded my head hesitantly. Her finger pointed to a sentence halfway down the page, and shockingly I began, “The…y-young boy stared up at the dark sk—” I paused for a moment, then, remembering the feel and sound of the word in my mind, I completed, “sky.” “Very good!” She exclaimed, a beaming smile donning her face, then her finger jumped to the next line. It was interrupted though by the booming sound of my father’s voice. “Lyra! Keorah!” By the growling undertones that laced those two words, I shot my mother a panicked look, and she only planted a kiss to my temple before we tore off into the meadow, towards the sound of his voice, exactly the opposite of where I wanted to go. Those moments alone with her—those were the only ones that’d kept me sane these past fifty years. And now, they’d be gone forever. Because my mother died last week. And tomorrow was the funeral. * * * Minutes later I found myself in my washroom, stripping down the worn, foul smelling leathers and quietly climbing into the tub to wash away the remaining sweat from tonight’s workout. I’d lather properly tomorrow morning before they stuffed me into yet another dress. Sitting against the white porcelain of the bathtub, the warm water soothing the endorphins running through my veins, I wondered once again what my mother thought and felt those last few moments of her life. Before she’d taken those berries and tore herself away from me. Before she’d fallen unconscious, then drowned to her death. I wondered if she thought of me. The life we’d built together. The life we’d survived so far together. I wondered if she felt any guilt or remorse as the sour juice of those deathly things touched her tongue. She’d left nothing behind. No note, no explanation, no last words. I knew because I’d been the one to find her dead, cold body— I shut the thought out and abruptly stood up, water splashing at my knees. There was nothing I could do about it now. Just play the perfect mourning daughter tomorrow as the rest of Prythian came to pay their respects. Towelling myself off, I watched as the cold rustling breeze whipped at the black banner hanging from my window, resisting the urge to snarl. Though she left no note, though she offered no explanation, I knew why she’d left us. Though I despised her for leaving me, I still had a small part of me that understood. Especially when I peered over my shoulder into the mirror that reflected the image of five claw marks slashing down my bare back from right shoulder down to left hip. * * * I didn’t mind the primping. My head-lady, Vesna, was excellent at what she did: she could make braids out of tangles with a brush and her nimble fingers, beauty out of dullness with fine powders and expensive stains. All the while cheering me up as I scowled at my reflection each morning. Her jokes and bawdy-tune singing always managed to crack a grin from me. But today, as every other day this past week, she worked in silence with two others, carefully arranging my blonde hair under the black chapeau that bit into my scalp Vesna applied a thicker layer of bright cream beneath my eyes to conceal the bags, the product of my late outing last night. Though she would normally go a little extravagant due to the presence of all seven courts today, she kept my face plain for the simple fact that she believed that maybe today would be the day I finally wept for my mother. So far, I hadn’t yet. I didn’t feel the rising urge to do so. Ever since I felt the absence of her heartbeat, something within me had broken so immensely that I believed my mother had stolen my emotions along with her life. Everybody was waiting for me to break down. I could tell by the way the servants silenced as I walked by. By the way guards stood a little more alert when I entered a room. Even my father was cautious this week during our brief exchanges. Though those were few and far between. He was out half the time wreaking havoc on the acres of land behind the manor, trying to keep the destruction out of the house. I knew with absolute certainty the white walls and marble floors would be in ruins if he’d unleashed himself upon them. Not me. No, while papa angered and raged at the world, I tamed the imploding of my life to the confines of my mind and body. And I would continue to do so, if only to try to grasp and preserve any bits of sanity I had left. “I think that is all, Keke,” Vesna murmured softly as she adjusted the black mesh material that fell over half my face and covered the chapeau in tufts. I only gave a brisk nod, then pushed off my chair, taking one last look at the flowing skirt of my dress that hugged my waist and torso, the billowing, long sleeves that always managed to get snagged on everything. A brusque knock at the door had me releasing a long sigh. It was time. * * * “Keorah, was that you I heard last night stomping about your room?” Papa’s voice filled the cracks and crevices of the manor as he escorted me from my room in the west wing down to the throne room. My stomach dropped to the floor. I thought I’d been careful, but his sensitive fae ears must’ve picked up on it. “Yes Papa,” I answered, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. “And what could you possibly be doing at all hours of the night?” “I went for a run, Papa,” I answered truthfully. “I needed to exercise. I couldn’t sleep.” He let out an angered huff. “How can you expect to be High Lady when you can’t follow a simple rule?” Those words, High Lady, always sent a shiver down my spine. There has never been a High Lady of Spring Court. There were only two High Ladies currently in power: Vivianne, High Lady of Winter Court, and Feyre, the first High Lady ever in Prythian, of the Night Court. Keorah, High Lady of the Spring Court. My father had been roiling when Mama gave birth only to see she’d had a daughter. And though they tried countless times again, Mama never had another child, let alone a son. And now she never would. And Papa was stuck with me as heir. “When I’m High Lady, Papa,” I countered quietly, “they’ll be my rules.” He snarled. “You will keep the laws of this court as I have done, and every predecessor before me—” “Can we not, Papa? Please. Not today.” I hated that word. Please. I hated whimpering it every time those claws unsheathed themselves. “You keep quiet,” Papa ordered. It seemed as though he’d allow me some peace, if only for today. Despite the alarming amount of people in attendance today, there was barely any noise sounding throughout the manor, only the echo of our quiet footsteps across the empty halls. Guards were far and few in between within the manor. They’d been concentrated outside to keep any ill-meaning people out, rightfully so. Today was not a day for trouble amongst the people. “You say what we practiced, you thank guests for coming, and you say how wonderful Mama was.” Right before the grand oak doors of the throne room, be stopped, then gripped my shoulders, and a slice of panic tore through me as I felt those claws creep out, only an inch, from his knuckles. They sat threateningly on my shoulders, ready to pierce the skin and ruin the dress, and it all but livened the storm brewing within Papa’s eyes. “Do not,” he breathed, “speak a word of what she did. If I hear those words leave your mouth, you will find yourself without a heartbeat.” Though the words careened within me and tore at the very heartstrings keeping me from completely falling apart, I only gave a curt nod, then, “Yes, Papa.” Resuming our initial position, our elbows hooked around each other, the doors opened merely from one thought of Papa’s mind. As one, the people stood from the pews that lined both walls of the throne room. As one, they bowed their heads. I did not meet their eyes as Papa and I sat at the front and Nevanthi, the High Priestess, began the ceremony. * * * “Tamlin, our sincere condolences,” Vivianne, High Lady of Winter murmured, clasping hands with Papa. Tears lined her eyes, and I let out a wheeze of a breath, remembering how well she and Mama used to get along. One year, when we went to Winter to celebrate solstice festivities, they’d invited me to play an old game of cards with them. They’d been heavily intoxicated by the time I’d joined them, and I’ll never forget the howls of laughter that’d radiated from the both of them at the stupidities they said. Kallias, High Lord of Winter, echoed similar words, and Vivianne’s tears spilled over as she turned to me. “You look so much like her,” she breathed, then collapsed into sobs, arms hooking around me so tightly I thought she’d bruise me. “Lyra was the best female I’ve ever known, best mother I’ve ever known,” she cried, cupping my cheeks with her palms. “You don’t understand how sorry I am for your loss.” “I miss her every heartbeat,” I whispered, laying my hands atop hers to retract them from my face, and close them within my own. I brought our hands and held them to my heart. “You were her dearest friend, Vivianne. She loved you so much.” “Cauldron bless her,” Nevanthi added quietly from my right. I bit back a scowl. It seemed Vivianne did as well. Though our court respected High Priestesses despite the havoc Ianthe had wreaked upon our court, it seemed that my father hadn’t learned his lesson, and let yet again a problematic Priestess slither in. Nevanthi was deemed as an important leader within our ranks, yet other courts seemed to…frown upon her. The High Lord and High Lady of Winter gave me one last quick embrace before the endless tide continued on, and my voice became scratchy from the never-ending exchange of words between myself and people Mama barely knew. High Fae and lesser faeries alike filed up the steps and embraced us over and over again before heading outdoors to the final part of the ceremony where my mother’s ashes would be scattered amongst the budding rosebushes, injecting her essence to transfer her life force to theirs. A familiar flash of red hair bobbed up the steps until Lucien was before us. My breath rushed out of me and I almost sagged in relief at the familiar sight of his ruggedly handsome face and metal eye. He wrapped Tamlin in a one-armed embrace, promising to talk later, before turning to me and practically tackling me in a hug. There was silver lining his eyes as he pulled away just enough to scan my face, then pull me once more against him. I buried my face into his chest, clutching his dark tunic with all my might. “I’m so sorry, Keo,” he murmured into my ear, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I would’ve been here so much sooner, there was just some business I needed to take care of in the Day court—” “It’s okay, Luci,” I assured him, resting my hands on his upper arms, “you’re here now. It’s all I need.” “Just fulfilling my blessed-fatherly duties,” he smiled weakly, and I tried to mirror it, but failed miserably. I knew he needed to move along so we could finally have this ordeal over with. He stepped away, and with a purse of his lips at Nevanthi, faded back into the crowd. Instead of more mourners, Bron and Hart, captains of the guard marched up the stairs with urgency and began whispering sinisterly with Papa. “They weren’t invited,” Papa hissed. My eyes darted down to see claws inching their way out of his knuckles, as I’d suspected. Concern made my eyebrows furrow. Who wasn’t invited? “…made it through the wards…just the two of them…waiting at the entrance.” A growl from my father. Then, begrudgingly, “Let them in.” Nods from both of them and they were off. Half an hour later, after nodding along to tearful words from Fae of the nearby village with high enough status to attend, only two people remained at the bottom of the steps. When my gaze settled upon them, the breath was ripped from my lungs. There, at the bottom of the dais, were the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. Feyre Cauldron-blessed was dazzling despite her plain dark gown. Her hair hung in soft curls and framed the high cheekbones and plucked eyebrows of her face. Her long thin nose was perfectly symmetrical, and those bright blue eyes pierced through my own as we locked gazes. Then my sight shifted to Rhysand, and something within me halted. I’d never met the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, nor had I met either of their children. I’d only ever heard stories and descriptions, myths and legends surrounding their many triumphs through the safe-guarding of Prythian through the second war with Hybern, and the recent news that their son had been captured in the night by lingering enemies across the sea, but was safely returned home. Yet as I gazed at Lord Rhysand’s jet black combed back hair and electric violet eyes, I felt as though I’d seen that face before, somewhere far off and distant. There was this feeling in my stomach that drew me toward those violet eyes. I ignored it as best as I could as Papa began to speak. “Rhysand,” my father said tightly. “Feyre.” “Tamlin,” Lord Rhysand replied, a grim expression on his face, “our sincerest condolences.” Everyone knew the stories behind my father and Feyre. Vesna told me they whispered them around Mama and Papa’s wedding, saying how history would repeat itself, that those tendencies don’t go away. They were right. They didn’t go away. He just got better at hiding them. Though the High Lady of Night, Feyre Cursebreaker, Feyre Cauldron-Blessed, did not show a hint of the history between Papa and her as she and her mate climbed those four steps and stood before us. Lady Feyre was clad in a simple black gown that hugged her curves, Lord Rhysand a complementing tunic. Ethereal swirls of darkness seemed to dance around them sombrely, only a hint of what their magic offered. I held back the urge to run my hands through those tendrils, to snatch the starlight that encompassed the both of them. “We’re very sorry for your loss,” Feyre offered quietly, but with vehemence, “I couldn’t imagine the pain.” Papa only nodded, only the tiniest hint of disgust lining the features of his face. I knew the topography of those features, how they danced and contorted together. “No politics, no masks, no history,” Rhysand added softly. “I wouldn’t wish this sorrow on anybody.” Tamlin only let out a huff, mumbled what seemed like words of thanks, then stalked off through the oak doors we’d entered in, leaving only myself and the Night Court family on the dais. For a moment, we stood in silence. Feyre’s gaze wandered over the throne room as if remembering her time spent here all those years ago. Rhysand only watched her intently. He curled a hand around her waist in a supportive manner, and she turned to him, some unreadable expression dawning their faces. Their eyes finally tore away from each other, as though they’d been speaking in some silent language, before their gazes turned to me. Feyre’s eyes softened as she took me in. People often seemed to do that: with my soft blonde hair and doll-like face, to them, I was seen as the pretty little flower of Spring, Tamlin and Lyra’s pride and joy. I let people indulge in that mask. I didn’t let them see the fierceness that burned beneath, the scars that lined my body though I hadn’t been alive for any war. I let them see the primped, dolled-up blonde stuffed into dresses and bonnets, learning to play housewife. I gave a deep bow of my head. It was no secret that the Night Court was the most powerful court in Prythian. The denizens of Prythian owed a great debt to the Night Court and its Inner Circle for all the efforts they contributed to stopping Hybern from invading seventy-five years ago. Showing respect to the pair that stood before me was inked into my very blood. “Please, there’s no need.” Feyre smiled softly. Rhysand remained neutral, scanning me head to toe, assessing. There was a beat of silence before Feyre finally offered, “We never knew your mother very well.” I blinked. Of course, they didn’t. Papa wasn’t very keen on visiting the Night Court. Neither was he keen on having the Night Court visit us. “It can only be expected with the…strenuous relations.” Rhysand nodded solemnly at my words. “Nonetheless, my dear, we know you’ve probably heard condolences and sorry’s a thousand times this week, which is why I will only say that I too know what it is like to lose somebody so important to me. You are not alone. Though it may feel this way, you are not alone.” There was something in the way he said it, something about the words he offered me that had sobs rising up my throat. I only put a hand to my heart and replied, “Your words are much appreciated, High Lord.” There was more silence, and the hall was quickly emptying. The oak doors opened once again, and Papa, red-faced and claws out stormed back onto the dais. He was breathing heavily, and I did not want to see the state of his study after this whole ordeal was over. Feyre only blinked as she stared at the claws, claws she’d probably grown to fear just as much as I did. “Excuse my absence,” Papa said dryly as those mighty claws retracted once more. “It is time for the Rebirth.” He waved a hand to the entrance of the throne room. The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court nodded once more before stepping down the dais and heading for the doors. I was about to follow suit until thick, calloused fingers wrapped around my upper arm and pulled me roughly back, causing me to nearly trip in my shoes. “What did they say to you?” Growled my father, eyes full of rage and wrath. I swallowed, used to the anger, used to the temper that consumed him. “They only offered their condolences, Papa.” “You swear—” “I swear it,” I interrupted him, tired of the constant back and forth, just wanting to get this day over with. My impatience only earned a squeeze of his fingers, tightening so hard that I winced and tore my arm away from him. In silence, we walked to the front doors. I hated that silence. Because I knew, I knew that if my mother were here, it wouldn’t be silent. She would’ve protected me. Calmed Papa down. But she was just a pile of ash now. A pile of ash and roses. * * * Dinner was taken to my room. I peeled myself out of the black dress with Vesna’s help. Her eyes skipped over the purple bruise lining my left upper arm due to the simple fact she couldn’t see it. I kept the glamour on my skin thick and solid at all times, even going to the extent to teach myself to have it on while I slept. The servants knew full well the wrath that boiled within my father’s veins, and when that wrath surfaced, they were quick to turn a blind eye. Obviously, they didn’t know the actions that rage drove him to, nor the pain he inflicted on Mama and I. Even if they did, they couldn’t defy their High Lord, no matter the brutality he may wreak upon the manor. But the less they knew, the better. They needed to feed their families, to keep a steady lifestyle for themselves, despite what it may mean for me, or others around him. Once I was in my beige cotton trousers and soft white knit sweater, I settled into the wooden rocking chair beside the window overlooking the front gardens with my mutton stew for another night of loneliness and shifting my food around my plate. Then there was a soft knock at my door, and Vesna opened it to an auburn-haired head poking through to reveal Lucien’s smiling face. For the first time in a while, a full smile danced on my features, and I set my tray down on a nearby table and ran to him, giving him a proper greeting as per our tradition. He scooped me into his arms and swung me around, just as he did when I was about as tall as his hips, then set me down, clearing away the hair that fell into my face. “Tell me everything,” he murmured. “I can’t believe she’s really gone.” I looked down at my shoes, my hands curling to fists, before breathing a long sigh through my nose. “Me neither. It seems unreal.” He joined me where I was in my rocking chair, pulling over a plush velvet chaise and slumping back. I picked up my bowl of mutton stew once more, more for the heat if offered my hands than the food itself. “It was just like any other ride, you know? We were out in the woods near the border when they attacked. One minute we were both laughing, galloping along.” I swallowed. “The next she was ripped out of her saddle. Before I could even blink they’d bit her head clean off her body. Then, before I could draw a breath, my power misted the seven of them.” “Naga,” he swore. “Bastards.” It was the story Nevanthi had concocted to cover-up the ‘sin’ behind my mother’s true cause of death. She said the people would respond negatively if they knew she’d taken her own life, because the Cauldron heavily cursed those who committed ‘such atrocities against its gift of life’. Though I knew it was because it would reveal the true state of this court and the person ruling over it. “Bastards,” I echoed. “You truly misted them?” Lucien murmured in wonder. I couldn’t blame him. Misting was a very, very rare and deadly gift that few and far in between possessed, but I nodded my head anyway. It hadn’t been a complete lie. With a snap of my hands I conjured an orange, plucking it from the kitchen and tugging through those pockets within the fabric of the world, then once it sat in my hand, only one thought and it turned into a citrusy mist where the full, ripe fruit used to be. His eyes widened in wonder. “When did you learn? How did you—” “Mama, it seemed, kept the power a secret from Tamlin,” I said quietly, “and taught me discretely. Your silence is appreciated.” A frown, then a clench of his knuckles, and finally a sigh. “He hasn’t changed, has he?” I’d never told Lucien of the abuse. I’d never shown him the scars or bruises, which I kept constantly glamoured, I’d never hinted at the notion he would lay a hand on me. The show my mother and I kept up was exhausting and took a toll on ourselves emotionally, but she convinced me it would keep us safe. And look where that got us. “No,” I admitted, then grinned. “But look at how wonderful I turned out.” Lucien snorted. “Yes, a snot-nosed brat with enough power to tear life away with the blink of an eye.” “Now, now Lucien, those are hurtful words you’re directing towards your beloved—and might I add only—blessed-daughter!” “Believe me, Keo, I was forced into it. It didn’t seem so bad when you were a diaper-soiling baby, but once you grew that mouth of yours—Cauldron, did I regret it.” I only rolled my eyes in response, giving him a vulgar gesture. When I was Blessed by the Mother as a child, my head dipped into the soft rose-petaled waters that filled Nevanthi’s sacred basin to represent the Cauldron, Mama and Papa had chosen Lucien and his mate as well as High Lady Feyre’s older sister Elain to be my blessed-parents. If anything were to happen to my parents before I turned of age, the pair would take care of me until I reached maturity and could rule my court. Yet now that I was of age, or nearly in a few weeks, the role seemed useless. But I cherished it if only for the fact that it created a special bond between Lucien and I. Elain and he had tried to figure out their messy relationship. Mama, Papa and Lucien never gave me the full details, only that she was there for my Blessing, then gone a year later once they mutually decided it wouldn’t work out between them. Well, mutual is a strong word. Nobody ever broached the subject with Lucien. Especially once the news reached us that Elain had married a member of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. Lucien left the Spring Court soon after for the Day Court, where his true father was, and took up his life he never had there, claiming he couldn’t stand to be around so many flowers after being with her. I was barely five years old. But he’d visited regularly, teased me, raised me, trained me. Sometimes I wished that he’d been my father instead of Tamlin. “How are you holding together?” Lucien wondered after a few moments passed, the humour leeched from the conversation with those five words. I shrugged my shoulders. “As fine as I could wish for.” He gave me a pointed look. “You know I don’t believe that for a second.” “I know. But maybe if I say it enough I’ll believe it.” “Fair enough.” “How long are you staying?” He sighed. “Not long, unfortunately. A few days at most. Internal affairs issues concerning trade deals with Dawn popped up and we’ve been trying to charm their pants off to keep them in our good graces.” “Why do I feel as though Helion takes the saying ‘charm their pants off’ literally?” Lucien shuddered. “Because he does. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that my father is an orgy-powered walking library.” “Don’t forget the powerful thighs,” I smirked. He poked his own. “Doesn’t seem like I inherited those.” I flashed him a grin and finally reached over to set down my plate. Lucien looked down at my outstretched hands and frowned. “So it’s still happening then? The engagement?” Ah, yes. The engagement. I’d worn the ring for so long now that my mind filtered it out every time I looked at my hands. If only it could filter out the misogyny surrounding my husband-to-be’s words and actions. Carrick was a High Fae of wealth and haute social class in the nearby village. Papa had decided that when I was to turn eighteen, the age of maturity, I’d be betrothed to him and have him as consort once I was High Lady. Though the idea was mighty appealing to Carrick’s family in terms of power, and for Papa in terms of the wealth they’d be giving to the kingdom in thanks for the union, the real catch was the fact that Carrick was the most powerful High Fae in the village. Offspring from our shared genes would likely be of incredible strength, power and capability. Carrick had extreme strength, shapeshifting abilities, air and wind manipulation as well as winnowing and other minor powers. Combined with my extreme strength, shapeshifting abilities, wind manipulation, misting powers, winnowing, fire manipulation, spell-cleaving and healing powers… The results would be incredible. I’d earned few of my powers from Papa. Lyra, a denizen originally from the Dawn Court, had a mixed bloodline of powerful males and females from all over the courts. Her lineage seemed to dilute the more it expanded, yet for some reason she’d been gifted many of it: fire manipulation, spell-cleaving, air and wind manipulation, healing abilities, misting powers… a blend of autumn, day, dawn and night carefully crafted and siphoned into one female, who then handed it down to me. People murmured how I was stronger than any of my predecessors. As a young girl I never believed them, yet as Mama and I practiced in the thicket near the willow tree, I finally began to believe them. Carrick though, as a male, was definitely not the choice I would’ve made for myself. He was handsome, sure—ruggedly so, with short sandy coloured hair and hazel eyes. His body and shape were as expected: pure toned muscle hardened by decades of rigorous training and constant toning. Yet his personality fell flat due to the fact that he held no respect for me. Or any female, for that matter. Marrying him would be signing myself away like a piece of property, something Papa had no qualms over doing. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t have a say in it, that’d been decided when I was still a young girl, not even past my first bleeding. “Yes,” I finally answered the loaded question, “it was supposed to be the week of my eighteenth birthday, a few weeks from now. I’m only hoping that maybe I could feign needing more time to mourn.” “Surely you wouldn’t have to feign it, Keorah,” Lucien’s brows furrowed together, and the words had an accusatory lilt to them. “What happened was tragic. It’s normal if the grief is overwhelming. Nobody will blame you for taking the time you need to mourn your mother.” And I wished I could tell him the truth, I wish he could scream with me at the injustice of it all. So I settled for a half-truth instead. “It just hasn’t set in yet, I think. Mother’s arse, Lucien, I haven’t even cried. Does that make me a monster? Does that make me abnormal?” “Two things. No, three things.” Lucien pushed himself to the edge of his seat and gripped my biceps. I hid my wince at the uncomfortable pressure on my left arm. “Firstly, not crying doesn’t make you a monster. We all grieve differently, and what you saw was extremely traumatic. You’re probably still in a state of shock. Seeing your mother die like that?” He scoffed. “That would likely dredge away anybody’s sanity for a little while. Secondly, no, it doesn’t make you abnormal, and even if it did, you are abnormal anyways. You are abnormal in the best way possible. If you were normal, you’d be boring as hell, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing my blessed-daughter is so mundane. And thirdly,” he chuckled, “if I ever hear you say Mother’s arse again, I’ll throw you into the rose bushes, thorns and all.” I shook my head at the incredulousness of his words yet still smiled. “Why can’t you visit more often?”

Hope you liked it! I’ll be posting the next chapter tomorrow :)

[xaz-fr]

The Story So Far

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dragons are humanoid unless said otherwise

Gemini is a Good Southern Boy™ who uses TWO ‘ in one word because that’s the sort of guy he is lololol

Home Amid the Flood Plain

He sat with his mother in their small camp. Heliconia was teaching him to fend for himself. How to hunt, how to fish, how to forage and how to find the best rocks and logs to overturn to find the best insects. He liked hunting the most. It was the most engaging for his brain. Heliconia didn't seem surprised in this. It was night and they'd hunted a toridae for dinner. Heliconia had shown him the best way to open the creature with his claws to not spill open the stomach or intestines, which could spoil the meat, and now they were laying in their camp tiredly. His mother had made a little arcane fire to provide them with some light before they went to sleep.

“Mother, where are we going now?” he asked, laying on his side, his belly full of toridae. He did a lot of the hunting because Heliconia was teaching him and sometimes they didn't always have a full meal because he wasn't very good at it. He was proud about the toridae kill.

“Where the Search takes us.”

“But what's that mean? Do you feel a call? I don't feel anything,” he frowned and let his head flop down onto the dirt with a sigh.

“You're still young, my son,” she said soothingly. “You may not be old enough to feel the pull of the Search.”

He frowned. “Father said the Charge was a farce.”

“Your father was a fool. A dead fool at that. He rejected what it was to be a Guardian.”

He looked away from his mother. “What if I don't have a Charge?”

“All Guardians have a Charge. You will find yours.”

“Do you know Guardians who have?”

“Yes. Plenty.”

He huffed,  “Okay. I want to believe you. I want to find my charge.”

He wasn't sure how much he believed in such a thing still. His father had been so adamant that there was no such thing as Charges or that if there were they did nothing but hold Guardians back because it implied they weren't complete without them. But his father hadn't had one and he'd been… unstable. What if he became like that because he didn't have a Charge? But his mother didn't have a Charge either. She was perfectly normal wasn't she? And she said she knew other Guardians with Charges. She wasn't just saying that to make him feel better was she?

He turned away from the arcane light to try to go to sleep. He had nightmares all night of being sucked into a water spout and spat out far away from where he was supposed to go. Or of flying and a strong cross wind whipped him off course.

In the morning he woke up tired. But still he got to his feet and flew away from their camp when Heliconia said. They flew across a great reed field for a bit before his mother made an abrupt about face and flew north toward the Sea. “Mother, what's wrong?” he called up to her, against the wind.

“This place is wrong,” she called back. They flew out over the cliff face and out over the Sea.

“What's wrong with the reeds?” he asked as they flew in circles above the crashing water.

“You didn't see it?” she asked him.

“See what?” he had no idea what she was talking about.

She shook her head. “Then it matters not,” and she flew east along the cliff until they came to a great waterfall. The waterfall tumbled several hundred feet down and the mouth was so wide that it took over a hundred feet before the water turned into vapor. The strange brackish mist clung to their scales and he blinked his second eyelid across his eye to protect it from the spray. They flew inland from the waterfall which strangely sounded like laughter as they flew over it. “We'll stop soon,” Heliconia called back to him.

They landed well after midday on some of the only solid ground around. The rest of the area was soggy, mud, or underwater. “What is this place?” he asked, muzzle wrinkling in dislike. Even the infested waters of the cove he’d been raised in was preferable to the mud around them.

“There’s a swamp that runs along the length of the river a ways. As we near the Hewn City it will give way to firmer ground. No one lives out here,” Heliconia said. “But it is an ideal place to rest. The most dangerous thing out here is a toridae and you’ve proved to be a more than adequate at hunting them,” she patted him a bit on the shoulder with her wing and he beamed at her. “We’ll rest, find some food and continue on,” she nodded to herself at that.

He settled down with her to rest. “Mother, have you ever been to the Hewn City?”

“No but I’ve heard of it. All sorts of things and clans live in the Hewn City. I’m sure we’ll find something there,” she said and shifted her wings around to rest after a long day of flying.

“What did you see out in those reeds?”

“I’d rather not speak of it. Rest. You will be the one hunting for us,” she said. He wanted to press the subject but was smart enough not to. He just nodded and settled down as well.

They didn’t sleep but he did feel himself dozing. He became aware when his mother put her wing on his back. He blinked into a alertness but her wing stopped him from moving too much. “What is it?” he whispered.

“Shh,” she was looking at the woods.

Faster than he could follow his mother was on her feet and drew her claw up to make a mark in arcane magic in the air. The air around them shimmered pink and fuchsia as she made a protective bubble around them. As the shield came up two arrows flew out of the trees and pinged harmlessly off the solid surface. She growled deeply. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” she barked.

To his surprise two figures stepped out of the forest. They were strangely shaped. Bipedal but not like any beastclan his parents had ever told him around. They had long tails and wings and he could see a frill of horns framing their faces. One looked like they were made from the very forest, the other wore a warrior’s breastplate. They both had bows but only the one with the striped green wings had their drawn. “Well now, that’s something you don’t see every day,” the other one said. Their wings were wide, leathery and blue with dark rosettes decorating them. Their voice was masculine and they spoke common draconic perfectly. He didn’t seem at all afraid either. “Put your bow down, Relic, jeesh, we aren’t savages out here,” he huffed at the green winged one. Slowly, casting a furtive look at the speaker, Relic lowered his bow.

He walked right up to the edge of the bubble shield. “Hey there,” he said cheerfully, smiling.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Heliconia demanded.

“Ah, now see that’s my line. You’re in our territory.”

“Your territory?” Heliconia scoffed. “No one lives out here in the swamp.”

“That’s true. We used to not be here but times have changed. This area is claimed for Cypress Hall. Now what are you doing here?” he smiled again.

“We’re passing through. We’re on our Search,” Heliconia said.

“Oh? Well alright then. Would you like to rest up back at the Hall? It’s much nicer there than out here in this swamp.”

“Gem, that’s not a-

He jammed Relic in the ribs with his bow. “Don’t mind him, he’s new. He doesn’t know how to welcome travelers to our home.”

Heliconia gave him a narrow eyed look. “Who is the leader of this Cypress Hall?” she asked.

“Well… that’s a complicated question but who runs the place is named Johanna. She keeps things in order. She’s a nice old lady. Promise.”

“He seems nice,” he muttered to his mother, coming up from under her protective wing. “Do you have beds? We haven’t slept on a bed in a while.”

“Of course,” the blue-winged thing said.

He looked up at his mother and she gave him a disapproving stare. He just gave her a pleading look. Please could they go? He wanted to sleep in a bed again. But more excitingly he could meet other dragons. They'd only seen one other clan and that had been out at Sea full of Water dragons but they had been in the middle of some ceremony. They hadn't flown inland until they'd reached the Sunbeam Ruins. His mother said it was dangerous in the Wastes and Expanse and he wasn't quite ready for the rigorous wind of the Plateau.  He'd never interacted with other dragons. He wanted to meet new dragons. Maybe one would be his Charge? Or maybe just… friends? His mother had friends. He had none. Please could they go?

Heliconia looked from him to the two figures. “What's your name?” she asked.

“I'm Gemini. This is my protege Relic,” the blue winged one said and gave a strange flourish of a bow while removing his cap. Next to him Relic rolled his eyes. “We're rangers for Cypress Hall. And who might you folks be?”

“I am Heliconia. This is my son,” she put a protective wing around him.

“Aye. Well, you should come with us. That or leave our territory immediately.”

“We'll come with you,” Heliconia said.

“Excellent. Drop your shield and we'll be off shall’n’t we?” Gemini seemed very nice and was constantly cheerful. He liked Gemini.

With trepidation Heliconia lowered the shield. She nodded at him and they followed the two beings. He didn't know what they were but he was so curious about them. To his surprise they didn't fly but waded into the woods. They didn't even have to go very far either. Just half a phase of the sun and then they broke into a island where a building was built. His eyes widened. He'd never seen anything like this except as something his mother had told him about. “Wow,” he said.

Gemini looked back at him with a wide smile. “That is North Face. Our commander is there. She'll be interested in meeting you.”

“And me her,” Heliconia said. She put a protective wing around him as they followed Gemini across the cleared island to the big building. In the distance, past some trees, he could see the top of another, domed, building and to the south a huge tree that towered over all the other trees in the area. As they neared the building it was more than big enough to accommodate Heliconia’s large form and in the distance he could hear banging and some distant loud voices. More dragons? He was very excited to meet those dragons.

Gemini showed them inside. “Go back out Relic, I’ll catch up,” Gemini told his partner just before they crossed the threshold.

“Do I have to?” Relic huffed. “There’s never anything out there.” Gemini gave him a look like he couldn’t believe the stupidity that had just come out of his mouth. He motioned at large to him and Heliconia. Relic sighed. “Right. Got it. I’ll see you out there,” and his shoulders a bit slumped he went back out across the island.

“Lazy ass,” Gemini scoffed. “Anyway, this way,” he beckoned them inside. He looked all around in amazement.

“Son, keep up,” Heliconia called when he fell a dragon length behind her.

“Coming!” he scampered after her.

“Right here,” Gemini knocked on a small door. “Johanna, boss, you got visitors,” he called through.

“Send them in,” a voice called through the other side.

“Yeah… that ain’t happening.”

There was silence and then the door was opened. “What is it Gem..ini… oh. Hello.” This being looked different from Gemini and Relic. For starters it was a lady and her wings were different, her tail more long and flexible and she had a seafoam colored gem in the middle of her forehead. Her hair was also gray which he thought was odd. Gemini and Relic’s hair wasn’t gray. They both had black hair, or a color so dark it looked black. “I’m Johanna of Cypress Hall, how do you do?” she asked.

“Heliconia, this is my son,” she motioned to him as she bowed her head respectfully and he quickly mimicked her.

“They were passing through on a Search,” Gemini said with a bright grin.

“I see,” Johanna said slowly.

“The last time I was through this way there were no clans that called this land home,” Heliconia said.

“We’re… up and coming,” Johanna said. Heliconia nodded. “So long as you mean my clan no harm you’re more than welcome to stay for a time, prepare for the next leg of your Search.”

“That is gracious. What is your price for such hospitality?”

Gemini snorted and Johanna smacked him with her wing. “There is no catch, Heliconia. We are a small, peaceful, clan out here in the backwoods. Just don’t go south to the Warren and stay away from the Field of Reeds and you’ll be welcome by any of us. The Hall is a warm place, we want nothing from you unless you’re up to trade something? But by the looks of it you carry nothing of value so you’re just our guests.”

“I find that hard to believe-

He was bored with the discussion. He could still hear the banging and loud talking some ways away. He looked up at his mother but she was focused on Johanna. Slowly he slipped away from Heliconia’s side. Johanna didn’t even look at him but Gemini noted his leaving. He didn’t do anything about it but he knew Gemini saw him leave by the tilt of his hat.

He slunk away from his mother and headed for the voices. He found them and his eyes brightened when he saw a big Imperial being positively scolded by a being barely a quarter his size. “I told you to hold it level, now look at it, it’s all crooked!” the being huffed, a feathery crest around their head flicking back in annoyance.

“Well you’re a carpenter, can’t you just fix it?” the Imperial asked. He was magnificent with patterns and colors he couldn’t even begin to fathom. Spotted and brown with wings like the sunset and a belly like the water at dawn. He stared at the both of them but they hadn’t noticed him yet.

“We’d have to start all over again,” the being said as they aggressively chewed a big splinter of wood.

“Seriously?” the Imperial sighed. The being hummed angrily at him. “Fine,” he rolled his eyes and his eyes got so big when they drew themselves up and grabbed the beam they’d been arguing around and bodily lifted it off a pair of posts it was on. As he did he looked in his direction. “Oh- hi,” he waved with one claw.

“Hi!” he said and approached them curiously.

The being looked him over. “Who’re you? I don’t recognize you.”

“Uh… I’m Heliconia’s son,” he said and became suddenly very aware he didn’t have a name.

“Who’s that?”

“My mother.”

“Where’s she?”

“Fjord- you’re literally always telling me to be nice to strangers and here you are being rude as the Great Furnace,” the Imperial gingerly put the beam down. “I’m Aten, this is Fjord. What’s your name?”

He stared at them. “Ah… I… don’t have one,” he said.

“Eh, no big deal,” Fjord said with a shrug of his wings.

“Really?”

“I don’t know why it would be. Relic didn't have a name when he showed up,” Fjord shrugged again.

“So he had to take his name too?” he asked.

Fjord rose a black-blue brow at him. “You right in the head there, kid?”

“Fjord,” and Aten nudged him hard with his elbow. It sent the being stumbling to the side. “You're so rude.”

“Watch yourself, kid,” Fjord growled back.

“Don't make me tell Shai you're being an asshole to guests. You know how she gets.”

Fjord took that under serious consideration. “Mmmm.”

“Are you going to be staying?” Aten asked him.

“I don't know. Me and my mother are on a Search,” he said. Aten gave him a blank eyed stare. He didn't know what that meant. “For our Charges,” he elaborated.

Aten looked down at Fjord, “You know what he's talking about?”

“Course I do you dumb boy,” Fjord huffed. “You need to spend time with others. I swear you're as dumb as a new kitten.” Fjord looked at him, “Most of our Guardians don't have Charges here. Don't have many Guardians to begin with so there is that.”

“Really? So they live normal without one?” he asked.

“Don't see why they wouldn't.”

A shadow fell over him. “There you are,” it was his mother. She didn't look happy. He grinned sheepishly at her. “Do not wander.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Who are you then? His mother?” Fjord asked.

“I am. Now come along, my son,” she put a wing against him to pull him away.

“Bye,” he waved a little at Aten sadly. He didn't want to go. Aten seemed almost his age while Fjord was older and maybe that was why he was grumpy and angry. Did you just become angry when you were older? He hoped that didn't happen to him. Aten waved back at him even as he followed his mother away.

“Where are we going? Are we staying?” he asked her as they walked across the island.

“For a time,” Heliconia said. “Long enough to see if what we Search for is here.”

“And if it isn't?”

“Then we will move on,” she said.

“Fjord said there were Guardians here who lived just fine without a Charge,” he said. “Couldn't we do that?” he hoped he didn't sound frantic. He didn't want to be alone anymore. Now that he'd met new dragons and had talked to them he just wanted to stay with them. He didn't want to just wander endlessly.

“I thought you said you wanted to find your Charge,” Heliconia said.

“Yes but… do we have to rush?”

“I suppose not. It would be better if you were older. We can only go so far because you're not fully grown yet.” It had never occurred to him that they were going slow because of him. He thought he kept up with Heliconia fine. But she was going slower for him? He didn't like the idea of slowing his mother down. “We'll see if we like this place. If we do we'll stay. If not we'll go find somewhere else,” she concluded.

“Okay,” but he wasn't excited about that.

They arrived before Johanna again. “I see you found him. Good,” she looked at him and he looked away. “Come with me, I'll show you where you can stay,” and she took flight from a standing position.

He quickly jumped after his mother into the sky to follow them. They flew off away from North Face more west and south to another island, larger than North Face and covered in trees still. From the air he could see more islands too. A huge one that had been partially clear cut and covered in orderly plant growth and pens for animals and a small one covered entirely in bamboo. The big island they were going to had a twin, equally as dense with trees as the first. They landed near the shore by a large, empty, building that was barely more than a lean to. It had three and a half sides and could easily accommodate Heliconia’s height.

“This will do for now. It's just some temporary housing. Or permanent if you want to stay as you are. Our clan isn't exactly built for our born forms anymore. Everything has gotten smaller to accommodate our chosen forms,” Johanna said. “If you plan on staying long term I'm sure I can get Fjord to build something more permanent for you but for now this will do.”

“Thank you, Johanna. You are gracious,” Heliconia said with a respectful bow of her head.

“If you need anything go to the Tangle or up the coast there is Jessabelle’s trading post where you'll find all sorts of things,” Johanna nodded. “Welcome to Cypress Hall,” and she took flight again.

[loracarol]

Easy peasy lemon squeezey! Can I get some caught in a snare for werewolf!Imector? There's so much that you can do there, I'm curious to see how that would go

MMmmm okay, so, expectation spoilers for later chapters of the werewolf AU. I’ve put them in rot13 for full disclosure? 

Urpgbe fgvyy gheaf vagb n jbys qhevat shyy zbbaf. Vzryqn oebhtug uvz “onpx”, ohg ur'f fgvyy n jrerjbys, grpuavpnyyl fcrnxvat.

….I don’t 100% know if the snare would work the way I’m writing it to, so just know that I did the research, but discarded so the plot I wanted to write would make sense. |D 

Héctor had gotten better at handling the nights of the full moon; while he still hated the lack of control that came with the shift from one from to the other, he could handle it. Mostly. It helped that his family was there, grounding him, keeping him from slipping to much into wolf mind, and wolf instincts. While some of them could be useful, he didn’t want to lose himself - not again. 

What didn’t help were that some of the instincts were just plain ridiculous. Take the idea of a territory, for example. He was just one man, (even if he was a wolf some of the time), he had a house, he had his family, he didn’t need to lay claim to all of Santa Cecilia. 

But whatever instincts bubbled up and refused to vanish were the ones insisting that this was his territory - all of it. Thankfully he didn’t have to do much; there weren’t any other wolves in the area he had to defend “his” territory from. He could usually sleep easy by doing a circle around the town, leaving scratch marks in the dirt and in the trees that left his scent. (The need to scent mark in general was the worst - it made him feel like even less human then he did already.) 

At first he had tried to stay indoors all night every night during the full moon, to quash down the instincts, and to be a good husband - a good man. And it had worked, for a time, being home, being with family, he was able to focus on that, and it did help. 

But he had started to get anxious, a feeling that didn’t quite go away when he was human the next morning. He had been tense, waiting for… Something. He didn’t know what, but it was coming. Imelda had found him pacing in the courtyard, the next full moon, as he tried to work off his nervous energy before the night was up, but - heaven help him - he wanted to run. 

He didn’t know long Imelda had been watching him from the doorway - while he had known immediately when she’d shown up, he wasn’t very good at keeping track of time. He tried to calm down, tried to resist the nervous energy coursing through his veins - It was early in the morning, and Imelda should have been in bed, sleeping, not staying up and watching him pace like a mad thing. 

Eventually she had moved until she was standing close enough to run one hand through the thick fur near his ears. He leaned into the touch, as much as he could without tipping her over. 

“Héctor,” she had said, voice barely louder then a whisper. “If I leave the back gate unlocked, can you open it?”

He could, easily. He didn’t have hands for the locking mechanism, but the gate was simple enough. Though he had to admit, he wondered why.

“Try not to let people see you,” Imelda had continued, hand shaking as she continued to dig her fingers into the soft fur at Héctor’s head, “And be home before Coco wakes up, I’m begging you.” 

Héctor had wanted to stay, to prove he was capable of choosing what to do, instead of feeling forced by whatever bits in his self that were no longer human, but getting permission was too much for him to turn down. He nuzzled her hand gently, then turned and ran for the gate, Imelda chasing after him to unlock it. She needn’t have bothered, as he’d jumped the wall easily. 

And he had been home before Coco woke up. 

He was always home before Coco woke up. 

He would always be home for Coco. He had left them already too many times, he couldn’t leave them again. 

He would always be home for Coco - he had promised, and yet… 

Someone had set up a snare in the forests around Santa Cecilia. 

Made to go around a smaller animal’s neck, Héctor had stepped inside it, and accidentally set it off. His first thought had been to panic as the snare tightened it’s grip around his foot. Made of wire, whoever had made it had technically done a good job; it was strong, far stronger then the snares normally used for hunting, and while Héctor was strong, the snare had been there a while, and it had tree roots keeping it in place. 

He couldn’t help the whine that exited his throat as he struggled, and the faint scent of copper began to fill the air. It was that that brought him to a halt; struggling would only tighten the loop. He knew that, what was wrong with him?

Well, he knew the answer to that too.  

Turning, he tried to remove the cable with his teeth, but his were too large, and his claws weren’t much better. His ears went back as he started to panic; the only thing he could think was to wait until sunrise, and either hope that he was able to get his foot out then without any trouble, or finally get proper hands with proper fingers and undo the snare then. 

 What a mess! There’d be no guarantee that he’d be home before Coco woke up, nor any that he’d be able to sneak into town unnoticed. He had broken his promise to Imelda again. And even if it was unintentional - he’d hurt her enough. Did his intentions matter?

 He started to gnaw again at the cord, at his foot, at anything to get it off so he could get home. He wasn’t quiet about it; what was the point? It was far too early in the morning for it to matter. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and he had to get home. 

There was a shift in the scent in the air, and then there were people coming. It didn’t matter who they were, he was really in trouble now, because people would shoot at him, they’d chase him and they’d make him forget, and then Imelda would be sad again and it would be all his fault - 

“Héctor?” The voice said, and Héctor turned, his own blood still smeared across his muzzle. Behind him stood Imelda’s brothers, and while he normally could tell them apart, he wasn’t in the mood to try and figure which one had spoke, and which one was holding up the light. 

“What happened?” One of them said, and for a moment there was a war brewing inside Héctor between the bits that needed help and the bits that wanted the two to leave him alone. He knew that they wouldn’t hurt him; they seemed to like him well enough, but what if he hurt them?

“Easy, easy,” a twin - Oscar? - was saying, and Héctor realized he had been growling. He forced himself to stop, and instead lay down. He was tempted to roll over, show he wasn’t going to hurt them, but the snare on his back foot and his proximity to the tree would have made that difficult. Instead, he made sure his tail was tucked under, and did everything he could to be smaller, to apologize. 

Felipe cursed, as he moved around Héctor and saw the snare. “Héctor, can we take this off of you?” He was moving slowly, they both were, and Héctor could practically smell their fear. He nodded his head as best he could, before curling up as best he could so that his maw was hidden. He wasn’t sure what had driven them to search for him - had he really been gone that long? - but he couldn’t help but be grateful as they worked on the snare. 

“I’m sorry,” Oscar said, coming up to the front, “but I think we’ll need some special tools to get this off of you.” 

Héctor let out a low whine. 

“But Felipe and I think we can cut the snare out of the tree,” Oscar continued, giving Héctor a brief, tentative pat on the head, “So we can at least get you home.” 

Héctor wagged his tail in gratitude. He knew it wasn’t exactly wolf behavior, but he’d been watching the dogs in Santa Cecelia to get an idea of how he should behave around people. The twins seemed to understand, and they kept digging at the point where the snare had gotten stuck. 

“We’ve got it,” Felipe finally said, “Can you walk?” 

Héctor stood up as best as he could on only three legs. He was fine, he could do it. He stumbled a bit, when he put his weight down on the snared foot, forgetting, but he righted himself shortly after. 

“You’re usually home by now,” Felipe said, after they’d been walking for some time. 

“We were worried,” Oscar admitted, light turned down once they reached the main road, and the light of the full moon. The sky was starting to lighten; dawn would be coming soon. Héctor hated the full moon, but he thanked his lucky stars for family like the twins. 

After all, thanks to them, Héctor would be home like he promised. 

(And hopefully Imelda wouldn’t be too upset about the snare.) 

[amostimprobabledream]

The Trees Stood Witness (Aizawa x Reader)

Birds chirp loudly as you walk through the forest. It’s almost as if they’re greeting you.

The village that borders it was bustling with life, but it’s quiet in the depth of the woods, aside from the birdsong and distant trickling from a stream somewhere. The forest wraps around the base of the mountain and you’ve been warned about the wild animals that prowl down from there when the sun sets. Still, you’re on a deadline to get to the next town as fast as possible and taking the path is a far longer journey, and it’s not entirely safe from hazards, itself. So as long as you don’t start climbing, you should be safe from the more dangerous wildlife around here.

It’s pretty here, anyway, much nicer than the view of the road could hope to be. Afternoon sunlight punches through spots in the leafy canopy above you, sending beams of light down to random patches of earth below. Wildflowers are dotted all around and the smell of fresh earth fills your nose and you breathe in the clear air with a faint smile. It feels good to get away from the smallness of the village, of the people who are so suspicious and gossipy and the general suffocating feeling that comes from somewhere so small, where everybody knows everybody. It’d only be a matter of time before people started turning gossip towards you. No, you need to keep moving.

Still, walking through the forest alone gives you time to think and the thought that persistently stays with you, tagging along at your heels with each step you make, is that you’re being watched. All you can see for miles is trees and the occasional animal scuttling past, the flash of a rabbit or shuffling of something hiding in the bushes. Though you’re happy to be away from other people for a short while, there’s something a little intimidating about being entirely alone. Like anything, anything at all, could happen to you.

Which is why you nearly jump out of your damned skin when a voice suddenly shatters the quiet, a lazy drawl that comes from behind you.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

You whip around, heart thudding in your chest, skittering backwards a step. A man stands a few feet away from you, as though he’s been there the entire time. For all you know, maybe he has.

You let out a puff of breath. It's one of the wolf-people who live further up the mountains, where it's still untamed by humans. The forest is technically neutral ground between the villagers and mountain-dwellers, but they have an innate advantage here, eyes that see well in the dark, a sense of smell that can track prey for miles...humans have to be on their guard and for a girl like you to be alone, in the forest, with a wolf man...well, it could go either way, depending on his mood.

This one doesn't look angry, at least, but the way he's watching you makes you nervous. He’s tall, with dark shaggy hair and plain, utilitarian clothing. Pointed ears poke up from his hair and you can see a thick, lupine tail behind him. His expression may be bored, but his eyes follow every movement that you make. Your skin prickles - his stare is almost like a physical heat, as if you're standing under the sun. You swallow, but do your best to keep your nerves under control. He's not threatening you, just asking a question, though he makes it sound more like a statement of fact. You attempt to sound casual,

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there..."

“Mm,” he says, tilting his head just a little. “If I were I snake, I would’ve bit you.”

The smile slides off your face as he says that. He has fangs, you just noticed it when he opened his mouth wide enough. You can’t help but imagine those teeth sinking into your neck and it sends a peculiar shiver to descend down your spine.

Where did that come from?

You’re fairly certain that wolf-people don’t just attack humans at random, yet…yet there’s an atmosphere that’s descended upon the woods that fills your head full of teeth and claws. You feel a little silly, so defensive and jumpy just because he’s a little different from you, so maybe that’s why you don’t run away when he speaks again.

"You know," he drawls, moving a little closer to you, his hands still in his pockets, "you probably didn’t know this, but when passing through someone's territory, it usually requires an offering."

“Your…territory?” you repeat, frowning just slightly at how straight to the point he is. “So, the whole forest is your territory now?”

“The forest belongs to those who live in it,” he answers, giving a slow blink, “you’re just passing through. But if you want safe passage through here, it’s only polite to give something in exchange.”

An offering?

"I..." you falter - you clearly don't have anything valuable on you, except for the small satchel of coins you have tied to your belt and something is telling you that's not what he wants. You don't want to offend him by assuming you know exactly what he’s getting at, though, and besides which, his cryptic speech is a little irritating. So you look him square in the eye. "...what exactly did you have in mind?"

That seems to please him, because he turns to face you fully and pulls his hands out of his pockets. His tail lashes back and forth, ears pricked up. Something about his gaze sends a tingling bolt of heat down your spine, making you shift your weight from foot to foot. A very slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, revealing a sliver of fang that makes your heart jump into your throat.

"I can think of a couple of things."

You take a wobbly step backwards and something nudges your back. You turn your head to see you've stepped back into a tree and when you look back, he's standing right in front of you. Your eyes widen - how did he manage to do that so silently? You've been walking through the forest for about twenty minutes and you couldn't take a step without making leaves rustle and dirt crunch. Perhaps that explains how easy it was for him to follow you, with you wandering through the woods and making so much racket. It would have been simple for someone who knows the area well to follow you, unheard. The scent of pine and earth fills your nose as you watch him. As the wolf moves closer, you’re suddenly very aware of the exposed skin of your legs and arms, your distinct lack of natural weapons like fangs or claws.

“What’s your name?” you blurt out nervously, as the wolf man looms over you, not moving, just pinning you there with his gaze alone.

He pauses, considering the question.

“Aizawa,” he says, after some thought. “But you can call me whatever you want, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Oh,” you say, then tell him your name, though you don’t know what makes you do it – you don’t think he cares, but it seems polite to do so.

He runs a finger up your arm, a claw lightly brushing your skin. It’s not enough to break it, but the notion that he could with just the right amount of force makes you shiver. The birds have stopped singing now, leaving the forest almost completely silent, besides your breathing. Just you and Aizawa, totally alone.

“I can tell you’re not from here,” Aizawa says, his voice so close to your ear that it makes you shiver, “None of the village girls would enter the forest alone. You never know what might happen to them.”

“I can give you money,” you say in a breathy voice, heart thumping hard in your chest. “If that’s what- “

“No,” he replies, a distinctly husky tone in his voice now and a clawed finger gently tips your chin back so you’re staring right into his dark eyes, “I want something else.”

You don’t ask him what he wants, because the next moment he’s kissing you – his lips are rough against your own, but it’s certainly not unpleasant. You let out a muffled noise against his lips and he takes advantage of it, licking the seam of your lips with his tongue. A growl builds in his throat and his other hand clamps around your hip, drawing you closer. His kisses are hot and insistent as he pulls from your lips and turns his attention to your neck – your delicate, smooth neck, kissing and then sucking on it. You shudder beneath him, which only spurs him on. Something primal in the back of his mind was innately pleased at leaving markings on you, leaving behind tangible proof of this encounter.

Did you know how alluring you looked to a predator like him, prancing through the forest without a care in the world? Probably not. But Aizawa has been watching you since you first begun your journey through the forest – humans are tricky, you never know which ones are trustworthy and which aren’t. Though it was clear that you had no intention of stopping, that you really were simply passing through to get elsewhere, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by this girl who did not seem to mind of the things that hid in the wild, just out of sight.

Now here you were, staring up at him with wide eyes as he licked and nipped at your skin, surprised, but not resisting. Curious but wary. It’s an interesting combination of emotion that only tempts him to do more, makes him want to see if you taste as good as you look.

Aizawa crowds you against the tree, pushing your hair out of the way so he can get at your shoulders and collarbone, breath hot on your skin. Goosebumps erupt over your flesh, but you don’t try to fight him off, not when the slight prick of his fangs on you feels so good. Heat pools in your belly as he insinuates himself between your legs, his leather-clad thigh cool against the bare skin of your inner thighs. His hands run down your sides, claws dragging over the fabric of your clothes and you gasp as you hear it tearing here and there. Indignantly you glare up at him, to which he gives a fanged smirk.

“Watch the claws,” you complain with a huff, wondering if you will have little scratches littering your body when you take your clothes off.

“Watch your mouth,” he replied in an amused drawl, leaning down and nipping your bottom lip, tugging just a little before muffling further protests with distracting, heated kisses.

While your mouth is occupied, however, it seems Aizawa has other plans for you. His hand rests on your thigh and slides upwards, marveling a little at how soft your skin is beneath his fingertips. You let out a startled noise against his lips as his fingers nudge your underwear.

“Getting excited, are you, girl?” he smirks, tracing the outline of your core with his fingertip, pressing your weight against the tree, feeling you squirm deliciously against him. There was more where that came from.

“Ah…” you gasped as his fingers nudge past the hem of your underwear, finding your slick heat with little difficulty. “Aizawa…”

The bark of the tree digs into your back, but you’re beyond caring as Aizawa rubs hard circles on your clit, mindful of his claws, sending shockwaves rocketing up your frame. He’s pinning you to the tree so easily, growling with approval as you pant, your thighs shaking as he teases you. With a free hand, Aizawa grabs the front of your dress and pulls the neckline down over your breasts, taking the bra beneath with them. He nuzzles into them, licking at the feather-soft flesh and watching your skin break out in goosebumps, but he deliberately avoids the sensitive buds until you’re nearly writhing from desperation – between his ministrations on top as well as between your legs, your head is spinning. You’re glad that Aizawa thought to trap you against the wide-based tree trunk, because you’re not sure you’d be still upright otherwise.

Heat spreads up and down your body, and you cry out as Aizawa sinks his teeth into your neck, just enough to draw a playful bit of blood. He soothes the wound a moment later with some quick flicks of his tongue, a throaty noise in the back of his throat that could almost be mistaken for a purr.

“You’re almost there, aren’t you?” he rumbles, almost sounding matter-of-fact, but you can detect the obvious enjoyment in his tone, “Mm, what about if I do this?”

His fingers slide into you with ease, brushing against your walls and you gasp out loud as he works them in and out of you, beckoning, while his mouth forms a hot seal over your throbbing breasts, tongue leaving over a pert nipple. The throbbing between your legs is so strong it feels like a pulse and you nearly smack the back of your head on the tree as you throw it back, light-headed and dizzy as he drives you over the edge. Your eyes are half-lidded, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Aizawa seems amused, but he makes no comment on your rumpled state. Instead, he fixes you with a heated stare as he bridges the gap between you entirely, nudging against your thighs. You hear the sound of his zipper being undone and look up at him, a tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

“Ready?” he asks, and you nod.

He pulls you close and doesn’t even bother to remove your underwear – he simply nudges it aside as he enters you, and you cry out, startled. It doesn’t really hurt, not after all the preparation and he’s moving in you at steady pace. No need to rush – who’s here to see you? You grunt, bracing your hands on his shoulders and feeling tree bark biting into your arms as Aizawa drags over the sensitive areas, making sure to stroke you hard and deep. Your snug heat wraps around him, squeezing and making him growl, fingers digging into your sides.

The tiny section of forest that you occupy is filled with the sound of harsh pants and grunts, your head lightly knocking against the tree as Aizawa drives into you, hitting a spot deep inside you that makes you squeal and the noise ignites something feral in him, because he can’t resist giving you another bite, the taste of blood providing such a contrast to the throbbing of his length, the way your thighs clamp around him. You yelp but you don’t have time to dwell on the sting on your neck, because you’re too busy clinging to him like you’re shipwrecked and he’s the only way to keep your head above water. He shifts his feet and a branch snaps under his heel.

“Aizawa…nngh…” you manage to pant, as he grabs your hips and hitches you up, your feet leaving the floor entirely as he ups the pace, claws digging into the backs of your thighs, which curiously only serves to excite you more. Your groin pulses with friction, making heat bloom across your cheeks.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rumbling in his throat, “Let me hear you.”

He’s getting faster now, sloppier, his breathing coming out as sharp grunts, his back held taut as he holds you up. For your part all you can do is hold onto him, reaching up sink your fingers into his shaggy black hair… it’s the closest you’re going to get to petting him, so you may as well take advantage.

It doesn’t take long for the movement, sounds of pleasure and the sensation that you’re the only two people in the world to get to you. Aizawa shudders as he comes, crushing you between his body and the tree and licking one of the bitemarks on your neck. The head of his length brushes against your throbbing core, once, twice, three times, each time hitting better and sweeter than the last. Your eyes slide shut and your back arches, breasts brushing his chest as a drawn-out moan spills from your lips, your second orgasm flooding your system, sending your nerves singing. You rest your head on his shoulder, hair sticking to your forehead with sweat.

Silence descends.

Aizawa sets you down slowly, waiting a moment before releasing you so that you don’t faceplant into the dirt. Your legs feel like rubber and you brace a hand against the pine tree, which is still slightly warm to the touch. Your underwear slides back into place as he pulls away, though they are considerably less dry than they were. You run your shaking hands over your body, smoothing your clothes, swiping your messy hair out of the way.

Aizawa watches you in silence, his expression unreadable, though you’re no longer nervous being under his gaze. You’re expecting him to bid you farewell, but he doesn’t. Instead he begins walking in the direction you were heading, glancing over his shoulder.

“Come along,” he says.

You stare at him, taking a half-step forward.

“What?”

“The sun is setting,” he explains, tilting his head up to the sky and, as you copy him, you can see the sliver of moon peeking over the tops of the trees. It’s not quite dark yet, but there’s a little chill in the air that there wasn’t before, “It’s dangerous here at night. I’ll walk you the rest of the way.”

You are about to tell him that he doesn’t have to do that – why, you don’t know. But he keeps walking anyway, pausing to make sure you’re still following him. An understanding passes between you – you completed your half of the offering, now Aizawa will make sure you do get to where you want to go. Under his watch, no wolves or any other beasts will touch you.

You glance up at the moon, then at him, and you smile to yourself.

You never said you wouldn’t come back to the forest when you were finished in town. And judging from the looks Aizawa gives you every so often, eyes dark and full of promise…he’ll be waiting when you do.