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wyntereyez · 28 days

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Wool of bat and tongue of dog

Thanks to @jrob64 for the banner! It's perfect.

Here's the first part of my @cssns contribution. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but thanks to me being a terminal procrastinator combined with a very busy two weeks at work, my brain can't word very well at the moment.

Part One

The door to the Storybrooke Bat Rehabilitation Center was unlocked.

Emma immediately went on the alert. Mary Margaret had left over an hour ago, and she’d never have forgotten to lock the door behind her. After Walsh and the events of the previous month, Emma had taken to bringing her gun with her. She could see Mary Maragaret’s frown whenever she spotted it, but Emma refused to be alone without it.

Not when she was a potential target for the supernatural.

And now, it looked like her fears were well-founded, because there was something inside the building that definitely wasn’t a bat. Emma had inched the door open, holding her breath so she could listen. She could hear something moving in the lobby, by the reception desk.

A deep, resonating growl that made a primal part of Emma want to scream and flee. Her grip tightened on the gun, and she started to raise it.

Then an annoyed chittering followed, which was interrupted by a yip of indignation. Supernatural, all right, but familiar.

Emma holstered the pistol and stepped inside.

A massive wolf was crouched next to the desk, eyes locked on the large fruit bat perched on the edge. The bat raised his head and made delighted squeaks, and the wolf offered a wag of the tail before turning her snarling muzzle back to the bat.

“No supernatural turf wars before I’ve had my coffee,” Emma grumbled. She picked Killian up and plopped him down atop the startled Ruby’s back, then headed towards the breakroom. Ruby padded along after, Killian clinging to her shoulders for dear life.

They both waited patiently as Emma brewed a pot of coffee. While she waited, she grabbed the fruit bowl from the fridge and offered it to Killian, who daintily grabbed a slice of banana and half a strawberry. Ruby’s tongue flicked out, snatching two melon cubes and getting saliva all over the fruit, making Killian shriek in indignation. Emma sighed. “Can we use human words now, please?”

The fruit bat clumsily pulled himself to Ruby’s side, then released his grip on her fur. If he’d been a normal crippled bat, Emma would have dove to rescue him. But the bat never hit the ground; instead, a leather-clad man crouched next to the massive wolf.

Ruby licked his face, smearing melon and saliva on his cheek. Killian sputtered, and she trotted off, making a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“How’d you piss her off this time?” Emma asked as she added cream and sugar to her coffee.

“What makes you think I’m responsible, Swan?” Killian pouted as he straightened. His hook gleamed in the fluorescent light.

“You turned into something small, helpless, and cute to argue with her,” Emma pointed out.

“Which wasn’t enough to prevent me from being angry with you,” Ruby said as she re-entered the break room on two legs.

Now that Emma was in on her secret, Ruby had taken to leaving spare clothes at the Belfry in case of unexpected transformations. She returned shortly in human form, wearing a red T-shirt and black leggings. Her feet were bare, toes caked with dirt from her run. She made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“You’re late tonight,” Ruby commented. “Did something happen?”

“I spent all day at the Town Hall.” Emma couldn’t hold back her groan. “You wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to select an interim mayor. They just need someone to hold the position until an election can be held.”

The mayor had been found dead of a heart attack in his office two days previous, throwing the city council into an uproar. It was a headache that Emma really didn’t need. Especially since there was one member of the council famous for disagreeing with everything, and he’d loudly shot down every candidate. Several of the city council members were friends of his, and tended to follow his lead, which led to deadlocked votes. “He’s going to drive me insane,” Emma sighed.

“Leroy?” Ruby hazarded.

“Yep. Had an argument for everything. By the time the meeting was called, the council still hadn’t chosen anyone, and I almost went to the Rabbit Hole instead of coming here.”

“Sounds worse than vampire politics,” Killian snorted. “Though I imagine there’s less blood.”

“You’d be surprised,” Emma slumped into a chair, her exhaustion finally getting to her. “So what were you two fighting about?”

Killian and Ruby exchanged glances. “A deer,” they said in unison.

Emma rubbed the bridge of her nose, already sorry she asked. This was going to add to her headache. “And why was this particular deer so important? We’re surrounded by woods, there are hundreds of them around.

“I was hunting it, of course. A vampire can’t live on strawberries alone. And deer’s blood can sustain me for more than a week.”

“You didn’t have to choose my prey!” Ruby’s voice had developed a snarl not unlike her wolf’s vocalizations. “I’d been stalking that deer for more than an hour!”

“It was the only deer I’d scented for miles,” Killian defended. “And unlike you, I need live prey.”

Emma tensed, suddenly reminded that she was dealing with two supernatural predators. She reminded herself she’d seen Killian in bat form with his face buried up to his eyes in fruit, and that she’d once half-carried a drunken Ruby home. They were predators, but they had softer sides. Hell, she’d known Ruby since high school.

Ruby scowled and turned the other chair backwards, so she could sit on it with her chin resting on the headrest. She continued to glare at Killian.

“This isn’t your usual night for hunting.” Killian usually chose the nights where no one stayed overnight to go out.

“True; but that storm that’s brewing is going to hang around for a few days. I don’t fancy hunting in the rain.”

“Same reason I was out,” Ruby nodded. “I needed to get a good run in before being cooped up the next few nights. And deer are one of my favorite meals.”

Emma abruptly burst out laughing. At Killian and Ruby’s matching looks of bewilderment, she explained, “Sorry, I just thought about how it must look, seeing Killian stalk a deer when he’s dressed like a pirate.”

“He hunts as a wolf,” Ruby growled. “Which makes him a trespasser on my territory.”

“You can turn into a wolf?!” Emma asked incredulously, then wondered why she was so shocked. She’d been dealing with the existence of the supernatural for nearly a month now; she should be used to this, right?

“Aye,” Killian said, “vampires can become any creature of the night. Though we’re far more impressive than weres.”

Emma wondered what was considered a ‘creature of the night’, especially since she knew wolves were frequently active during the day. Could he become an opossum? A raccoon? Maybe a cricket?

Vampire crickets, now there was a thought.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Vampiric wolves look like how wolves were traditionally depicted: all snaggly teeth and glowing eyes. Werewolves, on the other hand, are perfect specimens of wolf: lithe and muscular, swift as the wind.”

“So… you’re like the goths and jocks of the wolf community?” Emma took a sip of her coffee to hide her amusement as she watched Ruby sputter indignantly. Killian simply smirked, flashing that chipped fang.

“Perhaps we should continue our tale, lass, before we end up at each other’s throats, aye?” Killian said softly, and Ruby calmed.

“Yeah.” Ruby shook her head as though to dispel the last vestiges of wolf.

The change in tone put Emma on immediate alert. “What happened out there?”

“Something spooked the deer badly enough that it turned around and fled past us,” Killian said.

Oh. That didn’t sound good. Emma set her coffee aside, suddenly too nauseous to finish it. “Did you investigate?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “We followed the deer’s path, and soon we could smell what had frightened it. It was…wrong. It made my hackles rise, and I was growling without even knowing at what. Killian and I crept forward, and that’s when we found it.”

“An altar,” they said in unison.

Ah. Emma doubted they meant the kind you’d find in a church. “Oh?” Her coffee was getting cold, she noted as she took a lingering sip.

“A witch’s ritual altar,” Killian clarified, staring at her intensely.

“A witch? Of course they’re real, too,” Emma sighed. “How worried about this should we be?”

“I’m not sure yet. I need a better look at the altar and the sigils around it to get an idea of what sort of ritual was performed.”

“So you’re an expert in witches now?” Ruby arched a brow.

“No, but I can ask people who are, and for that, I need photos. We need to get back out there immediately and photograph the site.”

Neither would have had access to their phones’ cameras, of course. Ruby would have been a wolf, and while Killian could transform clothes along with his body, it only seemed to be the archaic black leather outfit he favored when he wasn’t pretending to be human. Objects like his phone or wallet didn’t survive the transformation.

“Swan, I’d like you to come along as well; I want to see how you react to the magic.”

When Walsh had tried to compel Emma, he’d discovered that she was immune to his vampiric powers. This intrigued Killian, because it was a very rare gift not found in pure humans. He was determined to figure out just what was in her bloodline.

Emma was less enthused about this. She didn’t have any interest in parents that had abandoned her as a baby. She only cared about David and his mother Ruth, who had taken her in when she was a feral street child and given her a home and love.

Plus, she really didn’t want to walk around the woods after dark. There might be ticks or something.

“Now? It’s almost midnight!” And the moon was only a crescent, meaning it would be dark as pitch outside.

“Aye, but there’s a storm rolling in. All the evidence will be washed away by morning. Likely by design,” Killian said.

Reluctantly, Emma grabbed her coat from the closet while Ruby went off to change back into a wolf. Despite the protection of a large wolf and a vampire, Emma felt a thrill of fear as they stepped away from The Belfry’s exterior lights and to the edge of the forest beyond.

Her flashlight did little to help.

“So… tell me about witches,” Emma said. “Just how dangerous are they?”

“Most witches are benign,” Killian corrected, surprising her. “Just women gifted with knowledge and a bit of magic. Many of them end up in positions where they can use their gifts to help others: doctors and nurses, veterinarians, financial advisors, that sort of thing. Some are hide amongst charlatans, using real magic and divination to tell futures or speak with the dead, though those are rare. Mostly, they just live among humans, leading normal - though perhaps luckier - lives.

“True practitioners of the black arts are rare. They’re hunted by their own kind, in much the same way I take care of out of control vampires. This one… the scent of her magic is rotten.”

“What can someone with that kind of magic do?”

Killian scratched his cheek with the tip of his hook as he thought. “They can create curses, give others ill luck, or even kill without touching their victim. We won’t know much more until my expert has had a look.”

There was silence for a while after that, as Emma tried to fit this into her already shaken worldview. Finally, she decided it was just too much for one night, and turned her thoughts to something else.

“Henry really enjoyed visiting your ship the other day. It’s all he’s been talking about ever since.” Henry’s class had taken a day to tour the ‘real’ pirate ship (which was, in fact, a very real pirate ship, captained by a very real pirate), and he’d come home asking for sailing lessons. Not possible so late into the season, but she’d promised him that if he was still interested next year, she’d look into it.

“He’s a fine lad,” Killian told her. “Smart, and curious about everything. I’d be delighted to teach him some sailing basics, if…”

If you give me a reason to stick around, Emma knew he was thinking. Because Emma knew it was more than the threat of a rogue vampire that kept Killian living as a bat in Storybrooke. And three nights ago, Killian had finally made his move to see if there could be anything between them.

“So, Swan, are you looking forward to tomorrow night?”

Ahead, Ruby slowed, canting back one ear. Emma thought at first something had put her on alert; then she realized her friend was eavesdropping.

Right. Tomorrow. When she and Killian had dinner reservations for Bella Notte. Their first date.

She’d never been so nervous.

She wanted to date Killian. But her violent introduction to the world of vampires had left her cautious. Even Ruby’s reassurance that vampire society worked as Killian had described, with strict laws and enforcers that carried out ruthless punishments for lawbreakers, she’d still been wary.

Walsh had been terrifying, but he’d been newly-turned. Weak. Killian was centuries old and powerful.

He also squeaked at her petulantly if she gave him banana slices when he wanted strawberries.

The rumbles of thunder that had begun when night fell were growing louder, and Emma was beginning to worry they wouldn’t make it to the altar in time. But after forty-five minutes of what felt to Emma like random stumbling around in the dark, Ruby let out a sharp bark.

“We’re here,” Killian said unnecessarily. Because Emma could feel the change in the air, something that made her hair stand on end.

“The hell?” she asked.

“So you do feel it,” Killian sounded as if she’d just confirmed something for him.

How could anyone not feel that? It was a miasma that pressed against her, threatening to smother her.

She fought down the urge to claw at her skin, and forced herself to examine the altar.

If Emma had been walking through the woods alone, she never would have seen it - or at least not realized it wasn’t a natural formation. She ran the flashlight beam over a tree that had been split in half, probably by a lightning strike. One half had fallen to the side, the other was still attached to the stump, but bent at a ninety degree angle to form a natural table just over knee height.

The split trunk was spotted with dark stains. A fragment of bone was caught in a furrow in wood.

“I’ll hold the torch if you’ll take the photos,” Killian offered. Emma handed the flashlight over, and he directed her to photograph the altar, as well as the sigils she’d missed at first look. The were carved into the ground, or painted onto the trunks of surrounding trees with the same fluid that had stained the altar.

Killian was thorough. Emma wondered if he was like this with all investigations, because she could use someone like him in the Sheriff’s Department.

Thunder boomed, and Emma and Ruby jumped. “Storm’s almost here,” Killian observed. “We’d better leave now, before we’re caught out in it.”

They only just managed to make it back to The Belfry before the sky opened up. Emma was soaked through by the time she managed to unlock the door, and Ruby reeked of wet dog. Killian, she noted, managed to look ridiculously good even when wet.

The rain pounded away into the night, and Emma shivered. She hoped it would be enough to wash away the taint of evil in the forest.

~oOo~

The stranger stank of dark magic.

Emma had been in the back office of the sheriff’s station, taking care of paperwork, when David had called her up front.

Grateful to escape her papery hell, she’d hurried up front - only to be brought up short by the elegant woman in the immaculate business suit who was ignoring David’s attempts to be friendly. Emma, however, immediately drew her interest.

Dark eyes ran up and down Emma, and perfect lips turned down into a frown, as if she’d found Emma lacking. “Can I help you?” she asked stiffly.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Regina Mills,” the woman said haughtily. “I’m the new mayor of Storybrooke.”

~tbc~

#cssns #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #regina mills #zelena #ouat #fandom: once upon a time #series: bats in the belfry #author: wyntereyez #vampires #werewolves #witches

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knightprincess · 8 months

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Scars (Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader) - Prologue

Words: 1.1k Synopsis: Time doesn't heal all wounds, sometimes, there's too much hurt, too much pain to forget. Sometimes, scars are left behind. Scars that remind us the past is real. Everyone knows Love is the death of Duty. Pronouns Used: She/Her - (Y/N) also used Also On: Wattpad, Quotev, AO3 and Inkitt

The Clone Wars were a cruel, tragic, and devastating event that affected countless lives. Many lost their homes, their loved ones, their faith, and even their lives. Both the Clones and the Jedi fought and sacrificed selflessly in a war that they didn't choose to be a part of. They did everything they could to protect strangers across the galaxy, who would never even bother to learn their names or show any gratitude for their heroic actions. During the war, both the Clones and the Jedi faced many restrictions. The Clones were not allowed to enjoy even the simplest of pleasures and were treated as nothing more than mere products instead of the brave soldiers they truly were. They had fewer rights than even the convicts in the Republic prisons. The Jedi, on the other hand, were bound by their code, prohibiting them from forming any human attachments or loving anyone. They were not allowed to express basic human emotions for fear of falling to the dark side.

Despite that, though, love still somehow flourished. Clones managed to find a semblance of peace away from the battlefield in the arms of another, even if it was only for a few short hours. If they were lucky, it lasted longer. The Jedi found solace in the arms of the troopers they fought side by side with on the never-ending rotation of merciless battlefields and warzones.

Most Clones and Jedi, in some sort of relationship, had a tendency to keep them secret, if only to avoid the scrutiny of their peers and the judgment of those who would so quickly look down upon them for wanting the simple pleasures of life. Most, if not all, of them, hid their devotion out of fear of what would happen if discovered. None of them wanted to imagine the horrors that awaited. Nor the idea of being ripped away from each other for the simple crime of wanting to love someone, of wanting to be loved, of wanting to feel more than being a warrior meant to die on the battlefield. A prisoner without chains.

CC-3636 was one of the most respected Clone Commanders, gifted with a strategic mind and brothers he could count on for anything. Preferring to be called Wolffe, he was looked upon as a role model by many cadets. Close with his Jedi General Plo Koon, but haunted by the traumas of the war, scared even to get close to someone outside those apart of the famed Wolf pack, for fear he would lose them. He feared the Malevolence nightmare repeating with others he let himself care for. Despite that, he cares deeply for his brothers and respects Plo above all others. Many times, Wolffe had been faced with a cruel decision, forced to choose between the lives of his brothers; every time, he'd save as many as he could and never forgot the names of those he lost.

After losing his eye to Ventress, he gained a new coldness, especially to the children of Dathamir. Although he'd admit they were few and far between, it didn't prevent his distrust in them. His distrust tainted even the purest of intentions, making him suspicious of even the gentlest acts of kindness.

One of the most known Jedi Generals was (Y/N) Black, commonly referred to as a Princess General by many clones or simply Princess by several of her fellow Jedi. She was Dathomirian, a Night Sister similar to Asajj Ventress. Strong in the force with a talent for breaking or bending the rules, a friend to everyone, and one of the biggest supporters of Clone Rights. As a General, she was battle-tested, clever, and always had plans and backups in case anything went wrong. If one of her bright ideas was risky, the only life in danger was her own. She trusted her men, respected them, and valued their lives above her own. There was never a time when she'd called a trooper by their identification number. Instead, she called them by their chosen names, friends, or, in some cases, affection nicknames in various languages.

Everything had been selectively normal or as close to normal as the war could get. (Y/N) had returned to Coruscant with her legion 916th Battalion. Their last assignment to the outer rim had been a particularly nasty one, even more so upon the discovery that the republic information had been detrimentally wrong. The locals had been caught in the crossfire, many injured and killed, and in the end, they were forced to retreat, the droid reinforcements being too much for one lone Jedi and batallion to handle.

Although (Y/N) hated admitting defeat with a passion, she did what was best for her troopers; once again, she had put them before the often pointless and corrupt demands of the Jedi Council and Senate. Upon returning to Coruscant, she wished her troopers a fond farewell before leaving for the Temple, mourning the loss of those who hadn't made it and wishing a speedy recovery for those who had been injured. As usual, she gave her normal line of "Stay out of trouble."

As per usual (Y/N)'s arrival at the temple was expected. As soon as she entered the city-sized structure, she was swept to the communications center to be debriefed and hounded with questions that only served to wear down her already thin patients further, as well as question the overall intelligence of the council members interrogating her. Despite her desire to speak her mind, she kept her snide comments and obvious frustrations to herself, at least until she made it back to the safety of her quarters, where she could release her pent-up anger and frustration in privacy. Or that would have been the plan had she not been informed of a request by Master Plo. He asked for her assistance in the mid-rim.

"I will inform my troopers," commented (Y/N), already feeling down about having to spoil the well-earned shore leave break.

"Not your men, Black, just you," quickly corrected Mace Windu, seeing her uncertainty; no doubt she still remembered what happened the last time another took control of her boys. The inexperienced Jedi knight had become lousy with the power and all but played god with the trooper's lives, cost so much all because he refused to listen to the advice of Trip, the clone captain who served as (Y/N)'s second.

"I will leave on the marrow," replied (Y/N) before leaving to return to her quarters, exhaustion seemingly jumping her the moment she passed the threshold, her mind turning lousy too, as if it was already in shutdown mode to prepare her for the horrors that waited for her. Upon completing her normal routine, she soon got comfortable, drifting off slowly, at least before the intruding thoughts began to bug her.

Working with her Master again would bring its own challenges. With Master Plo came Commander Wolffe, the battle-worn trooper with a known hatred of her kind. As (Y/N) tried to drift off, her thoughts turned to the struggles both would face. She was used to being judged with fear by strangers. She was used to being called a witch even when she wasn't one. But being hated because of the actions of another wasn't something she was used to; it was a challenge in and of itself, as would be working with the commander in question. After all, in his mind, she was no different than Ventress; she was the enemy, too.

Series Masterlist

#star wars #reader insert #the clone wars #reader interactive #jedi reader #commander wolffe #star wars fanfiction #commander wolffe x reader #prologue #cross posted to wattpad #cross posted to quotev #cross posted to ao3 #cross posted to inkitt #plo koon #jedi order #clone wars

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blueberrypancakesworld · 1 year

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I have a request, can you write about Carlisle and his werewolf wife who’s rowdy and loud and loves to play fight with him? She also has long back length dreadlocks that she loves when he tugs them to get her attention? If not feel free to delete!

Carlisle - Strong and Playful

warning : fluf, no use of Y/n

masterlist

Info : Ahhh I'm so excited my first Twilight request and for Carlisle I could not be happier (also the gif is just everything). I hope you like it and have fun reading dear anon. Everyone else have fun reading too...especially the Carlisle-Fans

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carlisle Cullen one of the vammpire had a past of which he is not proud. But everyone had already heard of him the former friend and member of the Volturi for several hundred years until he turned away a way that vampires normally did not go.

A time in which humans, vampires and werewolves could not live together and it was especially not allowed. A vampire who traveled around for many years and in that time met hundreds and thousands of humans and vampires.

People who came and went they died, the vampires survived died only sometimes when the Volturi killed them. But over the hundreds he made many contacts. Built a kind of network and survived. Until a time at a time in the new century in which he found himself again.

The people knew how to help themselves with machines was the beginning of something big and Carlisle and the other vampires got the development of the people exactly.

Got with how another kind was also on the march. Their enemies the warm, living, the werewolves. But it was a time when he also met someone whom, according to the vampires' laws, he was not allowed to meet.

The night over the adjacent forest of the big city was bright and the moon lit his way. Since the night had fallen, the vampire had a savory smell around him. Smelled a mixture of the forest, the wind and the wood with a hint of game. It was something he had not smelled before.

What it was did not seem to be human, humans smelled different and yet the blond vampire was curious and went out of his house and into the forest. Did not use his fast speed did not want to scare whatever was in the forest.

After several minutes he arrived at the edge of the forest smelled again this smell and went further inside. Saw everything around me, heard the crackling of the undergrowth, the call of the owls and the animals.

But there was something else, something else coming towards him. It came closer to him and he could not see it. ,,Hello, is anyone here?" he asked into the forest, looked around and saw a shadow roaming in the forest.

Someone was here, but it could not be a human, a human was not so fast, because only a vampire could see it. Before a growl was heard and out of the thicket jumped out a rier wolf.

But it was too late, he could not dodge fast enough and went down. Fear flooded through him fear that the mouth of the beast closed around his head and killed him.

Instead, the beast licked him across the face and slowly got off him. ,,What? A werewolf...that won't kill a vampire?" he asked, sitting up slowly, not wanting to pose a threat to the beast. He still had the fear that something could happen.

But to his surprise the animal disappeared behind the dense trees only to emerge a few moments later in her human form. ,,Beautiful" escaped the vampire who looked at the woman in the moonlight.

Her form had changed to that of a human woman, the eyes in the unnatural color of the wolf and yet radiated a wildness. The almost cheeky smile on her lips and the black long dreadlocks that seemed to reach to her back. It was everything to him, seemed everything to him in his eternal life.

She was beautiful. So beautiful that he hardly noticed how his cold dead heart almost began to beat again. How he feeled almost embarressed how she watched him and how he could not look away. In her eyes the acceptance was found again. The acceptance that she had fallen for a vampire. That her beast had settled on a vampire. It was an unusual love that lasted and lasted for the time.

And together they entered this time, left the city and built a new house. In which they lived together, isolated from the world, having only each other.

As well as a handful of selected friends who consisted mainly of their old pack and Carlisle escape friends. It quickly became clear that she was the louder of the two, louder and more boorish than the vampire.

But for Carlisle, this was all a hearty change in his life, his life that had been so dark for so long. ,,I'm back, little bat! I hope you're ready!" she called through the house as she arrived again, a trip in her wolf form was refreshing.

Going further into the house she smelled that he was not there. At least until she noticed a small tug on her hair and heard a smirk.

He was there, hiding in the shadows and running around at his vampire speed, knowing that she would not meet him in her normal form. She felt the excitement of the fight. ,,So, playing?" she asked, looking around happily before running out of the house. She heard the breeze that passed her by and again the slight tug on her hair.

Before she got into her wolf form and finally saw the vampire properly and ran after him her jaws closed around the branches and trunks he threw at her and she just bit them.

She howled and jumped again and again from one ledge to another until she brought him to the ground, licked him again and howled when she heard his laughter and his ,,I give up" as she slowly walked away from him. Only to chase after him again the next moment as he continued to run and their fight dragged on.

A fight they liked to make until the sun was already setting in the sky again and they went laughing back to the house. They jumped over everywhere and ran in their human form laughing and screaming with joy.

While Carlisle drove again and again over her hair strands and gave her gentle kisses. ,,My loud she-wolf" he murmured and pulled her into an intimate embrace before she let her fingers wander over his torso and he put his against her hair.

A kiss was shared between them before the vampire took her in his arms with a jerk and they both went back to the house. A love for eternity, a strong love. A love between a werewolf and a vampire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@kimvolturicullen , @iloveslasher , @lucansmina , @smolchubbygoddess , @like-a-dream-about-to-bloom, @paranormalfool , @saltydreamerdreamland , @thranduilseyebrows , @jenndarkangel , @aveslovescarlisle , @misslavenderlady , @palomam18 , @kedamonomonoligh

#twilight #twilight saga #twilight movies #carlisle cullen #twilight carlisle #carlisle x reader #reader is female #carlisle cullen x reader #request

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springfaekohaku · 9 months

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Fics that I’m dying to write:

Steve In The Upside Down (so many variations)

Steve getting shot by Nancy in S1 (might also connect to Steve being dragged into the Upside Down) How Will that turn out? What are the consequences? How does this affect everyone? It was only supposed to be a warning shot…

Steve befriending a Demodog. It somehow disconnected from the Hivemind or was created as defect, hence the other monsters turn on it. But Steve saves it and in turn they both bond.

Steve has Powers (I’m already writing and continuing my first fic. But I want more different powers for him)

Steve’s powers being more physical and more practical. Maybe even adaptable and willing to change. Especially under pressure. Kinda like how El can fight off 001 in their minds and Steve can finish him off by destroying his physical body too.

Richard Harrington and Steve both flee to escape the abuse from Richard’s wife, Steve’s Mother and find themselves at Forest Hills Trailer Park. Before S1 maybe?? Eddie and Wayne notice their new neighbours and their story starts from there.

Hannibal Inspired fic but I’ve never seen the show. Only like, the premise and insane amount of Hannigram. Except, Henry/001/Vecna was stolen, taken under Brenner, a mad-man who believes that Cannibalism is the key to knowing all and the human condition. 001 was passed the torch to continue Brenner’s experiments and quest. So, he tries to find his first victim. First it was El, but then she escaped. His first attempt and failure, but he succeeds with capturing Steve. But then no matter how hard he tries, Steve never breaks, so he sets out to find a more younger impressionable youth; enter Will Byers. Steve stays and tries to keep Will alive and sane. Will they escape? Will they be brainwashed like how Brenner did to Henry? Will El find others to help them escape? Will they actually find the key from consuming human flesh? Is that Jason fucking Carver and why does he have Chrissy Cunningham and Eddie Munson tied up? Steve feels like everything is going to shit. Now he has more people to save before they become the next main course. Hehehehehe—

Steve actually being Dmitri’s son. Steve was taken as a baby and sent across to the USA, Dmitri hoping to give him a better shot at life rather than to stay in Russia. Can you imagine in S4 when Dmitri follows Hopper back to Hawkins that he’s reunified with his son?

Everyone besides Steve is a Vampire and Steve is the last werewolf. Humans have hunted down Werewolves for centuries and the numbers have dwindled down severely, right down to almost extinction. Vampires are more adaptable and find it easy to survive in plain sight. The Party and everyone in their Coven have found sanctuary in Hawkins and for years, things have been normal. But then a new scent and sunshine of a boy comes along with it (after S1) — but his timing is seemingly the worst because now he’s facing off Demodogs as a giant wolf and no one knows who he truly is unless he shifted back as a human. In S1, he missed out on the excitement but he got to know and become close to everyone. But then in S2, he is faced with the existence of The Upside Down and vein revealed that his friends and found-family are in fact Vampires. Oh and Vecna is a boomer elder-vampire. Everyone in The Party does not know ANYTHING about Werewolves and so, they learn a lot from Steve when they finally know about him and vice versa. ;))

Another Werewolf Steve AU but this time, he’s hurt, while hunting in his wolf form, he was caught in a bear trap and found by Wayne. Inspired by How To Train Your Dragon scene, Wayne was about to mercifully kill the wolf, but looked into his eyes and saw himself. So he instead took it upon himself and take the wolf back and nurse it back to health. Eddie of course has no idea what his Uncle is hiding until he finds out and freaks out. But finds himself enamoured by the wolf too. Steve is so fucked because he needs to shift back soon, his body itches and the need to be human again nawed at his entire being.

Kali introduces the Punk Culture to Steve. They have a sibling pond and Steve loves his new self. Kali dyes his hair, shaves it a little on the side/s and helps picks out clothes and everything. The whole gang also educated him of the history, iconic figures and music. Just, Punk Steve means a lot to me. You can also imagine him and El bonding about it too. “Bitching.” Eddie is head over heels. Wait, is that a bloody hanky in his pants right back pocket?

I will expand on these later and separately. But these fic ideas have been in my brain and I can’t write them out because I already have two fics to focus on. So ah, thank you for letting me get this off my mind and into the world. 💜🪻

#steddie #stranger things #my fics #fics #fanfic #fanfics #writing #writers on tumblr #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #writing prompts #story ideas

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timeforbedwolfstar · 1 month

Text

Finding Home - Chapter 6

We lived in the alcove for several weeks before we had to move.

I was bigger and stronger, and could travel for miles without tiring. Sirius, for all his strength as a dog, was thin and ragged. I found myself mimicking him as we encountered little food. I became very skilled at hunting rats to survive.

The mountains surrounding our little home were rugged and unforgiving. The animals that spotted our approach left in a hurry. Once, I attempted to bring down a small deer, but before I could land the killing blow, Sirius stopped me, knocking me over and causing a small rockslide over the cliff edge.

I learned my lesson about killing deer.

We made our next camp in a forest that had so much magic in the air I could taste it on my tongue. We lived on the border of a wolf pack, wolves that were huge and graceful and alive. Their coats were glossy silver, and their eyes were almost human. I was mesmerized by them.

Sirius liked them, too. “They’re Moony’s pack,” he told me, roasting a rabbit we’d caught over a fire. “When we were younger, the four of us would run wild out here. Moony and Prongs and Wormtail and I . . .”

He sighed and looked directly at me. I whined and sat up, watching him intently.

“We’re here to kill Peter,” he told me. “I don’t give a shit if they send me back to Azkaban, I don’t give two fucks if my soul’s sucked out of me. We’re going to find Peter.” His voice hardened.

“And we’re going to kill him.”

That night, I dreamed.

I was sitting at a table, with Sirius, Peter, and Remus around me. I stared at each of them. “Dumbledore says that Voldemort is after my son,” I said, looking into each of my best friends’ eyes. “We need a Secret-Keeper. Someone to keep our location quiet, until Voldemort is brought down.” I swallowed. “And we want one of you to do it.”

“It can’t be me,” Remus said immediately. “I’m spending half my time with the werewolf pack. If someone gets something out of me, we’re screwed.” He stood and walked away, out of the room. “I can’t be here. I’m sorry.”

Peter hesitated. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but stopped. “Can we think about it?”

I nodded. “You have one week. Decide among yourselves who it should be.”

Sirius and Peter nodded grimly, and left.

Shortly after, there was a flash of green light, and a cold, high voice screaming, “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

And then the world went black.

A week passed in the new place, and I sensed something broken, like the chasm of old grief that seemed to consume Remus.

Sirius was in dog form, walking across the camp. I followed him, keeping my body low like he’d taught me. We emerged from the forest at the edge of a long stretch of grass, leading up toward a castle, perched on a cliff. Hogwarts, I thought, and the name took me by surprise. Where did I remember this? And why was it coming now?

I shook off my fur and followed Sirius as he crept toward the big oak front doors. We slipped inside, our claws making a clipping sound on the flagstones. The danger was palpable, and I could feel the fear radiating off of Sirius’ shaggy black coat.

He crept up a set of white stairs, relaxing as he turned the corner and trotted down a long corridor. I was just behind him, a loyal follower.

Sirius transformed as we emerged into another corridor, one with a painting of a fat lady wearing a pink collared dress. She looked terrified at the sight of us.

“Password?” she asked, glancing over my skinny body and small stature.

“I don’t have a password,” Sirius hissed, and the venom in his voice scared me. “Let me in.”

“I can’t let you in without a password,” the painting said, shrugging. I wagged at her familiar voice.

Sirius scowled, taking out a long knife he used to cut up meat. “Let. Me. In,” he said, taking a step forward.

“No,” she said, and he attacked.

He cut long, deep strokes in the painting. She screamed and raced out of the portrait. I barked and followed her.

Sirius transformed into a dog and raced after me, letting me guide him out of the castle and back to the Camp. He turned back into a man. “Easy,” he whispered once we reached it. He reached out his hand and ran it along my side. “Easy.”

We’d done it.

We’d broken into Hogwarts.

#marauders #prongs #the marauders #remus lupin #wolfstar #james potter #original content #fanfiction #do not steal #Finding Home #Hogwarts #sirius black #peter pettigrew

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freyasilverbough · 1 month

Text

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - First Meeting

Notes: I kinda wrote myself into a corner lmao so I’m going back to Act 1 in my wip. I also restarted Freya’s run because I wanted more Act 2 screens and the other one is honor. Also I realized that I started this story at a weird spot in the game so I just wanted to fix that. Will write more as this playthrough progresses, and as always feedback and suggestions are more than welcome.

Cw for blood, canon typical violence, mention of a severed head.

Halsin dodged as yet another stone came flying at his face. He’d been locked in this cage for days, with no food, trapped in his ursine form lest the goblins learned just who they had taken prisoner. The Archdruid of the Emerald Grove would make a fine trophy for these savages and their leaders.

He came to this place in pursuit of whispers that these “Absolute” cultists had found a way to navigate his life’s greatest regret. The shadow curse that had gripped the region surrounding Reithwin in Shar’s wicked talons for over a century. The curse that had taken his oldest friend captive.

Perhaps he’d been too hasty, joining with the human Aradin and his band. They had turned tail and abandoned him the second things went awry. He supposed an Archdruid should have known better than to trust a mercenary. Halsin had always done his best to see the good in others, no matter how many times it stabbed him in the back - sometimes literally. In all his long life, such an outlook had only truly benefitted him a handful of times, and yet his foolish optimism prevailed each time.

He hardly registered the group of strangers that marched straight up to the goblins throwing stones at him. A tiefling woman, blazing like the sun, her flaming sword strapped across her back. A smaller man with mousy brown hair, his earring marking him as one of Mystra’s wizards. A pale elf of equal stature to the other man, confidence and amusement radiating off of him, daggers sheathed at his sides and a bow slung over his shoulder. They were led by a woman with silver braids and a commanding aura, even with her relaxed swagger. She wore a circlet across her forehead that marked her as a follower of Selûne, with piercings lining her pointed ears to match, but the designation ended there. Her armor was granite-hued steel, not like the other Selûnites he’d come across over the centuries. They typically preferred to reflect their goddess with hues of blue, silver, and white, and rarely did they don a full suit of armor. Few of them were warriors, but he had seen a few paladins among the druids and Harpers he fought with a hundred years before. Rare, but not unheard of.

The woman crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a hip. She assessed the situation there with a discerning glare before her eyes landed on him, still in bear form, and he noticed that her eyes were the purest sapphire blue. Her gaze bore right through his fur, as if she could see into his very soul.

“What in all the sweet hells do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her tone commanding respect and authority. Odd, that she would take the time to aid a bear in a cage. Most soldiers found the creatures of nature to be beneath them, or simply unworthy of their time.

“We’re juicin’ him up,” the goblin encouraging his assault by the children said. “Boss is thinkin’ of servin’ him to the worgs.” She chuckled, as if it was all a joke to her. Knowing the ways of goblins, it likely was a joke to her.

The silver-haired woman glared at her, before flicking her ocean eyes to the bear once more. “Enough. You’re done here.” The other two men at her back shifted nervously, as if wanting to avoid a brawl, while the tiefling woman seemed to flare brighter in anticipation.

“We don’t have time for this,” the male elf whispered to the warrior. “We shouldn’t even be here.”

“Then leave,” the woman whirled to him with a glare that Halsin had no doubt could cut glass. “See what the fuck I care.” She turned her piercing glower back to the goblins. “Let him go,” she demanded.

Convinced that he now had at least one ally against the mob of goblins that held him captive, Halsin lowered his hackles and growled. A low, menacing sound deep from his chest, one that made the goblins cower in fear. The silver-haired woman only seemed to stand taller while her companions eyed him warily. He slammed into the bars of his cage, knocking the gate down with such force it crushed the goblin female that joked about his impending demise. The woman leading the adventurers drew the longsword she previously kept sheathed across her back, but rather than striking him down, she turned on his foes.

She slammed the pommel into the heads of the goblin children as they ran past her to alert the rest of the camp, knocking them unconscious, while the male elf fired arrows at the goblins that had moved against them across the room. Each arrowhead struck true. The wizard lobbed balls of fire while the flaming tiefling woman sprinted to those leftover with an insane cackle. The silver haired woman calmly strode to the other cage, where the worgs were kept. She pulled the lever to open the door and began her battle with the beasts while her friends fought the goblins in the room. Every swipe of their claws was dodged or blocked with practiced skill, and Halsin ran to her as she battled two against one. He reached her left flank as one of the worgs bit at her while she was occupied with the other. Halsin let out a loud roar as his own maw closed around the worg’s throat.

The warrior woman shoved her sword through her enemy’s throat as the others finished with the goblins, and Halsin shed his wildshape for the first time in days. He stumbled just a bit as he adjusted to standing on two legs. The armored woman before him quirked an amused eyebrow as her companions rejoined them and started at the bear-turned-elf.

“Pardon the viscera,” he chuckled. “One should cherish all of nature’s bounty, but goblin guts are quite far down the list. You aided a bear without knowing if it would savage you? A true friend of nature, or perhaps a lunatic.”

“Who’s to say I’m not both?” The soldier said, amusement lacing her tone.

“Either way, I owe thanks. I am the druid Halsin.”

“Pleasure. I’m called Freya,” the woman said. Freya. A strong name, not one he often heard in this region. Apt, he thought, as he stared down at her. In this form, she was eye level with his chest. The shortest of her companions, but she somehow stood the tallest of them all. Something about her seemed familiar, he couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew he’d remember someone like her if they met before, her hair alone was a distinguishing feature, but he couldn’t place her.

“I’ve been to your grove,” Freya continued, disrupting his thoughts. “You should know your second in command was planning to undertake the Rite of Thorns and force the refugees out. I’m told you would disapprove of such extremes.” She eyed him carefully, as if determining whether what she’d heard about him was true. Indeed, he should have known Kagha would do something like this the instant she was handed the power of a First Druid. He silently cursed himself once more as the implications of his absence settled over him.

“Kagha…I will deal with her when I can.” Something flashed behind Freya’s eye as he spoke, something unnatural, something he’d only seen recently, when walking with Nettie…”I sense, Freya, that you have a problem you need my help with.”

“What problem?” Freya crossed her arms over her chest again and widened her stance, but Halsin meant her no harm. She had just saved him from certain death, after all.

He held up his palm, golden light pouring out of him. Halsin called upon the Oak Father as he reached into her mind with his magic. Freya stiffened, and Halsin confirmed his suspicions as he felt the presence he was looking for. He jerked his hand back as something in her mind bit him.

“That problem. Oak Father preserve you, child, you’re infected aren’t you?” His concern leaked into his tone, and his features. He was never adept at concealing his emotions, and he truly did feel sorry for the woman. She was doomed to ceremorphosis, yet she showed no signs of turning. Something was different, she didn’t bow to this “Absolute” like the other so-called True Souls did. Indeed, he sensed she didn’t bow to much of anything at all.

“I don’t need your pity, druid. Only a cure,” she snapped.

“I studied these parasites up close. I’m sorry to say, I can’t cure you, but I have the next best thing. I know where these tadpoles originate. I overheard the cultists say that they’re sending the infected to Moonrise Towers, and I’ll bet that’s where you’ll find your cure.”

“No.” Her refusal came as swift and hard as a hammer on an anvil as her fury darkened her features.

“It’s either Moonrise, or certain ceremorphosis. I’m sure of it,” Halsin kept his tone level. He had his own reasons for wanting to return to that land, but he couldn’t go alone. For the time being, their goals aligned. These adventurers needed to reach Moonrise to cure their parasites, and he needed to restore the balance there. He was so close, and yet frustratingly far.

“We’ll find another way,” she stated plainly, steel determination radiating from her like its own aura. She turned to leave, but the wizard caught her arm. A brave man, Halsin mused, for Freya looked at him like she’d run him through for daring to touch her.

“It’s worth hearing the druid out,” the human murmured to her. “What if there is no other way? We’ve come this far already, let’s not abandon the one lead we have so quickly.”

“I, personally, don’t find the idea of transforming into a tentacled monster very appetizing, my dear. To each their own, of course, but I’ll have to take the druid’s side.” The white haired elf placed a relaxed hand on his hip as he spoke.

“We face certain death if we travel there,” Freya growled. She knew of the curse, then.

“We face certain death if we don’t,” the elf shot back.

She shook the wizard off of her bicep and turned back to face Halsin. He raised his eyebrows at her and held his breath in anticipation of her verdict.

“You know what awaits us in that place, I assume?” She leveled the question at the druid with no shortage of malice.

“I do,” Halsin kept his tone flat, deciding that it was not the time to reveal his intentions with regards to the curse. “I’ve long sought to return to Moonrise, but I cannot leave here until I put everything right. I’ve no right to ask more of you, but these butchers threatened my grove. If I could ask your aid once more, I’d be free to join you on your journey to Moonrise.”

“What would you have me do?”

“There are three leaders here, eliminate them and nature will restore itself. I need you to kill the drow Minthara, the hobgoblin Dror Ragzlin, and that perversion of a priestess Gut.” Freya relaxed at his deliverance of her new mission. He gathered she held no qualms about killing, he only hoped that her violence focused on the malevolent.

“Leave it to me.”

—-----

Freya returned to him in record time, bloodied and bruised and almost singing with after-battle adrenaline. She carried the head of the hobgoblin by the hair in one hand, blood soaked sword in the other. The warrior tossed the severed head at Halsin’s feet as she approached and wiped the blade of her sword on her elbow.

“The camp is clear. You’re free to go.” Her tone was flat and dismissive as Halsin realized she meant she had cleansed this place of all its inhabitants. He raised his eyebrows at her once more in question, waiting for further explanation.

“The beasts desecrated a temple of Selûne. I purged the rot,” she remarked with a shrug.

“Who managed to hit you?” He blurted, noticing the splotch of purple that bloomed on her cheekbone under all the blood.

“Drow.” She turned on her heel as the wizard started murmuring an incantation, violet light swirling around his arms. A portal opened before the party, and she stepped through it without a care in the world. The fiery tiefling simply laughed before she followed, then the other elf. The wizard looked over his shoulder with an apologetic look.

“I’ll meet you there,” Halsin told him. The human nodded, then bounded through his portal as it closed.

Leaving Halsin to wonder about the strange warrior woman that had just catapulted into his life.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 halsin #halsin x tav #halsin x freya #halsin silverbough #archdruid halsin #paladin tav #halsin x oc #halsin fanfic #bg3 fic

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unholygengar · 2 months

Text

A duel of hot and cold

Breakfast was a tense affair. Lyria and Cregan sat across from each other, the silence between them thick with unresolved anger. Both were too stubborn to be the first to speak, their pride keeping them locked in a standoff. The clinking of utensils on porcelain was the only sound that filled the room, each bite a testament to their stubbornness.

Lyria finished her meal first, pushing her chair back with a slight scrape that seemed louder in the quiet. She stood, ready to leave without a word. As she reached the door, Cregan cleared his throat, a sound that halted her in her tracks.

"Behave," he said simply, his tone brooking no argument.

Lyria didn't turn around. She nodded once, and continued out of the room, her steps echoing down the corridor.

Back in her chambers, she stripped out of her stormy blue gown, feeling the weight of it lift from her shoulders. She needed to clear her mind, and there was no better way than with physical exertion. She donned her battle attire, dark brown leathers detailed with black thread, a thick black belt cinching her waist. The outfit made her look more like a warrior than a lady, a wolf in human form. Her hair was braided away from her face, tied high at the back of her head, swaying with each step as she walked.

As she moved through the long hallways of the keep, those she passed did a double take. Maids whispered amongst themselves, their eyes wide with surprise and curiosity. Lyria paid them no mind, her focus on the tasks ahead. She had no time for their gossip.

Her leather-clad form cut a striking figure, a stark contrast to the refined and delicate appearance she had worn the night before. Her innocent doe-like face belied the fierce spirit within, and her attire now reflected that inner strength. As she walked, the whispers followed her, but she remained resolute, a wild wolf in a den of dragons.

It was the third day in King's Landing, but for Lyria, it was her first morning without a "good morrow" from the princess. Despite the short time they had known each other, Lyria had grown accustomed to Helaena's presence. They were so different, yet so alike in many ways. The absence of her soft-spoken friend left a void that Lyria couldn't ignore. She made a mental note to find the princess later on; perhaps they could indulge in conversation under the weirwood once again.

But before she could enjoy simple pleasures with Helaena, Lyria felt the need to be physical, to train in the art of bladed battle. She'd been granted the right to wield a sword since the age of eight. Cregan has convinced their father it would be good if Lyria could fend for herself. Rickon Stark had cared little about his daughter, his disappointment in her gender obvious for all to see. Despite her father's disinterest, Lyria still thought that if she showed promise with a sword, then maybe—just maybe—he would look at her with fondness, the same way he looked at Cregan.

As she made her way to the training grounds, she recalled the countless hours spent perfecting her technique, driven by a desire to earn even a fraction of her father's approval. The memory was bittersweet, but it fueled her determination. The open space of the training yard beckoned her, the clanging of swords and the grunts of effort from others already engaged in their morning practice filling the air.

Lyria found herself overlooking the training grounds from an elevated terrace, a vantage point that allowed her to observe the activities below. Her eyes were drawn to a pair engaged in a fierce duel. Aemond Targaryen was sparring with one of the Kingsguards, the same guard she had often seen standing behind the queen since her arrival in the capital.

Aemond moved with an elegance that seemed almost unnatural, his strikes precise and deliberate. Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next, his sword an extension of his will. There was a quiet intensity in his demeanor, a focus that suggested he was always several steps ahead of his opponent. His movements were economical, every action serving a purpose, conserving energy for when it was most needed. He wielded his blade with a calm confidence, the one-eyed prince showing no hesitation, no wasted effort.

In stark contrast, the Dornish Kingsguard fought with a ferocity that was both captivating and intimidating. His style was aggressive, each attack explosive and charged with raw power. He moved like a storm, his sword crashing against Aemond's with the force of a hurricane. Yet, for all his aggression, there was a rhythm to his movements, a controlled chaos that balanced perfectly against Aemond's calculated grace.

Their duel was a dance of contrasts, each fighter's strengths and weaknesses complementing the other. The Dornishman pressed forward with relentless energy, forcing Aemond to parry and sidestep, his movements fluid and adaptive. Aemond, in turn, responded with swift, precise counters, exploiting the brief openings left by his opponent's more forceful strikes.

Despite their differing styles, the battle seemed evenly matched. Neither appeared to have a clear advantage, each pushing the other to the limits of their abilities. The clash of steel echoed through the training grounds, drawing the attention of other spectators who watched with rapt interest.

Lyria couldn't help but admire the display of skill and determination. Aemond's grace and precision were mesmerizing, a testament to countless hours of rigorous training and discipline. The Dornish guard's explosive power and relentless drive were equally impressive, a reminder of the raw strength that lay beneath his polished armor.

As she watched, she felt a surge of inspiration. The sight of two warriors, so different yet so evenly matched, resonated with her. Strength came in many forms, knowledge her first instructor drilled into her mind. The men before her were a testament to that lesson, that mastery had many paths. The key to true skill lies in comprehending and maximizing one's abilities, be it by grace, cunning, or strength.

Lyria continued to watch the intense sparring match between Aemond and the Kingsguard, their movements a blur of calculated strikes and powerful counterattacks. The duel seemed to go on forever, each combatant refusing to give any ground. The contrasting styles created a mesmerizing display of skill and strategy.

The Dornishman’s ferocity would have overwhelmed a less disciplined opponent. Each swing of his sword was powerful and deliberate, meant to break through Aemond's defenses. His footwork was swift and unpredictable, attempting to catch Aemond off guard with sudden bursts of speed and aggression.

Aemond, however, remained calm and composed, his one eye never leaving his opponent. His movements were smooth and fluid, each parry and riposte perfectly timed to deflect the Dornishman’s strikes. He conserved his energy, waiting patiently for the right moment to strike. His precision and control were evident in every motion, as if he were playing a game of chess rather than fighting a duel.

As the battle wore on, it became clear that both fighters were tiring. The Dornishman’s attacks grew less explosive, his breathing more labored. Aemond maintained his calm exterior, but his footwork became less graceful, his moves becoming less calculated.

Then it happened—a small mistake, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. The Dornishman overextended on a particularly forceful swing, leaving his side momentarily unprotected. Aemond seized the opportunity with lightning speed. He sidestepped the blow, bringing his own sword up in a swift, decisive motion. The tip of Aemond's blade stopped just short of the Dornishman’s throat, the cold steel a stark reminder of the consequences of even the smallest error.

The Dornishman froze, his eyes wide with the realization of his mistake. For a moment, the training grounds fell silent, the only sound was the heavy breathing of the two combatants. Aemond’s expression remained focused, his grip on his sword steady as he held his opponent at bay.

"I yield," the Dornishman finally said, his voice breathless but respectful. He lowered his weapon, acknowledging Aemond's victory.

Aemond stepped back, lowering his own sword. A hint of a satisfied smile played at the corners of his mouth, though his expression remained otherwise stoic. He offered a hand to the Dornishman, who accepted it with a nod of respect. The crowd of onlookers began to murmur and clap, recognizing the skill and determination of both fighters.

From her vantage point, Lyria couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration for Aemond's prowess. The duel had been a masterclass in both strength and strategy, showcasing the prince's dedication and training. It was as a prime example of the intricacy and allure of combat, where a single error could bring disaster.

As the two men stood conversing about sword-fighting strategy, Lyria descended from her vantage point above the training grounds. Her steps were deliberate and confident, her gaze sharp as she approached the array of sparring weapons laid out before her. She searched intently for something akin to her preferred twin sai, but to her displeasure, such weapons were not among the choices. Instead, she settled for the closest approximation: two wakizashi-type blades. Heavier than her usual weapons but still manageable, they felt familiar enough in her hands.

With her chosen blades, Lyria strode directly toward Aemond and the Dornish Kingsguard. Her confidence was palpable, drawing the attention of both men. The Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole, was the first to notice her. His eyes quickly scanned her unconventional attire, an unreadable expression on his face. Aemond turned shortly after, amusement flickering in his eye as he observed her approach.

"I must say that your sparring gave me joy to view, quite the show," Lyria commented, her voice carrying an edge of challenge.

Ser Criston nodded appreciatively while Aemond remained silent, his gaze fixed on the blades she held.

"Thank you, Lady Lyria, you honor me with your kind wor—" the Kingsguard began, but Lyria's eyes flickered with impatience, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"I wish to duel," she stated bluntly, her tone brooking no argument.

Ser Criston looked taken aback, his surprise evident as he struggled to find a response. Aemond, however, seemed intrigued, a pleased expression settling on his face as if he had been waiting for something interesting to happen.

"My lady... I'm not certain that you should be indulging in such activities, and I do not wish to harm a lady—" Ser Criston began to protest, but Lyria interrupted him once more, her lips curling into a confident smile as she twirled one of the blades.

"Not against you," she clarified, turning her full attention to Aemond. She pointed one of the wakizashi at him, a daring grin playing on her lips. "The prince Aemond is who I wish to duel."

Ser Criston looked as though he might object, about to lecture the wild girl on how she shouldn’t point her blade at a royal, but Aemond raised a hand, silencing him before he could speak. The one-eyed prince met Lyria's gaze and stepped closer to her, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"No, Ser Cole," Aemond said firmly, his eyes never leaving Lyria's. "I accept your request, Lady Wolf. But it brings me no pleasure to defeat such a fickle thing as yourself..."

His words were a taunt, a provocation designed to test her resolve. Lyria's grin widened, her eyes flashing with determination.

"Then let's see if your blade is as sharp as your tongue, Prince Aemond," she retorted, her stance shifting into a ready position.

The gathered onlookers murmured in both anticipation and judgement, their attention riveted on the unexpected challenge that had emerged in the training grounds. Aemond and Lyria circled each other, the air between them crackling with tension as they prepared to duel.

Aemond wouldn't be the first to strike. Despite his readiness, he found himself hesitating at the thought of engaging a woman in combat. Yet, the look on Lyria's face made him question that moral for a moment. It wasn't an aggressive or determined expression like Ser Criston Cole's, nor was it the stoic mask he himself often wore. Instead, she wore a grin—wide, genuinely joyous—that transformed her doe-like features into those of a ferocious beast.

Before Aemond could fully process the sight, Lyria launched herself at him with a speed that caught him off guard. Her initial strike was blocked, but she spun around him with a fluidity and agility he hadn't anticipated, forcing him to turn swiftly to keep up. There was that grin again—manic, almost wild.

Aemond swung his longsword with calculated precision, knocking one of her blades from her hand. He expected this would make her back up, perhaps even yield. But Lyria only closed the distance, her small fist colliding with his ribs. The force behind the punch startled him.

"Interesting," Aemond thought, briefly caught off guard.

He shoved her away, creating space between them, but the sound of her laugh—light and almost musical—lingered in the air, unsettling him. The tales of Northerners in battle he'd heard were of burly men attacking with brute force, relentless until the Stranger claimed them. The opponent before him defied that image entirely.

Lyria pressed forward again, unrelenting. She moved with the grace of a dancer, each step purposeful and every strike calculated. Her remaining blade sliced through the air, aiming for openings in his defense with a precision that belied her playful demeanor.

Aemond parried and countered, the clang of their blades ringing out across the training grounds. He could feel the eyes of onlookers on them, the tension thickening with each passing moment. He found himself adjusting his stance, responding to her movements with a newfound respect.

Aemond's strikes grew more aggressive, aiming to break through her defenses and end the duel swiftly. Yet, Lyria matched him blow for blow, her agility and tenacity making up for any disparity in their strength. He could see the focus in her eyes, the thrill of the fight reflected in her every move.

In a swift maneuver, she feigned an attack to his right, only to spin and strike from the left. Aemond narrowly avoided the blow, his eye widening in realization—she was testing him, pushing him to his limits. And he found himself rising to the challenge, determined to meet her skill with his own. It never crossed his mind that he would find a worthy opponent in such a small wolf.

Their duel continued, a dance of steel and strategy, neither willing to yield. Aemond's initial hesitation was long gone, replaced by a fierce determination. He could see the same fire in Lyria's eyes, a mutual respect growing between them with each clash of their blades. Despite the newfound respect, the prince wished not to be bested by a little lady.

Finally, he saw an opening and capitalized on it, disarming her last blade with a deft flick of his wrist. Yet, even unarmed, Lyria did not back down. She moved with the same fearless intensity, her fists now her weapons. Aemond blocked her punches, feeling the strength behind each strike, his free hand found her braid, yanking her harshly, her back forced against his chest, leaving her to be pinned between him and the sword now held against her throat.

Lyria groaned as a burning sensation surged through her scalp, her chest heaving with exertion, but that grin remained on her face. Aemond held her gaze, recognizing the fierceness of the wolf within her. That’s when he felt it— something pressing against his breeches. His eye darted down, finding a dagger aimed at his crown jewels. Had their duel been a real fight, Lyria would be dead, yet there she stood— amused.

“Yield. You cannot win, wolf. I have bested you.”

The pressure of the blade increased but remained harmless. Lyria’s head turned just enough for their eyes to meet, her face flushed red from exertion. He thought the northern lady would’ve been disappointed at her loss, but the grin remained, their bodies still pressed together.

“Aye. I have been bested, but I would’ve taken your manhood with me… That remains a win in my book.”

Now it was Aemond who was amused, a small smirk grazing his sharp features— all that showed while he experienced much more within, something that could only be described as arousal. Aemond had never encountered a woman like Lyria before. Her boldness was astonishing, her spirit wild and carefree, unrestrained by the typical decorum he was accustomed to at court. In King's Landing, ladies were expected to be demure, reserved, and subservient. They played their roles well, adhering to the rigid expectations placed upon them. Lyria Stark, however, was a force of nature, challenging those norms with every breath she took.

As he stood there, his sword still at her throat, he couldn't help but marvel at her. The thrill of their duel still buzzed through his veins, the memory of her laughter echoing in his ears. She had fought with an intensity and joy that he had rarely seen, her every movement filled with purpose and passion, like a dance. She was a contradiction—a fierce warrior encased in the delicate frame of a lady.

Aemond's mind raced with questions. Were all the women of the North like this, or was Lyria an exception? The stories he had heard painted Northerners as stoic and hardy, their women strong and resilient, but none had mentioned this wild, almost feral spirit that Lyria embodied. Her every action spoke of a life lived in freedom, unburdened by the constraints that bound so many others.

He studied her face, her chest still heaving from their exertion, her eyes alight with the remnants of their combat. She met his gaze without flinching, her grin prominent. There was no fear in her eyes, only a fierce determination and an unspoken challenge.

Aemond's gaze shifted from amused to confused as he saw crimson blood suddenly gushing from Lyria's nose. Had she pushed too hard? No, that couldn’t be it; she didn’t look too tired. He lowered his sword from her throat, and on cue, she sheathed her blade, bringing her free hand to her face. The carefree expression was now long gone, her gaze faltering. She turned away, one hand still trying to stop the gushing blood from her nose to no avail.

The prince had no way of knowing the haze that took over Lyria's mind or the ringing in her ears. All he could see was her staggering steps and the blood falling to the ground. Aemond took a step forward, unsure what to make of the situation, hearing a low “shit” from Lyria before she turned to look at him. In seconds, she had gone from looking carefree to that of a sickling, the blood still flowing from her nose.

"I need Cregan... now..." she muttered, her voice weak. She turned to start walking—where? He wasn't sure, and she did not make it far before her body gave out. Before her head had the chance to hit the ground, Aemond caught her, holding her body as it started to shake. That’s when he saw it: her eyes wide open and milky, her face and throat painted red by blood while her body continued to convulse.

Was this a seizure? He had never seen something like this before and was at a complete loss.

Unbeknownst to the prince, Cregan had watched their duel from the terrace overlooking the training grounds, having come across it while they were in the midst of sparring. He had witnessed the tension between his sister and the one-eyed prince and felt displeased by the sight. That displeasure was replaced with worry as his eyes caught on to the blood escaping her nose. He descended the stairs quickly, but not fast enough. By the time he reached the training grounds, his sister was already seizing, her body tensing and shaking beyond her control.

He arrived by her side, the scene having caught the eyes of onlookers. Without hesitation, Cregan ripped his tunic, pressing the garment against her nose in hopes of slowing down the bleeding; then he saw it—milky eyes. His face remained stoic as he grabbed Aemond's hand, pressing it to the piece of cloth that covered Lyria's nose.

"Keep her on her side," he ordered.

Aemond didn’t question the Warden of the North, watching the young Lord stand and look around, seemingly searching for something or someone. Soon enough, Cregan found the milky eyes that matched his sister’s: a guard stood still as a statue as he approached, his lips moving and quiet murmurs escaping him. Once Cregan was close enough, he could hear the words the guard spoke while his body was not in his control.

"Winter is coming... The long night will doom us all..."

Those two sentences were repeated over and over until the man tensed. His eyes returned to normal, but the spirit within the guard had been ruined by whatever he had seen. Everything after that happened all too fast. The man screamed, wished for the Mother to show him mercy, and for the gods to forgive him. He brought his sword to his throat and slit it open without a second thought, ending his life within seconds.

Cregan turned around, sped back to the prince and his sister, swiftly hoisting her into his arms and leaving Aemond without any explanation as to what had occurred. The prince stood, his eye scanning the witnesses as he cleared his throat.

"This will not be spoken of. Clean this mess—oh, and if word gets out about this, I will know it was one of you. Punishments will be in order for those who act against the order of the prince. That is all."

With that, Aemond exited the area with haste, following the path Lord Stark had taken. His mind raced with questions, but he knew he had to find answers.

As Aemond made his way through the keep, he paused to instruct a passing servant. "Fetch the maesters and my father," he ordered, his voice firm. "Now." He might not have known exactly what had happened to Lyria, but he knew it was far from normal.

By the time Aemond arrived at Lyria's chambers, her brother had already laid her on the bed. Her face was pale, and Cregan was gently cleaning the dried blood from her skin, the crimson liquid no longer flowing from her nose. Aemond's concern deepened as he observed the stark contrast between Lyria's usually lively demeanor and her current state of unconsciousness.

Moments after Aemond entered the room, a maester arrived, followed by his sister Helaena, their mother Alicent, and their grandsire, Otto Hightower. Lyria lay motionless on the bed as the maester joined Cregan at her side, beginning his examination. Though Cregan seemed somewhat reluctant, he didn't prevent the maester from performing his duties.

Alicent was the first to break the tense silence, her stress evident in her posture and the way her hands were clenched against her chest. "What happened?" she demanded, standing by the entrance with Otto. Her eyes darted between the Northerners and her second son, searching for some sort of explanation.

Cregan rose from his sister's side, turning to face the royal family. "A seizure, my queen," he said solemnly. "They are few and far between, but my sister has had them since she was a mere child."

The maester nodded in agreement, also stepping away from Lyria to address the queen and the Hand of the King. "She will wake in due time. I fear she will only feel fatigued," he assured them.

Otto Hightower dismissed the maester with a curt nod, allowing the tension in the room to settle slightly. Helaena, however, left her mother's side, ignoring Alicent's attempt to stop her. The princess quietly moved to a chair beside the sleeping lady, her worry evident as she studied Lyria's features.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the soft rustling of Helaena's dress as she settled into her seat. Aemond stood by the doorway, his gaze shifting between his unconscious sparring partner and the family members gathered around. The unsettling events of the morning weighed heavily on his mind, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Lyria Stark than met the eye.

Cregan, still standing by the bed, finally spoke again, his voice low but resolute. "My sister will need rest. I appreciate your concern, but I must ask for privacy."

Alicent hesitated, her eyes filled with worry, but she nodded. "Of course," she said softly. She cast one last, lingering glance at Lyria before turning to leave the room with Otto.

Aemond lingered a moment longer, his eyes meeting Cregan's in a silent exchange. He gave a curt nod before following his family out of the chambers, leaving Helaena by Lyria's side.

As the door closed behind them, the room was enveloped in a heavy silence, the only sound being the soft, steady breathing of the sleeping Northern lady.

Cregan noticed that Helaena hadn't left the chambers. He glanced at her, but didn't question her presence. Instead, he approached the bed once more, looking between the princess and his sleeping sister. "You seem quite fond of my wild sister... I'm sure the feeling is mutual, princess," he remarked.

Helaena didn't look away from Lyria, her fingers playing absently with the folds of her gown. "Our spirits are sisters. I shall remain by her as she will me."

Cregan furrowed his brows, refraining from questioning the princess' cryptic words. He brushed a few stray strands of hair from Lyria's forehead before backing away from the bed. "I shall see to your father, the King—inform him of what has happened and that I take full responsibility." He paused, glancing at Helaena. "I trust you will stay here?"

The princess nodded, a silent affirmation that gave Cregan the assurance he needed. With a final look at his sister, he exited the room, leaving Lyria to rest in the company of her newfound friend.

The room fell into a serene silence, the only sound being the soft breaths of the sleeping lady. Helaena remained seated, her gaze unwavering from Lyria. She felt a profound connection to the Northern girl, one that transcended words and rational understanding. The princess gently reached out, her fingers brushing against Lyria's hand, a silent promise of companionship and support.

Outside, Cregan walked with purpose through the halls of the keep, his mind racing with the events that had just transpired. He had to ensure the King understood the situation and that Lyria's condition was managed with care. As he approached the King's chambers, he steeled himself for the conversation ahead, knowing the gravity of the situation required his utmost resolve.

As Cregan approached the grand doors of the King's chambers, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. He knocked firmly, and a guard opened the door, allowing him to enter.

King Viserys sat on his ornate chair, looking more tired than usual, yet his eyes held a warmth that was reassuring. Beside him stood Aemond, his expression unreadable as he observed the Northern lord approach.

"Your Grace," Cregan began with a respectful bow. "I have come to inform you of an unfortunate incident involving my sister, Lyria Stark. She experienced a seizure during a sparring match and—"

Viserys raised his hand, gently stopping Cregan mid-sentence. "Lord Cregan, your concern for your sister speaks well of you, but there is no need for further explanation. My son Aemond has already informed me of the situation."

Cregan's eyes flicked to Aemond, who gave a slight nod. The King continued, his tone calm and understanding. "Aemond explained that your sister's condition is a medical one, and that it was an unfortunate event during training. As for the death on the training grounds, he has assured me that it is not something we need to worry about."

Viserys' gaze softened. "All powers stemming from magic can be unpredictable at times. I hold nothing against you or your sister for what happened. It is clear that neither of you had any ill intentions, and I trust that Lyria will recover with time and care."

Cregan felt a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Your Grace. Your understanding is greatly appreciated."

Viserys nodded. "Ensure that your sister receives the care she needs. If there is anything we can provide to aid in her recovery, do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I will make sure she is well taken care of."

As Cregan turned to leave, Aemond stepped forward. "Lord Cregan, if I may," he said quietly. "I am genuinely concerned for your sister's well-being. If there is anything I can do, please let me know."

Cregan paused, studying the young prince's face. He saw no malice, only sincerity, something that he didn’t think was possible for the stoic young man. "Thank you, Prince Aemond. Your offer is appreciated."

With that, Cregan exited the King's chambers, his mind a bit lighter from the conversation. He made his way back through the keep, thoughts racing about how to best care for his sister and navigate the complexities of their situation in King's Landing. Despite his sister’s state, he wasn’t too concerned. The unintentional skinchanging had happened once before and that situation had been a lot more critical than the one they faced in the present time. There were laws on skinchanging, laws that the northern Lord remained grateful for the South to be unaware of.

Cregan made his way to his chambers, the weight of the day's events pressing heavily upon his shoulders. The corridors of the Red Keep, with their cold stone walls and distant echoes, did little to alleviate the tension knotted in his muscles. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind a whirlwind of worry and exhaustion.

Once inside his quarters, Cregan took a moment to lean against the closed door, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The familiar scents of the North, faintly clinging to his belongings, brought a brief sense of comfort. He summoned a servant and requested a hot bath and supper, hoping that some physical relief would calm the storm within him.

As he disrobed and sank into the steaming water, Cregan felt the heat begin to work its magic on his tense muscles. The warmth enveloped him, soothing the aches and pains from both his travels and the recent upheavals. He let his mind drift, focusing on the simple, physical sensation of the water instead of the complex and troubling thoughts about his sister’s health and their precarious position in King’s Landing.

He replayed the events of the day in his mind, from Lyria’s sudden seizure to the unsettling death of the guard. The image of his sister, her face pale and streaked with blood, was a haunting one. He knew that their presence in the capital, surrounded by political intrigue and potential enemies, only heightened the stakes. Lyria’s episodes were unpredictable and often misunderstood by those who were unfamiliar with her condition, making their situation all the more delicate.

After what felt like an eternity, Cregan reluctantly left the bath and dressed in more comfortable clothing. A tray of food had been laid out on the table: roasted meats, fresh bread, and a flagon of wine. The sight of the hearty meal brought a small measure of comfort, a reminder of home amidst the strangeness of the South. He ate slowly, savoring each bite, trying to let the simple act of eating ground him in the present moment.

As he finished his meal, he couldn’t help but think of Lyria again, her fierce spirit now replaced by the image of her unconscious and vulnerable.Despite the day’s challenges, Cregan’s determination to protect his sister remained unwavering, and he vowed to navigate the treacherous waters of King’s Landing with the same steadfastness that had seen House Stark through countless trials before.

Feeling somewhat renewed, Cregan allowed himself to rest, hoping that sleep would bring him the clarity and strength he needed to face whatever the morrow might bring. As he lay down, he sent a silent prayer to the Old Gods, asking for their guidance and protection for both himself and Lyria in the days to come.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon oc #original character #game of thrones oc #rhaenyra targaryen #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #game of thrones #alicent hightower #fanfic #lyria stark #helaena targaryen #helaena the dreamer #criston cole #viserys targaryen #cregan stark

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zeemczed · 1 year

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Pointless Cosmic Horror Godstuck WOO!

She remembers being human very well. Remembers the search through endless volumes of occult lore, looking for the release. Remembers endless hours scouring bookstores for the good shit, only to run several of them out of business with her aggressive search. Remembers the slow unlocking of the gates in her mind, until she was right there, right at the cusp, her mind about to flay open - and then he was there, foiling everything. For a second. Just long enough for Rose to put out both his eyes with knitting needles. And then she completed the rituals, and the dark came in, and in, and in, and she was one with the dark, and pierced by it, and drowned by it, and one with it… And then all was dark. But not. And then it split. And she poured out. The eye and the light and the skeins and the path and she was glorious.

And glorious.

She is the Seer. And she remembers being Rose Lalonde. And she can still be her; it's often convenient to be her. It takes a little effort. That’s all.

And she will make the effort today.

She has an appointment to keep.

-o-

She remembers being human.

Honestly most of the time she can’t believe that she isn’t human anymore.

He did not pursue the path; the path was in front of him, and taking it was the quickest way to (save them all/save herself/change everything/change herself/kill the bastard) and so as she pursued the path it never occurred to her what was at the end.

Really it should have.

He was she before the first third of the path was completed. She was one with the storm by the halfway point. When did she lose her skin? Doesn’t matter. Easy to form new. Better skin. People will never know that they’re just touching wind.

The god thing? That’s fun. She is the storm that speaks, lightning in a bottle, the flux manifest, the trickster rabbit. But at the end of the day, she’s still June Egbert.

Because she wants to be.

-o-

She remembers being human.

Sort of.

She was quite young, you understand. And when you’re that young, and you’ve crossed the Pale Gate and into the Realms Past and into lands you can’t go if you have a voice or breath in your lungs or blood in your veins then - well.

Well.

I mean what do you do?

You press on, because that’s your only option.

You know what you’re losing each time, and you keep going, because you’ve lost too much, you can’t get it back, all that’s behind you is a crypt, all that’s in front of you is… you don’t know. But something.

Something.

Did she laugh when she saw the Green Sun for the first time?

Maybe. No - no, she didn’t (no air in the lungs), but she could have. As she saw it she knew what was going to happen. It was impossible. It was also impossible not to. When she opened her mouth wide, wide, wolf-wide, impossibly wide, and swallowed the endless fire. When she became the Sun, the Wolf-Mother, the Spark and the Void, the Emptiness in All, the Green.

And then she could breathe again.

Yes, she remembers being human. And she isn’t anymore, but she can fake it for a while. Because she doesn’t think it’s really so different from just being herself.

Now if only Jade Harley was a little better about remembering to hide the ears…

-o-

He doesn’t remember being human.

Honestly, he thought he was, but he knew deep inside that he wasn’t. A gnawing, terrible ache of knowledge even as he pretended to be.

He tried to cut himself once and his skin refused to break.

Again, and nothing.

Again, and it did, but there was no blood, just a trace of oil, and the skin sewed itself shut in instants.

He was too fast, too graceful, too… just too.

Too hungry.

Ate everything in the kitchen, whenever there was anything. HE stopped stocking the kitchen, started eating outside. Forced him to smuggle food into his room, to hide it, so he could try to ration it, to slowly fight the hunger within.

Again, and oil.

Again, and he saw the cogs within. Wheels within wheels within wheels. He crawled inside his own arm, and explored for weeks, and when he emerged, he knew what he was.

He burned the apartment down when he left. The crows followed. The crows would always follow.

Human? He doesn’t know how to be human. He’s Dave Strider. He is Iron-sharp, Tempo-perfection, the Pulse-and-Flow, the Last Knight, Crow-Friend, the Burning.

Mostly he’s the first one on that list.

And he’s late for lunch. Again.

#Homestuck #Godstuck #Cultiststuck #Jade Harley #Rose Lalonde #June Egbert #Dave Strider #Zee writes

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forthesanityofstorytellers · 1 month

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Writing Share Tag

Tagged by @mysticstarlightduck in this post, thanks! (Seriously, go read it. Go go go go go)

Gently Tagging: @vacantgodling @sleepyowlwrites @junypr-camus @talesfromaurea @mjjune

OC wheel said Rod, so have a scene I thoroughly enjoyed from Abracadabra where Rod plays with his food

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“Shouldn’t have brought her here,” Kashi growled, prowling among the cabinets and pantry. “Too exposed.” “Too exposed!?” I said with a frown, poking at a green bit that seemed determined not to be caught. “More exposed than being on the run in enemy territory?” Aha. It succumbed to a clever ploy of chasing it to the side of the can, my skewer coming after it triumphantly before it bailed over the jagged edge.

She grunted, pouncing on something near the back of the cabinets, voice drifting out from the dark of the unknown space. “At least on land I could maneuver, asshole. Up here I’m stuck like a—“ she grunted, the sound quickly followed by a loud banging of metal and several things crashing to the ground as Kashi swore, “eprse Siene’soine!! She struggled a little more and I let her, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a swear like that, instead choosing to concentrate on my own worries. I hovered the skewer over the bit of cucumber that had run, eyeing it as it rested in a pool of juices on the table. Mocking me. I stabbed at it with a quick jab but missed by a hair, enough to make the thing jump at my attempt and skitter across the aged wood, leaving a small trail of juice in it’s wake. I turned at the rustle of metal and wood to find Kashi pulling her head back with something furry latched firmly between her jaws. Tilted my head. “…you really gonna—“ Her irritated growl answered my question, the thing starting to squirm. I slowly turned away. “I thought you wanted me to help out. That’s why you called me and why you set a deal.” There was a sudden sickening crunch that I tried not to think about before Kashi answered. “Help, yes. Get us passage on a flying horror story, no.” “It’s the best I could do in short notice,” I answered, studying the green cucumber bit along the table. Thinking through my next plan of attack. “You said danger, you said irritated cult master, you said ‘will hunt us down relentlessly for what we did’.” “Right. And you heard ‘flying ghost ship’?” “I heard flying is the best way to get him to lose your scent, and even better if it’s on a ship that may or may not exist. You know my terms. You ask for help, I get you help. Keeping us off the ground for any length of time before we set down somewhere completely different is only going to help.” “And you couldn’t use your hat because…” “The cult master is one of your kind,” I said, finally deciding on how I would end this. “Can smell magic. I thought it’d be better if he couldn’t smell mine. It’d be a dead giveaway of what happened and who you were with, which would change his course of action. Last he knew it was you and the kid, and I’d like for it to stay that way for as long as possible. Unless you have another solution.” I stabbed downward, pinning the cucumber in place on the table. Finally successful, I raised it up on the skewer and studied it, causing the green to slide down a little before I leveled the skewer. “I’ll take your silence as a no,” I said. She huffed at me. “Stop playing with your food, Rohisean.” I slurped it down and finally glanced at her. “Esi’I,” I answered. You first. She growled, her wolf form coming through the human mask enough to show off a set of long chompers, her meal no longer squirming between her teeth. I frowned and picked at my own teeth with the edge of the skewer before grabbing up my can with a swipe. “At any rate. Gotta go finish paying our fare to the captain.” I hesitated at the doorway, glancing back at her. “Watch out for the little bones. I hear they’re a bitch to swallow.”

#tag games #writing share tag #my writing #OC:Rod #WIP:Abracadabra

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fantastic-mr-corvid · 1 year

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for @owlcatober day 1 protection and day 18 dancing lights.

only a few decades into her long life mura is taken along to witness a deal with the devil for protection- and ends up musing about another man who offered her protection, only that time the one offering was the fool- before dealing with those who declined the trap.

only warnings are for implied/referenced violence and poisoning, as well as muras detached view on everything around her.

A raised tone drew Muras attention away from the lights dancing on the velvet curtains. Pressure on her shoulder further severed the connection. No pain; yet. Even the master was lenient with her failings in front of these nouveau riche, not that they would notice anything at all, they had emptied their minds of business and filled it with gilt by the second generation.

The only major danger had been dispatched last night, he was currently begging off the meeting with… early stages of pneumonia? She had not been privy to the intimate details. However he had been a lovely mentor, teaching her business studies with the viciousness of a man who clawed his way to money in less than a decade, and the kind heart of a man who had tried to build a better place for his children to grow up in.

Such a shame those children were now, to use a phrase she learned from one of the more uncouth of her fathers agents, ‘pissing it up the wall’

Such a shame he had seen too much, and inquired too much into her home life. Such a shame her father cut down her idea of letting him play the savior and gaining his business empire for herself. Still, he had taught her well. Well enough that once he was in the grave, it would be short order until it fell into her master's hands anyway. Just with more blood than she thought necessary.

Some flowers and a card were in order. Sufficiently juvenile to make the large sum he would bequeathe her harmless. Possibly a tear stained farewell from his young student, more his child than the wasteful fools that shared his blood.

Such a shame he had refused her master's outstretched hand. Such a shame he had extended his own hand to her.

Smooth tones brought her back to the current room, her fathers hand loosened from her shoulder so he could lean forwards, the glint dancing in his eyes and the sharpness of his smile clear from his new posture and tone. He had planned long and hard and now the prey were dancing into his jaws of their own volition, wandering towards the lights. All he had to do was not twitch wrong at the last moment.

He wouldn't. This was a song and dance he had been mastering for centuries. She was more of a risk, but that's why she was here for the easy targets.

As the gilded fools simpered on, they drew ever closer to their doom. Sheep loved walking into danger, as long as that danger was handsome and promised something. Self preservation instincts flew out of the window when someone offered a golden shield, even when it just trapped you in a gilded room with the wolf.

The majority of fools in the room were humans, or other short lived races. Basking in the attention from a longer lived person, pretending they can buy life with wealth. Buy protection from their predators and betters.

Then the golden words were spoken, ‘Then we are reliant on your grace, my lord’

A hearty laugh, the undercurrent of nastiness buried deep, but the humor shining through.

‘You flatter me to much, you stand well enough on your own, I’m merely lending a hand’

And the simpering fools believe him. Hook line and sinker.

‘Please, your protection honors us’

And they thought they had him on a leash.

As the celebrations reached their peak, the dazzling reflections turning blinding, a hand steered her into a corner, a fanged mouth whispering in her ear, ‘you saw those with enough mind to hesitate. Those who did not sign. Those who were fool enough to refuse my protection. Make sure they are dealt with subtly’

As she danced through the crowds dealing death in the forms of needle pricks and poisoned drinks as well as money and notes to dissatisfied servants, she noticed her steps getting surer, her hands hesitating even less. It was one large complicated dance, and slowly she was treading it with surer foot, and the lights weren't so blinding anymore.

#thebirdwrites #mura hagdaughter #a day late because i was worried it didnt fit the prompt enough #but then i saw someone combine days #so here!#me writing lights dancing in the first sentence was a coincidence #but i exadurated the references to lights and dancing in the rest of the text #oh and her master and her father are the same person btw #shes early enough in her life that shes still in training #and hasn't quite earned her place at her fathers side as his ultimate weapon yet #but far enough in to know she is actually his daughter

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sarahfeliciam · 3 months

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The Ultimatum Ch 13

It took nearly the entire break for Emeline to train and condition herself to become an animagus. She was somewhat relieved that her timeline for training was severely diminished due to having her father and bestfriend’s expertise at her beck and call. A unique quirk she learned, is that your form comes to you organically and she could not choose it. That met her with much trepidation as they approached the final full moon of summer. However, she was ready to be done with training being watched like a hawk by her father and uncle.

Sirius’ encouragement, having been through the process, was quite helpful, and due to this encouragement she remained hopeful that her first transformation wouldn’t be a devastating disaster.

The other moons of the summer passed by uneventfully. To her surprise, Professor Snape continued sending Remus Wolfsbane vials leading up to the moon and his transitions had been smooth and no cause for anymore discomfort than normal. Sirius did his best to keep her occupied and busy those evenings with various games and stories of his own animagi form and she was eternally grateful that he caught on to just her heartbroken she felt during the moon. She had a strong desire to be there for her father and it was painful to listen to his transformations.

Sirius took away some of that dark cloud by reminding her, yet again, that Remus had done this practically his entire life. Having Emeline now could only soften the blow of a condition he already had down pat. That seemed to soothe her and give her the purpose she needed.

All to say, they’d finally arrived at the evening of the moon.

Remus drank the last Wolfsbane vial and secured himself in the cellar. Sirius looked down at Emeline who stood next to him in the basement on the other side and nodded encouragingly.

“Are you ready?”

“As ever. You?” She turned to her dad.

“I’m alright, Em. Listen to Sirius. The second the moon beams come through the window, don’t wait. I’d like to see you succeed if I can keep my wits about me.”

“The Wolfsbane will ensure that,” Sirius added as he turned Emeline to face him. “Don’t let rushing ruin your incantation. He’s an anxious father and he’ll see you succeed either way, because you’re going to. You’ve had two marvelous teachers. One of whom is exceptionally skilled in voluntary transforming.” He winked at Remus and the first light of the moon shined against her bare feet.

“You have everything you need to excel at this, Em.” Remus forced out, already attempting to remain stoic and sound.

She nodded and watched Sirius for instruction.

“Now.” He ordered.

As lightning struck outside the small window, Emeline grabbed the bright red potion vial Sirius handed her and she heard the familiar sound of claws against metal as she drank it.

She whispered the incantation with her wand pointed at her heart and nothing else to lose. She quickly felt her human form melting away.

•

When Remus came to the next morning, he was laying on the stone of the makeshift cell and facing the snouts of a mutt he’d seen many times in this position, and a new, very small and peaceful looking wolf pup.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips and he lifted his hand to reach for the lock. The sound of metal clanking roused the animals at his feet and drew them to stand. Sirius’ tail began wagging excitedly with a happy yipe and Emeline offered him a playful howl back as they wrestled on the ground in excitement. Remus watched them, amused, before the little wolf stopped and turned to him. Head held proudly high, she came to sit perfectly still at his feet, tail coming to a stop. She looked up at him with her same crystal blue eyes, shining like ice against her grey and brown fur.

He knelt down to her and she kept her stance as he appraised her transformation, in complete awe.

“Well done, pup. You’ve passed.”

An excited howl and leap up at him gained her his laughter and he held her close as she transformed back, laughing also in human form now. Before she knew it, they were all piled together, hugging and grinning like mad men.

“I told you, Remus! Pup!”

“My daughter, a marauder.” He mused, smiling at her as blood dripped from a new scar on his face.

Sirius threw an old cloth at him. “Well, what did you expect, Moony?”

Emeline chuckled and snatched the cloth off the floor, wiping at the new scar with that familiar whisper only Remus could hear.

“Yeah, Moony. What did you expect?”

•

When they all made their way upstairs that morning, Saffron was already viciously pecking at the window with a beak full of letters. Emeline rushed to let her in, soothing her with a gentle tap on the head and offering her some water by turning the faucet on low. She divvied up the letters among them.

One for Sirius, from Harry.

Two for her, from George

One for her father, from -

“The Registering Department? But I thought you were already in the registry.”

“Ah, this is for you. All animagi must be properly registered for many purposes. I was simply being proactive as ordering the paperwork holds you to nothing.”

“You’re incredibly over prepared sometimes, you know that? Isn’t it exhausting?”

“I must pass that exhausting onto you as it requires the Hogwarts Express whistle to wake you some days.”

“Very funny.” She grinned as she looked back at her letters. Sirius was already halfway through his letter from Harry but stopped abruptly as the room went deafeningly silent. He looked up at Remus inquisitively and Emeline blushed, offering Remus a look as if to say don’t you dare.

“Back to your letter, Padfoot. Emeline has some reading from her friend to get to.”

“Oh, ho!” Sirius laughed, jumping up and snatching the letters.

“Sirius! Come on! You two really are the worst together!”

“I’m just joking.” He stuffed them back in her hands. “A Weasley, eh? They’re a funny match those too. Keep you on your toes.”

She tore open the first letter, smiling to herself as she read through.

E-

It was lovely to get to hear from you so much over break. It sounds like you three are settling in nicely and it’ll be neat to have some normalcy this year, I’m sure. Everything is fairly well here. I wish I had new news to report, but as it goes, you are the most exciting as of late.

An animagus?! Merlin, I simply must spend some time amongst such royalty. Fred and I are marauder die hards. Still can’t believe we know two of them, had one for a pet, and are friends with two of their children!

Well speak soon, gotta run

George

Her heart sunk slightly at her and Harry being regarded as ‘friends’ to George, but nevertheless, she opened the second letter.

Her sunken feeling certainly did not last long.

Remus meant to interject at the slight fall her caught in her face, but it was quickly rectified with an excited scream and Emeline jumping up as she read the rest of the letter. Remus could not even gather his thoughts quickly enough before he was overcome by her screaming, giggling, begging, and jumping in front of him.

He caught a few keywords

George. Cup. Two days. And: please, please, please!

“Em, slow down.” He laughed, taking a seat. Still taxed from the moon and desperately trying to understand his daughter, he looked up at her calmly. “Can you tell me what’s going on in a normal, single sentence, please?”

Sirius hooted behind her, Emeline not even realizing that he’d snatched the letter again.

“The Quidditch World Cup?! You’re bloody lying!! Merlin, he must really be into you!”

“Give me that!” Remus shouted, grabbing the letter from Sirius now.

“No fun he’s only invited you!”

“Sirius, please.” Remus held up a hand as he read through and looked up at Emeline with a quick smile. It was forced.

“I’m not sure with what’s lurking about, you should be at such an exposed event, Em.”

“Dad, please. The break has been fairly calm unless you’ve been informed of something I haven’t. I’m sure there’s plenty of safety measures there.”

“I’m sure there’s none considering the minister for magic believes nothing of the matter at hand.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’d believe an inkling, either.” She argued.

“It feels just like before,” Remus started. “I just want you safe.”

“I’d be perfectly safe with the Weasleys. Besides, Harry will be there too! And Hermione. I’ve never heard of this Cedric fellow, but I’m sure he’s lovely and he’s my house! Please, dad.”

Remus didn’t have the heart to tell her that Harry going was precisely why he had heavier fears. He also feared such an expansive place for easy attack.

And… without any magical threat… was this a date? An entire weekend he was leaving his daughter and her friend/ not friend to their own devices?

There it was again: pinching the bridge of his nose and pulling in a rattling breath to calm himself.

“Alright,” her scream interrupted him and he held up his hand to her. “I will owl Arthur and discuss the matter and assuming the safety is to my approval, you can go.”

She bit her bottom lip, face bubbling with excitement as she danced back and forth between her two feet. Sirius patted Remus on the shoulder.

“Well?”

“Can I scream now?”

“I suppose.” Remus groaned.

As she threw her arms around his neck and hollered in excitement, Remus was certain he could add a new condition to his roster: completely deaf.

#george weasley #sirius black #remus daughter #remuslupin daughter #remus lupin #remus lupin x daughter

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maria021015 · 5 months

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SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 10 AHEAD!

“Hey, hey, hey! This isn't exactly an all-terrain vehicle.” Jackson yelled, his knuckles white from gripping so tightly onto the overhanging support handle of his Porsche.

“Yeah. Did you pay for it?” Stiles was breaking several traffic laws as he sped through the empty roads towards Beacon Hills Preserve, swerving sharply into a dusty and overgrown old road that Zaida assumed led to the Hale property. The vehicle jumped over all sorts of bumps and dipped into potholes, but the boy didn’t care. Somehow he kept control over the car.

“No,” Jackson grumbled and avoided making eye contact with the boy, staring at the blur of the trees flying past outside the windows.

“Then shut up.” he shot back. Whilst Zaida loved to see Jackson being put in his place, the glass beakers in her lap clinked delicately from the movement.

“Stiles, just try being a bit more careful. The last thing we want is for these to break.” she reminded him of the fragile cargo they were carrying.

The boy didn’t slow down, but he was more wary of driving into potholes or over large rocks. The Hale house was much larger than the girl had expected. It loomed in the distance as they approached with a dark presence. If she’d have stumbled upon it herself she’d have sworn it was haunted. Perhaps it was, with how many innocent people had died there. They skidded to a stop over the loose dirt and Stiles wasted no time in reaching into the back seat to grab one of the bottles that sat in Zaida’s lap. He was the first to jump out of the car but she was a close second, grabbing both of the remaining bottles and stepping out to be faced with a giant wolf-like creature with a patchy coat and those glowing red eyes. She was frozen before it. The sheer size of it alone was enough to send her knees shaking and heart pounding. Stiles struck first, hurling the plugged beaker through the air. The creature - the alpha, Peter - caught it easily as they all watched on with anticipation.

“Allison!” Without a moment’s hesitation, Scott tossed Allison her bow, and the girl notched an arrow, drew back the string and released it. It struck its mark within the blink of eye, piercing the glass and igniting the liquid that splattered and dripped all over the alpha’s arm.

“Zaida, now!” Stiles urged her, snapping her out of her trance. She put all the power she could into her throw, praying that her aim would be true. The beaker she threw struck the creature’s hip, spreading the fire further over its legs. Good, but not good enough. Jackson took the last fire bomb from her hands and it exploded right in the centre of the beast’s chest as it stumbled backwards and howled with a geep and guttural roar. It seemed to shrink as its movements became more jagged. With a second look, Zaida realised that was because it was shrinking - morphing back into his human form. She gagged at the smell of burning flesh and pulled her gaze away from his charred and blackened skin. She didn’t miss the irony of it. In a way, the alpha Peter had become started with the Hale fire. Now, it ended with one.

“We did it!” she sighed deeply in relief, looking to Stiles beside her who shared an equally comforted expression.

Before he realised what he was doing he rushed forward to envelop the girl in a bone-crushing hug. Her form stiffened for a moment in surprise, hands hovering in the air, but then she relaxed and returned the gesture. The two of them had been through a lot together in the past few hours, and the rush of emotions that had overcome Zaida now that the threat was gone included gratitude towards Stiles. It was funny how earlier on in the day she’d have considered the boy a practical stranger to her, but now? Now there was a bond that had formed through their shared experience. Without him, she surely would have crumbled under the pressures and horrors of the night. Stiles felt the shift too. There were multiple moments when Zaida could have pulled out. He’d pushed her away for so long, and he wouldn’t have blamed her for not wanting to get involved. Yet she had chosen repeatedly to put herself in danger to help. If anyone would ask him, he’d never admit to it, but having her with him tonight had helped him to hold onto his sanity when he thought he might lose it.

The duo pulled apart with faint smiles of understanding as Jackson rolled his eyes. “I helped too.” He scoffed and Zaida rolled her eyes. What a way to ruin the moment.

It seemed there were celebrations all around as Allison and Scott were reconciling. The boy looked different to how he usually did though, with a more pronounced brow, pointed ears and hairy cheeks. The girl didn’t seem phased by it so clearly the secret was out in the open now. Zaida would surely find out how it had happened later. Chris Argent didn’t seem amused by what was happening between his daughter and the werewolf, but he also wasn’t holding a gun to his head either which was probably progress. Kate was missing from the group as far as Zaida could see and she wondered where the woman had gone for a moment before becoming distracted by Derek approaching his uncle's smoking body.

“Wait! You said the cure comes from the one who bit you. Derek, if you do this I'm dead. Her father, her family- what am I supposed to do?” Scott scrambled to his feet, yelling and pleading with Derek to stop.

There was a faint gurgling sound of muffled speech before Derek lifted up his claws and brought them forward and across Peter’s throat with ferocity. Derek turned to them with his eyes flashing a glowing red, confirming Peter’s death. “I'm the Alpha now.”

Scott had left with Allison, and Derek disappeared with his uncle’s body. Chris remained behind and Jackson had dropped Stiles and Zaida off back at the school to pick up his Jeep. The boy used a wrench to straighten out his bent car key as best as he could and managed to get it to work much to his relief. Then Stiles had offered to drive her home, so here they were in his powder blue Jeep. Zaida didn’t know what Derek decided to do with Peter’s corpse, and she didn’t quite care to be frank. She was just glad this whole nightmare was over. Zaida’s fingers brushed the bandage at her neck absent-mindedly. Or was it just beginning?

The drive to her apartment was silent as both of them took the time to internally process everything. When they arrived Stiles followed Zaida inside, quietly understanding that after what they’d been through neither of them really wanted to be alone. The apartment was dark and empty. Xander wasn’t due home from work until the morning, having pulled a night shift. He’d likely be called to handle the Kate situation with the Sheriff once Chris figured out what their story would be.

“You want a drink? A snack? Anything?” she asked the boy as she dumped her heels by the couch and went to open an overhanging cupboard, pulling a jar of cocoa mix from the shelf. “I’m going to make myself a hot chocolate, if you want one.”

“Yeah, I’ll have a hot chocolate.” he nodded and moved to join her in the kitchen when he noticed how shaky her hands were when lifting the kettle. “You want any help? Here, let me. I promise I make a great hot chocolate.”

Stiles took over as she leaned back against the bench, hugging herself and steadying her heart rate with deep breaths. “So, Peter bit me.” she broke the ice, starting off the conversation she had desperately been wanting to have with him for a while now. “I think that means I need to know everything that’s been happening in Beacon Hills. From the beginning.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded and she raised a brow sceptically.

“Okay? That’s it? You’re not going to fight me for it this time?” Zaida poked some fun at the boy.

“No. You’re in this now. You have a right to know.” He responded genuinely without any of his usual sarcasm. “It all started the last night of winter break. I was listening to my dad’s phone calls and heard about a jogger who found half a dead body in the woods.”

“Laura Hale.” Zaida nodded, following along. So they sipped on their hot beverages as Stiles told her about it all.

How Scott and Stiles had been separated that night and Scott was bitten. How the next day at school he’d already healed and started to hear conversation way out of a human’s listening range, smell things he shouldn’t have been able to, and pull off crazy Lacrosse moves he’d never been able to before. How Scott’s asthma went away. Then he told her about how it all started to spiral quickly. How Stiles had discovered Scott was turning on the first full moon. The struggles that the duo had gone through to teach Scott control and hide from the Argents. Their crazy escapades in-between, involving suspecting Derek and finding the other half of Laura’s body in a strange burial in wolf form. How they had gotten him arrested only for him to be released and to find themselves on the same team. He told her everything they’d learned about the supernatural in the process. About what really happened that night at the school, and about what they’d discovered about Peter. Peter had been in a coma since the fire and gained enough consciousness after slowly healing for all that time to manipulate his nurse. He lured Laura back to Beacon Hills by carving a symbol of revenge on a deer. When she had gotten back in town, he’d killed her to steal her power and accelerate his healing process. He’d gone on his murder rampages, exacting his revenge upon all those connected to the Hale arson case. When Derek confronted him that night at the hospital, he’d lied to his nephew and convinced him killing Laura had been an accident in his delirious out-of-control state. Scott had gotten to Derek first and broken him out of Kate’s dungeon, showing him the truth about his sister’s murder, leading Derek to kill Peter in return.

“What happens now?” she asked in a weak voice, fingers once again playing with the edges of her bandage and thinking of what Scott went through. What she would likely go through. “How do we just go back to normal? Go back to school like none of it’s happened? How am I going to hide it from Xander?”

“Now, we take each day as it comes. I wouldn’t say we’re experts, but Scott and I have learned a lot over these past months. You won’t be alone in this.” Stiles assured her tenderly and took her empty mug from the bench, placing it in the kitchen sink.

“Thank you.” she said genuinely when the boy turned back around and locked eyes with her. “Thank you for telling me the truth, and thank you for being there with me tonight. Truth is, I wouldn’t have gotten through it without you.”

“If you tell anyone this I’ll deny it, but I’m really glad you were there with me too.” he admitted and ran his hand over his buzzed hair. “Man, I don’t know how we’re going to get any sleep tonight.”

“You wanna stay over? We can watch movies until our eyes can’t physically stay open and you can crash on the couch.” Zaida offered with a shrug. “Xander won’t get home until tomorrow morning and to be honest, I’d sleep better knowing there’s someone else here.”

“I’ll text my dad and tell him I’m staying at Scott’s.” he agreed and pulled out his phone to begin typing the message.

“Why lie?” she frowned and pulled open the linen closet to fetch the boy some blankets so he wouldn’t get cold on the couch.

“Yeah, beacause if I tell my dad that I’m staying at a girl’s house for the night he’ll be totally fine with that.” he snorted sarcastically.

“But you're not staying at just any girl’s house. He knows me, and my brother, and he knows you’re into Lydia.” Zaida explained. “Plus, it’s not like you and I are like that, you know? He’d understand that after what happened tonight we’d want a bit of comfort from our friends.”

“Yeah, totally, we’re not. I know that,” Stiles stumbled over his words in that awkward fashion she hadn’t really heard him speak in all night. “But it’s like, would Xander let you sleepover at a guy’s house?”

“Touche,” she yielded and plonked herself down on the couch, leaning forward to pick up the folder of DVD’s from the coffee table. When reframed that way it completely made sense. Xander may be more lenient because he was her brother and not a parent, but he’d probably still draw the line at that. “What movie should we start with?”

“What do you have?” Stiles questioned and joined her, tossing one of the blankets over himself.

“All of the greats.” she retorted and flipped through her collection of discs until Stiles gestured for her to stop.

“You’ve got like all the Star Wars movies!” he perked up excitedly, eyes wide in wonderment and she giggled at his giddy reaction.

“Like I said, all the greats.” she confirmed. “Question is, do we start with episode one, or episode four?”

“Episode one, always.” the boy nodded enthusiastically and Zaida pulled the disc from the folder and moved to insert it into the DVD player.

#teenwolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfic #teenwolf #teen wolf #stiles x oc #stiles stilinski #stiles

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robinette-green · 2 years

Note

Difficult recovery prompt: Touch starved

please and thank you

Took me a hot minute but I’ve finally got this one written out ^_^

The door slammed shut, and Lily found herself alone in the large daycare. Her mother had just started working at the pizza plex, and because she was raising Lily alone, that meant the little girl would now be spending most of her time here in the daycare.

The time was 6am, and the daycare didn't officially open for another two hours, but that hadn't stopped Lily's mother from shoving her through the daycare doors with a

"You'll be fine!" before leaving.

Lily looked around at the silent daycare as she hugged her wolf plush close. The play structures towered above her, and the room seemed to stretch on forever.

None of the human workers would be in until 7:30, but there were animatronic caretakers… or so Lily's mother had said. There was an enormous statue upstairs of two robots. Were those the two that would be caring for her during the day? Where were they now? Did they live here, or were they somewhere else until later?

For the moment, it appeared that Lily was completely alone. She was too nervous to explore, fearful of getting lost in the massive space, and anyway… what if she wasn't alone? Those animatronic things were huge and scary. She didn't want one popping out at her.

Stepping to the side, Lily moved to press her back to the wall beside the door on the side without the security desk. She didn't want to be in anyone's way. Being in the way got you yelled at.

Letting her little body slide down the wall, Lily sat on the floor and hid her face against her plush to wait. She was no stranger to needing to stay out of the way and wait quietly.

"-But I heard the door close."

Lily looked up, searching for the source of the voice, and saw an enormous jester-like robot with a head shaped like the sun walking through the daycare. This must be one of the animatronic caretakers.

Lily shrank into herself, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible, but that didn't stop the sunny yellow robot from spotting her. He was frowning, but as soon as he caught sight of her small form pressed against the wall, a grin spread across his face.

"Hello, there, little friend! Where did you come from?"

This animatronic was so much bigger than she had imagined, and as he neared, Lily could feel tears welling up as her body started to shake. It wasn't necessarily that the robot was scary in and of himself, but more the idea of him being angry with her. If her mother was scary when angered, this robot would be absolutely terrifying, and Lily knew she wasn't supposed to be here. The daycare was closed. She was for sure going to be in trouble.

Seeing the little girl's fear, the yellow robot stopped, still several steps away, and crouched down, lowering himself closer to her level.

"Hey, it's alright. I won't hurt you. Promise." He murmured, watching Lily closely as she clung to her stuffed wolf.

"Can you tell me your name?"

Lilly didn't respond, continuing to stare up at him with huge scared eyes and staying silent.

The robot waited a moment to see if she would answer and when she didn't he said

"That's alright. I'll give you a quick scan just so I can find out who you are, okay? I just want to make sure you're not lost."

A blue light passed over Lily and she squeezed her eyes shut as the light went by.

"You're here awfully early, little Lily. The other little kids won't be here for a few more hours."

Opening her eyes, Lily looked back at the sunny yellow robot. It appeared that she wasn't in trouble…

"Would you like to maybe play a game before the others arrive? Or we could do a craft. I have finger paints and glitter glue!"

Lily looked at the smiling face of the animatronic. He seemed cheerful and bouncy, swaying side to side and fidgeting with his fingers even as he tried to appear non-threatening. Maybe he wasn't all that scary… and she did like crafts, but would doing such a messy craft really be alright? Lily always got in trouble at home when she made messes… but this wasn't home and the caretaker seemed to think it would be okay. He was even excited at the idea.

Lily hesitantly nodded. If she wouldn't get in trouble, then she would like to do a craft.

Keeping his legs bent, so he was low to the ground, the Sunny robot carefully moved towards the girl, and when she didn't shy away, he held out a hand to her.

After a long moment of hesitation, Lilly reached out, lightly touching her fingers to his. Soft silicone covered his hands, and Lily found that they were warm to the touch. The caretaker let her take her time, slowly coming out of her huddle to place her hand on his palm.

Lily squeaked as the robot scooped her into his arms, pulling her against his chest as he stood. She found herself held securely in a comforting hold, the robot's embrace warm and strong. The feeling of safety flooded her system. She didn't want him to let go.

Wrapping her arms around the caretaker's neck, Lily let him carry her to a craft table at the back of the room, already set up with tons of art supplies.

"Here we go!" The caretaker chirped before moving to set the little girl down, but she wouldn't let go of his neck. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been held, the last time she'd been cuddled, and she didn't want to leave the warmth of his embrace. The little girl whimpered softly, hiding her face against his shoulder as she clung to him.

The caretaker sat down and returned to holding Lily securely against his chest.

"No worries! No worries! We'll sit together!" He said quickly, rubbing the little girl's back as he comforted her.

"You can stick to me most of the day if you'd like! I don't mind at all!"

And he was true to his word. Eventually, Lily let the animatronic settle her in his lap so she could draw with him, and as they filled their pages with doodles and paint, the caretaker babbled away.

His name was Sun, and his counterpart was Moon; she would meet him during naptime. He had always lived in the daycare, but he was friends with some of the other animatronics, and they would play games and hang out once the plex closed for the day. Some of the staff were really kind, but he didn't like the people who worked in parts and service much.

Parts and service was like the doctor but for the robots at the plex so Lily could understand his anxieties towards it. She also didn't like the doctor.

Sun went on to talk about all his favorite games and activities as well as his favorite kids, and Lily found herself wanting to be one of their number… one of his favorites. But she knew he'd probably end up finding her annoying like her mother did…

Once the other kids started to show up for the day, Sun scooped Lily up and let her snuggle into his arms as he welcomed each kid that came down the daycare slide.

As the kids started with games and other activities, Sun would periodically check on Lily to ensure she was doing alright and to see if she was interested in any of the games. Even though Sun did this in a way that made it clear that Lily didn't need to do anything she didn't want to, she started to feel that he might be getting bothered by holding her for so long. But Sun never made a move to put her down.

When naptime came around, Lily was already dozing against Sun. On top of having to get up super early this morning, she hadn't slept well the night before.

"Sunshine," Sun murmured, rubbing Lily's back to gently wake her.

"I'm going to introduce you to Moon. He's going to be taking over for nap time, and I'm going to charge for a few hours."

Lily looked up at Sun, suddenly worried that she would be left alone in the dark. She hated the dark.

Moon had already come down from the tower in the wall and was walking through the children, helping them set up their sleep mats and ensuring everyone had blankets and any toys they needed. He was just as tall as Sun, but he was all blues and whites, whereas Sun was yellows and creams, and he was dressed in stars with a sleeping cap on his head.

When Sun waved to him, Moon came over and gave Lily a soft smile.

"Hello, Starlight. I've heard a lot about you from Sun. Why don't you come spend nap time with me while Sun charges?"

Lily hesitated. Moon seemed just as kind as Sun… and if Sun needed to charge, then Lily didn't want to prevent him from doing that. She didn't want him to run out of power.

After a long moment, Lily nodded and let the giant animatronics pass her from one to the other.

Snuggled in Moon's arms, Lily watched as Sun waved goodbye to all the kids before using a wire from the ceiling to fly up to the tower in the wall. Soon the lights started to dim, and Lily pressed closer to Moon.

"I've got you, little one." He murmured, rubbing the little girl's back as he moved to sit in the middle of the sleeping mats so he could keep an eye on all the other children.

Once Moon settled on the floor, he moved Lily to his lap, letting her head rest on his pillowy pants leg. Draping a blanket over her, Moon rested a hand on her back and started onto a bedtime story for the children. Lily was asleep in moments.

The rest of the day, Lily was passed between Sun and Moon, with Moon staying to help with the kids after naptime. Not once did they leave her alone, letting her cling to them and burrow into their arms.

Lily felt safe and calm in the embrace of the animatronics, something she hadn't felt in a long time, and she was grateful that they didn't force her to leave their arms. She could doze in their hold all day.

#glitter rock #writing prompt #glitter rock writing #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf fanfic

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