#we’re all supposed to pretend animals have clothes on that’s why god gave them fur

[short666bread]

[verai-marcel]

Of Dragons and Love (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur didn't want to come to Strawberry, didn't want to help a certain sniveling rat escape his cell. So he decides to explore the town instead and runs into a mysterious woman whom he can't let go. 

Author’s Notes: I’m gonna take a moment and lean hard on my heritage to pull some inspiration from an old Cantonese opera. And we're gonna leave Micah in his cell because nuts to that guy. So pretend this takes place in chapter two when Arthur was supposed to go rescue him, but decided to do a side quest instead. This was written for the RDR Mini Bang! @rdrbigbang

Tags: Arthur x F!Reader, spoilers, Chinese mythology-inspired, alternate timeline, mild exophilia, insta-love, magic, smut, HEA

Word Count: 6,378

Accompanying Artwork: @danger-r-98-5 has made some wonderful art for this fic!

AO3 Link is here.

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Arthur stepped into the small town of Strawberry and immediately wanted to turn around. He could pretend Micah was dead. He could just bide his time and wait for him to hang. 

As he rode through the small town, he passed the small jail and kept going to the visitor's center. Seeing the map of the nearby area tacked onto the wall next to the entrance, he hitched his horse and walked over to take a better look. 

"Welcome to Strawberry, good sir!" 

Arthur flicked a tired glance at the boisterous man before continuing his casual perusal of the map, waiting to see if he would leave. When the man remained beside him, he sighed, exasperated. 

"Hullo," he said without looking at the other man.

"Are you here for business or pleasure?" 

"Uh, just passin' through." It sure as hell wasn't for pleasure, and his business was his own. 

"Ah, I see. Well, please keep us in mind if you ever want to spend a day relaxing in our lovely town. This hotel is the coziest in West Elizabeth," the man boasted, gesturing behind him. "And the scenic Mount Shann and Owanjila Dam aren't too far from here."

"Alright."

"And Big Valley, just past the mountains, is a beautiful place to hunt and camp."

"Uh huh."

When Arthur continued to look at the map without any further inclination towards interacting with him, the man gave up on his sales pitch. "Well, I'll be inside if you have any questions."

"Ayup."

Finally alone, Arthur focused on the path that would take him to Owanjila. He'd been meaning to do a bit of fishing and commune with nature. Seemed like as good a place as any. 

Anything to postpone the reason he came here.

***

You weren't sure how you lived so long, not knowing what you were. You had been living with your mother for two decades, not knowing who your father was. Your mother didn't talk about him, and the one time you asked, she had simply said one thing. 

"He disappeared."

You didn't know what that meant exactly, and she did not explain. 

Until one day, on your twentieth birthday, he appeared. A large, scary looking man came to your door. Your mother paled and tried not to react, but when he held out a necklace and told her how sorry he was for leaving her alone, she broke down and cried. 

You found out that when she was young, your mother lived in a small house by a waterfall that fed a large lake. There was a growing town not too far from there, where she worked as a waitress.

One day, on the other side of the lake, a group of Chinese workers made camp as they worked on the railway that was coming through town. They were not welcomed in the town by most people, but your mother took pity on them and sold them food and other groceries, for a delivery fee. 

Somehow, your father had caught her eye, and they developed a secret relationship. When her parents discovered the love letter your father had written to your mother, she was kicked out of the house, without anything of hers to take with her. When your mother had gone to the camp to look for your father, it had been abandoned, the workers having left hours earlier to the next site. 

Broken hearted, your mother had thrown the necklace he had gifted her into the lake and left town, moving to Strawberry and giving birth to you. You had grown up here, made friends, had a few short dalliances with boys here while you grew up.

Strawberry was a small town, but there was a creek running through it, and when you had free time, which was not often these days, you loved to follow the creek to a waterfall and watch the water. You always felt an affinity with the water, felt like it always pulled at your very soul. You had learned how to swim with ease; your mother had said you were like a fish. 

Your father explained why he had left, and why he had finally come back. 

"I am a Dragon," he had said. "Great-great grand-nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea."

He was an immortal creature, drawn to the belief of his people in a foreign land, looking for something to comfort them while they worked in dangerous conditions to make money to send home to their families. He protected them, guided them, and thus, had to follow where they went. When the camp left suddenly, he had no time to say goodbye and was nearly dragged away, the pull of his people’s belief taking him with them.

But now he was free, his people having finished their jobs. They had dispersed, either leaving for China or moving to San Francisco, where other Dragon Gods held domain and took over the belief of his former followers. So he started looking for his long lost love, who still cared for him deep in her heart, and traced the thread of emotion leading back to her.

He promised to take care of you and your mother from now on, and he made good on his promise. For the past five years, he had worked alongside the two of you, making your small farm plot healthy and fertile. 

It helped that he could make the sky rain whenever you needed it. 

He had also trained you in your small powers. Because you had been untrained for so long, your powers were weak, but over time, and with practice, they grew steadily stronger. You could breathe underwater. You could swim faster than humanly possible. And while you couldn't transform into a dragon, your hair became teal and your skin could shift into a bluish-grey tint. It was a bit unsettling the first time you did it in the mirror. 

But your most favorite power of all was the ability to shape nearby water to your will. At first, you could only move a small amount of water in a mug. But over time, you could move water in pitchers, basins, buckets, barrels, and even water troughs for animals. 

At this point, if you entered a pond, you could easily create ripples and small waves just by focusing on your energy and sending it outwards from you. 

Five years had passed since he had come back, and you had learned so much. Your life was so peaceful now that it came as no surprise when your parents announced that they wanted to move back to their hometown. Of course something had to change; that was the only constant in life, after all.

But you didn’t want to leave. You loved Strawberry. This was your home.

Your father had let out a breath, then smiled, much to your surprise.

“Owanjila does not have a spirit to guard it, since it’s a new body of water. Perhaps… you can become its guardian.”

“But I’m half-human,” you had said.

“So is Owanjila,” he said.

You nodded and smiled. Now you knew why he had been training you so hard all these years.

***

Arthur was pleasantly relaxed for the first time in a long time. He had spent all day fishing and gathering herbs after he set up a small campsite tucked away in the thicker part of the forest. It was quiet on this side of the lake, since all the travelers would go across the dam to take in the scenery. He was glad he picked a spot that was farthest from, for he didn’t have the energy to even say hello.

With a couple of large fish, he made his way back to his campsite, cooked up a fine meal with his freshly picked herbs, and spent some time writing and drawing before looking up at the stars before he fell asleep, the campfire quietly dying as his snores melded with the rest of the night.

***

It had been three months since your parents had left you here. They had sold the small farm and used the money to help you fix up a small abandoned fishing cabin out here on the far side of the lake, where you could hunt and gather on your own, trading furs and fish in town. Ever since you had become the guardian, the fish had spawned much more frequently and grew faster than normal, keeping you well fed. You figured it was a side-effect of the lake having a guardian spirit now.

You looked at your hands; yesterday, you had tripped on a step as you walked back from town, getting some small cuts on the palms of your hands as they had scraped against the gravel. Today, they had healed so quickly that there were no scars; you had never healed so quickly before. You wondered if your powers were growing and had walked into town earlier today to send a letter to your folks, letting them know what had happened.

It was late; the moon was high in the sky, and as bright as the electric lights in St Denis. You were roused from your sleep by the pull of the moon, and knew that it was time.

You took off your clothes and set them on your front porch. Walking to the water’s edge, you slipped into the water without a sound, the liquid embracing you as if you were an old friend.

“Hello, Owanjila,” you whispered as you walked deeper and deeper until you were completely submerged. Then you transformed, your skin turning bluish-grey, your hair shifting to a beautiful teal, and your gills appearing near your collarbone. You kicked your legs and swam gracefully through the water, spinning and twirling as you joyfully moved through the water as easily as you could walk on land.

Once you reached the middle of the lake, you bolted upwards, your legs kicking in unison with such speed and power that you broke the surface easily, your body shooting into the air. You let out a whoop of excitement, for it was only during full moons that you could fly this high out of the water; you had certainly tried other times. For a moment, the starry sky and the bright moon seemed impossibly close, and you held out your hands as if you could gather them all up and hold them tight forever.

Flipping backwards, you extended your hands in front of you and dove back into the water with barely a splash.

***

“Huh, whuzzah,” Arthur muttered as he was jolted awake by the sound of someone yelling. Immediately on alert, Arthur reached for his pistol and carefully made his way out of the tent, looking around. Seeing nothing but trees and rocks after circling his campsite twice, he was about to go back into his tent.

Another yell echoed through the trees. It didn’t sound like anyone in danger, more like… elation? 

His curiosity piqued, he quietly made his way towards the lake, following the sounds of the water sloshing around as if someone was swimming. Coming to the shoreline, he saw the full moon, reflected in the water, with ripples circling from the center of the reflection.

Unable to stop himself, Arthur found a nearby rock and climbed it to better see the center of the lake. Squatting down, he peered out at the water.

Something shot out of the water at breakneck speed, surprising him enough that he fell onto his ass.

For a split second, he saw everything clearly.

He saw her nude form, water glistening off her skin, the moon bathing her in a silvery light. He saw the look of ecstasy on her face as she looked up at the moon.

He saw her eyes as they met his.

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

Then she was gone, diving back into the water like an arrow, hardly disturbing the surface.

Sitting up, he crawled to the edge of the rock and peered at the spot, waiting for her to return. Part of him wondered if he had imagined it, and part of him hoped she was real. He had felt like he had seen something so evanescently ephemeral that his heart fluttered like a child seeing fireworks. He wanted to experience that sparkling feeling again and again. 

When his knees ached and his joints complained, he finally gave up, climbed off the rock, and returned to his tent. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it didn’t come quickly as his heart continued to race. When he finally managed to nod off, his dreams were filled with a mysterious woman with an expression so filled with euphoria that he could almost taste her joy.

***

You were mortified. A man was camping around your lake and you hadn’t noticed? Granted, you were in town most of the day trying to sell some rabbit pelts, and then you had written your letter at the post office since you had run out of ink and bought some at the general store and didn’t want to walk all the way back to your cabin. 

But still, you hadn’t noticed. You supposed it was because he had no ill intent. It wasn’t that you could sense people, that wasn’t how your power worked; it was more you could feel out harmful intentions. People who came and went on the dam were usually harmless tourists and you took no notice of them. But occasionally that greedy mayor would come up here and consider building some cheap cabins out on the lake as tourist traps, and you would cause the lake to be extra choppy that day, splashing water on him if you were nearby. It was usually enough to change his mind.

You stayed at the bottom of the lake, waiting long enough before you slowly swam up again, moving towards the edge of the lake before you poked your head up from the water.

He was gone.

You sighed in relief and swam back to your cabin, looking around once more before getting out and back onto your porch. Grabbing your clothes, you got inside and dried off, thinking of the man’s shocked expression.

But what came to your mind most of all was that in the moonlight, you had managed to make eye contact. In that moment, your heart had pounded like you had seen something beautiful. 

Despite your embarrassment at being caught naked and in your half-dragon form, you wanted to see him in the daylight. You wanted to find out who he was, and why your heart had finally moved after all these years.

***

Arthur came out of his tent, bleary eyed as he yawned. He hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep, but he was, for better or for worse, used to it. The sound of a crackling of a fire and the sight of a figure sitting with their back turned was also something he was used to.

Until he realized that the fire had gone out last night and he had come to this place alone. Reaching for his pistol, he stopped when he heard her speak.

“I mean you no harm.”

Arthur, suspicious, for people who had said that to him before often would turn around and shoot him, put a hand on his pistol, but left it in its holster. Coming out of his tent and rising to his full height, he walked around to face the woman at his campfire.

When she looked up at him, he felt like he was hit with an arrow.

Those same eyes from last night met his, and he felt like the whole world slowed and became silent. All he saw was her, and he didn’t care about anything else.

***

His eyes were beautiful, like gemstones sparkling in the morning light. His hair was tousled from sleep, but it made you think of him in bed next to you. You swallowed. Why were you thinking of waking up next to him? You barely knew him!

But you couldn’t ignore the heat in your veins as your eyes traveled down his body. His very tall, muscular body. Oh gods, you felt your heartbeat quicken as you suddenly had a mental image of him climbing over you, his naked body above yours, his big hands holding your hips as he thrust—

“Can I help you, miss?” the man finally asked, his voice rough from sleep. His voice was like whiskey, flowing smoothly over your body and making you burn with need. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. Oh, to lick that sun-kissed skin…

You shook your head, both in answer to him and to clear the lustful images from your head. “I’m alright, I just wanted to share your campfire.”

***

“Oh?” Arthur asked, sitting down beside her to hide his body’s reaction to meeting her eyes. When he had met her gaze, he was hit hard with desire, the sudden image of her beneath him, legs spread, her expression of ecstasy for him and him alone.

For a brief moment, he wanted to take her, to guide her to the ground and thrust wildly inside of her like an animal.

But instead he reeled himself in; he wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t even know why he had such a visceral reaction to her. All he knew was that she was sitting here with him now, and she was beautiful. When she turned away, he felt like he was suddenly lost, and wished for her to look at him once more with those mysterious eyes. He observed her as she poked the fire with a stick, wondering what she was thinking.

“So, uh, you live around here?” he asked, berating himself immediately for such an awkward question.

“I do, just down the shoreline,” she replied.

“Oh.”

She turned to meet his gaze, and he felt it once more. A pull, stronger than any he had ever known, as if she was hypnotizing him with just one look. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in closer, her lips beckoning him.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.

The spell broken, Arthur quickly leaned back and sputtered, “I, uh, I don’t know, to be honest.”

The woman smiled at him, and he felt his entire world light up with fireworks.

“What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

She told him her name, and he repeated it just so he could say it out loud. He loved the way her name rolled off his tongue. He had shivered with desire from the way she had said her name. 

“So you saw me last night,” she said after a few moments.

He smiled nervously as guilt wracked him. “Uh, yup. I’m sorry, I didn’ mean to peek.”

“It’s alright, I should’ve been more careful,” she said, a wry grin on her face. “Usually no one camps here.”

Silence stretched between them as Arthur wondered what he should say, if anything.

She brought up her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And there’s not much to look at anyway,” she said self-deprecatingly.

“You were beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. He couldn’t believe she’d think that. He wanted to burn the sight of her coming out of the water into his memories so he’d never forget.

She turned her head to look at him, and he felt the pull once more, but it was tinged with melancholy. It made his heart clench. He reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her into his chest, desperate to ease the pain. “Yer beautiful,” he repeated.

***

Surrounded by warmth, you sank into his chest and breathed in his scent. His natural musk, layered with balsam and leather, was soothing to you, made you feel safe and protected. No other man had affected you like this. Was this how your parents had fallen for each other? Was it an instant attraction?

You had been taught to follow your instincts, and something about this man made you want to keep him forever. To hold him tight and never let him go.

So you reached back out to him, wrapping your arms around his broad torso. Looking up at him, meeting his surprised expression, you leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were chapped but pliable as you pushed forward, pressing your body against his.

You were met with a startled grunt. He let you go and backed away, like a shy lady from an all too amorous man.

“Y-you barely know me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sorry,” you said, shrinking back on yourself. Maybe you misread him, maybe he was just saying you were beautiful to make you feel better. Maybe you were just lonely and wanted to connect with him, the first man who had made you feel something in years.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward again, “it’s not that I don’t want to, I just think, well, maybe we git to know each other a bit more first before, uh, well…” He trailed off, gesturing blandly.

You laughed. Of course. He was shy. Standing up, you reached out to him. “Will you stay a while? My cabin is small but it’ll protect you from the elements better than your tent. And it’ll be warmer at night too.”

Arthur stared at your hand for a moment before standing up on his own. “Alright. I’ll pack up first.”

***

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was convinced to stay in a cabin with a woman he hardly knew, but every time he met her eyes, everything else fell away and all he wanted was to be with her. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe a few days, maybe weeks. But he had never been so content to just fish and hunt and spend time with his sweet lady. He learned about her parents, who had been small-time farmers near Strawberry before they moved to her mother’s hometown, leaving her to live on her own. When he had asked why, she had said it was because she loved it here and didn’t want to leave.

He understood why; after the first few days of just roaming the land, living off its bounty, he was quite content to just stay and forget his troubles. She would go into town and sell his furs and pelts, and when he wasn’t hunting, he would help upgrade her little cabin, fixing up small things here and there to make her more comfortable.

He had insisted on sleeping on his bedroll on the floor beside her bed, at least for now. He felt like he was working up the courage to bed her, even though she clearly had given him an open invitation to her bed. 

Every night he thought about it.

And every night, he trudged to his bedroll and slept beside her bed like a faithful pet dog.

***

14 days had passed. The new moon would be out tonight, and you were itching to go for a swim.

But with Arthur here, you hesitated. He had seen you that first night, sure. But he hadn’t seen you clearly. He hadn’t seen your skin and hair color change, your gills at your collarbone, your preternaturally fast swimming. 

As you stood at the end of your little fishing dock that was connected to the porch of your cabin, you sighed. Watching the setting sun streak its beautiful orange rays across the water, you internally debated if you should show him so you could freely act as the guardian once more. You had been feeling stifled as of late, only able to use your powers while he was out hunting, and only in secret in case he might come out of the forest at any given time.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

You smiled. He had started calling you his darling or his sweetheart after a week of gentle caresses as he walked by, or even a casual kiss on the cheek as you went into town on an errand. No matter how much he said it, you melted every time. It was endearing and charming to you, even though they were simple words. The way he said them, the love and care he put into those pet names, was everything you wanted to hear.

Turning to Arthur, you saw that he was dressed in his usual blue shirt and black ranch pants, looking concerned. Seeing the care he had for your well-being made you come to a decision. He deserved the truth of you.

“I need to show you something.”

***

Arthur swallowed as his sweet lady began to disrobe right there on the dock. He was shocked to a standstill, unable to move as he saw every inch of beautiful skin exposed to his view. His pants grew tight, his throat dry, and his internal instinct to protect surged through him.

“Darlin’, what’re you…” 

He couldn’t utter another sound as he watched her usual skin shimmer and then shift to a blue-grey tint. Her hair became teal colored, and slits appeared above her collarbone.

“Gills,” she said as she pointed at them, shrugging shyly. “I’m a dragon spirit. Or half of one.”

Arthur could only nod in both shock and awe. He had suspected she was hiding something, but he would have never guessed it was something like this. He took in her form, human and yet not, familiar and yet bizarre. But still beautiful, wonderful, her.

“Do… do I disgust you?”

“No!” Arthur said, quickly taking two steps to stand in front of her. “Yer still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Seeing her smile shyly and look away, his need to assure her only grew stronger. “That why you could swim so good?” he asked, reaching up to caress her neck, right above her gills.

She nodded again.

“What’d you mean by half?” he asked, curious.

“My father, he was a dragon, the great-great grand nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea.”

Arthur nodded. “Oh. Okay then.” He didn’t understand what that meant, but it sounded a bit important.

She tittered. “I don’t really know how important that is either,” she said, answering the unspoken question. “But I can swim real fast, breathe underwater, and I can control water a little bit,” she said, her excitement growing with each word. She turned to the water and put out her hand.

Ripples started to appear, and they grew into small waves, rolling across the surface of the lake.

She turned back to him, a happy glow to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re not disgusted by me.”

“I’d never be,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. His gaze traveled along her face, admiring her hair color, her bluish-grey skin, and the gills at her neck, before looking at her smile, full of self-confidence. She was radiant and it made her all the more alluring. 

“You’re beautiful, no matter what.”

***

This time when you kissed Arthur, he kissed you back, unafraid, bold, confident. He quickly took over, his fingers gripping the back of your head as he pulled your body closer to his. You felt the rough fabric of his shirt sliding along your sensitive nipples and moaned softly.

He suddenly wrapped one arm around your waist and one around your ass before picking you up with ease. 

“I need you darlin’,” he murmured before turning from the dock and walking determinedly towards your cabin. He maneuvered you inside and shut the door, not wanting any interruptions. Laying you down on the bed, he stepped away to light the lantern before returning to you, taking off his hat and flinging it aside.

You shifted back to your human colors, your gills disappearing.

“Yer magical,” Arthur whispered before resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, a wry grin on his face. You kissed him back, smiling in return, acknowledging his silly word choice and accepting his sentiment for what it was: a compliment. He shared your gaze for a few moments before kissing you back as he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open while he climbed over you. You could feel his impatience as he pressed his bare chest against yours, his kisses heating up and becoming demanding.

“Arthur,” you breathed as he moved down to kiss your neck, his lips tracing lines where your gills had been.

“Why’d I wait this long,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he ran his fingers from your hip up your belly. His touch was feather-light, almost ticklish as he skimmed the underside of your breast before tracing circles around your areola. 

You writhed, whimpering softly. He looked at you, keeping his gaze locked with yours as he leaned down and took your nipple into his mouth. 

"Oh, yes," you moaned as his tongue played with you, distracting you just long enough for his other hand to caress the inside of your thighs. You parted your legs eagerly. 

You felt Arthur smile against your skin before he switched to your other breast, giving you the same pleasure as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers exploring your slit. 

"This honey fer me, darlin'?" he asked in a low, husky voice. 

"All for you," you whispered. 

He let out a soft growl of satisfaction before dipping a finger inside of you. Your hips lifted up towards his touch. Moving away from your breast, he kissed his way up your neck, to your cheeks, then to your lips once more. He took his time tasting you, his tongue languidly caressing yours as his fingers delved inside of you, his thumb brushing against your bud, each stroke driving you higher and higher towards your peak that was approaching rapidly.

You moaned his name, muffled as it was by his mouth on yours. He growled in return, pumping his fingers faster, his thumb stroking you with determination.

"Ah, ah, Arthur!" you cried out as you climaxed. As you felt the pleasure zip through your veins, you buzzed with power for a moment before it faded. 

You didn't have time to think about it, for Arthur climbed off the bed and took off the rest of his clothes. He was such a big man, with muscles from hard work, scars from a rough life, and a dangerous grace to him. He had power and knew how to use it. 

And right now, he wanted to make you release over and over again. 

He climbed over you, just like in your fantasies, and spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist. Taking his hard length in his hand, he slid the tip around your entrance, slicking himself up as he watched you tremble beneath him. 

"You sure 'bout this, darlin'?" he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice, as if he was holding back. He didn't stop sliding the head of his cock along your slit, up and down in a slow rhythm. 

"Yes, yes please Arthur, just take me!" you begged. He was driving you mad with his gentle strokes. You lifted your hips up, causing the tip of him to slip inside. 

"So needy, sweet girl," he crooned before he pushed forward, driving himself deeper inside of you. 

You writhed and winced as your body stretched around his girth. He was sweating, holding himself steady as he waited for you to regain your breath before inching forward some more. Patiently, Arthur watched your every reaction, taking great care to control his movements until his hips finally came flush with yours. 

He murmured your name, his lips brushing against yours before he kissed you. His hands cradled your face as he grinded against you, the heat of his body warming you up like a thick quilt. Deepening the kiss, he angled your head so he could devour you. A low moan escaped him as his hips shifted, building a steady rhythm of short thrusts. 

"More, Arthur," you said when he finally let you take a breath. 

"I'll give you whatever you need," he replied before lifting himself up, letting the cool air touch your body. He pulled his cock out almost all the way and waited for an eternal moment while he stared into your eyes, the lust blowing out his pupils. 

Then he slammed back inside of you.

Your pleasure-filled yell was stopped short by Arthur's swift uptick in pace. He was hammering his cock inside of your tight, wet channel, and he couldn't get enough. Not saying a word, he only moaned and panted as he drove into you relentlessly, taking just a split second to adjust his angle before continuing. 

"So good," he moaned before he got up onto his haunches, taking your hips in his big hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you like a man possessed. He growled, a feral sound of pleasure, before he reached down and stroked your clit. 

"Need… to… see… you… let go…" he panted. 

You tightened your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with your own enthusiastic motions, reaching for your breasts and playing with your nipples before him. 

"Oh darlin', you look so pretty like that," he grit out, his face contorted in an effort to control his desires. He was so close. So very close. 

"Give me everything!" you gasped, your body shaking, on the edge of a precipice so high that you almost felt fear.

Feeling your body grip him so tightly, Arthur let out a passionate shout before he spilled inside of you. His eyes were wild as he stared at you, his mouth open as he drew in breath after ragged breath. He moaned as he thrust one last time before crushing his hips to yours, keeping his shaft inside of you for as long as possible. 

As he spent himself inside of you, you felt your core suddenly overflow with ecstasy, your body shuddering as you came around his thick cock. At the same time, your power unleashed, making your body glow a bluish hue. 

"Darlin'!?" Arthur panicked, sounding winded, his brow creased with worry. 

The power that had unlocked within you gave your vision a strange overlay of colors. And within the warm orange glow of Arthur was a black cloud in his chest. You reached out through the haze of your afterglow and pulled at it. 

He gasped and coughed. 

You pulled again. Now that you had touched it, you knew it was bad. It needed to get out of his system before it did permanent damage. 

Arthur grasped his chest. "What…" he trailed off as he coughed a few more times before you managed to heave out the black cloud from his lungs. You quickly quashed it in your hands. 

Looking up at him, you put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him, pouring the last of the glowing power inside of him. On some instinctual level, you knew you had healed him of something. Whether it was an old lingering illness or a new one that was just about to form, it was now gone from his system. 

When you finally pulled away, Arthur looked bewildered. For a few seconds, or a few minutes, you weren’t sure how slow or fast time was flowing, the two of you could only stare at each other, lost in that foggy place between dreams and reality.

"What'd you pull outta me?" Arthur finally asked, still a little breathless.

"Something bad. An illness, I think,” you replied. You took a deep breath before squeezing his hand. “Whatever it was, it will no longer hurt you." 

Arthur smiled and pressed his forehead against yours. "Thank you, sweetheart."

***

Arthur left a day later, telling you that he'd be back once he had taken care of some people.

You didn't see him for a long time.

Four months passed before you saw him again. He looked ragged, skinnier, as if he had been through hell and back. But when he saw you, he rushed over and fell into your arms, holding you tight as if you were the only real thing in his world. 

***

He told you everything. He confessed that he had been the one to help that criminal escape and shot up the town. That he had been chased all over three states with his gang. That he had stolen money from several trains. That he had been on a ship that had sunk and was stranded on an island for days before finding a way back. 

He told you about John. He told you about how he had helped him escape the Pinkertons, had ran with him all the way down the mountain before telling him where to meet his family. Then Arthur had set off, the long way around through the wilds of Ambarino so he could lose the men who were chasing him, just so he could get safely back to you.

You saw now that his eyes were unclouded, having seen his world for what it was. You saw pain and regret in his eyes, but you also saw understanding and a clarity that was not there before. He appeared to have finally found wisdom at a heavy price.

After he had told you everything, you cooked him a meal of steamed fish and herbs. He ate quietly, as if his confession had stolen all of his words from him. 

He finished his meal and sat in silence for a few minutes before looking towards you. "I ain't a good man—" 

You shushed him. "You are more good than not, Arthur," you said. "We all make mistakes. You were just trying to do your best. That's all any of us can do."

Reaching for his hand across the table, you grasped it and pulled it to your chest, placing it over your heart. "Will you stay?" 

Arthur smiled hesitantly. "You… still want me?" 

You stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him. "I'll always want you, Arthur. I love you."

He kissed you back. When he looked at you, his gaze full of gratitude. "I love you too, my sweet darlin'. Thank you fer believin' in me."

--------------------

End Notes: I had to end it on a sappy note, of course. Hope you enjoyed that little romp with some folklore! 

[dawninlatin]

We’re not getting a pet, love

Part of the Manorian Teacher AU

This was requested by @biaguiar11​. Sorry for taking so long, hope you like it:)

Words: 2307

AO3 Link

Masterlist

A/N: I would like to dedicate this fic to my cat, Chewbacca. Had you not been so adorable this morning, this piece of shit never would have existed. *tears up* I love you man<3<3

Also feel free to leave a comment, telling me what you think;)

«Come on!»

«No.»

«Manon, please.» Dorian tried his very best to make sad-puppy eyes at his girlfriend, pouting his lip, all of it to convince her that they simply had to get a cat.

«We’re not getting a cat, and if you send me one more GIF of cute kittens I will block you on all social media.» She was glaring at him from across the counter, and Dorian would be lying if he said it didn’t terrify him slightly.

They’d been having this discussion for weeks, but she wouldn’t budge. Dorian insisted that it was the natural step to take next in their relationship - they’d recently bought a house - and honestly, every home should have a cat.

Too bad Manon didn’t agree.

«But just imagine a teeny, tiny, adorable kitten curling up against you, with it’s tiny paws and tiny, little face.» The image was so adorable it made Dorian tear up a little.

Manon shook her head, giving him an annoyed look. «Kittens aren’t adorable. They’re cunning, vicious little creatures that will kill you in your sleep,» she said, shuddering.

«Don’t tell me the Manon Blackbeak is afraid of kittens?» 

«Pfft, I’m not afraid of kittens,» Manon claimed, but Dorian noticed the way she didn’t meet his eyes, the way she bit her lip. His girlfriend was many things, but a good liar was not one of them. 

Dorian was baffled. Even if he hated that word, it was the only way to truly describe how shocked he was at this admittance. She was the one who killed the spiders in their relationship, after all. «So getting a pet snake is fine with you, but you’re afraid of a cat?»

Last week, when they’d had the exact same argument, Manon had suggested that if he was so eager to get a pet, they could get a snake. He knew she’d said it just to shut him up, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he one day came home to them having a pet snake. The mere idea had him feeling a little sick. He’d told her as much then, but Manon had only grinned like a mad woman.

No way were they getting a snake.

«I’m done with this discussion,» was all she said before disappearing up the stairs.

Dorian wasn’t done though, and he stood up, trailing after her, all the way into their bedroom, where he found her putting away laundry. She always started cleaning when she was angry.

«Why can’t we get a cat?» he whined.

«I’m allergic,» she said, her words blunt. She didn’t even turn around to look at him, instead walking into the adjoining bathroom with a pile of clothes.

Flopping onto the bed, Dorian said, «We both know you’re not allergic.» He gave her a pointed stare as she reentered the room, stopping in the doorway.

«I just don’t understand why you absolutely have to get a cat.»

«I just don’t understand why you absolutely refuse to get a cat.» Dorian pouted once more, fluttering his eyelashes for extra effect.

Manon let out a long, annoyed sigh, but he knew her anger had faded based on the faint smile playing on her lips.

«Pets are a lot of work, Dorian. We’re busy enough as it is.»

This, at least, was an argument he had prepared for. «It isn’t. All you have to do is feed it twice a day, let it out when it has to pee and give it some love and attention. And you’re very good at the love and attention part!»

«But I have already decided that we’re not getting a cat.»

Turning so he lay on his stomach, he brought back the puppy eyes from earlier, and said, «But think of all the sad, lonely kittens at the animal shelter who doesn’t have anyone to love them…» Dorian pretended to wipe away a tear. Manon answered by giving him a deadly glare accompanied by her middle finger.

«Must you be so dramatic? I’m really dating a child…»

Dorian placed his head in his palms, kicking his legs just to further her point. «You love it when I’m dramatic.»

«I don’t,» Manon said, sitting down next to him.

«You do,» Dorian said, flicking her nose.

«Don’t boop me.»

«If we had a kitten I could boop them instead.»

Manon quickly stood up again, throwing her arms in the air as she let out a frustrated groan. «I’m not losing this argument!»

-

She had lost the argument.It was the only way to explain why she now found herself standing at the local animal shelter. 

Manon wanted to be mad, she really did, but Dorian was making it hard for her with his fawning over all the tiny, squeaking kittens.

«Oh, look at that one Manon. Isn’t it adorable?» 

No, they weren’t adorable, she wanted to say, eager to get it over with as soon as possible. They had come her straight after work, so she was tired, and hungry, and she didn’t even want to get a cat. This was all on Dorian.

But to be fair…he deserved this. Deserved to be happy. It was what had made her cave in the end, actually. 

Dorian had pouted his lips and made those puppy eyes for the billionth time and said, «Don’t you want me to be happy?» 

And truth be told…she would gladly endure a little ball of fur terrorizing their home if it meant the love of her life was happy.

Manon rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. Living with Dorian had made her soft…

Sensing her discomfort, Dorian placed a hand on her lower back, drawing her closer. He pressed a light kiss on her head before his attention shifted back to the small demons. 

But Manon couldn’t stay in here for much longer. Animals in cages, even if they were well cared for, and only here for a short while, had always made her uncomfortable, and the hall was too dark, too cramped, the walls coming closer, and then there was the gods-damned smell. Was this smell supposed to take permanent residence in her house from now on? She had to get out, had to get air-

«I’m sorry,» she mumbled to Dorian before heading towards the heavy door at the end of the hall. She’d nearly made it when a tiny squeak made her stop. 

She crouched down and peered into the dark cage. In one of the corners, she could make out a tiny, pitch-black kitten taking her in with big, sad eyes.

«What’s wrong with this one?» she asked the middle aged woman that had shown them around.

«He’s a fighter, that one,» the woman said, giving Manon a grim smile. 

«Born much smaller than the rest of the litter, so his mother abandoned him. When he came to us, he was so weak we didn’t think he would survive, but he fought with teeth and claws, and now he’s as healthy as any other cat.» She looked proud of the little black cat. «He still keeps to himself though, won’t go near the other cats, as afraid as he is. I swear he is even terrified of his own shadow.»

Hearing these words, Manon felt something strange settle deep inside, and she hardly had time to think before she announced to the room; «We want this one.»

Dorian, who’d made his way over to her, looked at the kitten, then back at Manon, and grinned. «If you say so.»

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

-

This was a horrible idea.

When they’d first gotten home, the cat with them, Manon had gone straight to the shower, leaving Dorian to take care of it all.  

Once she emerged from the bathroom, nearly an hour later, Dorian was still sitting on the floor, and the cat was still inside the cardboard box they had carried him in. 

Apparently, Dorian had tried everything he could think of to coax the kitten out of his hiding spot, but he remained in the corner, curled up into a quivering ball. 

It wasn’t until he had spotted Manon, looking over the edge, that he had let out a high-pitched meow, making his way out of the box on stumbling feet.

«Him,» she tried explaining, pointing to Dorian, as the cat made his way towards her, «Go to him.» But the cat either didn’t understand, or he simply didn’t care, stopping right in front of her.

«I’m not your mother,» she told the creature, voice frantic. It was sitting on the floor, staring at her with big, yellow eyes. It blinked once, and Manon jumped off the floor.

«Okay, that cat is giving me the creeps, so I’ll leave you to it, I have work to do.» 

Dorian’s answering chuckle followed her into the kitchen, where she started making a much needed cup of coffee. She opened the cabinet and pulled out her favorite mug. The one shaped like a t-rex.

A yelp escaped her as she turned around to find the tiny, black kitten sitting right in front of her, head tilted slightly. «Holy sh-»

«I think he likes you,» Dorian said, appearing in the doorway. He was wearing his usual smug expression. 

«Nope, I can’t do it,» Manon said, taking a step forward. The cat followed, trailing her like a shadow. 

Deciding to distract him, Manon walked over to his bowls and stood there, waiting, until he began eating. Once she’d made sure he wouldn’t fall into his water bowl and drown, Manon hauled ass all the way to her study on the second floor, leaving Dorian with the horrid beast he had wanted so badly.

As the door shut behind her, she let out a sigh of relief. If the cat somehow managed to reach her now, she was moving out. He could just have the house.

Manon began to work, needing to plan her classes for tomorrow. She tried to focus on her task, but more often than not, her mind wandered off to what she was missing out on downstairs.

She truly didn’t care for the creature, but what if he was scared? Would he be able to settle in their home? He had been treated so horribly…had been so alone. Would he get the love and care he needed from them?

Cursing her boyfriend for putting her in this situation, Manon grabbed her laptop and dragged herself back down to the living room. 

What she didn’t expect to find was the house all quiet, Dorian sitting on the couch with a book, the cat nowhere to be seen. «Where is he?» she whispered carefully.

«Under the couch, sleeping. I think he likes dark corners.»

«Hm,» was all Manon said, sitting next to him. She opened her laptop once more and tried to focus on her work.

«Are you okay?» Dorian asked, and as she turned to look at him, she found concern softening his features.

She sighed. «Yes. I’ll get used to it…eventually.» She didn’t sound entirely convinced, but Dorian released a breath of relief.

«You know I love you, right?» Dorian asked, before standing up and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

«Yeah, and I love you,» she whispered back, pulling him down so his lips could meet hers.

As they broke apart, Dorian headed towards the stairs, announcing, «I’m taking a shower, won’t be long.»

Manon sunk further into the couch, fighting to stay awake. She just had to finish up her work-

A high-pitched meow interrupted her, and she looked down to find their cat trying to climb onto the couch, his claws imbedded deep into the fabric. «Not the couch,» Manon groaned softly, but there was no real reprimand in her voice. 

The kitten struggled to pull his tiny body onto the piece of furniture, and when he finally succeeded, Manon reached over to pet his little head. The movement felt awkward, but the cat’s eyes widened, and he quickly climbed onto Manon’s chest, before settling there, right over her heart. 

Manon’s whole body stiffened at first, nervous for what the beast would do next, but he only began purring, pressing his small paws against her chest. «Fine,» Manon whispered, giving in at last. She placed her laptop on the table, simply letting herself relax.

She began stroking him, and he answered by purring even louder.

«What a big day you must’ve had,» Manon said to the small cat. «I can’t imagine how scary it must be to move into such a big house with two strangers.»

He probably couldn’t understand her, but she kept going anyway.

«This is your home from now on. We’ll give you love and care, and I promise we won’t abandon you.» The kitten looked at her with those big eyes of his, meowing once. It made Manon’s heart feel all warm and fuzzy.

«We need to give you a name, too. Dorian wanted Batman, you know, since you’re all black, but one, that is the most uncreative, unoriginal name I have ever heard, and two, all the other cats will bully you for it, and we can’t have any of that, can we?» She gave him a serious look. «So I refused, you can thank me later.»

But Batman or not, the cat still needed a name. Manon searched her memory for anything that could fit. It had to be unique, and badass, and- 

«Abraxos.»

The cat lifted his head, staring at her.

«Your name is Abraxos,» Manon decided, marveling at how right it felt.

After that, he settled down, curling into a ball once more. Before Manon knew it, Abraxos was asleep, and at the small, warm weight on her chest, at the sound of him snoring softly, Manon smiled, knowing she already loved this cat very, very much.

[roman-writing]

A Study in Hospitality (4/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses / Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Marianne von Edmund

Rating: T

Wordcount: 8,418

Summary: There’s a new student at camp half-blood. Hilda, daughter of Aphrodite, has been tasked with showing her around. A Percy Jackson and the Olympians AU

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

The weird dream didn't go away. Which was really inconvenient, to be honest. Hilda liked sleeping as much as any other person, and these nightmares were starting to get on her nerves. Her only consolation was that they didn't happen every night. Only sometimes. But that was more than enough, thank you very much.

In her dream, her mother would offer to kill her a different way every time. Knives. Magic. Swords. Magic swords. Breaking her neck. Pulling the last breath right out of her lungs. Being hung by a diamond necklace from a myrtle tree in full summer’s bloom. And every time, Aphrodite never finished saying what was so important for Hilda to remember. 

That was, hands down, the worst part. Even worse than the dying part. Honestly, the dying part was annoying, but it got old real fast. But not getting to know why this was even happening in the first place? Abso-fucking-lutely maddening. Aphrodite would lean forward and whisper in her ear, and Hilda would wake up before she could finish delivering her warning. 

Every. Damn. Time. 

"Why are we even learning about this?" Hilda grumbled. She wore a spare set of sunglasses to try and cover the dark rings beneath her eyes. “It’s dumb. This is dumb.”

They were standing by the edge of a field, learning hunting techniques from one of the forest nymphs, who took the appearance of a young girl with the name Flayn. She was shy and willowy, with green hair and greener eyes. She was also purportedly Seteth's daughter, though Hilda couldn’t imagine which oreiad could’ve been desperate enough to get it on with a joyless busybody like Seteth. 

Beside Hilda, Claude was idly thrumming his bowstring as though it were a harp. He even managed to get a few different notes out of it somehow, though Hilda was stumped as to how he accomplished it. She didn't have any musical talent to speak of, apart from her ability to dance to anything that had a half decent tempo. 

He shrugged, only lending half an ear to what Flayn was saying to the gathered group of campers. "Supposedly it's to teach us how to tackle life's problems." 

"Um? When am I ever going to need to use this -" Hilda gestured to her bronze axe, which she was leaning upon. "-in the real world? Not that I don’t love swinging this bad boy around, but also: people are civilised now or whatever. When am I going to walk down the street and need an axe to fend off monsters?” 

Claude pointed to the axe. "Hey, I thought you lost your axe in the lake." 

"Yeah, I did. This is just one of the boring old replacements from the armoury." 

"Why didn't you equip your own axe with the return feature?" To make his point, Claude gave his bow a flick, and it transformed back into a headband. He then tossed it over his shoulder. It immediately reappeared back in his hand not a second later. "It's pretty useful." 

Hilda grumbled something under her breath. 

"What was that?" Claude asked, cupping a hand around his ear as though he hadn't heard, even though he definitely would have. 

Glowering, Hilda said, "It was either customise the sunglasses, or take the return feature." 

"And of course you chose to customise the sunglasses." 

"The original design had reflective lenses! The horrible blue-green kind that looks like a beetle shell! I couldn’t have that!" 

Claude nodded solemnly. "Tragic." 

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. She leaned back on the replacement axe, and turned her glare back upon Flayn, who was now explaining various tracking techniques. "What the hell is a 'hind' anyway? Is it a direction?"

On her other side, a soft familiar voice answered, "It's a stag." 

Hilda tossed up a hand in exasperation. "Well, why can't she just say 'stag'? And how do you know that?" 

Marianne was seated on the ground to Hilda's left. Her chin was resting atop her knees. She was holding her ankles in her hands, folded upon herself like an accordion. The eye almost seemed to skip over her, as though Marianne did not want to be seen. "I don't know. I just do." 

Claude leaned around Hilda, and asked, "Do you like hunting? Do you do it often?" 

He had to hide a grunt when Hilda elbowed him in the abdomen. Which was what he deserved for being so damn obvious. 

Still, Marianne only blinked languidly up at them. Her face gave away nothing. "Not really." 

"I've never seen you use a bow before. Want to try mine?" Claude continued, ignoring the way Hilda was now stepping on his foot. 

"Oh. Uh -" Marianne glanced towards Flayn, who was still pointing to a few broken leaves on the ground like it was actually supposed to mean something. "I think we're going to be doing that soon anyway." 

Indeed, there were a series of targets erected on the far end of the field behind Flayn. They were made of straw, and painted exactly the way Hilda would have expected targets to be painted. 

"I think I'll just throw this instead." Hilda kicked the flat side of her new axe. 

"Is that allowed?" Marianne asked. 

Hilda shrugged, and made an 'I don't know' noise. 

"At least it will come back this time," Claude said. He prodded at Hilda's shoulder with a grin. "Remember capture the flag last year?" 

Rolling her eyes, Hilda said, "That was one time." 

"And two years ago when you lost your axe to the Hippocampus that came out of the lake?" 

"A blip. A complete coincidence," Hilda insisted primly. She had taken out a small handheld mirror and was pretending to check that her lipstick was still as pristinely applied as ever. "And why is it always horse creatures that hate me? Did my mom piss off Poseidon or something?" 

"You should really just stick with the return feature on your axe, you know." 

Hilda tilted her head back and forth to inspect herself in the mirror. "And you should really cut off that braid. You’ve had it since you were - what? Eighteen?" 

Claude's hand flew to the distinctive little braid that had been woven on one side of his head. "Don't be mean to the braid, Hilda." 

Hilda snapped the mirror shut. "If you don't want to take fashion advice from a daughter of Aphrodite, that's your business. But you should know that it's a dumb business." 

"You should focus more on making sure you don't lose your third axe in three years, and less on my rakish good looks." 

Reaching up, Hilda pinched his cheek. "But just think: you could look even better." 

He gave her a lopsided grin, but did not pull his head away. "Impossible." 

"Careful," Hilda lowered her hand, only to wag her finger at him. "Or you might not be able to fit into that headband anymore." 

"Oh, ha ha." 

From the ground, Marianne watched their banter in silence. She pointed between the two of them. “Are you two -” she fished around for the right word, “- courting?”

Claude and Hilda looked at each other. And then they started laughing. 

"Oh gods." Claude leaned on his knees. "Oh, my stomach hurts."

Meanwhile Hilda leaned her elbow on his hunched back, and pushed her sunglasses up to wipe at the tears forming in her eyes. "Courting!" she repeated.

It sent them into another spiral of wheezing laughter. Marianne stared at them in utter bewilderment. "Is that -" she hazarded, "- is that not the right term?"

"No, no!" Claude straightened. "It's perfect."

"Then -?"

"We're not," he said, at the same time Hilda said, "No way."

"I mean -" Claude gave Hilda a leering once-over.

She shoved his shoulder. "Stop that."

"Remember that one time four years ago behind the armoury?"

"I would rather not." Hilda readjusted her sunglasses, and turned her attention to Marianne. "We're not dating. We have never dated. We will never date."

"You wound me," said Claude.

"No, but I will."

"Not even if I cut off the braid?"

"Not even if you let me give you a full makeover," Hilda said. Then, her face brightened, and she looked at Marianne. "Speaking of makeovers -"

"Oh no," Claude said. He began gesturing to Marianne, making a slicing motion across his throat. "Run, Marianne! Save yourself!" 

In answer, Marianne gazed up at them both in confusion. "What?" 

"My brother told me that your package is finally on the way."

Marianne blinked up at her. "Package?"

"Remember? You needed some new clothes, so I gave you mine, and ordered you some others?" She waved at Marianne's clothes, which were actually her own clothes and not Marianne's at all. 

Between thumb and forefinger, Marainne worried the long sleeve of the shirt she wore. "Yes. I remember. I didn't think you were going to so much trouble to help me."

"Trouble?" Hilda blew a raspberry. "Trust me. Getting someone a new wardrobe is never trouble. It's basically my hobby."

"It really is," Claude said with a solemn nod.

"I see," said Marianne. "Thank you. I've never had much need for clothes like these in the past."

"Did you live in a hole in the ground before coming here, or something?" Hilda asked. When Marianne did not answer, Hilda hurried to correct herself. "Not that that's bad. I mean, it's fine! Completely - uh - normal." She lowered her voice and hissed. "Claude, help me."

Thankfully, he did. "I liked your dresses. But I agree with Hilda that they would be difficult to wear while performing athletic tasks at camp."

"Tasks which still don't make any sense, I would like to add," said Hilda. To prove her point, she tilted her head towards Flayn, who had moved on to the lovely topic of how to best skin wild animals and monsters, and wear their hides. Hilda made a face. "Blech. Fur is definitely not in this season."

"The skin of some creatures can have magical properties that ward the wearer from death's eyes," Marianne said. Then, realising what that sounded like, she ducked her head, and mumbled, "So I've heard."

"Again, when are we ever going to need to 'ward ourselves from death's eyes'?" Hilda asked.

"What if our parents give us a hero's task? They do that sometimes, you know," Claude countered. "What we learn here could be helpful."

Hilda snorted derisively, "Oh. Yeah. Sure. The heroic task of canoeing across a lake. Remind me: did Hercules accomplish that daunting feat of derring-do before or after he wrestled Cerberus? My memory is a little rusty."

Claude stretched the colourful headband between his hands, and put it on. "I think the canoeing part is just for fun. The monster hunting on the other hand -" he fixed his hair so that the small braid hung just so over the headband, until he looked delightfully tousled. "- probably just good practice in coordination and cooperation."

"Look," Hilda said, "I appreciate that -- I really do -- but if not for this camp, I never would've ever met any of you. Which would've been a shame, I know. But also, the majority of us could've just lived our lives with our powers among mortals, and not had any problems." 

"I don't know about you, but I don't particularly enjoy the idea of being discovered and dissected because I'm a demigod."

"Then don't join the Olympic archery team, and you'll be fine."

Claude snapped his fingers as if coming to a sudden realisation. "Right. I’ll be sure to remember that next time I’m on the run for being the freak whose car-crash injuries heal overnight, when the collision killed everyone else involved.”

Silence stretched between them for a very long, very uncomfortable moment. 

"I'm sorry," Hilda said with a grimace. "I didn't mean -"

But he merely waved her away. "I know you didn't."

Hilda's stomach twisted with guilt. It was an unpleasant feeling, like she had swallowed a nest of live snakes. "I just don't see how learning all of this could have even helped. What could you have done differently then with the skills you have now? Shot an arrow at the other car?"

He shrugged. His arms were crossed, and he favoured studying Flayn rather than look in Hilda's direction. "Maybe. I'll never know. But I like to think this is somehow worth while. Why else would so many immortals put so much time and effort into training us, unless there was a purpose?"

"To keep us out of mischief?" Hilda said, trying to wheedle a smile out of him. "I wasn't lying when I said it would've been a shame not knowing everyone. I do like you guys. I mean -" she corrected herself, "-not enough to, like, throw myself in front of a dragon for you. But I'll be your wingman!"

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Claude's mouth. He looked at her askance. "To think I was prepared to die heroically for you, and you wouldn't do the same," he drawled.

Hilda scoffed. "Dying for someone else is dumb. It defeats the whole point."

And then from the sidelines, Marianne said, "Death isn't so bad."

Hilda turned to look at Marianne with an incredulous grin. "And you know that because you've died sooo many times, right?"

For a moment Marianne did not respond, until finally she mumbled, "No. Not exactly."

Hilda held out her arms as though to an audience. "I rest my case."

The other campers were starting to mill about now. Claude nudged Hilda with his elbow, and jerked his head towards the targets. "Looks like it's time for archery. Mind if I take over?"

In answer, Hilda plopped down beside Marianne, and leaned back on her elbows. "An opportunity for me to not do anything? Like you even need to ask."

"Great." Claude took off his headband. With an expert twist of his wrist, it extended into an elegantly curved bow. The surface had been carved with all manner of hunting motifs and scenes from ancient mythology. He held out the bow to Marianne with an encouraging smile. "Would you do me the honours?"

Still curled up on the ground, Marianne glanced over at Hilda in a silent question.

"Why are you looking at me?" Hilda asked.

"Well, I -" Marianne's voice trailed off. "I don't know."

Rather than lift her arm, Hilda gestured with her foot towards Claude and the targets. "It's your choice. You don't have to shoot if you don't want to. But -- and I don't say this lightly -- he is really very good with the bow. So, if you want lessons, he's the guy."

Claude swept a hand over his heart as though in fealty. "I swear I will only be the utmost gentleman."

While Hilda rolled her eyes, Marianne seemed convinced. "Alright."

Marianne unfolded herself. She patted off bits of grass stuck to her long track pants when she stood, and allowed herself to be led a few strides away. Hilda crossed her legs at the ankles, and watched.

Claude handed Marianne his bow, which she took gingerly, as though afraid she might break it. When she stepped up to the line drawn onto the grass however, she held the bow with an unquestionable familiarity. Other pairs were doing the same all along the line, while Flayn strode behind them, keeping watch with that gentle gaze of hers.

From this distance, Hilda could just overhear Claude's instructions. He directed Marianne with a mix of clarity and humour. At one point, he even managed to get her to make that soft choked noise at the back of her throat, which meant she was trying to stop herself from laughing aloud. He handed her an arrow. When Marianne drew it smoothly back to her cheek, he held up his hands for her to hold that position. 

Hilda's eyebrows shot up over the rim of her sunglasses, as she watched Claude touch Marianne's elbow to reposition her arm slightly. Even more shockingly, Marianne did not flinch away, or tell him to stop. Though her shoulders tensed, and her dark eyes flickered like a nervous animal backed into a corner. 

Sensing her discomfort, he stepped away, and made a gesture for her to fire. Marianne released the arrow.  It streaked across the pitch, and buried itself firmly in the target. Not in the bullseye or anything flashy like that. But still. On the target. Which was better than Hilda could have done. 

Claude clapped effusively. Cheeks pink, Marianne lowered the bow. Hilda could hear her making demurring noises, insisting that the praise was Claude's for being a patient teacher and expert marksman. 

Raising her voice, Hilda said, "Accept the praise, Marianne!"

At that, Marianne ducked her head. She glanced over her shoulder. If Hilda didn't know better, she might have thought she saw a slight smile on Marianne's face. As though she were secretly pleased with herself, but didn't want anyone to notice. 

Which, of course, was an open invitation for Hilda to offer even more raucous praise when Marianne hit the target again. 

"Miss Goneril," said a voice to the side.

Shielding her face from the sun with the flat of her hand, Hilda looked up to find Flayn standing over her. "Yo! What's up?"

Flayn held herself with a poise that Hilda could only dream of; the perks of being fully immortal, probably. Her voice was light and deceptively girlish. It was an uncanny contrast to her eyes, which were ancient in the same way her father's were. "Is there some reason why you're not also participating?"

Hilda took off her sunglasses so that more of her face could be seen as she widened her eyes, and said plaintively, "There's an odd number of people today, and I don't have a partner. I was just waiting to trade off with Claude and Marianne."

Charmspeak wove itself in the air like an invisible tapestry, each strand hung from Hilda's words. It settled like a net over Flayn, who blinked. Briefly her expression slackened, only for her to shake her head as though she had just walked into a spider's web. Her brows drew down in a disapproving slant. "That is quite distracting, you know."

"Sorry," Hilda made a face. "Force of habit. Did it almost work though?"

"Almost," Flayn smiled gently. Hilda had never known her to ever actually get mad before. 

"Do you think if I practice more, it will work on your dad?"

Flayn laughed, and the sound was like a breeze over the first buds of spring. "That would be a lot of practice, I think."

Swinging her sunglasses around between her fingers, Hilda smirked. "Want to help?"

"I don't see why charmspeak is even necessary. You have already successfully distracted me from scolding you for being lazy."

Hilda pouted, lacing the air with magic again. "Please?"

Flayn had to shake the charmspeak off before she relented. "Oh, very well." She sat beside Hilda, her feet neatly tucked up beneath her legs. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But don't tell my father. He would be so cross."

Hilda made a locking motion with her hand, as if twisting a key at her mouth. 

While the other students practised archery, Hilda spent the next hour or so trying to charm a dryad older than the mountains. By the end, Marianne was consistently hitting near the bullseye, and Hilda had just about convinced Flayn the sky was pink. It was almost a lesson that Hilda didn't want to end so soon. Almost.

"Well, I must admit," Flayn said, rising gracefully to her feet and smiling at Hilda. "This has been very entertaining."

"Will you tell your dad about how amazingly hospitable I am?" Hilda asked.

Flayn hummed thoughtfully. "I think he already knows." She tilted her head back to study the scattering of puffy white clouds above them. "Still blue. But I think there's a rosy hue. Keep up the good work."

And with that, she started walking off, lifting her voice to deliver instructions to the group on cleaning up for the afternoon. Hilda put her sunglasses back on just as Claude and Marianne were returning to her spot. Claude was resting his hand on Marianne's shoulder, and she only seemed timid rather than tense at the contact. 

"Well, well, well," Hilda tilted her head to the side to study their approach. "Aren't you two getting on like a house on fire."

Claude winked at her, then lowered his hand after giving Marianne's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "She's a natural. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was a daughter of Apollo."

Rather than contest that idea, Marianne handed the bow back to him. "I'm sorry again. I didn't mean to -"

Claude took the bow, and tapped his tongue against the back of his teeth in an admonishing manner. “I told you, I actually kind of like it this way.” 

The smooth bone-carved handle gleamed. What had once been pale ashen bone was now streaked with gold in the shape of a handprint, as though Marianne had gripped it too hard and it had bled gold. 

With a gesture, he turned the bow back into the garishly coloured headband, except now it had a broad length of cloth-of-gold running through the fabric like splotches of paint. He put it on, then turned to Hilda, and pretended to pose as though for a camera. “What do you think? Pretty good, right?”

She hummed thoughtfully, and tapped at her chin. “Actually, I have to admit: it is a bit of an improvement.”

Marianne ducked her head, mumbled some excuse about wanting to get lunch even though Hilda rarely ever saw her actually eat, thanked Claude again, apologised (again), and then drifted off in the exact opposite direction of the dining pavilion. Claude watched her go. He waved jovially, but something keen glinted in his eyes, like he had just recognised a person on the street.

Hilda waited until Marianne was well and truly out of earshot, before asking, "Why do you look so smug?"

But Claude merely smiled. "Oh, no reason. No reason at all." His smile broadened. “See you at capture the flag tomorrow.”

--

The day of capture the flag, the sky was dark with summer rain. Hilda held her blue-crested helm between her hands, and stared up at the sky. 

"It's going to rain. This sucks," she whined, then repeated more emphatically, "This sucks."

Marianne hummed in agreement, which was more than she had done even a week ago. A week ago, she would have just stood there in complete silence, letting Hilda fill up every nook and cranny of space. Now, she made herself known with small comments and gestures and noises. She even attempted to smile, when Lysithea handed over a helmet that was identical to everyone else on their team. 

Turning over the helmet in her hands, Marianne asked, "If we are expecting a battle, why don't we wear other armour."

"It's more to just tell the two teams apart," Lysithea explained. She put her own helmet on, the blue crest of horse-hair nodding as she did so. "We don't actually hurt each other."

"Usually," Hilda added. 

"Usually," Lysithea agreed. 

Still, Marianne did not put the helmet on. Neither did Hilda, to be fair. But Hilda was avoiding the dreaded helmet hair that would accompany it. 

The two teams were gathered at the edge of the forest, where Seteth, Flayn, Manuela, and Hanneman all waited for them. Hilda spied Claude on the other team, already wearing his red-crested helm, and taking point from Dimitri, who addressed the Ares-led group. Claude spotted her watching him, and he winked. Hilda made a rude gesture with her fingers, which only made him laugh.

"Can we please refrain from fraternising with the enemy until after the competition?" said Edelgard at the fore of their own team. 

"Sorry," said Hilda, not sorry at all.

With a sigh, Edelgard shook her head. Then, she lifted her voice, and addressed the Athena-led team. "All of you know the rules, so -"

Marianne raised her hand.

"Yes?" said Edelgard.

Marianne lowered her hand, and said, "I don't know the rules."

"Hilda didn't explain them to you?"

When Marianne shook her head, Hilda did her best to look sheepish. It wasn't difficult. She felt rather sheepish, to be perfectly honest. 

"Sorry," said Hilda.

With one last glare in Hilda's direction, Edelgard said to Marianne, "Don't let the opposing team take our flag. Try to take the opposing team’s flag. Use any reasonable force necessary, but try not to kill anyone. Stick to your group, and stick to the plan. And for all our sakes, stick to the range as set out by Seteth and the others. The professors will be the judges.They’ll be walking around key boundaries. Don't go wandering too far into the forest. Remember what happened last time?"

At that, a disgruntled murmur spread throughout the large group of campers. 

"What happened last time?" Marianne asked Hilda in a low voice.

"Some idiot stumbled across a dragon's lair. It went badly." Hilda said, inspecting her eyeliner in the mirror shine of her helm. "That's how Dimitri lost his eye. Poor bastard."

Indeed, Dimitri still wore a patch over said eye. Magic and ambrosia could only do so much. Especially against wounds inflicted by other magical creatures and beasts.  

"Any other questions?" Edelgard looked at Marianne, who shook her head. "Excellent. And good luck out there. Just remember -" and her lilac gaze went hard as iron. "- defeat is not an option."

As the group began to split up and head into the forest, Hilda sighed. "Sometimes I worry about that girl. Like, doesn't she get that this is a game?"

"Is it?" Marianne asked quietly.

"Well -" Hilda hesitated. She thought about it, then decided she really didn't want to think about it. Instead, she finally shoved the helmet onto her head. "Anyway. Let's go."

Marianne followed suit. She put her helm on. Hilda had been right. Blue did look good on her. In the track pants and long-sleeved shirt however, the helm looked a bit silly.

As they crossed the first row of trees, Hilda could feel a set of eyes upon her. She glanced over her shoulder to find Seteth watching her intently. She flashed him a grin, but received nothing in return. For someone acting as one of the judges in this competition, his dedication to impartiality was admirable. But really, did he have to be so damn stiff? Relax. Live a little. 

Between Edelgard and Seteth, Hilda had to shrug off a bad feeling about this competition. To add insult to injury, she could have sworn she felt the first speck of rain. 

"Which way are we going?" Marianne asked.

Drawing her axe, which had been disguised as a boring old pen in her pocket, Hilda used it to point. "That way. Us two are guarding the flag, while everyone else does whatever Edelgard and Lysithea told them to do."

"Alright." 

It did not take long for the other groups to be swallowed up by the woods. The trees clustered thickly all around. The air was darker and heavier here, and grew even more so the further they pushed ahead. 

After a while of tramping along, Marianne had another question, "Why us?"

"Hmm?" 

"Guarding the flag is important, right? I'm assuming Edelgard had a reason for picking us."

Hilda shrugged. "Probably. I don't think we'll ever really know why Edelgard does what she does. Maybe we're the best suited for the job. Maybe there are only two people allowed to guard the flag at any one point in time. Maybe she doesn't know where to put you in a bigger team, because you're new here. Or maybe I just complain if I get put out into the field to do more work. Who knows." 

"It sounds like you know."

"It's a mystery," Hilda insisted. 

"I really don't think it is."

They reached a clearing in the trees, surrounded by dense underbrush. Here, the vegetation gave way to a near perfect circle that extended nearly twenty meters in every direction. The area was demarcated by a ring of white-capped mushrooms. Hilda was very careful not to step on one as she entered the clearing. She could almost taste the nature magic emanating off of them. 

In the centre of the clearing, a bronze spear had been stuck in the ground, and a blue flag trailed from it like a military standard. On the flag had been stitched the insignia of every cabin on their team. 

Immediately, Hilda crossed over to it. At the base of the spear, she slammed her axe into the ground so that the head was half buried and would remain upright on its own. Then she flopped onto the ground beside it. She sprawled her legs, and sighed up at the sky.

"The rest of the forest won't get any rain, except for us. Figures," she grumbled.

Marianne drifted closer. In her own hand, she held a basic armour sword of Celestial bronze, not unlike Hilda's own weapon. "Aren't we supposed to be guarding the flag?"

Hilda gestured towards the flag, which hung just over her head. "Here's the flag. And here we are. It's guarded."

Uncertain, Marianne glanced towards the edge of the clearing. "What if someone comes?"

"Then we tell them to go away."

"Hilda, be serious."

"I am being serious!"

"I have never known you to be serious."

"Now, that's just rude. I bet I'm the most serious person you've ever met."

At that, Marianne bit down on her lower lip to keep from laughing. She turned her head aside to hide a smile.

"What?" Hilda asked, placing a hand over her heart as though insulted. "You don't believe me? Name someone with more gravitas."

Marianne's voice sounded strained, as though she were trying to keep it level. "I can think of a few people."

When Marianne couldn't stop the corner of her mouth curling up in a smile, Hilda grinned at her. "That's more like it." She patted the ground beside her. "Come on. Sit. Relax."

Folding her legs, Marianne crouched down so that they sat, side by side. They were close enough that when Hilda leaned back, her arm brushed against the fabric of Mariann's sleeve. A week ago Marianne would have shuffled away. Now, she stayed put. 

Hilda cocked her head. "Are you having fun?"

That seemed to puzzle Marianne. "The forest is nice, I guess."

"No, I mean -- are you enjoying camp half-blood?"

"Oh." Marianne used the tip of her sword to draw patterns in the soft earth. She took a while to think about her answer, before she said, "Yes. I think so. It's nicer than home in many ways."

"What's home like?"

Marianne went very quiet. She continued to sketch shapes in the dirt with her sword. Little swirls and peaks, like mountains. Or perhaps flames. "It's full of people," she finally said. "But it's lonely. Not like here."

"Do you miss it?"

Marianne shrugged. "Sometimes."

Humming contemplatively, Hilda said, "I felt that way when I first came here." When Marianne shot her an incredulous look over her shoulder, Hilda insisted, "It's true! I mean, I'm great at making friends and getting to know people, but it still takes time. You only warmed up to me after a few weeks, and I was already friends with people. Think of how long it would've taken me to make friends in a place where I knew absolutely nobody."

"A few hours, I imagine," Marianne replied dryly.

"At least!"

Marianne snorted. Then her head jerked up; she frowned in the direction of the trees. "Someone's coming."

Hilda did not move. A few fat raindrops began to fall intermittently from the sky. It wouldn't be long now until it started to rain in earnest. A warm summer rain. With lightning most likely. Hilda almost wished she had packed a poncho, if ponchos weren't so awful to look at.

"Hilda -?"

"I heard you," Hilda said. She rose to her feet, brushing a few leaves from her legs. Just as she tugged her axe free from the ground, she heard voices through the underbrush.

Marianne stood as well. She remained a step behind Hilda, letting her take point. The voices grew a bit louder, and a minute later, three people wearing red-crested helms stepped into the clearing. 

Shouldering her axe, Hilda waved. "Hey, Caspar! Raphael! Ignatz! So good of you to join us!"

The three approached, Caspar leading the other two. He grinned, and gave a mocking salute with one hand. "Hi, Hilda! We've got you outnumbered. Want to make this easy, and just hand over that flag there?"

"Oh, you mean this?" Hilda jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the flag. The drops of rain had strengthened into a drizzle. Hilda tapped at her chin as though thinking very hard about a complicated maths problem, until she said in a cheery tone, "Nope! I have a much better idea."

Ignatz had stopped at the edge of the clearing, but Raphael and Caspar continued their advance. Raphael's knuckles were sheathed in bronze gauntlets with wicked talons on the ends, while Caspar carried an axe even larger than Hilda's. 

If anything Caspar's smile only widened at the prospect of a fight. "Oh, yeah? What's the plan?"

Behind him, Ignatz was nocking an arrow into his bow. Hilda tsked, shaking her head, and wagged a finger in his direction. "Down, boy."

Charmspeak laced through the air. Without hesitation, Ignatz lowered his bow. 

Frowning, Caspar looked over his shoulder, then did a double take. "Ignatz! What are you doing? Shoot them!"

But Ignatz's eyes were glazed behind his thick round spectacles. He did not react to being addressed by his team leader. 

"Don’t be rude, Ignatz. You heard the man!" Hilda said. She pointed at Caspar and Raphael, and said, "Shoot them!"

Immediately, Ignatz drew his bow back, aiming at his friends. His arrow narrowly missed, deflected by Caspar’s axe. Both Caspar and Raphael whirled about, torn between who to face. They set their backs against one another. 

"Oh, would you look at that!" Hilda gasped in faux surprise. "You're outnumbered! And surrounded, I would like to add. So, hows about you just -" she snapped her fingers with a beaming smile, "- give up, and go away?"

Baring his teeth, Caspar lowered his stance. "I still like my odds."

"Don't worry. I'll fix that, too." Hilda looked at the hulking man at his side. "Oh, Raphael!" she said in a sing-song tone.

Caspar whirled around to his only remaining teammate. "Plug your ears, Raphael! Don't listen to her!"

Hilda continued to speak over him, weaving a tapestry of charmspeak with every syllable. "Raphael, doesn’t an early dinner sound just too amazing to resist?”

Raphael’s tawny eyes went unfocused. Slowly, he lowered his fists, his broad shoulders relaxing. “Yeah,” he said in a dazed tone. “Yeah, food sounds really good right now.”

“You know,” Hilda said, “If everyone else is out here in the woods, then there’s nobody in line at the dining pavilion!”

His expression brightened, and he started heading towards the treeline. 

“Don’t forget to take Ignatz with you!” Hilda called after him.

In response, Raphael picked up Ignatz -- who was still pointing an arrow at Caspar -- and carried him away. 

Hilda waved after them until the rain and trees obscured their figures, then turned her bright smile upon Caspar. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

Furious, Caspar took out his frustrations by chopping at a nearby tree trunk with his axe a few times. Typical child of Ares behaviour. Hilda inspected her nails while she waited for his little tantrum to be finished. She had a microscopic chip in her nailpolish. She would need to repaint them this evening. 

Finally Caspar rounded on her. His face was bright red and streaked with rain. “Fight me anyway!”

“Mmmm…Nah,” said Hilda, still inspecting her nails. 

“Is this a good idea?” Marianne asked at her side. “He looks really angry.”

“See, now, that’s the thing.” Hilda waggled her fingers towards Marianne’s sword. “If you fight him, then he wins. Even when he loses, he wins.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Caspar shouted.

Which, of course, meant Hilda kept talking about him like he wasn’t there. “Caspar loves fighting, but he won’t fight you unless you fight him. So, the only way to win is to not fight at all.” She pretended to lower her voice to a whisper, knowing full well that he could still hear her. “He hates it so much.” 

At that, Caspar kicked at the ground, sending a spray of dirt towards them. With a great, wordless cry of frustration, he stomped off after Raphael and Ignatz. 

Hilda called after him, “Hey! Tell Dimitri to send someone good next time!” 

“Fuck you, Hilda!” 

“Maybe later! Bye bye, now!” 

When Caspar, too, had left, Marianne turned to Hilda. “I see now why Edelgard puts you in charge of guarding the flag.”

“You’re here, too,” Hilda pointed out. 

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Sure you did. You have the most important job of all!”

Marianne’s expression was dubious. “Which is -?”

“Making sure I don’t get bored, and abandon my post in favour of going to the arts and crafts centre. Which I may have done in past years. I refuse to incriminate myself.” 

Something rustled in the trees again. Hilda squinted through the rain. She had to wipe at the brim of the helmet, clearing the drizzle that unspooled in front of her face. Beside her Marianne peered in the same direction, though where Hilda hefted her axe, Marianne's hand remained slack around the hilt of her sword of Celestial bronze. 

Hilda raised her voice to call out, "We know you're out there! How about you make it easy for everyone, and just lay down your weapons! Or maybe just go away! That would be really great! Thanks!" 

More shuffling. The low branches and foliage of the shrubbery wavered back and forth. Then, a deer burst through the trees. Hilda yelped in surprise, and the deer bounded away. She clutched at her chest with one hand to calm the racing of her heart. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she grumbled after the deer. 

"It wasn't alone," Marianne said softly. 

Marianne nodded towards the trees where the deer had appeared. This time, there was absolute silence. No shuffling or rustling at all. And yet, Claude stepped into the clearing as though he were out on an evening stroll in his garish gold-streaked headband, and bright yellow t-shirt. His bow was in his hands. He glanced in their direction. When Hilda opened her mouth to speak, he raised a single finger to his lips, and shook his head. 

Instead of speaking, Hilda rolled her eyes and mouthed at him, "What are you doing?"

In answer, Claude gestured for her to come over to him. He then pointed to where the deer had vanished into the woods. Hilda did not move. She watched that place. And watched. And watched. 

Nothing happened. 

This time, she spoke aloud, "Alright, if this is some kind of trap, I am not falling for it." 

He made a slicing motion at his neck for her to be quiet, then strung his bow with a bronze-tipped arrow, backing away. 

“Yeah. Still not falling for it.”

"Hilda -" 

"Not now, Marianne. He's trying to trick us into abandoning the flag, or something. I mean, it's a stupid trick. Which is weird. He's normally cleverer than that, but -" 

Marianne grasped her arm, and that was enough for Hilda to fall silent. She looked over only to find that Claude had vanished from the clearing. Meanwhile, the place he had pointed to was growing dark. As though night were falling before its time. Shadows gathered beneath the boughs and between the trees, and not even the rain could pierce it. 

And then one of the shadows stepped forward. 

Marianne's hand tightened on Hilda's arm. Her face looked even more pale. She took a trembling step back. "Is that supposed to be here?"

“No. No it definitely isn’t.” 

The shadow sloped slowly forward with the grace of a great cat. It stepped on one of the mushrooms, crushing it and its magic underfoot. It had too many legs. Its eyes burned a dull coal-red, and smoke slithered in its footsteps. No sooner had it emerged, than another followed in its wake. And another. And another. Their muzzles dripped with something other than rain. One of them still carried in its jaws the haunch of the deer, which it dropped at the edge of the clearing. 

"Oh," Hilda breathed, "shit." 

Marianne had let go of Hilda's arm and taken another step back, and Hilda was right there with her. The pack followed them with lidless eyes, each enormous head turning to watch their retreat. Every fibre of Hilda's bones -- down to the marrows -- was screaming for her to run, to turn tail and sprint until her lungs burned and her legs gave way. Until the sun could wash over the land, and burn away the foul stench of sulphur that preceded the shadows like a fog. 

Hilda shoved that tiny screaming miniature version of herself away, and instead tightened her grip upon her axe. Her hands were sweaty upon the hilt. The distance between her, Marianne, and the shadows was shrinking, but at a certain point the shadows stopped approaching. Darkness swirled all around the edges of the clearing like mist. 

"Whatever you do," Marianne murmured, and her voice trembled slightly, "don't look away from them." 

Without thinking, Hilda glanced over her shoulder at Marianne. "What? Why -?" 

"No, don't -!" 

There was a flash of darkness that stirred the air, and when Hilda looked back around, one of the creatures loomed over her. It was not rearing back on its hind legs. It did not need to. It was massive enough that it could loom without trying. Hilda only jerked her axe up in time to knock the creature's head aside, so that she did not lose a limb. The Celestial bronze cut a pale glowing mark into the shadow, and it snarled in fury. 

"Fuck," Hilda swore. "Shit fuck." 

She staggered back with another wild swing, as teeth snapped near her head. This was bad. This was very bad. Her inner thoughts were a constant stream of frantic swearing, as she hacked and slashed with the best of her abilities. No sooner had she made one of the shadows back off, than another took its place. They circled around her with bared teeth like tarnished silver, snapping and growling, so that she could never quite get her bearings before she had to swing around once more to fend off another. 

"Hey, back off, already!" Hilda said, and her voice cracked in fear. The charmspeak rolled over them, and for a split second the creatures hesitated, only for their eyes to burn bright as though searing the very magic away. 

One of the shadows lunged. Cursing loudly, profusely, and elegantly, Hilda brought her axe down hard enough that it sliced through the thing's damn neck. The creature's head continued to shriek even as it dissolved on the ground at her feet. In horror, Hilda watched while the shadow twitched and swung its body back and forth as though merely blinded.

Another tried to bite her around the stomach, but from the trees there came a dart of bronze. The creature jerked back as a bronze-tipped arrow found its mark, sticking out of its eye and smoking there as though it were a white-hot iron. 

Hilda wrenched around. Claude waved at her from the safety of a nearby tree, then nocked another arrow. Hilda swung her axe at another shadow, and yelled at him, "If I die, I am going to be really pissed off, Claude!"  

His answer was another arrow sticking into the creature to her right. It snapped at her ankles, and she had to snatch her foot back to avoid losing it entirely. "Marianne, are you -?" 

But when Hilda looked around, Marianne was no longer beside her. The creatures had her completely surrounded and alone. In a panic, Hilda gave one of them a good smack with her axe, and it squealed like a kicked dog when one of its many legs was cut off. Still, it did not die. It only began to limp. But it meant that Hilda could actually see over it. 

Marianne was standing near the flag. Watching. Her shoulders were hunched. Her cheeks blanched. Her sword had been dropped to the ground as though discarded. 

Hilda swung her axe again to fend off another attack. She called out, "You can help me any day now!" 

Marianne's mouth moved, but no sound came out. She took a trembling step back, and shook her head. "I -" she choked out. "I can't. I'm sorry. I can't -" 

"What do you mean: you can’t?!" 

When one of the beasts clawed the air, Hilda was forced to stagger back or risk disembowelment, which was not high up on her to do list. It knocked her axe aside, so as to close its teeth around the hilt and wrench the weapon from her hands. She clung on for dear life, toppling sideways onto the ground, and landing in the disembodied head of the one she had decapitated.

Her hand fell right through the shadow as if it were made of liquid. Hilda continued to grapple over her axe, but stopped when she felt something cold begin to creep up her arm. 

Veins of shadow were branching towards her shoulder. Panic lanced through her, and her grip slackened on the axe enough for the beast to tear it from her hand. There were only three of the creatures still upright, their flanks protruding with a forest of arrows and gouges from Hilda's axe. The fourth had dissolved into a twitching mass of darkness on the ground. 

Panic quickly rose to terror. Hilda reached over with her free hand to squeeze her upper arm in an attempt to staunch the flow of icy shadow up her arm, while the remaining three beasts descended upon her. 

She closed her eyes, curled up into a ball on the ground, and waited for teeth and claws to tear into her. But that moment never came.

"Leave her alone."

Like a kid peering through their fingers at a horror film, Hilda slowly opened her eyes. Marianne was standing beside her. From this angle, Hilda could see the underside of her clenched jaw, and the way her fists shook. 

The beasts backed away a step. They seemed to be weighing their chances. They looked from Marianne to Hilda, and took a step forward. Obviously, they liked their odds. 

Something flickered across Marianne's face, like steel plates settling into place. With one hand she reached up to the pendant at her neck, and tugged it free from the white ribbon from which it was strung. As she extended her arm, it seemed that she was slowly drawing a sword from her chest. Its handle was bone. Its crossguard the golden shape of the original pendant. Its blade was curved and utterly, purely black. Black as a nightmare. 

In one smooth motion, Marianne swept the sword downward. It arced, and left behind the faint stench of burning ozone, as though its edge had cut through the very air molecules. She brought it down upon the nearest beast, as easily as if brushing aside a cobweb. 

Whereas the Celestial bronze of Hilda and Claude's weapons had bled the beasts a searing white, Marianne's blade left behind a cut that revealed nothing but darkness. The beast's hide split open, and a wind stirred. The blade absorbed the shadows within until not an inch of the creature remained. 

"LEAVE HER ALONE." 

Marianne's words were not loud; they were substantial. As though every letter she spoke were engraved upon stone, etched into a memorial that would weather the millennia beyond mortal ken. 

Immediately, the last two beasts stopped in their tracks. They lowered their heads and their great hulking shoulders, until they lay upon the ground before her. Like trained dogs. Hilda even swore she could see their ears flattened back, as though they had been admonished by an angry master. 

Slowly, Marianne turned. Hilda had to resist the urge to scramble back. Marianne's eyes had gone black. Black as night. Black as the blade in her grasp. Thunder rolled in the distance, but the rain seemed to melt away before ever reaching her. And over Marianne's head, a pale flame burned in the shape of a bident, curved like a broken halo, or perhaps like horns. She cast a shadow that blotted out the sky. Behind her the beasts awaited her command, twin hellhounds with eyes like a dying furnace. 

She knelt before Hilda, and held out her hand. This time when Marianne spoke, her voice sounded normal. Well, that wasn’t true. It sounded kind of echo-y. But more normal than before.

"May I -?"

It took Hilda a moment to realise what Marianne was referring to. The cold shadow had reached her shoulder, and was now winding its way up the side of her neck like a plague. Hilda nodded, but still she winced when Marianne took her infected hand in her own.

Her eyes were still black. She did not seem to need to blink. The air around her continued to hum with energy. It made a shiver race down Hilda's spine, as though someone had just walked across her grave. Marianne grasped her hand, and her touch drew the darkness out like a poison until nothing but pure, warm, unblemished skin was left behind. 

"I knew it."

Both Hilda and Marianne turned to look towards the edge of the clearing. Claude held their flag in one hand, and his bow in the other. He was beaming in triumph. 

“I’ve won. And now,” He gestured with the flag towards Marianne. “I also know what you are. You're not one of the Demeter kids. You’re a child of Hades. You're a daughter of Death." 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I'm in desperate need of fluff and things outside this ridiculous shit going on in the world! Would one of or all of you amazing writers PLEASE write a fluff piece? Baby Fraser's? Baby MacKenzie's? Just something happy and not in the least bit tainted with the destruction of our actual reality. Thanks!

Murtagh on the Ridge AU

“Sorry,” Roger apologized as he shifted Jem down from his arms and hiked the empty game sack higher over his shoulder. He touched the knife at his belt and the bag with their midday meal slung over his other shoulder before nodding to himself, his mental checklist complete. “Bree just wanted to––”

“Aye,” Jamie interrupted with a raised hand. “It’s the lad’s first time on the hunt––”

Murtagh scoffed but Jamie ignored him.

“––I ken why ye’re late. Let’s no waste any more time or we’ll no be reaching home again till dark.”

“If we were goin’ a proper hunt it wouldna be an issue,” Murtagh muttered. He adored Jem in small doses but spending an entire day with the three-year-old without his mother to pass him off to when he got fussy wasn’t Murtagh’s idea of a productive way to spend the day.

“It’s how you and Da started me and Willie,” Jamie reminded Murtagh. “Or do ye no stand by yer own methods?”

“I wasna so old then as I am now. I had all the time in the world to waste on yer blatherin’ about the woods and scarin’ off the worthwhile game. Now…” he sighed as the ground began to tilt beneath their feet, the incline getting sharper and his breath coming dearer. “Now I should prefer an easier hunt––home in time for luncheon and an easy afternoon cleaning and butchering followed by a nice bit of fresh roasted meat for supper.” He practically smacked his lips at the thought.

“That being so, checking the snare line isna exactly a difficult task though it can be as tedious as waiting for a decent size stag to come along. Can yield more meat than a poor day’s hunting too, and ye ken that well,” Jamie teased.

“I wan Grandda carry me,” Jem complained already bored with walking.

“Now Jemmy,” Roger began to lecture but Murtagh interrupted.

“Jamie, carry the wee lad or we’ll ne’er catch nothing.”

Jamie beckoned for Jem to toddle over then got down on his knees and lowered his voice. “Tell me what ye see wee man.” He swept his hand and his eyes around the undergrowth. Jem’s eyes watched his grandfather intently then he got down to his knees and mimicked the movements at a much faster rate.

“Do ye see where our path lies?”

Jem screwed up his mouth and narrowed his eyes before pointing in a random direction. “Tha way.”

Jamie took the little hand and drew it a few inches to the left. “Do ye see the way through the trees there?” he asked. “Tha’s the way our line of snares is set.” Rising to his feet once more, Jamie surprised Jem by taking hold of him under the arms, swinging him up over his head, and finally settling the lad on his shoulders. Jem laughed loudly while Murtagh rolled his eyes and continued along their route, muttering under his breath. “Might be easier for ye to see it from up there,” Jamie said with a firm hold on Jem’s feet, keeping him safely in place.

Jem’s fingers wormed their way through Jamie’s hair clutching large clumps and treating them like reins. “Go, Grandda,” he instructed, pulling hard and making Jamie cry out. Murtagh laughed and Roger scolded.

“Go easy on him, Jemmy. Grandda’ll no let ye ride there again if ye pull his hair out at the roots.”

“What sorts of game to ye think we’ll find in our snares?” Jamie asked. They were making better time to the first trap and despite his head start, Jamie and Jem soon passed Murtagh on their way.

“A stag!” Jem exclaimed. “Like a one ye caught when it was before it rained that time.”

“Well, I caught that one wi’ a bullet from my gun, no a snare,” Jamie explained. “A stag would have little trouble getting free of a wee snare bein’ so big. What sorts of stews and pies do yer mam and gran usually make when I’ve come back from the snare run?”

Jem draped himself over Jamie’s head trying to peer down into his grandfather’s face. Jamie had to stop walking to look up at him, laughing. “Rabbit an’ squirrel an’ peasant an’––”

“Aye,” Roger cut him off, chuckling. “And those are the sorts of animals we’re like to catch today.”

“If we’re lucky,” Murtagh muttered. “Now hush. We’re comin’ up on the first trap and ye dinna want to make matters worse if ye’ve got a scared or injured animal tha’s got nothin’ to lose.”

“Why?” Jem whispered loudly in Jamie’s ear.

“Just because a creature’s caught, doesna mean he’ll no fight ye,” Jamie whispered back. “When ye play wi’ Germain and the lasses and one of ‘em catches ye, do ye no try to get away again and keep playing?”

“Isa animal gonna bite ye like Joanie bit Germain when he pulled her hair?”

“It’ll probably try,” Roger informed Jem.

Murtagh was inching closer to where the snare had been set, a stick in his hand pushing back some of the surrounding brush to see if he could find it. He finally looked up shaking his head.

“Tripped it but didna catch the wee fiend,” he told them as Jamie set Jem down and they got closer.

“Do ye ken what we do now?” Jamie asked Jem.

“Go the next one?”

“First, we need to set this one again. Now, I’m going to take it slow so ye can watch but ye’re no to touch. When we get back to the house we’ll see if yer grannie can spare some of her string for ye to practice yer knots with so next time ye can help set one yerself.” Jamie’s hands moved with practiced ease even as he tried to go slow.

Roger clapped Jamie on the shoulder before joining Murtagh and offering him a bit of cheese from the pack he carried. When the snare was just about finished, Murtagh and Roger started off ahead of Jamie and Jem.

“Jemmy, what say we see if we can track the way they go?” Jamie suggested.

“But they goin’ tha way,” he pointed.

“Aye, but we’re no goin’ to look at them,” he remarked taking his hand and using it to direct the lad’s head to the ground. “Look there––do ye see that? See the shape there? Who do ye think left that?”

“Da! There’s nother one,” he exclaimed following the footprints Roger had left in the soft loamy forest floor.

“And here––see how this is broken here? Tha’s Murtagh’s doing. He’s doin’ it to mark the way we come through so we can find our way back easily if somethin’ happens.”

Roger and Murtagh had stopped up ahead suggesting that this second snare had succeeded in catching something.

Jamie held a finger to his lips and Jem covered his mouth to suppress a laugh. They crept up on Murtagh and Roger but Jem’s giggling gave them away. Roger pretended to be surprised but Murtagh just frowned at Jamie then went back to staring at the creature rustling behind a huckleberry bush. It hadn’t given up trying to free itself so it had probably be caught recently. They saw flashes of black fur but couldn’t make out what it was.

“Seems bigger’n a hare,” Murtagh commented, his arms crossed over his chest. “Bit of fight in it too.”

“He’s stuck,” Jem observed sadly.

Jamie took up a long stick to try and poke at the huckleberry bush and get a better look at the creature they’d caught. “We need to take care. What’s the one Claire said ye should be wary of when it’s out in the day?”

“The one wears a mask,” Murtagh nodded.

“Raccoon,” Roger confirmed. “Could be one of them.”

“I’ma let him go,” Jem declared rushing towards the bush.

“No!” the three adults hollered as Jem struggled to push the branches of the bush out of his way and they got a better view of the squat black and white body of the creature who suddenly felt threatened.

“You guys are back earlier than––Mother of God, what’s that smell?” Brianna called as she pulled her arm from the laundry tub and buried her nose in the crook of her wet elbow.

“I don’t think we need to ask you what you caught,” Claire remarked, blinking away tears as the smell made her eyes water. “The real question is how many of you did it get?”

“Jem bore the brunt of it, I’m afraid,” Roger said apologetically. Jem was curled up against his chest, his clothes and hair still wet from an attempt to wash the smell away in the river. “We all tried a wash but I dinna think it’s done any good.”

“There’s not much that does help, I’m afraid.” Claire approached Jamie warily, her nose wrinkling as she got closer. “You’re sure Jem got the worst of it?”

“I was closest to him and tried to get him away,” Jamie explained.

Claire moved on to Murtagh. “You’re not too bad.”

“Jamie makes a fine barricade to hide behind,” he responded in much better spirits than the others now that they were finally home. “Is there naught ye can do for the stink on the wee lad?”

Jem had clearly cried enough to thoroughly exhaust himself yet still looked close to tears. Brianna inched closer and Jem opened his arms, eager to be taken and comforted by his mother.

“Bonjour Monsieur Le Pew,” Brianna greeted him as she took him from Roger and cradled him against her chest. With Jem’s face safely nuzzled against her neck, she started making faces at Roger, wrinkling her nose and trying to breathe through her mouth before mouthing to her mother, I can taste it, ugh.

“Monsieur Le Pew?” Jamie asked Claire quietly.

“I’ll explain later,” she whispered back.

“Didn’t they say that when a dog gets sprayed by a skunk you’re supposed to bathe them in tomato juice?” There was a hopeful note in her voice as her eyes slid from Claire to her vegetable garden by the side of the house.

“It’s an old wives tale that we’re not going to bother with,” Claire put her foot down. “We’re not wasting the tomatoes. All it does is mask the odor for a while but there’s no getting rid of it I’m afraid. Only time will help with that.”

“Time and a good airing out,” Jamie amended reaching over to take Jem from his mother’s arms. “Well, Jemmy, I think we’re goin’ to be sleeping outside tonight. Dinna want to be bringing the skunk smell indoors do we.”

“But whatta ‘bout the animals?” he asked warily.

“They’ll no want to get too close wi’ us smellin’ like we do. Yer da and I’ll show ye how to make a proper camp and sleep under yer plaid and the stars.”

“And if it’s all right wi’ you, Claire, I’ll sleep in my proper bed tonight,” Murtagh made his appeal.

Claire sniffed at him again and frowned. “You’ll have to stay in your room and keep the window open.”

[kiribakus]

will you lead me? || kiribaku week 2017

kiribaku || 4,100 words || sfw || @kiribakuweek2k17

If the wolf is going to follow Bakugou into town, the least he can do is pretend he's not a wild animal. 

day five: firsts / future / tears

(this sure is a werewolf au)

>> READ ON AO3 <<

Bakugou steps out onto his back porch and crosses his arms, enjoying the relative silence of the forest his house backed onto. Just the sound of leaves rustling, the occasional bird call, and if he tilted his head and really tried, he could make out the bubble of a stream not five minutes’ walk away. When he had bought the dump of a lodge, this is what he wanted. Peace away from the constant flurry of deadlines and shifts and clawing for shadowing positions of veterinary school. Somewhere he could focus on his craft and passion, somewhere he could take a break and not have to worry about anything. Not…not this.

Bakugou sighs and raises his fingers to his lips. He lets out a sharp series of whistles and waits, but he’s not left alone for long. He hears Eijirou before he sees him. Any stealth he might have used when hunting is gone, replaced by the crunch of leaves under feet and the crack of branches snapping.

A normal man might have balked, seeing a young male wolf bounding towards him, but Bakugou was no normal man, much to his chagrin. Still, his muscles tense when the wolf doesn’t stop running but throws himself at Bakugou, rising on his hind legs to plant his front paws on Bakugou's shoulders and lick his cheek to death. Bakugou stumbles backwards and against the side of his house, but Eijirou doesn’t stop with his assault of tongue.

“God, fuck—Eijirou,” Bakugou says, shoving at the wolf’s coat. “Eijirou, get down.”

Eijirou, being a wolf and not a dog, ignores Bakugou's command and continues to slobber all over his chin and neck and nose and mouth—okay, that was disgusting. Bakugou grabs Eijirou by the snout and shoves him off, Eijirou whining in protest. He’s not mollified for long, though. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and he wags his tail, trotting back and forth along the porch, nails clicking against the wood. And then, he tilts his head back.

“No, fuck you, no—” Bakugou says, but he’s too late to stop Eijirou from letting out a long howl that echoes through the trees. He flicks an ear and looks up at Bakugou, grinning, his tongue still hanging out of his mouth.

“I’m muzzling you, mutt,” Bakugou says. “Bill is going to call the Park Rangers on me for poaching wolves.”

Eijirou sneezes, but doesn’t show any sign of remorse.

It takes a couple minutes, but the rest of the wolves trickle in from the forest. The second is Tsuyu, just a slip of thing, loping into the clearing and up the porch steps. She licks Bakugou's hand once and he gives her a scratch between the ears that has Eijirou nosing at his free hand. Bakugou swats at him.

Tenya, the big dark grey and white male and his partner, Ochako, the little cream-colored female are next. Ochako has a spring in her step, trotting up to Tsuyu and ignoring Bakugou entirely. She nips at Tsuyu’s shoulder and Tsuyu turns to lick at her nose before running down the steps. Ochako does a little run in place and barks, but Bakugou snags her by the ear before she can go. Ochako turns to him and wraps her mouth around his wrist, giving it a little shake. When she releases him, Bakugou pats her on her hindquarters and she races after Tsuyu, growling and tussling.

Tenya follows after her, slower, but pauses to look up at Bakugou. Bakugou waves him off, and Tenya pursues the girls, pawing at them as they roll on the ground.

And finally, the last two of the pack arrive. Most obvious is their alpha, the biggest male of the group and full-grown. He’s an incredible mixture of darker red fur and patches of white, with heterochromatic eyes and an ugly scar over his blue eye. He moves slowly, allowing for the runt to keep up with him. Smaller than both of their females and black with fur that he never seemed to be able to keep flat and unfluffed, the runt eyes Bakugou with big green eyes.

Bakugou only looks at him for a moment before meeting the eyes of the alpha. “My opinion hasn’t changed, Shouto,” he says. “Deku’s slowing your pack down.”

He gets a round of growls from the females and Tenya and a snort from Eijirou. Deku’s legs start to shake and he tucks his tail between his legs. He’s still looking at Bakugou. Shouto is the only wolf unperturbed by Bakugou's comment. He flicks an ear and turns to Deku and parts his jaws to wrap them around Deku’s neck, at the base of his shoulder blades. Deku yips but goes limp and allows Shouto to drag him across the yard and up the porch steps.

Shouto deposits Deku at Bakugou's feet and noses him gently. Deku keeps wide eyes fixed on Bakugou but remains curled up. Shouto sits down and looks at Bakugou too, as if to say, “Look. He’s yours now.”

“I won’t accept him,” Bakugou says. “It’s for the best that you leave him. I’m not saying it to be cruel—your pack needs to be strong enough to face poachers and whatever the fuck it is was that gave you that scar. You’ll lose the rest of your packmates with your selfishness.”

Shouto makes a hacking noise and spreads his paws apart. His coat starts to rustle and Bakugou can hear the cringe-worthy sound of small bones snapping and forming anew, the pop of joints shifting in and out of place, and the larger cracks as thicker bones took on new shapes. Shouto’s skin ripples and underneath the surface, his body writhes with the shift. Bakugou looks away. He had enough nightmares as it stood.

The sound of shifting ceases and Bakugou hears, “You forget, often.”

He turns back and a naked man stands before him. Same bi-colored hair, same heterochromia. Same ugly, slashing scar that runs from forehead to jaw. Shouto picks up Deku, the wolf wiggling a little in his arms before settling, licking the underside of Shouto’s chin.

“We’re not wolves,” Shouto says. “Human compassion exists within all of us. We will never leave him.”

“Clothes are the first room on the right,” Bakugou grunts. “Stop ripping up your shit. I look like I’m stealing from the poor, always going to Goodwill to shop.” He crosses his arms as Shouto passes him. “You know you’ll have to choose, one day.”

Shouto pauses, tilting his head back.

“Between being a wolf and being a human,” Bakugou says. “Your mannerisms are too animalistic to fit in with society, but your morals cloud your judgment in the wild. One of these days, having too much of one world in you will get you killed in the other.”

“Mmm,” Shouto says. “I don’t disagree. That’s why you’re here.”

“I ain’t your fucking babysitter!” Bakugou calls as Shouto walks into the house. “I’m not your owner, either!” He glares at the wolves left outside. “Well? Do you want lunch or not? Get to shifting or hunting, I don’t give a fuck.”

Ochako, Tsuyu, and Tenya, still restless from their play, take off for the woods, probably after a rabbit or a squirrel or something to eat. It wouldn’t fill their bellies, but Bakugou had plenty of peanut butter and jelly in his pantry to make up what was missing in their eight thousand calorie diets or whatever crazy high amount of food they needed to consume in a day.

Eijirou makes to follow them, but Bakugou whistles sharply and he pauses. “Nope, not you,” he says. “For you, I’ve got something special. Get to shifting, shitty fur.”

He walks back inside, ignoring Eijirou’s whine. On the way to the kitchen, he hears Shouto’s voice soft in the other room. “Do you want to try to shift today?” A soft whine, then a sigh. “That’s okay,” Shouto says. “Tenya always brings back extra.”

He better not be putting that mutt on my clean bed, Bakugou thinks.

In the kitchen, he identifies a Petsmart bag on the countertop and wonders, not for the first time, if this is a bad idea. It’s bad enough that the employees know him as ‘that guy who brought his wolf-dog in without a leash and got into a fist fight with the manager over it’ and ‘that guy who spent an hour trying to decide between six or seven large dog bowls, which means he has at least six wolf-dogs’ and ‘that guy who yells at his dog like it’s a person’ and ‘that guy we might want to call the National Park Service on because his wolf-dog is very, very much wolf.’ Now he’s going to be the guy that does all that and then spent over an hour blushing while muttering to himself that this was “definitely a dog thing and not something I should be embarrassed to buy.”

What if Eijirou doesn’t want it, or is offended by it? Bakugou supposes that wouldn’t be the end of the world. He’d just return the darn thing and they’d never speak of it again. But the fact that he went out and bought something for one of his wolves—no, no the wolves, not his wolves, he wanted no part in owning them—something they didn’t necessarily need, makes him feel stupid. And vulnerable. Fuck it, he hopes Eijirou hates it. Then they can get into a fight about it and maybe the wolves will fuck off forever.

Eijirou comes loping in a couple minutes later, naked, and turns to Bakugou, who points at the bedroom with murder in his eyes. “I do not want to see your dick, dickhead,” he says. Eijirou rolls his eyes but moves toward the bedroom anyway.

“And don’t forget a shirt!” Bakugou calls.

Eijirou returns wearing a tank top and cargo pants that are too big for him, if the tightness of the belt around his waist says anything. Bakugou scowls. “Do you even eat?” he asks.

“Dude, I can still crush you in an arm wrestling contest,” Eijirou says, crashing on the couch.

While that’s true, that’s not what Bakugou was asking. All the wolves are slimmer than they should be. Bakugou knows that’s just how wild animals are—a little feral and a lot hungry, all the time. Eijirou’s pack was strong enough to handle the pressures of living wild, but even as humans, although they were muscular, there was an unnatural slimness about them that set Bakugou on edge, made him complain a little less when he had to feed them three servings of everything.

“Also,” Eijirou says, “you should be a little easier on Deku. He’s not as useless as you think. No one’s better at getting burrs out of our fur. He knows what plants are edible when elk pickings are slim. He makes the best plans of attack in cornering the elk, too, even if he can’t hunt.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou says. “He’s useful as a human. As a wolf, he’s slowing you down. Ditch him in the human world if you want to do well by him.”

Eijirou doesn’t say anything. Typical. Their family bonds were strong. And no matter how many times Bakugou warned them, they would die for their runt.

“Anyway,” Bakugou says. “I got you something.”

“Just for me?” Eijirou asks, eyes bright. He doesn’t have a tail now, but it might as well have been wagging. “What is it?”

Bakugou hesitates, then decides to dive right in. Out of the bag, he pulls a black dog collar studded with silver spikes.

Eijirou’s eyes go wide and he gets very, very quiet. Bakugou doesn’t know what to make of that.

“Listen,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “This is only a precaution, okay? It’s not—it doesn’t mean anything. You’re the only one stupid enough to follow me into town and since there’s no way in hell I’ll put you on a leash, I figured that if you’re wearing a—a collar, no one’s going to shoot you, or call NPS on you, or call NPS on me, and that’ll be better for everyone.” He takes a breath. “You don’t have to wear it all the time, just when you follow me into town, so don’t get offended or any—”

“Can I hold it?” Eijirou asks.

Bakugou blinks. “Yeah, whatever,” he says, handing the collar to Eijirou.

It’s big. Bakugou got the biggest one he could find because Eijirou isn’t exactly a small wolf, and he’s still young enough to grow some, but even then he’s worried it might be a tight fit. Eijirou fingers the spikes that, looking back on it, were a stupid idea, Bakugou just thought they were cool and there were so many choices so he kind of—

“They remind me of you,” Eijirou murmurs. “This is the kind of thing you would buy your dog, right?”

“Uh,” Bakugou says. “I guess?” He hadn’t thought about owning a dog until seven oversized mongrels came barreling into his life.

He still can’t tell what Eijirou is thinking.

“If you don’t want it—” Bakugou starts.

“No!” Eijirou says, holding the collar close to his chest. “It’s mine.”

Bakugou holds his hands up.

Eijirou fingers the spikes again. “It’s the first gift you’ve ever given me,” he says.

“Like I said,” Bakugou grunts. “It doesn’t mean any—”

“Will you put it on me?” Eijirou asks.

Bakugou looks at him. He’s pretty sure Eijirou could slip the collar over his head with how wide it is, but that’s not the point. Eijirou could put it on himself, but that’s not the point. He doesn’t need to wear it unless they go into town, and certainly not as a human, but that’s not the point. Eijirou’s eyes are half-lidded and soft, and he can’t stop looking at the collar.

Bakugou steps forward and takes it from his hands. He pulls out the tongue of the collar, unhooks it from the eye of the collar and opens it up. He leans forward, his face hovering by Eijirou’s. He slides the tongue back through the buckle and pulls it to a tightness that he estimates would fit snugly around the neck of Eijirou's wolf. He pokes the hook through the eye and secures the length of the collar around Eijirou’s neck. When he leans back, Eijirou’s lips are parted and he’s flushed.

Eijirou wraps a hand around the collar and tugs at it. His breath catches.

 This is too intimate. Bakugou should leave. He should get out of here before…

 Before…

“It’s like you own me,” Eijirou says softly. “I’m really yours, now.”

“You’re not a dog,” Bakugou says. “You’re not domesticated. You’re wild.”

“But I’m wearing your mark, now.”

Bakugou sucks in a breath. “You may be a wolf,” Bakugou says. “But part of you is human. I don’t—I can’t—”

Eijirou’s fingers find the hem of Bakugou's shirt. “You have to keep me,” he says. “You gave me this gift; you have to keep me now.”

“Whatever you are, you’re sentient,” Bakugou says. “I can never own you.”

“Then keep me,” Eijirou says, tugging at his shirt. He looks up at Bakugou. “You saved my life. I owe you everything that I am. We are bonded.”

We are bonded. Bakugou shivers.

“Then you would leave your pack for me?” Bakugou asks. “You would turn on all of them to stay by my side?”

Eijirou’s eyes fall.

“I thought not,” Bakugou says. “You’re too human and too wolf. You won’t abandon your pack, even though you have the free will to do so. You ask to be kept, but balk at the implications. As friendly as your pack is with me, you’re all feral, Eijirou. You could never be kept by me.”

Eijirou is quiet. “You’re so logical, Bakugou,” he says. “You’re so logical and so human, it’s almost cruel.” His fingers tighten around Bakugou's shirt. “I don’t want your reasoned arguments. I don’t understand what I feel. The human in me wants to stay.”

“The wolf in you wants to leave,” Bakugou says.

“No,” Eijirou says. “The wolf in me wants you.”

Bakugou falters. Eijirou presses his face into Bakugou's shirt.

“He wants to trail after you, nipping and playing. He wants to be chased away by your snarls and snapping, but always coming back for more. He wants to brush shoulders with you and sleep at your side.” Eijirou takes a breath. “And he wants to mount you over and over, seal the bond he can feel between us. He wants to go for hours, until neither of us can see or hear or smell or taste or feel anything but each other.”

“He wants you to run away with me,” Eijirou says. “He wants to take you back to the wild.”

“I’m not a wolf,” Bakugou says softly. “You need one of your own to satisfy him, and yourself.”

“No,” Eijirou says. “We want you. Both of us.”

Eijirou’s hands slide from the hem of Bakugou's shirt to his hips, holding him and looking up at him. Bakugou can see the rise and fall of his chest, his lips parted slightly to reveal wolf teeth. Even his hair, unkempt and usually studded with twigs or leaves, is inhuman, the same red-orange of his coat. Sometimes, when Bakugou met his eyes, for a second he saw wolf eyes instead of those of a human. He wasn’t lying: these kids—these wolves—were more feral than they were domesticated. Even if Eijirou did try to integrate into society, he wouldn’t be able to. He was just inhuman enough to alarm. They all were.

“What am I going to do with you?” Bakugou murmurs. He reaches out to sweep Eijirou’s bangs from his eyes and cups his cheek. “Where can you go?”

When Bakugou bought this decrepit ex-lodge, he had been looking for a home improvement project and time to focus on photography. And now, he was keeping seven orphaned werewolves who would never fit into either of their worlds.

“I can be with you,” Eijirou says. “I need to be with you.”

Bakugou swipes a thumb over his cheek and Eijirou turns his head to catch the digit in between his teeth. They’re predator teeth, sharp enough to remove Bakugou's finger in a single chomp, but Eijirou closes his lips around Bakugou's thumb and sucks at it, his tongue brushing the pad of Bakugou's thumb.

Bakugou's breath catches. Eijirou closes his eyes and nibbles at it, adding only the suggestion of teeth. He lets Bakugou's thumb go after a moment and turns to the rest of his hand, dragging his teeth over Bakugou's palm and nipping at the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. His tongue follows, lapping at the places he bites.

Bakugou knows what he’s doing.

I’m not your alpha, Bakugou wants to say. I’m not your mate. Don’t treat me like I’m one of your pack.

(But if he was.)

Eijirou looks up at him, gauging his reaction with wide eyes that vie for approval, for Bakugou's satisfaction. Bakugou can see it—Eijirou on his back in front of Bakugou, standing over him. He’d be nipping at Bakugou's muzzle, if Bakugou were a wolf, baring his belly to show his trust in Bakugou.

You’re too wolf, Bakugou thinks. This isn’t how you flirt.

Eijirou pulls on his hips, sliding Bakugou into his lap.

 This isn’t how you flirt.

His hands migrate from Bakugou's hips to either side of his face, and Eijirou presses their foreheads together.

 This isn’t…

“You’re right,” Eijirou says. “I’m too wild. I don’t know how this works. I don’t really understand human emotions yet. I don’t know what to call this—a crush, or lust, or love. It’s easier as a wolf.” He smiles. “You just kind of…go for it.”

“Unless you’re Shouto,” Bakugou grunts. “He’s romancing that runt of yours.”

Eijirou grins. “Yeah, we think so, too. The only ones who don’t know are them. But that’s not the point.”

He brushes fingers over Bakugou's three-day-old stubble, stroking away the scowl at the corners of Bakugou's mouth. “You act like you’re not one of us. And sure, you’re not one of us.” His smile is all teeth. “But you’re one of us.”

“I can’t replace a true mate,” Bakugou says. “You know that, don’t you? I can’t complete your soul bond the way Shouto and Deku can complete theirs.”

“I know,” Eijirou says. “We both know. And we still choose you.”

Bakugou grabs Eijirou’s collar and tugs him closer, so their noses brush and their breaths mingle. “I can only protect you so much,” Bakugou says. “This? This is all I can do to keep you safe in the human world. In Lamar Valley, and in your territory, I can’t help you.” He shakes Eijirou by the collar and Eijirou goes limp against him.

“It’s enough,” Eijirou whispers. “It’s enough just to know you’ll try.”

“And I’m not your alpha,” Bakugou says. “Stop going limp every time I do anything domineering.”

“He likes it,” Eijirou says. “So do I.”

“You want me to grab you by the neck but you still want to put your dick in me,” Bakugou says. “Make up your damn mind.”

Eijirou whines in a far, far too animalistic tone. Bakugou yanks his collar up, tilting his head back.

“Then wear this every day,” Bakugou says softly. “Let it be known to every animal and man and everything in between that you belong to me.”

“I do,” Eijirou whimpers. “I do.”

Bakugou pulls the collar again, this time towards him, so he can kiss Eijirou. Eijirou’s hands move to his hair in an instant, clawing at his scalp and pulling Bakugou down so that Eijirou can kiss him harder. His chest surges up and his back arches so that he can press himself against Bakugou.

Kissing a human with wolf teeth is more alarming than Bakugou expected. Eijirou is careful with his teeth, keeping nibbling to a minimum, but when Bakugou twines their tongue together, he brushes against a canine and jumps, pulling away.

“Jesus,” he says. “I forgot about those.”

Eijirou doesn’t let him pause to say anything else. He knocks Bakugou onto his back on the couch and crawls on top of him to kiss him, fingers fanning over his face to hold Bakugou in place. Bakugou's mind starts to go fuzzy at the edges and he tangles his fingers in hair as unkempt as a mane or the raised hackles of a beast. Distantly, Bakugou wonders about the morality of swapping spit with an entity that was at least fifty percent animal. Then Eijirou arches his back and presses his hips down, and Bakugou can’t think about anything but holy shit, they were really doing this quickly followed by fuck yes, we are really doing this.

“Things I didn’t need to see,” Shouto says from behind the couch. “This.”

Eijirou and Bakugou scramble apart, but it’s a mess: Eijirou slides into Bakugou's lap and Bakugou kind of just holds him there, while Eijirou’s hands fall at Bakugou's shoulder and they still look as compromised as they had two seconds ago. Eijirou’s lips are spit-stained and red, and he has saliva on his chin from—drooling, probably; that was what dogs tended to do when they were happy.

In Shouto’s (thankfully clothed) arms, Deku peers at them with wide eyes, his fur combed into some semblance of order, although still curly.

“Eijirou, he’s human,” Shouto says. “You can do better.”

“He’s pack,” Eijirou says tightly, his hands gripping Bakugou's shoulders.

Shouto’s odd eyes drift between the two of them. Bakugou is tensed, unsure if Shouto would shepherd his packmate back into the fold and away from the tainted human.

He walks towards them. Deku buries his muzzle in Shouto’s chest. Bakugou flinches when Shouto reaches a hand out, but he only rubs a hand over the left side of Bakugou's face. Eijirou looks between them with wide eyes.

“You’ve reached your rebellious stage, then,” he says.

Eijirou opens his mouth to protest, but Shouto keeps talking.

“He may be pack, but he’s ugly. And weak. And smells bad. Do try to work on that, Bakugou.” And he turns and heads out the door.

Eijirou’s jaw flaps open and shut. “That’s it? You’ll accept it?”

Shouto shrugs one shoulder. “If you had gone after one of us, my wolf would have seen that as a challenge, so I’d recommend against it. But since he sees Bakugou as this hulking, ugly pup, he doesn’t give a shit what you do with him.” Shouto glances over his shoulder. “Hurry up, though. Tenya said they’d be back soon.”

“I’ll show you ‘hulking, ugly pup,’” Bakugou mutters, but Eijirou just grins.

When they head back to the park after eating, seven dark shapes bounding into the forest, Bakugou can make out the glint of metal in the sunlight, and a black band around his wolf.