#shepherd of the soul au

[candlecoo]

Shepherd AU Rambling plz

So I don't really have anything to ramble about but I have missed drawing Izuku and his outfit in this au was bothering me so I decided to redraw him!

[sylunisart]

Pikmin evolutionary line for the funny space people + wraiths HCs

[apinchofm]

I was on a train all day and wrote down the full length Miriam and Matthew married AU lol

liked the way you numbed all the pain

@matthewsblue @dreamofme9 @xxskycrystalxx @spitefularmand @lady-of-the-spirit @yourmomsgrandmother @la-dame-vampire

[inkribbon796]

Egotober 2023 Day 26: Howling Mad

Summary: Silver’s doing a patrol and answers the wrong call.

Prompt: Werewolf

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

It was a weekend and Silver’s turn for a late night patrol. He was around Barnum park when he heard something. A low, deep howl that made Silver’s skin crawl.

In one moment he was outside the park, and then he saw something. Not physically in front of him but a flash of blue that happened the moment he blinked his eyes. When he opened his eyes he was in the park and there was a pair of glowing pink eyes in the darkness of the trees.

“Uh,” Silver said as he began to float off the ground but the thing in the shadows lunged at him.

At first Silver thought it was a bear, it was certainly big enough. But after dodging it, Silver realized it was more like a large wolf. It looked strong and big enough to rip a car apart.

And its fur was pink.

On either side of the werewolf were two smaller dogs. Silver could only call it a “werewolf” because it definitely wasn’t a wolf and what else was it supposed to be? The smaller dogs looked like golden labs taken over by shadow, red eyes and hackles raised.

Dark’s hellhounds.

“What do we have here?”

Silver turned to see Dark standing behind him. Effectively trapping Silver between himself and the pink werewolf.

Dark’s head tilted as he looked past Silver and at the werewolf. The pink werewolf’s tail began wagging in excitement.

A gleaming, moonlight-colored aura came over Dark. He looked a little alarmed before he disappeared suddenly standing in front of the wolf and Dark was different.

The demon had turned to look more feminine. A trailing smoky purple dress with what looked like fur along the v-neck of the dress. Her hair was short and jet black, with more red in her aura.

Dark looked down at her herself and rolled her eyes.

Her hand slowly moved up to the large canine-like face.

“Oh, Wil, if you wanted attention you knew where I was,” Dark smiled as she scratched under the werewolf’s chin.

Wilford made a deep chuffing-like noise as he leaned into her hand.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous sometimes,” Dark said but she had a half smile on her face and continued scratching his chin.

Silver slowly slowly tried to back up but Wilford growled and bared his teeth at Silver.

“Woah, woah,” Silver said as he held his hands up. “Obviously you two are in the middle of something, I can go.”

Dark whispered something to Wilford and the werewolf shot out after Silver. The pink werewolf was roaring and the two hellhounds followed after him.

The demon smiled as she waited for Wilford to either drag the hero back kicking and screaming, or come back on his own.

Silver would get away, being able to fly but not before Wilford snagged his cape with his teeth.

Silver’s cape quick-released and Silver shot off into the sky. Whatever was going on, the hero wasn’t sure he wanted anything to do with it. It seemed less illegal and more like a date night thing to him.

The hellhounds disappeared back into the Void and Wilford headed back to Dark, black and white cape in his teeth.

Dark scratched behind his ears. “Completely ridiculous.”

Wilford leaned into the touch.

Then Dark leaned up and kissed Wilford on the side of his head. Immediately turning him back into a human person.

”You’ve saved me, Darkling,” Wilford walked over to her and wrapped his arms around the demon.

“Where’d your clothes go?” Dark asked.

“The transformation took them,” Wilford smiled. “You’ve saved me.”

Dark opened up a portal. “Yes, let’s go dear. And stay out of my cursed books, you might not actually like the next one you come across.

Wilford chuckled as he followed her back into the Manor, staying close behind her.

[cryptidblue1]

I'm not even close to it in my AU since I want to talk about my headcanons for how Higher Beings/Gods work in that story once PK gets intro'd since a lot of my ideas revolve around him musing and reacting to Lavender and the vessel brigade. But, I just came home from work where I downed two energy drinks and have no work tomorrow so I'm going to ramble a bit on this here.

Like y'all don't know how much my fascination with the concept of Higher Beings/Gods in Hollow Knight runs. Like we know some ascend, some just seem to come into being, and we have the hints from the vessels that they can be born as well. But what criteria is there to be seen as a Higher Being, are there lesser deities so to speak that are more then normal bugs but not on the same level as Higher Beings.

I have ideas that some, if not all of PK and WL's kids even without them being part of the Vessel project; would have otherworldy abilities and auras compared to other bugs but would like be on the same level of like Dryads and Satyrs in Greek Mythos. While others would have that potential to grow up and ascend to being Higher Beings like their parents. With their own domains or being offshoots of PK and WL's domains.

This also makes me wonder why the whole thing with Radiance and Pale King went down the way it did considering that under good circumstances the both of them could have had a partnership and sharing of followers due to their differing domains. Since PK gives sentience and intelligence to bugs, and Radiance rules over dreams PK is pretty much making more people that can dream and thus appreciate Radiance and she could lead more dreamers to Hallownest to gain more enlightenment so to speak and thus dream even more complex dreams. Instead they both got into a turf war and Highlander'd one another into the mess that is canon.

[direwombat]

hnnnngggghhh hdm au wherein both jake and syb have wolves as their daemons

[blenderrat]

Introducing the shepherd au!

This is an alternate universe of ‘Chonny’s Charming Chaos Compendium’. The idea is that the series takes place in a woodland area- with Soul as the shepherd, directing a herd of sheep. Heart is the personification of a ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’, while Mind is the opposite; a sheep in wolves clothing. This au is heavily based on symbolism, which you’ll get an example of in the character sheets.

Currently, I’ve only finished Mind’s design, which I am very proud of.

^^Image link and info about him.

I will edit this post once Heart’s or Soul’s design is finished to include them.

[mutodaes]

The Shepherd of Souls

I had an idea for a COTL AU in which the Lamb is a reincarnation of the original god of death, known as the Shepherd of Souls.

[slutforalastor]

Confessional

Human Priest Alastor has a particularly committed parishioner with an unholy request. NOT APPROPRIATE FOR THOSE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Tags: SO MANY CHURCH REFERENCES, light voyeurism, temptation, bloodletting, church AU I guess if you wanna get technical, way too many big words for plotless smut

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

You kneel before a shadow, crossing yourself. You know the shadow's face, having spent countless Sundays smiling from your lips and weeping from between your legs during his service. You know that he can see you, perhaps even recognizes you. You're aware of the purpose of confessional, the supposed tenants guiding the practice, but you are not here to absolve yourself. You seek indulgence, not purification.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eleven months since my last confession. These are my sins. I harbor impure thoughts, thoughts that I know have been given to me by the Lord. He is guiding us towards a union, perhaps to conceive, but for some holy purpose, regardless. There can be no other reason why you'd occupy my every waking thought, why my maiden's bed feels so cold and empty, as though incomplete without your body next to mine. Each and every night, I sin in that bed, allowing my own hand to guide me to an incomplete release. It never gives me any feeling of blessing, only of deeper desire to blaspheme. My soul is forever lost without your faithful shepherding, Father."

The shadow moves, clears its throat, no trace of emotion to be gleaned from his intonation.

"My dear child, you seem lost, confused. As a man I am flattered, perhaps even humbled, by this confession. But you must hold steady against these impure delusions, for God has placed me on a different path."

His rebuke only serves to hasten your desire. You feel yourself laden with honeyed need, leaking against the inside of your thighs through your underwear. You know he can see you kneeling, prostrating yourself before the judgment of your holy superior. Still on your knees, you lean back, hiking up the fabric of your skirt, pushing your hips up to present your ruined panties. "Holy Father, you are a servant of the Lord, are you not? Would you deny that one of your flock is in need? Would you leave them to temptation in solitude, with only their hands, the devil's playthings, for companionship?"

His voice betrays the first sign of will being tested. "This could just as easily be a test, a bit of trickery from the Devil himself."

"Who better to rid me of devilish desire than one who speaks on God's behalf? Who baptizes the young, unifies lovers, grants last rites to the condemned? Serve your Lord and banish this Devil from my loins, if you be pious, if you be merciful."

His voice is trembling now, thick with an intent you had hoped to provoke. You are intriguing him, winning him over. Summoning your courage, you draw your underwear down to your ankles, clumsily preening your sex the same way you have been whenever the heat between your legs burns like Hellfire. "See for yourself how the Lord makes me a conduit. Would you call this the will of the Devil? The need of a woman for a man?"

"I have taken an oath..." he stutters, choking on his own words.

"An oath to serve your parishioners... Would you bear witness to sin, knowing you can make it holy?" you bleat, the lamb on the altar, bound by ropes fastened to your soul. The Priest stands, and you can see his shadow making the mark of the cross, muttering a prayer to himself. Your self-defilement doesn't even slow, the low, wet sounds of hungry flesh accepting your phallic substitute the only sound in the confessional. In another moment, you hear the door opening, and your savior stands framed in the light of the jamb.

"Bless you, Father," you moan. He shuts the door, and in the dimness, you capture the full depth of his radiance. His brown hair drapes in front of his eyes, standing as a buffer between those nearly-black irises and the small circular frames that grace the bridge of his nose. A nervous sweat shimmers on his dark skin. His cassock is disheveled, his silver cross hung up on one of the higher buttons, collar greyed at the edges from sweat.

"We must make haste to rid you of this curse," he breathes, tugging at his collar. Thinking on its symbolism, he detaches it entirely, leaving it hanging on the doorknob. With rough strength, he brings you to the chair one could use to confess face-to-face, bringing your arousal level with him when he drops to his knees. He inhales, something within that bouquet seeming to pique his interest. "You reek of unholy desire."

"It has tormented me, Father."

"I can see now what you mean. It would be irresponsible to leave you in such a state. I shall grant you this mercy, my child. God will heal you through me."

With a slight tilt of his head, he partakes in your communion, his lips brushing over the outermost of your folds, murmuring a prayer against the electrified nerves. You can feel every syllable evoked against your body, sending ripples of heaven cascading through your system. You are certain that God's holy presence is being imparted from the teasing edges of his lips into your body. His tongue parts from between his pursed, muttering lips, lapping at the inside of your sex, searching for something buried deeper still. Your hands dare to caress his head, guiding him towards the spot he seeks. Charting into fresh territory, he stakes claim to it, his eager tongue seeking out places you've yet to even map yourself. Each press of it is a blessing, the burning ache in your flesh the doubtless throes of a demon being flayed from your soul.

"My dear, I'm beginning to wonder if I misjudged. Your taste is divine."

Your fingers dig into his thick locks, pressing him to persist even further, to reach past the purgatory of your desire. You feel his nose grinding against your most sensitive spot, something you have never had a name for, feeling every time he inhales and exhales, his mouth far too preoccupied with more concerning matters. You are fighting to keep your carnal affectations from becoming any louder than a whining wail you smother in the small of your throat, lest it be loosed completely unrestrained.

"You're doing well to keep your voice lowered," he praises you. "You are a true servant of your Lord."

"I-I am in his service," you affirm, your words snaring every time his tongue darts against your walls.

"Your dedication deserves to be rewarded," and he pushes himself as far as the limitations of flesh permit, lodging his lapping extremity so firmly within that you startle nearly upright, sharp nails that bite against the fabric of your clothes urging you back down. "He says 'be still and know that I am God.'"

You groan against the scripture being branded on your innards, a new sensation creeping across the tensed muscles of your legs. With a muffled moan, he is baptized in your release, and he offers a satisfied sound of approval. Your legs quake against the ceaseless undulating of his attentions, finally extricating himself when he's had his fill of you. He runs the long, thin thing that just concluded making a mess of your insides over his glistening grin, still slick from your consecration. Your focus drifts downward, to the crook that will shepherd you to salvation tenting the fabric of his soutane.

"Traces of habitation still remain, my child. We must take measures to save your spirit." He undoes the lower buttons of his robe, exposing himself to you, as he would have been in Eden. You can feel it against you, afire with purifying heat, sliding against your sopping entrance with anticipation. "Accept these rites."

"Bless me, Father," you whine, grinding yourself against him.

"Please, dear, call me Alastor." It's not permission; it's a demand. He waits, poised against you.

"Please give me your blessing, Alastor."

His lips curl into a grin, his canines so jagged and long that they're the first teeth you see. "God answers all prayers in good time." With a shove, he enters you, your teeth clenching, your breath shorting at the feeling of this union. He can't help but let a pleasured grunt leave his lips, and he catches your eyes as the last inch of him slips inside, brushing an errant strand of hair from your eyes. You feel cold, flushed at the overwhelming relief of finally being face-to-face with what you'd thought could only be in a fantasy. He gives a thrust, testing the waters, shaking your faith. You whimper against the force of it, still growing accustomed to the sensation of being taken. "Do you feel the sin drying up? The demonic need being purged?" Alastor wonders, driving himself into you with ever-increasing force, his restraint abandoned. "In its place will be holy admiration, a want to submit, as all of God's good creatures must possess."

"I will be a good creature," you promise.

"The best their ever was," Alastor croons, his jagged incisors hunting for the soft of your neck, carving runes against the submissive skin, seas of red pooling in the canyons. "Will your blood run black, as a demon's, or red, like the dust of the Earth? You have the allure of a succubus, but the taste of a virgin." His nails ribbon your collarbone, leaving oozing trails like spilled wine. He partakes of this communion with the same vigor as before, drinking it like an elixir. Your nervous hands grasp against his back, enfeebled fingers digging into the fabric of his clothing. Through all of this, his rutting has never slowed, increasing in desperation when he samples your blood. When he pulls away, you can see it trickling against his teeth, his tongue dragging over the surface to crudely clean them.

"I have dreamed of this, Alastor."

"Our lord works in mysterious ways," he assures you, clawed fingers still tracing thin rivulets across your skin. "I am nearly at my limit," he pants, burying himself against you. His thrusts finally slow, each push against you deliberate, purposeful. With his body laid against yours, his mouth is laid by your ear, and you can hear every facet of his breathing, every pant, moan, and inhale he makes broadcasting into your brain, the only sound you can hear. You are as close as he is, and you wrap yourself around him as he pumps into you one final time, his holy fire coating your insides, his assured breaths becoming high-pitched whines as he spasms against you, driving you to your own climax. It is nothing like what you've made yourself feel; it sends shockwaves through the taut fibers of your lower half, makes you cry out in uncontrollable lust, leaving your limbs clenched around Alastor as the last of his climax is left spilt within. You feel his chest heave with a deeply drawn breath, his sigh in your ear scattering chills across you. "Do you feel purified, dear?"

"I worry that I will have further need of your services, Alastor."

He pulls away from you, his smile sadistic yet sincere. "The clergy lives to serve, after all."

[toastedkiwi]

Lucky

Summary: Bruce comes home from being kidnapped.

Pairing: CEO!Bruce Wayne x Popstar!Reader, Thomas & Martha Wayne still alive AU

Bruce came to his bedroom. You’re in the middle of his bed wearing one of his old Yale hoodies. You’ve got your hair up and a remote in hand. You clearly haven’t found anything appealing to watch quite just yet. He’ll probably choose what

“Where have you been?” You asked in a grumpy tone while his German Shepherd perked up.

You might be angry at the world all the time. But you’re hiding in his place. You’ve gotten very comfortable and he knows you enjoy his presence. It puts you at ease but you won’t admit that.

“Some fucking assholes kidnapped me… AGAIN!” Bruce said annoyed yanking off his slightly torn blazer. “And this shit was custom made!”

“Kidnapped?!” you said with your soul filling with worry.

“Kidnapped!” he exclaimed and started leaning more into his rant. “It’s not like I had shit to do today like meetings and deals and other business things! I also have your grumpy ass to worry about!”

You had left the bed. Your arms circled around his waist. Your face pressed against his chest. Your jaw tightened trying to keep your tears at bay but it’s hard.

“This is nice…,” Bruce said wrapping an arm around you while his hand found your bump. “wait, are you crying?”

“N-No,” you sniffled.

You broke down into sobs. Your tears soaked into his once pristine button up. He started to rub your back.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said softly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You tightened your grip on his shirt as you cried harder. It’s a little out of nowhere for him to see. You’ve been very grumpy and in foul moods. He understands it from the pregnancy to shitty exes to the world being judgmental of you.

“Would it make you feel better if you looked me over in the bathroom?” Bruce asked. “Maybe join me for a shower?”

You hiccuped trying to speak out answer for him. You ended up quickly nodding your head. He smiled softly and shuffled you to the en-suite. Ace followed behind.

“Look at me, I got the two of you to fix me up,” Bruce grinned. “I’m very lucky.”

[greetingfromthedead]

Shepherd Story 1 (God!Knives x GN!Reader)

Plot: In a world where fallen gods live among you, there is the god of winter and death who leaves behind merciless blizzards and famine wherever he goes on his eternal search for his other half he fell for many millennia ago.

Series: Shepherd. Check out Story 2 (smut) and Story 3!

Pairing: God!Knives x GN!Reader

Raiting: Teen and up (some mild sexual/intimate content, no smut)

Tags: fantasy AU, no use of "y/n", gods, feathery plant, fated love, romance, legends, nature magic, reunion, intimacy, possessive behavior, tenderness, some fluff, body worship, implied smut

Word count: 4.2k

Author's Note: This story is heavily inspired by the incredible @triplesilverstar's god AU stories A so called God on a mountain top? Well, better then freezing to death and So its a tradition? Weird. These stories are just way too good for you to not go read them. So gogogo (unless you are underage or not into smut)...

In a world much different from our own, where fallen gods live among people, there is a story that spans over many millennia. In that world, there are countless higher beings, each with their own unique powers and abilities. They guide nature in the endless cycle of creation and destruction. Among them is a man more feared and despised than the rest, known as the god of winter and death. His icy touch is said to bring misery and despair to all who encounter him. None can escape his chilling grasp, as the harsh winters can last for years on end. Children are born within his icy domain; they live and die, never knowing the warmth of summer. But only a few know the curse put on this world by the jealous gods of ancient times.

The god of winter and death roams solemnly through the lands, bringing icy winds and blizzards in his wake. The soft steps of his bare feet on grassy fields spread frost, and the lakes get covered in ice as he passes by. He doesn't bring famine and illness, but they follow him like a shadow as he moves south on his endless search. This world has never seen a winter like this before; it has lasted for fifty years and brought the northern lands to their knees. Grain stores are empty, and people are starving. Yet the god moves further and further south with each passing day, leaving death in his wake. He is still looking, searching for the one who bears the curse.

Restlessness has sunken its claws into you as of late. It's like something's tugging at your soul. You have always felt lucky that you were born quite far in the south, away from the dark shadows of the north. You are a winter child, and never in your years have you seen the bountiful summers the elders speak of. However, you haven't been plagued by winter's chill either, and for that, you are grateful. But as of late, your dreams have frozen over, set against a backdrop of white fields and icy winds. You feel it seeping into your waking hours; the breeze hasn't been gentle for weeks; instead, it cuts like knives into your flesh, leaving you shivering.

The fire roars in your little house, but its warmth can't chase away the chill in your bones. You wrap yourself tighter in blankets, trying to hold onto the last bit of heat before the darkness of night takes over. You count the herbs in your collection; you need to make sure you have as much stock as possible if winter indeed is to claim your little corner of the world too. You know you can't afford to run out; you are the herbalist that the entire nearby village relies on for healing remedies. As you put away the jars of dried leaves, you wonder if you can sleep tonight or will you be tortured again by the dangerous desire luring you into the night.

The flickering light of the fireplace seems to dim, the dancing of the light more lazy, barely reaching your feet, let alone your workbench. You shiver, feeling a chill run down your spine as the shadows in the room grow darker and more sinister. You turn around to inspect whether you need to add more logs to the dwindling fire, but your attention is grabbed by the window to your side. Icy flowers begin to form on the glass, their sharp angles glistening in the fading rays of the day.

Are these the last remnants of your blissful life? You wonder how long it will take for the cold to overtake the countryside and turn it into an icy wasteland. How many people will die, and will you ever see summer? You shake your head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts, and raise your gaze over the forming ice, as beautiful as it might be. You look at the grassy field and see glittering snow start to descend from the sky. While frost isn't all that uncommon, you've never seen it snow quite like this. The delicate flakes twirl and dance in the air, casting a magical spell over the landscape. You're in awe, and rush to the door, pulling the blanket around your shoulders tighter before stepping outside into the freezing twilight. The air is so still, not even a whisper of wind dares disturb the enchanting scene, like nature itself is holding its breath in anticipation. The soft flakes brush against your cheeks, melting on contact and leaving a cold, damp feeling on your skin. You try to imagine your home being transformed into a winter wonderland, with snow covering every surface in sight. You know you should fear that image more than anything else, but there's a strange sense of peace that comes with it.

You glance over your little yard to the edge of the forest, and there you see a figure. Your eyes are caught by his icy gaze, and you can't see anything else beside his piercing blue irises. You feel a chill run along your spine, but not from the cold, but from the kind of terror you would feel while staring down a wild wolf.

"I found you at last, my sweet darling." The nearly emotionless words of the god of winter and death carry over the silent landscape, echoing in your ears like a haunting melody. The coldness in his face softens slightly, replaced by something akin to a gentle smile.

You are too stunned to speak or move; the knowledge of who you've come across freezes you in place. But it isn't all fear that has made your legs so heavy; the restlessness of your soul is rearing its head again, calling out to the unknown like it's an old friend. You stay quiet as you look into the eyes of the god before you, feeling a sense of both terror and excitement. He turns toward you and steps closer. Your eyes are released from the shackles of his gaze. As you look at the rest of the figure, you see the mass of wings behind him. They aren't made up of feathers, but of shards of ice that reflect the light in a dazzling display. His body is clad in a flowy white robe, partially revealing his pale skin, some of it covered by the icy shards, the same as the wings. His hair and eyelashes look like they are frosted over due to the cold that emanates from his very being. He is breathtaking as he approaches you, his bare feet make no sound as he walks along the path. The blades of grass freeze in his presence, the puddle of water forms jagged crystals on its surface like razors.

"It has been too long, my dear," he whispers, his voice low and level, the sound crossing the empty space between you effortlessly to caress your ears.

His expression is tender yet filled with a cold intensity. This is not how you imagined such an infamous god to look at a mortal being like yourself. His eyes seem to pierce your very soul, making you feel both terrified and strangely alive.

With every step he takes, the surrounding air gets colder. Every inhale stings your lungs, every exhale produces a white cloud. Your fingers grip the blanket tighter. You can't shake the feeling that he knows something about you that you don't. His eyes have never left your face as he finally stops at your doorstep.

"I am sorry for being so impossibly late," he says, holding out a hand to you, palm up. His voice has a cold edge to it.

"Am I going to die?" The words slip over your lips before you even realize you've spoken them.

"One day, darling, but hopefully not any time soon. I cannot bear to lose you again." A slight smile flickers on the corners of his lips. "Take my hand."

"What do you mean? What do you want from me?" You know you should be afraid of him, but your soul tells you to place your hand in his.

"You will remember, sweet Shepherd." He waits patiently. "Take my hand."

"I'm not a shepherd; I'm a herbalist. You must have confused me with someone else." Saying a god is wrong seems like a surefire way to die, yet you do it anyway. Your reaction paints a slightly more obvious smile on his face as he looks at you through his low eyebrows with amusement. Your heart tells you to reach for his fingers.

"I will recognize you in any life, with any face. I will always find you, as your soul calls out to me. Take my hand." His piercing blue eyes look into yours, and you know that he is the source of your restless nights. You take a deep breath and finally allow yourself to surrender to your heart and soul. Your right hand lets go of the blanket and reaches out into the freezing night air to rest on his open palm. His skin feels like marble against yours, but his touch is comforting and familiar.

"Wake up, my love." His words echo in your mind as you realize the meaning behind them. Hundreds of previous lives come flooding back to you with a sense of recognition and understanding.

"Nai!" Your eyes open wide as you remember who he truly is, "You found me!" The cycle of reincarnation finally feels familiar once again.

He shifts closer, leaning his cold forehead against yours, your hand pressed against his chest.

"Do you still have it?" he asks softly.

"Of course I do; it's been with me all this time," you reply as you shut your eyes. His cold fingers squeeze yours tighter, and he lifts his forehead, replacing it with his lips. A gentle kiss on your skin as his free hand caresses your cheek. You would be shivering if it weren't for the fire lit up inside you.

"Thank you, sweet Shepherd," he says, placing his cheek against yours as he speaks by your ear. "For keeping it safe all this time."

"It is yours after all," you say, keeping your eyes closed, savoring the moment.

"No, sweetling, it is yours," he replies, his voice warm and comforting. He doesn't quite sound like a god of winter and death, one that brings merciless cold and darkness wherever he goes. Instead, he is the guardian and lover of all your past lives, reaching back to the ancient times before you were cast out from the Higher Plane. He is the one who cradles you in his arms and whispers promises of love eternal. The freezing stares are saved for everyone else but you, for you are his chosen one.

"Why don't you come inside?" You smile as you turn your head slightly towards him, feeling the frigid air of his breath against your ear.

"I doubt I would make it through the door," his silky voice chuckles softly. "I've been searching for so long, I fear I myself have frozen."

You can see his massive, crystalline wings over his shoulder. It has never gone on so long that he himself starts to freeze as well. His body feels more rigid, and the softness of his flesh has turned to ice.

"I can fix that, my love," you say softly, reaching out to touch his frozen skin with warmth in your fingertips. The blanket that you released slides off your shoulders, exposing the goosebumps on your skin. The cold air bites at your uncovered flesh, but you don't mind; you are in love with winter. Your fingers slide along his jaw, turning his face toward you. Your breath escapes you as a white vapor before you close the gap between the two of you, capturing his lips with yours.

The kiss you share is deep, filled with a kind of longing that has been building up for many thousands of years. You feel his body warm up; the coldness of his skin no longer cuts you like knives; and your fingers get to press into the suppleness of his cheek. The quiet air is filled with a sound reminding you of delicate glass breaking. His hand that has been tracing the curve of your neck moves down to rest on the small of your back and pulls you closer, flush against his body. You feel his feathers brush against your skin as he wraps you up in his numerous wings, enveloping you in his embrace, protecting you from the frost he brings to the rest of the world.

You pull back to admire the sight you know you will find—the glowing markings etched into his eyes and skin, the pattern traveling along his body, gracing his face, and decorating his arms with intricate designs that seem to come alive in the dim light of nightfall. He is still pressing your hand against his chest, where you can start to feel the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that matches the intensity of your own.

The frost in his hair is gone, his skin taking on a tone of warmth, a blush of cold darkening his cheeks and the tip of his nose. The marks still linger on him, pulsing lightly, and you are mesmerized by the blue eyes that no longer remind you of a dangerous beast but of a soul who carries too many burdens.

You lead him into the warmth of your cottage, but with every step he takes, the fire flickers, threatening to die down completely. A kind of darkness and cold emanate from him, yet it doesn't touch you anymore. His hand in yours is warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the atmosphere around him. You refuse to let it bother you as your heart is set ablaze. His hand slides out of yours and he takes a longer step forward to be right beside you. His hand moves onto your back, and with gentle pressure, he guides you to the seat by the window, where the silvery moonlight starts to creep in. With a rustle of feathers, he spreads his wings before sitting down on the soft cushion, pulling you with him. Not once has he averted his eyes, looking at you like you're a treasure of priceless value. The hand not resting on your lower back caresses up your arm, sending shivers through your body. This seems to amuse him as you see the curve of his lips in the dim light. You settle more comfortably into his lap, and his wings fold and reach over to you like a soft blanket.

"Tell me, Shepherd, do you remember it all now?" His knuckles brush gently over your cheek.

"I have lived so many mortal lives that I can hardly keep them all straight, so I'm still piecing it together." You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "But I remember you in all of them, one way or another. Why do you keep calling me Shepherd, love?"

"I don't mean to be impatient with you, but I've been waiting to find you for so very long. I can call you by your new name if you would like me to." His fingers trace along your jaw and lips as he speaks. "But you are the Shepherd. My other half. I may be the god of death, but I need you to guide the souls of the deceased into the afterlife so they can be born again."

"What?" Your eyebrows move closer together in confusion. He takes your hand out of your lap to place kisses on your knuckles.

"I meant to find you sooner, my love. This winter was never meant to last so long. But it is over now. We are reunited. I have made you a lot of work. I am sorry. Some of these souls have been waiting for 50 years to move on. I reaped them from their earthly existence, I brought death, and now they need you so my brother can bring them life once again. To offer them a new beginning in spring so that my sister can fill them up with the joy of summer. Don't you remember?"

His eyes are solemn as they look into yours. Deep regret plagues them—a kind of hurt you don't remember seeing in them before. The pain is clearly etched in every line of his face.

"I will. Just keep holding me, and it will come back; it always has." You squeeze his fingers tightly, and his lips move to your wrist, brushing against your skin.

"You can ask me anything you want, love." His piercing eyes look into yours as he measures your forearm with his kisses. "Perhaps it will help."

"Your brother—he lives on a mountain, right?" You watch him carefully. "Why do you have to roam around and not him?"

"Because people don't pray for winter and only the desperate hope for death," he replies softly. His lips trail to your shoulder, and you can't see his eyes anymore. "But even if I had the power to dictate winter and death from just one little corner of the world, I still need you to put an end to it. I do not wish to turn this world into a wasteland because you still live in it. You alone can rein in the northern winds and calm the raging blizzards, for I only love you. You alone."

You feel his sharp teeth brush against the skin of your neck, and you lean back, letting out a deep sigh as you enjoy his touch. Your hand that's been resting on his chest moves to his head, your fingers lacing into his hair. You close your eyes and savor the moment, knowing that you are completely captivated by him.

"Why must gods be so cruel and jealous? To not only curse us but the whole world with it. All that because you gave your heart to me. How spiteful, they cannot kill me, so they force me into a mortal body to ensure I'm a slave to reincarnation until the end of time." Your quiet voice fills the room as you feel his mouth move to your ear.

"And I would wage another war and fall all over again just to rectify it," he whispers into your ear. "You just say the word, my sweetest love, and I will fight for an eternity, I will lay waste to everything. Until then, I will keep searching for you in each and every one of your lives."

His hand on your back pulls you tighter, and the cocoon of feathers surrounding you rustles softly as his breath gets heavy against your skin. His lips trail along your cheek until they reach yours. He moves softly, capturing your mouth with a gentle kiss that speaks of promises fulfilled and passion unleashed.

"You are so breathtakingly gorgeous," he whispers, his voice filled with love and desire, barely moving away from your lips. "No god of beauty could ever compare to you. To think you are mine... all mine."

You lean into him as his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss, knowing that this love has not dwindled over the passing millennia. Your souls date back to a time before this world was created, in the Higher Plane, among other gods, you had found each other, and now, in this mortal realm, your devotion continues to burn just as brightly. His hands trace along the curves of your body, exploring every dip and valley with a hunger that matches your own. The kisses of the winter god burn on your neck as his face presses into your skin. You lean back as his fingers undo the buttons on your blouse. The fabric falls away, revealing your bare chest as his lips map every inch of it.

"Open your eyes, my darling, look at me." You hear his insistent voice as a gap forms between your bodies, "I have been waiting for too long to see them glimmer in the moonlight, for they hold all that my soul yearns for."

The god of winter and death spends most of the night worshiping your mortal body. He kisses every mark and freckle that adorn your skin like stars. He whispers poems of adoration against the scars time has etched into you. He declares his unyielding love for you in every way two people can. He leaves trails of fire in his wake that burn with his passion. Every inch of your body is a canvas for him to paint upon. His love leaves marks where his teeth have been and where his lips have lingered. His desire leaves bruises on your skin, but you know he takes care not to break your human body.

You lay in his embrace, surrounded by the massive wings that shield you from the cold he brought with him into your home. Your fingers trace patterns into his skin, your body is exhausted, but you know that dawn is creeping ever closer and the time for him to leave is near. Your eyes remain on him as he strokes along your tingling skin. His sharp gaze catches yours.

"You're staring," you say with both amusement and slight awkwardness.

"I can't help it, you're beautiful." His low voice caresses your ears.

"Why must you leave?" The words escape you.

"Because I'm the god of winter and death, my passing alone brings calamity, I cannot linger for long," he says mournfully.

"Then can't I come with you?" You say hopefully, a glimmer appears in your eyes.

"Alas, you are chained to a mortal body, and I reside in the north, far beyond human settlements, where only demons roam the dead forests. Even if my presence alone wouldn't kill you, the merciless nature of my frozen hell would. It's no place for someone as precious as you, my sweetling." You feel a slight chuckle ripple in his body. "Yet every time you wake, you ask me that same question."

"Then when will you return?" Your voice gets quieter as you see the darkness behind your window retreat.

"An army of war gods wouldn't be able to keep us apart. They tried." His voice is soft, and he touches your cheek. "I will come back once it's my turn again, the year will be guided through its seasons, and now I know where to find you. Until my return, guide the ones I have reaped back into the circle of life, sweet Shepherd. Guide them well until we meet again."

"I hope it won't be this long again, for our sake and theirs. I don't want the humans to fear you as much as they do."

"I too wish to be apart from you for as little time as possible, yet I will engulf this world in eternal winter if it means I can return to you." His voice has a sharpness to it, his words are both a promise and a threat. "Their fear means nothing to me compared to your love."

Dawn arrives too soon, the first rays of light brushing the tops of the trees acting as a warning. Your time has run out, and your fated love must bid you farewell. His touch lingers longer, the fingers tracing the outline of your face as if etching it into his memory for eternity. His stern eyes can't hide the tender look of adoration they hold for you. His lips press against yours as the layers of wings peel away from you. Before the coolness of the outside air reaches you again, your love drapes a blanket around you, never breaking away from the kiss.

You want to reach out to him, but his long fingers catch your wrists into his grasp. He holds on tight, gripping your hands with his. He pulls away slightly and places a kiss on your cheek.

"I love you, my darling," his voice whispers in your ear. You feel another firm press of his lips on your forehead. "Keep it safe for me."

"Your heart is always safe with me. I will guard it, and I will warm it when you come again." You smile as you look up into his piercing blue eyes. "I love you in every life I live."

He releases your hands, his fingers lightly brushing your chin, before he turns to leave. He steps away from your door into the snow covered yard. His majestic wings unfurl into the still air, each feather seemingly stretching out.

"Until I see you again, my sweet Shepherd!" He doesn't show you his face, but you hear the warm smile in his voice.

"Until then, darling!"

The god's quiet footsteps lead him towards the forest again. The bare feet don't make a single noise, and the white robe emits only the slightest rustle. He might be leaving, but the world itself seems fundamentally different to you than it did yesterday. Even as he disappeared, leaving snow and ice behind and a coolness in your chambers, the dawn that came brought new colors with it you had never seen before in this lifetime.

This was originally going to be smut, but I got carried away and then it didn't seem right anymore. If my brainrot doesn't pack its bags in the next few days then I might make a part 2 that follows the original plan...

There is now a smutty Part 2.

And even a 3rd installment.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

[candlecoo]

Time to Ramble!

Let's rewind au

- Mikumo(aka Izuku) often gets depressed cause he misses all his friends, so he tries to keep himself busy with hero work, teaching and helping out with community service and animal shelters.

- Mikumo visits cat cafes alot in his free time cause it helps him feel less lonely.

- he likes to randomly drop in and surprise his students, it's good for training reflexes!

- he can fully navigate the vent systems in the school.

- Mikumo offers to help train Aizawa both physically and help him pick out and train with support gear.

- Aizawa doesn't have the best home life and Drift-sensei accidentally becomes a father figure to him.

Shepherd of the soul au

- Izuku is a bit more brooder in this au, he has a lot more responsibility and sometimes feels like everything rest upon his shoulders.

- he has to take his training lamp everywhere and everyone is really confused about it.

- also they wonder why Izuku keeps on rejecting Iida and Uraraka's sujestions to hang out at his house! (He can't exactly explain that there's a gate to the afterlife in the forest shrine out back!)

- he's also frustrated that he's still on a training lamp and isn't allowed to touch the more advanced tools.

Selkie au

- Izuku is glued to All Might's hip when they first arrive at UA.

- and All Might is desperately trying to explain his gut feeling that this kid is in trouble to Aizawa. Like seriously a kid wouldn't be mute, wandering around in rags and scared of people unless something is wrong!

- the situation strikes a cord with Aizawa because of Eri and he helps All Might convince Nezu to let the kid stay.

- which isn't hard.

- Izuku is curious about EVERYTHING but still shies away from other people and spends most of his time with Eri and the big three until they can teach Izuku to speak.

- Eri thinks he's a mermaid after she watches the little mermaid.

[qqueenofhades]

would you ever write a modern/no-powers au for dreamling/sandman?

"Look, Mee," Hob says, for the fourth or fifth time that conversation. "I'm sure your brother is, uh, great, but I'm not sure -- "

"Come on," his best friend says, also for the fourth or fifth time that conversation. "Honestly, you'd be doing me a massive favor. I can barely get him out of the house most days, so I figured that at least the two of you could faff off and be really pathetic together?"

"Thanks." Hob switches the phone to his other ear and glares suspiciously out at the garden; when you've got two small children and it's quiet, you figure something's gone terribly amiss. Robyn and Alison haven't burnt the place down or gotten run over in traffic, but they're playing with something small, muddy and possibly still alive, and Hob debates whether he has to sprint out and save them from certain death. "You're a great friend, truly."

"I know," Morticia says airily. That does, bewilderingly, seem to be her actual name (were her parents massive Addams Family fans or something?) but with Hob and the rest of her friends, she generally goes by Mors, or Mee for short. He looked it up once. Ancient Roman god(dess) of death, which made him laugh, at least when it didn't kick him in the teeth. "You can thank me later."

"And I want to spend time with your brother... why?"

"Because." Oh God, here it comes. He can hear her trying not to say it, the same way everyone's tried not to say it in the going-on-eighteen months since his wife went into an ordinary central-London NHS hospital to give birth to their second child and didn't come back out. "You know it would be good for you, Robbie."

"Right." Hob's voice turns wry. "Can't have me wallowing alone in my misery? You know I've got the kids to look after, and they're talking about extending my contract at Birkbeck. I'm keeping busy."

Keeping busy. It always sounds stupid, even if it's the truth. Like you can chase overwhelming, soul-crushing grief away just by getting out of bed and making breakfast for the kids, holding Robyn's hand as you trundle off on the school run and tell him to have a good day, the thousand and one ways you think you're massively arsing this up and Ellie would have been so much better. Every time the doorbell rings or someone comes up the walk, he thinks -- for a stupid moment he thinks -- and then of course it isn't. You think about women dying in childbirth like it's something out of medieval times, or some third-world country. Not in England in the twenty-first century. Not in London. Not as if your daughter is beautiful and bright and alive, and every time you look at her, you remember that her mother isn't, and the happiness you feel is poisoned by grief again, cold and blue and endless as the ocean. You laugh with the kids at some Disney cartoon one moment, and the next, you're crying alone in the kitchen, in bed, in the silent darkness. And no matter how much you ask, she doesn't answer. You think she does, sometimes. You're just fooling yourself.

You know, Hob thinks. Maybe it would be good for him. At least it would let him spend time with (if Mee's account is anything to go by) the one man in all of London more pathetic than him. It doesn't have to be anything more than that. Even if she is trying to set him up, she wouldn't admit it. She isn't, surely? Trying to match her brother off with her best friend, widowed-single-dad-part-time-lecturer who's clinging onto sanity by the bare edge of his fingernails? Right? Fuck. Should never have told her that he's bi. Doubled her meddling possibilities at a stroke. And yet. He's so lonely, he almost doesn't care.

"Fine," Hob says resignedly. "I'll see if I can get a sitter for the kids. And it better not be that grotty brewery in Shepherd's Bush you dragged me to last time."

"No." Mee sounds like she's laughing at him. She probably is laughing at him, or else she thinks he's become such a pathologically undatable freak that his only chance for happiness ever again is with her equally pathetic little brother. "Nice new Asian-fusion place. Hammersmith. Fifteen minutes from you on the Tube. Don't chicken out, Robert."

And with that, well --

There's pretty much no choice.

Hob finds a sitter for the kids, promises to pay her twenty quid an hour (it's London, after all), and grumblingly picks out some clothes. He's not good at this. It's been almost ten years since he was dating anyone, and Eleanor was from a rich enough family that there was no chance of ever impressing her parents; he could have turned up in anything from Savile Row to a bloody dishcloth and they still would have hated him. Then he finds himself fucking around to the point where he's going to be late, the Tube will be a nightmare anyway, and panics again and rushes out the door with barely a word about what to feed the kids and when to put them to bed. Is nice Olivia from down the street judging him? She almost surely is.

Hob grimly toddles off to Hammersmith, exits into a light rain, and spends an inordinate amount of time searching for the restaurant. When he finally steps inside, he's not quite sure who he's looking for. Mee texted him a picture of her brother, but Hob has trouble believing that such a pale, pasty, and terminally uncharismatic twink could ever be related to her. One of them has to be adopted, and he's laying money on this one, whose name is -- no, seriously -- Morpheus. Morticia and Morpheus. What is wrong with their parents? Determined to doom their children to an eternity of primary-school torment?

Hob contemplates turning around and leaving, but now he's come this far, Olivia will definitely judge him if he returns within the hour, and frankly, he's judging himself. Even worse, he's fairly sure he's just spotted his man. Morpheus (come on, really?) is sitting by himself at a corner table, looking appropriately dark and broody, in his emo-goth dark coat and toilet-brush hair. Just like the photo. He's admittedly not bad-looking in person; he's got a pale, chiseled beauty that is briefly arresting, almost unearthly. Still, though. Definitely a wanker.

"Hello," Hob says, deciding to bite the bullet. He strides over, hand outstretched. "I'm Robert Gadling, and I think you're the bloke I'm supposed to be meeting? I know your sister."

Morpheus's mouth makes a small lemon-sucking motion. He rises to his feet, regards Hob's hand as if not certain what to do with it and/or wondering if he can get away with not touching it, and finally shakes it, brief and cold and dry. "I am," he says curtly. "You may sit."

Well, good. Glad they got His Majesty's permission. No unauthorized sitting happening here, no sir. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Hob puts his bag on the floor and slides into the chair across from Morpheus. Like every Londoner at a loss for a better opening line, he reaches for the weather. "Shame about this piss, isn't it? And it was all the way up to twenty degrees last week. Did you have to come far?"

"No," Morpheus says, still not displaying any particular delight in being forced to spend this evening in the presence of another human being and looking as if he is very much hoping the floor will suddenly open up and swallow him. "Not far."

Hob waits, in vain, on the chance that Morpheus might elaborate. He does not. Well. This is going swimmingly. Are they on a date? Did Mee tell him that they were on a date? Is Hob sure this isn't an extremely elaborate prank, and she just plucked one of her single friends from the vast and bewildering mystery of her acquaintances? Truly, it is no wonder that Morpheus is, in fact, unattached. He's got the personality of a soggy rag and the face of -- well, not that. He is pretty. But Hob is not that shallow. Thanks very much.

Conversation suffers badly until they order drinks and food; or rather Hob orders, and Morpheus says that he'll take just a glass of wine. He does loosen up slightly as they talk; Hob does most of that, but Morpheus listens with cool, intent attention. From time to time he asks a question, but he doesn't interrupt, and finally Hob, trying to make it as light-hearted as "my wife died eighteen months ago and this is the first not-date I've been on ever since" can possibly be, admits it. He braces for Morpheus to get up, to run, to fire off an indignant text to Morticia or anything else, but he doesn't. He just nods once. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I know that it is... difficult."

All of a sudden, Hob is forced to consider the startling and unsettling possibility that Morpheus himself knows something about this. He can't say why or how that might be, but life is full of mysteries. "I -- yeah." It's an abject relief to say it and to have someone acknowledge it simply and matter-of-factly, not smother him with sympathy or cluck about how hard it is. "So if I'm off my game, that, uh. That's why."

Morpheus thinks about that for a long moment. Then all at once, out of nowhere, he smiles. It completely transforms his face, it twists like a fishhook in Hob's gut, and all of a sudden, he wonders in alarm if he is, in fact, entirely that shallow after all. "Believe me, Hob Gadling," Morpheus says. "It has very much been my pleasure."

[apinchofm]

The Miriam and Matthew used to be married AU based on this post lol

@matthewsblue @dreamofme9 @xxskycrystalxx @spitefularmand

Diana knew Miriam and Matthew and Marcus were close. The three were colleagues and Marcus was Matthew's son.

It was Ysabeau, who referred to Miriam as 'her dearest daughter' and would look to her son with a pointed look that informed her something was happening between them.

It was Marcus who confirmed it and it explained his reluctance to get too close. In the woods behind her childhood home, he explained.

"She's my mother." Marcus said, his eyes more serious than he had ever been, "She and Matthew were married."

She did not know that.

"She's his wife?" Sarah asked sharply. Her esitmation of Matthew had gone down even further.

"My father has a knack for secrets." Marcus continued walking, and she walked with him, Sarah and Emily close behind intruiged.

"They were married until 1878 when they divorced." Marcus said, "Or rather, my brother and I asked them too."

"Does he love her?" Diana asked quietly.

"Of course, they still love each other." Marcus said frankly, "But not like that. Not anymore. Not for a long time, I do not think."

Matthew and Miriam were two halves, so alike which is why they had worked so well and why they fell apart.

They saw the two speaking in a hushed language Diana did not understand. They stopped when they sensed the group. Marcus smiled at the two of them, waving. They both raised their hands and waved back to him.

She felt like some sort of intruder in an intimate moment as if she was not with Matthew now.

"Hey, Miriam." Diana greeted awkwardly. She had used her magic on Marcus' mother.

"Dr Bishop," Miriam said stonily.

"Why did you not tell me about the tea Marthe had you make?" Matthew demanded sharply.

"Because it didn't matter." Diana protested, "There was no harm done."

"You mean the contraception tea?" Emily asked.

Matthew looked to Miriam, who remained unbothered, her eyes bored as he pulled out his phone, and marching away.

"It was not your business to get involved." Diana hissed, angry with the ancient vampire.

"I'm already in it, Diana. Your relationship with Matthew puts every creature in this property in danger. It will change everything, whether you two have children or not. And now he's brought the Knights of Lazarus into it." Miriam was as furious as Diana was, if not more, her brown eyes alit, as her eyes darted to Marcus.

"The more creatures who sanction your relationship, the likelier it is that there will be war."

"Don't be ridiculous - war?" Diana scoffed, believing she was being overdramatic.

"Your and my ex-husband's actions could get my sons killed," Miriam said sharply, "Since you walked into the Bodleian, he's lost control of his senses. And the last time he lost his senses over a woman, my first husband died."

Diana was taken aback by that.

"What happened?" Sarah asked, sympathy and interest clear. She already did not trust Matthew.

"Umi..." Marcus said quietly. He was by her side as if wishing to stop a fight.

"Would you like to know how Matthew and I' 's marriage began? It was because my husband was executed in his place the last time he was so obsessed with a mortal woman - Eleanor. He accidentally killed her when he and Lucius got into a fight. Someone one had to pay, and because Matthew was a grandmaster, he could not. So Bertrand did."

"I am sorry. I am. But I am not Eleanor, and this isn't Jerusalem." Diana said.

Miriam nodded, a look in her eye that reminded Diana of a lioness protecting her prey, "It is yesterday to me. Matthew likes wanting what he should not have, and he will always kill for it. Now, I have two sons to keep alive whilst Matthew obsesses over you. And I do still love him. But I will not hesitate to eliminate any threat to them."

"Wait, so you still married him?" Saraha asked,

"A brother must take care of his brother's widow." Marcus said as if it was simple, "And besides, they got me!" He grinned at Miriam, whose eyes softened at him.

"Get a haircut, Thoams." Miriam simply said to him and he pouted, running his hands through his messy brown hair.

[lymoncat]

AOT HCS MODERN AU! What pet you guys own

Eren-

he has a dog I’m not even gonna lie, he comes across as a dog person, he doesn’t care what breed but prefers big dogs specifically German shepherds he bought a dog when y’all moved in together and he’s actually really close with the dog, you named the dog bobo you chose the name cuz you thought it would be cute, the dog is very attached to eren

armin-

a cat, an orange tabby cat. Armin comes across as a more calm less crazy person meaning he would want a cat to chill and read with. He named the cat tangerine cuz it’s orange. You bought him the cat for Christmas one year since you didn’t know what to get him. It’s the wholesome moments, when you see him on the couch after work holding the cat, you fall in love all over again with your gentle small ray of sunshine

Jean-

you may think that he has a horse but your very wrong, he has an annoying green parrot that calls you mom, you can simply walk by the change and you’ll hear “food mom?” And you eventually get used to it and get another parrot for them to play together and stop bugging you

connie-

oh you poor unfortunate soul, him and that tortoise. Jk he has a dog still, you poor unfortunate soul, him and that dog do everything together, he has a border collie that joins you two in everything, taking a shower, the dog is at the door, using the bathroom?, the dog is staring into your soul, trying to leave? The dog is following you out the door. The dogs same is bacon cuz the dog loves bacon

Reiner-

Bull dog off the bat, he has a big dog strong like him, they wrestle on the living room floor all the time, go on walks, play fetch, chase little kids- wait- what?! Yeah, they think it’s funny to chase children in the park especially the snotty teenager brats over in the corner doing some not so innocent things, the dog is a female named Presley very energetic and playful but don’t expect any unwanted visitors there will be none, middle of the night a robber comes ain’t no way that person getting out alive, maybe in a body bag but not alive.

Bertholdt-

a tortoiseshell cat with gold eyes, you guys went to an animal rescue center for your anniversary and he fell in love with this cat, he was begging you until you said yes I mean how could you not?! He’s batting those pretty green eyes while on his knees with the cat “please can we get her? I’ll do anything my love” it was a yes in that very moment and next thing you knew you were on your way home with a cat named pineapple don’t bother asking how that name came across his mind but it’s always nice to see him in one of his weird sleeping positions with pineapple splayed across his chest on her back

Erwin-

a lazy pug named Mr. There’s no question just a fat lazy pug that sheds buckets of fur.

Levi-

you begged him to get an animal and he kept saying no until he came home to you having bought one without his permission, he glared and looked pissed until that fat fluffy black cat looked him in the eyes with her emerald ones. He caved in. The cat was named jasmine and he allowed you to keep it because cats are very hygienic and easy to take care of. He hates changing the litter box but will do it for Jasmine. And when he does actually sleep it’s curled up with you and jasmine and absolutely precious, jasmine sits on his lap when he’s doing work and he shares his food with her all of the time strangely enough she loves lettuce, you’ll be in the kitchen making salad and she’ll prance over and sit there meowing for lettuce

I hope you guys liked this, please comment your thoughts and send me requests and don’t be afraid to give me feedback ❤️✨

[earthnashes]

Meet the prince of the Afterlife: Booette! I had this done for a while now (and the concept art of Booette for months longer) and figured today would be a good day to finally post it! ^.^

In this AU, Booette is King Boo's daughter and sole heir to his throne as King of the Afterlife. King Boo and Booette are basically gods like Rosalina, and in this universe, a god loses their immortality once they decide on having a child. This is because they must use a tremendous amount of their own magic to even produce the child (they don't make one in the traditional sense. Gods are born purely from magic), and once they child comes to be, the transfer from parent to child of all their magic and responsibilities are slowly passed to them.

So, when King Boo expires, Booette will become the new god of death. But that thankfully won't be for a while yet! Some lore funfacts about Booette herself:

-She is not fully immortal and is essentially a demigod until Boo has passed on. That means that, even with enhanced healing and a much higher threshhold than a mortal, mortal means can still harm her, unlike a full-fledged god. It's for this very reason that Boo is so very protective of her. Overprotective, in fact.

-She is infatuated with fairytales and the concept of Prince Charming. She's oh so terribly shy, but aspires to be a charming prince- a heroic brace knight in shining armor, so her people refer to her as "Prince Booette" instead of "Princess".

-Like her father, she is a shepherd of spirits; it's part of her duties to guide the souls of the dearly departed to the Afterlife. And like her father, she can will Sprites into existence as her little helpers; they basically solve the issue of being everywhere at once. This is what the regular Boos are! The "design" of the Sprite will differ between  gods, so unlike King Boo's who's Sprites are basically your average Boo, Booette's Sprites are puppy/kitten-like in appearance and behavior.

-For all of her shyness, Booette actually does has a bit of an adventurous streak. She's so fascinated with the mortal realm and will go on the occasional sneak-out to get a closer look at the mortals. King Dad does not approve for obvious reasons. But he shouldn't worry too much! Their loyal guard dog Polterpup will keep her safe and guide her home if she ever got lost!

------

Hope ya don't mind the info dump there! ;w; Feels good to let the brain just go at it with headcanon ideas again though I can't lie. But ye! Hope you enjoy the artwork at least my friends, and thank you so much for your support! More to come soon! :D