#wolves of red eyes and autumn

[kentnaturaltribrid]

Autumn Dark Moon Wolf theme for either wallpaper or something else, may it be something that is a little more useful if I can find the time. Though, for the time being felt like it needed to be done with one of red eyes rather than any other colors to bring forth the light of the new moon in its dark furs. 🐺

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[solara-bean]

Death x Halloween Costume Red Riding Hood! Reader

( Reader is an artist/writer with extreme burnout )

( I really tried not to write this oneshot but goddammit he's got me intrigued 😫)

Halloween in Far Far Away was always a blast. Townsfolk filling the streets in their best tailored costumes, kids running about with candy and on the hunt for more. The weather was always the perfect temperature, too, with just enough chill in the air to wear heavily layered costumes without too much of a sweat. Which is why Y/n had adorned a long, beautiful, bright red hooded cloak over a simple, yet regal outfit. Unfortunately, their perfect look couldn't mask how shitty they felt.

For the past decade or so, they'd been one of the kingdom's most renowned creatives. Their works ranged from colorful illustrations, kids books, paintings, murals, YA novels and a few spicier adult novels that got much popularity to their embarrassment.

Needless to say they were a jack of many trades, and yet they've been able to create nothing for the past year and a half. Everyone had figured that the great artist was just taking a well needed break. Which was true for five months until they tried to make something and nothing happened. No spark. No idea. Nothing happened no matter what they tried or what medium they attempted to mold into something new and exciting.

It eventually lead to a depression that left them barley leaving the house, vowing not to do anything fun until they got an idea. Well until their entire friend group dragged them to this tavern's Halloween party in a costume that one of them conveniently had in their size. Yeah this was definitely a premeditated scheme to get their groove back. And as much as Y/n appreciated that they couldn't find the energy to leave the bar and join everyone else drunkenly dancing and singing on the dance floor.

Y/n sat in a big heap of silken red on the barstool looking down into their glass of Victorian Orphan Tears, a fruity drink made specifically for the holiday. They kept pondering on where their magic had gone. Had they used themselves up? Was this the end of their career? Would they have nothing else to show the world before they died?!

A few of their own tears were about to join the orphan's when they heard a soft whistle amongst the tavern band's melodies. Confused, they blearily glanced at their side to see a large, darkly hooded figure. They would've flinched if they had the energy to. No one had sat next to them all night due to the gloomy aura they'd been emitting. Yet here sat a mysterious stranger, who soon turned upon sensing their gaze, whistling halted. Y/n was met with the face of a white wolf. Wolves weren't uncommon in their society but something about those eyes jarred them. Those rich, blood red eyes. So bright that their costume couldn't dare be called red ever again. Y/n wasn't aware that they'd been locked in long moments of eye contact until the wolf leaned close enough that their noses almost touched. He made a soft but audible sniff.

" Mmm that smell..."

Y/n shivered at hearing the wolf's deep, gravely voice. It was all they could hear as if they weren't in a large room full of party-goers.

"...So sweet..."

"I..uh..what???" Y/n managed to mutter, slowly but surely pulling themselves back to the present reality, but the world aside from the wolf still remained blurry.

" Your drink."

They blinked. " Huh?"

" Your drink." He pointed at their glass. " It smells amazing. What is it?"

" Oh...Oh! My drink. Yeah uh this is Victorian Orphan Tears. It's a Halloween special drink."

" Hm, I'd better get one now before the night's over."

They nodded and looked back into their glass. Surely the wolf would would want to leave their gloomy presence and this was were the interaction would end. But no he stayed after his drink was served, enjoying three long sips.

" Mmm, that is as tasty as it smells. Glad I found an autumn drink without pumpkin spice in it. No offense if you're a pumpkin lover yourself, Little Red."

" Hm? Oh no offense at all. I've got nothing against the flavor but I can see how it can get overwhelming this time of year. There are other spooky flavors out there."

The wolf let out a light chuckle, pearly white fangs twinkling as bright as his fur.

" Yes exactly. I for one would love to see more cherries next halloween."

" Cherries?" Y/n snickered almost into a chuckle of their own, a rare reaction for them these days. " What's scary about cherries?"

The wolf grinned slyly.

" Well, there's nothing seemingly scary about them. So they usually get overlooked as a cute little fruit. But then you squeeze 'em just right into a glaze and they look just like blood. Even so you can't help but want to take a bite. Then you realize how good it is and can't get enough. By then your mouth's already stained red as if you did actually consume blood." he finishes, taking another sip of his drink.

" Wow, I guess cherries are a good fruit for Halloween." they say, taking sips from their drink as well.

" I'm surprised you hadn't considered it. You know with your costume and all. It's the perfect shade of cherry red just like the actual Little Red Riding Hood." he leans in a bit and whispers. " Though I'd steer clear of her tonight, I hear she's trying to copyright her likeness like Fairy Godmother did."

Y/n chokes a nearly spits out half their drink.

" Wait really?!" they panic looking around the room for a similar red hooded figure.

The wolf throws his head back in a guffaw.

" Oh man." he catches his breath. " I'm sorry. I just wanted to see how you'd react.

Y/n catches on and playfully punches his shoulder.

"You jerk, I thought I was in legal trouble for a second." they finally manage a full laugh.

" I know I know, but you seemed so down. Thought a good laugh might help. "

" Yeah. It did actually. Thanks."

They get caught once again into prolonged eye contact, now with something softer between them. The wolf is the first to break.

" Oh forgive me. I've been rude."

" What? No you haven't." they almost said ' you've been lovely ' but stopped themself in time before coming on too strong to a guy who was probably just making friendly small talk. They hadn't been looking their best lately and worried tonight wasn't an exception. Their friends' makeover only barely made their dark circles disappear.

" No but I have. I've been rambling on with you as if you're not here with someone."

Their brows shot up.

" U-uh. I'm not here with anyone. I mean! I am technically with my friends. So yeah in a way yeah." ' smooth real smooth Y/n.'

The wolf raised a brow, intrigued.

" I see. But you're not here with someone as a couples costume kinda thing?"

" No. Who would my partner come dressed as anyway?" they asked genuinely confused. ' What kind of pair would that be? Little Red & Granny? Cute and funny but not romantic partner material.'

The wolf stared intently, amused grin spreading.

" The Big Bad Wolf." he said in a low tone.

Y/n eyes widened with embarrassment. ' Oh God! I'm so stupid of course that would be it!!! ' Apparently self induced seclusion plus whatever magic charisma this guy had was enough to turn their mind to mush within a few minutes. Luckily the Tavern band's leader got everyone's attention on the mic.

" Hey hey how's everyone feeling tonight?!" a loud drunken applause came in response from the crowd. " Great cuz we're nearing the end of the night." a not so pleased ' aww' responded with one ' boo ' that Y/n hoped wasn't one of her friends. " Alright settle down, let's end the evening off with a slow but sensual number."

Soon enough the band filled the room with a tune that got the crowd coupling onto the dance floor. Some more sober than others but all having a good time. Y/n couldn't help the tinge of envy at seeing all of them so happy. But they were pleasantly surprised when they noticed the wolf extending a hand ( paw?? ) to them.

" I know it's a bit on the nose. But would you mind if I played the part of your wolf tonight?" he asked. His hood was off now, revealing cute slightly lowered ears that looked soft to the touch and ruby eyes filled a hint of vulnerability. How could Y/n say no to such an adorable face.

They smiled and took his hand. It was much colder than expected but still a little warm. His obsidian claws gently clutched the back of their hand, careful not to scratch.

" I wouldn't mind at all."

They joined the rest on the dance floor. His other hand pulled them in by their waist just enough to leave some space in-between them as they swayed to and fro. From the outside perspective they made quite the pair. Their cloaks flowed into a wonderful shade of red and black with every spin. Onlookers thought that the two were apart of a couples costume and hadn't just met. Y/n didn't notice any of them, even her friends who caught sight of them after not finding them at their stool. No Y/n didn't notice at all because they got lost in the wolf's red eyes again. Would any paint be vibrant enough to replicate its color?

" You know. You seem really familiar. Have we met before?" he asked, looking down at them while still taking the lead with ease.

" I would've remembered if we met before." those eyes were unforgettable, unless they were contacts, but his voice surely was real and no way in hell they'd forget it. " I've been in the newspaper a few times though." they said sheepishly.

" Wait...are you Y/n L/n?"

They nodded, kind of surprised that he guessed correctly that fast.

" Oh man I knew it! I love your work by the way. It's mesmerizing."

Y/n's pride and joy began to rise.

" Really?"

" Of course. You capture the radiance of life that most people overlook."

" Huh. I've never though of it that way. Thank you."

" No thanks needed. I'm merely speaking the truth. I'm glad that you're taking a break. You've done so much over the years."

Y/n's mood immediately dropped and they looked away, going back to the dark place they had been in not too long ago. The wolf caught on.

" Are you alright, Y/n?" he asked. They could clearly hear his concern. He deserved an honest explanation.

" I'm not taking a break," they admitted. " I'm stuck."

" Isn't that the same thing?"

" No. Breaks are by choice. This is different. I can't get out of this rut no matter how hard I try."

" Then don't try. Just don't make anything and let it come naturally."

" What? I can't do that."

" Why?"

They were starting to get really upset now. Why didn't he get it.

" Because I'd be letting everyone down." they met his gaze. Despite how much he seemed to not understand, his stare was serious and knowing.

" Wouldn't letting yourself down be more important?"

Y/n felt everything stop, realizations and questions coming in at once. It took them a while to notice that the music had stopped, everyone was getting ready to leave, yet the wolf held onto them until their thoughts settled.

" I think your friends are coming to get you." they followed his gaze behind them and sure enough, the gang was approaching. " If you're not busy later tonight. Come meet me by the woods. There's something I want to show you."

He kissed the top of their hand before letting them go and departing swiftly from the tavern like a shadow.

Y/n's group wanted all the details on the mystery wolf but were a bit too tipsy and tired to keep up. Y/n wanted to get everyone home safely, but the responsible parent friend of the group took charge. They heard the wolf's proposition and sent Y/n on their way to finally getting some action. But not before a stern talk about strangers, and safety and giving them a pocket dagger. Honestly Y/n could ask for better friends.

As promised. The wolf was waiting by the woods, cloak flowing in the wind. He smiled when saw them. He offered them a hand and they took it once again.

" I have a confession to make." he said as the two strolled through the forest.

" Yeah?" they couldn't help but stare at how the moonlight perfectly illuminated his fur. It was as if he was made for the night.

" I wasn't smelling your drink..."

Y/n stared at him confused and thought for a minute. It hit them once they saw the mischevious look in his eyes. Heat began to rise to their face. He chuckled at their dumbfounded look.

" The words slipped out before I could stop them so I tried to cover myself. To my luck the drink was sweet too."

" I can't believe you'd sniff a total stranger." they palmed their face with their free hand that had been chilled by the night air.

" Well technically I didn't have to try. My nose is pretty strong. Though I will admit there was some conscious effort. People with scents of life like yours due tend to catch my attention."

" Scents of life?" they asked as the wolf took the lead in front to guide them through a narrow path of trees.

" Yes. It's a bit complex but I'd describe it as a mix of sunflowers, lilies and tulips but," he glanced back at them," yours has an extra hint of vanilla, very soft and sweet."

The heat that had started to fade came back with full force to Y/n's face. They weren't wearing anything that smelled like that. There's no way they'd have a natural scent like it either.

" That's nice but I doubt I smell like that."

The wolf let go of their hand to jump down a sizable dip in the path.

" Trust me you do." he held out his arms to them. Although unsure at first if he could support their weight, they soon jumped down. Once caught, the wolf held them close to his chest, gaze deep and grin wide. " You possess the sweetness of life that I adore dearly."

There was no doubting his truthfulness with the look in his eyes and softness of his voice. Y/n was content enough in the moment that they wished it lasted longer but he put them down and lead the way again.

" Unfortunately it's starting to fade away. Which is why I've brought you here."

Before they could ask they saw the answer in front of them. They were on a small cliff and beyond it was the expanse of the forest with a valley in the center. Y/n was already entranced by the breathtaking view before they noticed light begin to peek over the horizon.

" Ah we're just in time." said the wolf at their side, leaning against a tree arms folded.

The sun slowly rose, chasing away the dark. The valley began to wake with a new life, colors coming forth as flowers bloomed. With the sun came warmth as well, getting rid of the chill that Y/n had gotten use to. They weren't sure how long they stood there, but birds started to sing as the night turned to morning. It was all so beautiful that they wanted to find the words, write the words and maybe even paint them, but as usual nothing came.

" You see Y/n. I think I know what's got you stuck," the wolf began, Y/n had almost forgot he was there. " You began creating things for the enjoyment of yourself. Those creations then became joy for others. But as time went by, you started to only create to make others happy. To fit their expectations. You used up more of yourself than most people do in their lifetimes. Am I making sense for far."

They nodded, still unable speak.

" It's a frustrating dilemma. Frightening even. But take the sun for example," he gestured to the light that was now brighter than before," It's a creator too. It's light gives way for all sorts of life to prosper. Yet at times it can be too much for some to handle. Or perhaps a few clouds get in the way and it's light can't shine through. And in moments like this, it creates little things that most wouldn't know to appreciate. Even so, the sun doesn't care. It travels across the sky shining endlessly."

He walks up to them, places a hand on their face and wipes away tears they hadn't noticed were falling.

" You need to create for yourself. Whether you feel its good enough or not I'm sure people will love it. And if not, you'll have more than enough love for it. Just go easy on yourself and take your time."

" But...what if I'm running out of time?" their voice came out quiet and shaky.

The wolf continued to hold their face. He held a gaze so caring that they wanted to melt into him.

" Don't worry. You're not going anywhere any time soon."

While Y/n almost took that assurance as normal, wanting to remain in the bliss of the moment, something was different about it. In fact everything felt different about him. Wait who the hell was he anyway?!

" Who are you?"

His smile dropped into a frown, as if he wanted to stay in the bliss of the moment as well. But this was reality and they deserved the truth.

" I'm Death."

There was a long moment of silence, both remained still. As if reading their mind he continued.

" Yes seriously. And no I'm not messing with you this time."

Y/n managed to find their composure.

" Wow uh...nice to meet you."

" Hah, you're taking this well."

" Not sure how else I'm supposed to take it. Might freak out later though."

He laughed again. His hands had traveled down to theirs without them knowing. They didn't mind. They found comfort in them despite now knowing why they were so cold for someone with fur.

" That's very kind of you. It's always nice having some be calm around me. Though I'm sure you know that I mean you no harm."

" Yeah," they smiled up at him, " You've helped me a lot actually. I think my spark's returning."

" Good," he let them go, going back a few steps, " Then my work here is done."

" Wait!" they grab his hands. " You're leaving?"

Death's shock of their suddenness then turned to a saddened look.

" Yes. I've already interfered more than I should. It would be best if I go now. I'm sorry. I was really having a lot of fun with you."

" Then stay a little longer." they pulled him in closer. " Please?"

" I..." he hesitated, pondering over something he knew he shouldn't. " I'll always be around so I could come visit when I can."

Y/n beamed with joy.

" That would be great. I look forward to it." though they couldn't help but push further. " But are you sure you can't stay a little longer right now?"

Death thought on it. He knew he should say no. He'd already been taking too long of a break. But their eyes were pleading to him and their hands were so warm. The souls of the dead weren't going anywhere he supposed, but it'd be a lot of overtime.

" I guess, but on one condition."

" Anything."

He regained his signature sly grin and leaned in closer.

" I want to be the first one to see what you create next."

They gave him a warm smile in return.

" I'd love to. I think I'm writing mood right now."

" Oh?," Death's ears perked up and his tail wagged a bit. " I hope it's another novel then."

" Huh, I didn't peg you for the YA type."

" Yes I like those too but I was thinking of your other ones."

" What other o-" then it hit them. " No..."

Death grinned, fangs and all.

" Yes."

" No. Oh no! You read those?!" they put their flaming face in their palms, silently cursing their friends for convincing them to publish those spicy books. " Oh god I could die right now."

Death laughed and pulled them into his chest, giving comforting pats on the back.

" Sorry that won't be happening anytime soon. And I'm having too much fun with you anyway."

That morning Y/n went from someone who feared Death to someone who welcomed him. They learned surprising things about him as well. Like how his fur was so soft, he liked to be scratched behind the ears and he tasted oddly of cherries.

[eeveebitches]

e-mail. || Roman Roy || smut

Pairing: Sub!Roman Roy x F!Reader

Summary: You're roman's assistant, and after delivering breakfast something clicks.

Word count: 2.154

18+ only! More under the cut

Warning(s): SMUT, aka 18+ only! Sub Roman, mommy kink, praise kink, hand jobs, come eating,

A/n: tysm @prettywordsblog for the request!! :DD i love your writing so it was a pleasure to get requests from you (my requests are still open, fyi)

_______________________

You've been wearing pencil skirts and heels a lot these days.

It's not that you particularly enjoy wearing them. Running errands like "get me a bagel" and "actually, I want a cinnamon roll instead, so get me one of those" do not become easier with red bottoms, and the cold of New York in autumn nips at your barely clad legs with ferocity. 

But when you wear them, Roman becomes... docile.

Maybe it's the fact that the heels make you taller than him. Or shit, maybe he has a sexy assistant fantasy, who knows. All you know is that when you dress the way you now do, he hesitates when he snidely asks you to write his e-mails for him. Instead, he carefully suggests you should do them, not a singular perverted comment slipping in.

So now, as you walk out of the elevator, you hear the clicking of your heels echo. It's far too early to be in office, evident by the lack of your peers in the bull pit.

You huff as you approach Roman's office and see him lounging around, legs on his desk as he leans back, staring at his phone. You don't even bother knocking, simply swinging the door open. "I know it's like, three in the morning, but can you at least try to pretend you're being productive?" 

He lets out a huff, dramatically rolling his eyes as he flops his legs down. "Yes, mommy," he mockingly whines out, staring at the plastic bag swinging from your arm. "What's in the bag?"

"A gun, so I can finally kill you," you casually throw out as you place the bag on the glass coffee table, throwing off your long jacket onto the leather chair he has. Roman stands up, amusement twinkling in his doe-like eyes as he walks over to sit on his couch. "Y'know, I could totally report you for saying that. That's like, a legit death threat. I could SWAT you." With a tiny jump he hops on the chair, shoes still on as he crouches on top of the couch's pillows.

You can't help but frown. Sometimes you feel like he isn't a total nepotism baby, but instead some kind of orphan child raised by wolves. "Don't do that with your shoes on, Roman, it's unhygienic." With another eye roll he lets himself fall onto the chair, resting his one leg on the thigh of the other. He leans back, arms reaching over the couch's back cushions. 

You grab the contents of the bag and place them on the coffee table as you hum a random tune. The smell of a breakfast spread makes you hungry as hell, but you don't have another break until six hours from now. Silently, Roman watches as you place the various foiled up plates down and remove the foil. 

Roman eyes the dishes-- an omelette, some sausages, bacon, hash browns, and a paper cup of coffee that he's sure is from his favorite café. "Okay, this is fuckin' weird. What's the catch? Did you get a chef to make all of this arsenic-infused? Because as my assistant, you're also my taste tester, so I'm not eating until I see you poison yourself first," he rambles, cautiously watching you place napkins, a fork and knife down.

"This is a congratulatory breakfast, so just shut up and be grateful." 

He raises his brows at you. "The fuck are you saying congrats for?" With the tiniest smile you could stomach giving him, you throw the plastic trash in the bin. "The Oplex deal, Roman. You were the one who ended up buttering the guy up," you explain. 

His eyes widen for only a second before returning to their neutral, lidded state. "Oh please, all I did was give him a verbal fuckin' blowjob. Kendall did all the business-y shit," he mumbles out, picking up the cutlery with a solemn expression.

"I'd disagree, and I think Mr. Roy would, too," you mumble out in return. You watch Roman as he takes the first bite of his omelette and moans, quickly scurrying to get another bite. "Fuck, this is good. Is this laced? I'm gonna fire the shit out of you if this is laced," he says in between bites.

You grab your coat from the chair and hang it up, smiling as you continue watching him from the corner of your eye. "I'm flattered, but no. I'm just a good cook." You fight back a laugh as he very clearly chokes on his food. Professionalism and all that, if there's even any left between the two of you. 

"You're fucking with me." You plop down on the leather chair across from Roman, grabbing your thermos from your bag and taking a sip of tea as you shake your head. Wide-eyed, Roman gawks at you, then the food, and then you again. "You made me breakfast?"

You simply nod before pulling your laptop out. "I wasn't expecting you to be surprised by that. You're the one who always calls me mommy," you mumble out as you watch e-mails and messages immediately start to pop up. "Now finish up your food and get to work, before you upset mommy."

With a teasing grin you wait for Roman to shoot something back. Maybe something about you getting reported to HR, or about you wanting to suck his dick. Maybe even one of those jokes he makes about how his dad only hired you to be his personal babysitter. 

But instead, you simply get,

"Yes, mommy."

Confused, you look up from your laptop to see Roman quietly eating his food. His cheeks are dusted a ripe shade of red as he struggles to cut his food up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

Something that should've clicked ages ago, clicks. So carefully, you stand up and walk to stand next to the couch he's sitting on. Roman's head looks up at you, eyes large and lashes fluttering. His bottom lip stutters, as if he wants to say something, but it doesn't successfully form itself.

"Do you need me to help you with your food, baby?"

Your heart pounds in your chest as you await his response. Nervously, he scans your face, licking his lips as he mulls over his options.

"Yes mommy," he yet again mumbles out.

You take a seat next to him and wordlessly grab the fork and knife from his hand. "I hope you know I'm proud of you for landing that deal, baby," you tell him as you put a piece of the sausage on the fork. He doesn't hesitate to open his mouth for you, obediently letting you feed him in his office, in a building his dad owns. 

"You made mommy so proud. When we finish up here, can you go sit at your desk for me?" He nods as you continue feeding him, which continues for another silent fifteen minutes.

After wiping his mouth for him, he quickly scurries to his desk, staring expectantly at you as you slowly make your way over. You place one hand on his chair, and the other on his desk, leaning over to stare at his computer screen. 

Roman lets out a soft groan as your tantalizing perfume overwhelms your senses. All he can do is look up at you as you start up his computer for him. "You have an e-mail you need to write regarding a contractual agreement with a production studio. Can you do that for me?"

It's like he's possessed by you, charmed into a spell of utter submission as he can only mutter another 'yes, mommy'. He opens his mail, and right as he starts typing you tut.

"Mommy wants to hear you say what you're typing, so I know you're doing well," you tell him, hand moving down from his chair to instead rest on his shoulder. Wordlessly, he nods, clears his throat and with a shaky voice reads aloud to you. 

"Dear Mr. Spruce, attached is a--" his voice dies in his throat as you let your hand slither down lower and lower, testing the waters as you fully bend over to reach his lap. "Keep going, sweetheart," you tell him, watching his twitchy hands hover over his keyboard. 

As he continues where he left off, you carefully unzip his trousers, loosening the top button and successfully revealing a dark imprint showing through his white Calvin Klein boxers. "Attached is a, uhh, a copy of the contract, fuck." 

The moan roman lets out as you pull his briefs down, allowing his erection to spring free and slap against his covered stomach, is whorelike. "Keep going, baby," you hum in his ear as you unbutton the bottom of his blouse a bit, wanting to avoid his pre-cum staining a perfectly good shirt.

"Please, mommy, fuck," he whines out as you let a singular finger drag over the tip of his cock, already causing his hips to rut up. "This e-mail needs to be sent today, Roman. Keep typing if you don't want me to get angry."

He nods fervently, shakily continuing to type as you carefully take his erect cock into your hands. He stumbles over his words, moans and hiccups filling your ears as you stroke him at a slow pace. You let your hand squeeze the base before going up, applying the perfect amount of pressure before rolling your thumb over his leaking slit. 

Roman's eyes quickly turn glassy with welled up tears as he's made to endure your slow, torturous movements, and as much as he wants to please you, writing the e-mail would be the actual death of him.

His hands shoot away from his keyboard to clutch onto his seat's armrests. With a wanton moan he throws his head back, eyes screwing shut as you slightly pick up your pace. "You've been such a good boy for mommy, Roman, haven't you?" you ask him, voice dangerously low and dangerously close to his ear. 

"Ngh-- yes, so so good f'r you, mommy." You kiss his forehead, earning yourself a cute whine. "W'na kiss you, please, mommy," he moans, head struggling to reach yours. "I'll give you a kiss after you finish the e-mail, alright sweetheart? For now," you tell him, grabbing his hand and leading two of his fingers into his own mouth, "I want you to be nice and quiet for me while I take care of you."

With a lack of hesitation he accepts his own fingers into his mouth, immediately sucking on them as his eyes flutter closed, and his moans grow strained. "Do you like it when mommy takes care of you, Roman?"

He nods, writhing under your every touch. He gasps around his own fingers as you pay extra attention to his tip, instant over stimulation taking over his body as his hips twitch up to meet your touch. "Mmh, would you let mommy fuck you?"

"Yes, fuck, yes," he groans out, removing his own fingers to instead find hold in his chair's armrests again. "W'na feel you around me, feel you-- fuck, feel you squeeze my cock." You increase the speed of your strokes, watching your boss fall apart in front of you. His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his lips are as rosy as they are glossy with spit.

The veins on his forehead and neck look like they're about to pop as you whisper in his ear. "You wanna feel mommy's cunt as she milks you dry?" All he can manage to let out is a desperate 'uh-huh', clearly close to reaching completion.

"'M gonna cum, mommy, I'm g'na-" Roman gasps out, cutting himself off with a drawn out moan.

"Cum for me, baby."

With a moan so slutty you could confuse it for porn, Roman finishes, thick ropes of cum shooting onto your hand as you stroke him through his orgasm. Even when he's emptied out you continue relentlessy, earning you a teary-eyed Roman as he begs for you to stop. 

Hiccuping, he grabs your arm. "Too sensitive, mommy," he groans out, trying to catch his breath. You decide to have mercy on him, removing your hand and instead hovering it in front of him. "Clean mommy up?"

He simply nods before licking your hand clean, tongue lapping between your fingers as he practically sucks off his own semen from your fingers. With your hand clean, he lets himself sink deep into his chair.

"That was, uh," he mumbles as he mindlessly stares at you as you wipe his saliva off on your pencil skirt. You don't say anything, simply walk back over to your laptop. "I'm gonna finish up scheduling for next week, alright Roman?"

He blinks a few times, processing your words before awkwardly agreeing with yet another nod. "Oh, and make sure to write that e-mail," you add, turning to now fully focus on your own work.

"...yes, mommy."

[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 25)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Eris drops the news to his court that he intends to wed you both, and he also has a surprise in store for you

warnings: heavy feyre slander, brief violence, sexual implications towards the end, eris being sexy af

word count: 6.7k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: ok i think this is one of my favourite chapter's i've written haha. enjoy!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 / part 23 / part 24

read on ao3

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You stood nervously beside Eris’s throne, sweating nervously beneath the heavy fabric of your regal dress. The servants had spent two hours getting you ready, leaving no hair out of place as they dressed you in the most elaborate gown you had ever worn. It was a deep red fabric with off-the-shoulder sleeves that accentuated your collarbones. There was a forest-green underskirt that peeled through the bottom of the dress, with carefully embroidered leaves in the same colour wrapping around your hips and waist before descending the front of the gown. Across your neck was a thick golden necklace with a large ruby pendant that glittered in the sunlight creeping through the windows. Your hair was braided just like Nesta’s coronet, with red and orange leaves woven into the strands. A golden circlet rested upon your forehead with a single amber teardrop-shaped gem in the middle.

The servants had informed you that Eris himself had hand picked these items for you, a shy smile on their faces as they delivered the news. It made you happy to see them smile, if only for a second. It was a sign of the shadow of Beron’s cruelty slowly fading away.

Before he departed your room last night, Eris had informed you with a smirk that today and noon he would make the announcement of the engagements. Your heart had fluttered with excitement and nerves, something that had persisted even now. You tried to remain poised, to not let the growing crowd sense your tension. They stood in before you like a pack of wolves, beady eyes glaring up at you, Nesta, and Eris. While you heard no muttering of discontent, their displeasure was coming off in waves.

You knew they wouldn’t be happy about the announcement. Most males were already pissed that Eris was High Lord now – the fact he would not only be taking two wives, who were also married to each other, but would be making them High Ladies would make steam come out of their ears. Eris had set up a ward around the throne dias, just in case.

The towering wall behind the throne that had previously been adorned with paintings and carvings of Beron and his forefathers had been torn down on the first day. Instead of being rebuilt, Eris had opted to leave it open, using a ward to shield the room from the unpleasant aspects of the outside elements, but still managed to let the warm sunlight and fresh autumn breeze into the room. It brightened the once dark space, bringing new life into the court. The sun was warm on your shoulders, glowing in the distance behind you and casting you, Nesta, and Eris in a sheen of golden light. The mountains could be seen in the distance past the large rocky cliff behind where the throne room wall once stood. To the crowd below, the scenery in behind paired with the positioning of the sun made the three of you look like the very essence of autumn.

You snuck a glance at Nesta at the same time she turned her head towards yours. Leaves were braided into her hair as well, an identical circlet framing her forehead. She had been fitted in a dark red gown with sparkle detailing going from the neckline that covered her throat all the way down from where the fitted waist gave way into flowing skirts. The sleeves were billowy, gathered at the wrists and hanging loosely on her arms. You wanted to stare at her all day long, admiring the regal dress on her tall frame. After a subtle wink from Nesta, you forced yourself to stare back at the crowd.

Fae of all ages were gathered in the throne room. Soldiers, courtiers, tradesmen, much to the visible disappointment of the nobles, who seemed disgusted to be in the same room as those they deemed below them. But they did not grumble, lest they meet the wrath of their new High Lord. It broke your heart to see so many females beside their husbands, heads bowed submissively as if they were no more than an accessory. They looked exactly how Lirilla had looked beside Beron – a shell of whatever their former self was.

Eris’s mother was not in the throne room, something which brought a surprising wave of sadness over you. You did not know how much Eris had told his mother about the announcement he was about to make, if anything. But it was safe to assume he wanted to keep her as far away from this assembly as possible, lest outrage break out and put her in harm’s way. 

Once what you assumed to be the last of the crowd had assembled, Eris lifted his chin, letting a wave of power cascade across the room. Instantly, any shuffling or whispering had ceased, and the assembly before you focused their attention on the High Lord. You stared evenly at the crowd, unflinching as several judgemental eyes flickered between you and Nesta. You would not let them see your nervousness.

“I assume you are all wondering why I called you here on such short notice.” Eris’s voice rang out clear and authoritative, echoing in the large chamber of the throne room. “As you all know, my recently departed father wished for myself and the lady Nesta Archeron to be wed. I intend to honour that wish.”

There were a few nods from the crowd, likely Beron’s supporters happy that Eris was fulfilling his father’s wishes for the time being. But there were also looks of disapproval, males casting seething glances at Nesta that made you want to rip their eyes from their sockets. It wasn’t hard to guess from the younger females beside them that they had hoped Eris would be wed to one of their noble daughters, rather than a female from another court.

To his credit, Eris did not even acknowledge them as he continued. “He also wished for the lady (Y/N) to marry my brother Malgorm. Now that he is dead, such a marriage is no longer possible.”

You cringed as several males in the audience perked up, their predatory gazes dragging over towards you as they stared you down hungrily like dogs salivating over a fresh piece of meat. Eris had been right – an unwed female truly did attract the worst males in his court. One male, a shrivelled old noble with a squashed looking face turned and whispered something to the male beside him, presumably his son. They both stared at you with sick glee on their faces as the older male cleared his throat.

But Eris turned sharply towards the noise, cutting the male off before any scheming words could leave his lips. “If you’re about to propose a foolish idea of marrying your wretched son to Lady (Y/N) in my brother’s stead, Lord Cergon, I suggest you hold your tongue before I have it removed.”

The male’s face twisted with rage, and he spoke boldly. “I knew your father since he was a child, boy.” He spat at Eris. “His Grace would have desired this union if his son could not fulfil it.”

Eris smirked, a tendril of angry red flame curling around the male’s throat. His eyes went wide, and he went utterly still as the fire licked his shrivelled skin. “You dare speak on behalf of my father?” Eris’s voice was cold as ice, cutting through the sunlit warmth of the room as the fire slowly cut off the old male’s airway. “You have no authority here, Lord Cergon. The only reason you even hold your title as Lord is because my father wanted you by his side for reasons that escape me. But I am not my father, and I have no use for you anymore. I hereby strip you of your land and titles, and banish you and your son from this court. All of your assets will be reallocated to the Crown to be redistributed as I see fit. If either of you step foot across this border, I will burn you alive.”

“My Lord…” The male sputtered with his choking breath. “You can’t…”

“I can.” Eris said coolly. “And I will. Question me again, call me ‘boy’ again, and you will leave this room without your head. That goes for everyone here. Those who consider themselves loyal only to my father are urged to swear to me your undying fidelity, or you will meet the same fate as Cergon. My two brothers have already done so, and will serve me just as they served our father.”

Eris nodded at two redheads at the front of the crowd. They were unmistakably Vanserras, one with a short cropped haircut and the other with longer wavy hair. They did not sneer or grimace as expected, but instead bowed their heads. You suspected Eris had already exchanged strong words with them to ensure they would not be a threat. 

As a set of guards hauled the sputtering old male and his son away, the crowd shifted nervously. Some of the males that had stared defiantly in protest while others bowed their heads. With a satisfied smirk, Eris leaned back in his throne and continued. “Now that we have established that, let us get back to the initial purpose of this meeting before more of my time is wasted by pathetic squabbling. With the death of my brother, Lady (Y/N) is without a husband. And the only worthy remaining Vanserra male is me.”

You watched as confusion flickered in, the eyes of the crowd stomach churning as you braced yourself for Eris to drop the bomb.

“To remedy the situation, I intend to take Lady (Y/N) as my wife, alongside Lady Nesta. They are also to be wed to each other, a symbol of our strong union. They are to take their rightful places beside me as my equals, my wives, and your High Ladies.”

The room erupted into a plague of angry shouts and protests, primarily from the males but also from a few of the noble females. You stood tall, letting their words and insults bounce off you like flies on the window. Amidst the chaos, you could make out several screams of ‘whore’ and ‘improper’, all directed at you and Nesta. But you did not cower, willing your gaze to that icy steel that Nesta was currently doing and making sure to stare down each and every one who shouted angrily.

You expected Eris to send an angry wave of fire throughout the room, smiting those shouting angrily towards the dias into piles of ash. When he didn’t, you were confused. While you knew Eris wanted to slowly move away from the image he had cultivated over the years as his father’s perfect son, you did not expect him to simply sit there silently, smirking.

Your eyes flickered back towards him slightly, and he simply lifted one finger from the arm of his throne in response.

Just wait. It seemed to say.

So you sucked in a breath, turning your gaze back to the angry crowd, still shouting. And then you heard it. Felt it. Three differing but all low and menacing growls, sending a vibration through your very bones. They were deep and otherworldly, and accompanied by a tremble of the ground and the echo of mighty footsteps. 

The crowd’s angry yelling began to die off at the noise. They, too, seemingly felt the growl vibrating within them as they shuffled uneasily. Unease began to stir in the air and you smiled as the footsteps grew closer. The chandelier in the middle of the throne room swayed, the candles flickering despite the lack of breeze.

From the rocky cliffside, the three dragons appeared. Morgoth’s bulking form crawled menacingly over the rocks towards the open spot in the wall behind the throne dias. Athariel’s silver form slithered beside him, while Zorzimril’s gold scales shone in the sunlight as she mirrored the other beast. Their eyes were glowing, puffs of smoke curling around their lips that were drawn back in fierce snarls. All three dragons stalked closer, their long necks able to wind their way into the throne room as if the wards weren’t even there.

The crowd had stopped shouting entirely, various exclamations of fear replacing the angry protests. They had shuffled backwards, wide eyed as the dragons crept menacingly into the castle. You could hear a few males frantically trying to get to the door, only to be stopped by Eris’s guards.

The room now reeked with fear.

You felt Zorzimril’s hot breath on your back, her soft growling bringing you comfort rather than fear. The golden dragon loomed her head over you protectively, daring someone to come forward and challenge you. Morgoth did the same with Eris, and Athariel with Nesta, each standing protectively over their rider and baring their teeth. You straightened your spine, standing proudly with your dragon at your back, smirking as the crowd stared up in fear.

“What an abhorrent reaction from you all,” Eris finally spoke, his voice echoing with Morgoth’s low rumbling growl. “I must say I am disappointed. But I care not if you all approve. Because the three of us will be wed whether you like it or not, and you will have your High Ladies to answer to. They are powerful, fearless, and unlike me, merciful. Anyone who dares to disrespect this union or anyone in it will be fed to our dragons. This will be your only warning.”

Malgorm roared, the force of it smiting all the candles in the room and causing the crowd to shrink back further, so much so that a few were pressed up against the walls at the back.

“This is madness!” Came an angry shout from the front of the crowd. “Where is your respect for tradition?”

The crowd parted as a red-faced male stormed through. His dark brown hair was braided back tightly, yellow eyes gleaming with hate as he shamelessly challenged the High Lord. He wore elaborate armour – a noble, one whose uniform had clearly never seen battle.

 “Frankly, I have none, Lord Ashworthe.” Eris said dryly. “Things will change greatly around here. I strongly urge anyone clinging on to the old ways to let go of the past and brace themselves for a new future.”

“You will do no such thing.” The male said, fists curled at his sides.

Eris raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. “I won’t, will I?” His tone was mocking, causing Lord Ashworthe to seeth even more. “And how do you think you can stop me, exactly? I am your High Lord, Ashworthe. You will do as I command and you will do so without complaint.”

“We will not stand for it.”

“Who exactly is ‘we’? I don’t exactly see your supporters flocking to your side.”

Lord Ashworthe whipped around, noticing that everyone had backed as far away from him as possible. He motioned for some of the males around him to join, but they shook their heads and looked away, causing Eris to chuckle. Furious, the male turned back around and spat at Eris. “It is one thing to marry a female with no ties to this court. To take a second wife who is also without any ties to this land is spitting in the faces of those of us who have been here for generations, offering you potential brides of the noblest of houses. Not to mention the fact that it is a vile insult to let your two brides be wed to each other as well. I will recognize no High Lady in this court.”

Eris did not say anything for a moment. His amber eyes glowed with anger as he sat, utterly still as Lord Ashworthe stared arrogantly up at him. The entire room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The High Lord simply waved his hand, and two guards grabbed the male by each arm, dragging up towards the foot of the dias. Lord Ashworthe yelled and writhed in protest, but was no match for the strong guards.

Morgoth’s growl deepened as Eris spoke, feeling his master’s rage. “Yes, Lord Ashworthe, I spit in your face with this action.” He said angrily. “I spit in the face of any male like you who sells his daughters to the pleasure houses because he wants a son. I spit in the face of all you cowards who beat your wives bloody simply because my father and his fathers before him set the precedent that it was ok to do so. I spit in the face of everyone who dares judge me for letting me and my mates’s hearts be free and pursue happiness outside the confines of your prejudices.”

An audible gasp sounded from the crowd at Eris’s reveal. Shocked looks spread between the audience, the word ‘mates’ being murmured like a hushed prayer. 

“Your mates?” Ashworthe gasped, eyes wide and reflecting the surprise of the crowd behind him. “How is that possible…”

“It is.” Eris said coldly. 

The Lord began to tremble. “I apologise, your Grace. If I had known–”

“Save your whinging.” Eris cut him off sharply. “It doesn’t matter if you knew they were my mates. The fact they are going to be my wives and your High Ladies should be enough to keep your mouth shut. And since you can’t even respect that, you serve no purpose being in this court.”

The male blanched. “You’re going to banish me, too? You cannot be serious.”

The smile that spread across Eris’s face was pure cunning as he said evenly, “No, I am not.”

Morgoth snarled, snaking his head further into the chamber and opening his jaw to hiss, revealing more of his razor sharp fangs. You felt Zorzimril’s steady presence behind you, letting out growls every so often at the crowd. The guard threw the snivelling Lord on the steps and backed off, leaving a respectable ten metres between him and the rest of the crowd.

“You cannot execute me!” Ashworthe snarled, despite the tremble in his body as Morgoth loomed over him. “I have served this court for 500 years. If you’re going to throw that away for the sake of your whores, then you are not worthy of the crown you wear.”

Eris fumed, his fingers gripping the throne’s arms so hard you thought they may shatter beneath his grip. A flaming gag appeared around Ashworthe’s face, and he screamed as the fire burned his skin. “You will never speak about my mates in such a tone ever again.” He snarled viciously, raw anger and possession lacing his voice. “Let this be another lesson to all of you. I meant what I said, that anyone who dares disrespect Nesta or (Y/N) will be fed to our dragons. You are a pathetic waste of life, Lord Ashworthe. And I feel no shame in making an example of you.”

Before the male could even protest, Morgoth let out a mighty roar, drawing his head back and flaring his wings. You watched in shock as flame shot out of the dragons’ mouth, going directly down onto Lord Ashworthe. He screamed as the flames engulfed him, slowly melting him away but not fast enough to grant him a quick death.

The crowd screamed as Morgoth reached down and clamped his jaws around the flaming body, a sick crunching sound echoing throughout the space as he ate the Lord in one bite.

Zorzimril and Athariel let out mighty roars, as if cheering the black dragon on for his display. You glanced at Nesta, who was looking down with satisfaction at the ashy spot where the arrogant lord once stood. You never pegged yourself, or Nesta, for the blood thirsty type, but you’d be lying if you said the male didn’t deserve it. And you couldn’t help how your body warmed at Eris’s protectiveness.

The audience watched in muted horror as Eris patted Morgoth on the neck, murmuring something to him as the dragon retreated to his initial position, looming menacingly over the High Lord and daring others to step forth and become his next meal.

“Master Greywell.” Eris called out casually, as if nothing had happened. A few seconds later, an old male with thick black robes stepped forward on unsteady legs, eyes uncertain. “You are to personally oversee the construction of two additional thrones, right next to this one.” He spoke more gently to the old male. “I trust you will make me proud as you have done so frequently in the past.”

Master Greywell bowed low, letting out a breath. “Of course, your Grace. I will see to it immediately.”

Eris nodded, then turned his attention to the rest of the crowd and stood up. He reached out and grabbed your hand with his right, and Nesta’s with his left. You felt him squeeze gently, a reassuring promise that everything would be ok. Your heart swelled with joy at the simple public display, a gesture that proved Eris was not ashamed of the unique situation. That he would proudly let everyone know exactly who belonged to him, and who he belonged to.

“This assembly has concluded.” Eris spoke firmly at the terrified crowd. “Heed my warnings and proceed with your day. I must prepare for the grandest wedding this court has ever seen. Dismissed.”

The second the last word left his lips, the crowd was rushing to the door, eager to get away from the terrifying High Lord and dragons. Your body was jolted forward as a golden head leaned down to nuzzle you, letting out a low purr. You chuckled, stroking Zorzimril’s soft scales before letting Eris lead you and Nesta down the steps.

“Come.” He said softly. “I have a surprise for both of you.”

 *********************

“Eris, for the last time, just tell us–” Nesta’s protest was cut off as the High Lord dragged the two of you down the hallway in the direction of the private library.

“You’re an incessant female, you know that, right?” Eris snorted, interrupting her. “If I tell you, it ruins the purpose of the surprise.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and huffed, but didn’t pester him again. Eris had refused to tell either of you what the surprise was, shutting you down when you asked for a small hint. But the High Lord bore a look of glee on his face that he was unable to hide, which made you almost nervous. Several people had tried to stop Eris as he hurried you and Nesta through the winding hallways, demanding his attention on one matter or another. But he had brushed them off, to your surprise. Clearly, he was in too much of a hurry to spare his attention to others. You had never seen Eris so giddy.

As you finally came to the arching doors of the library, Eris stopped and faced you and Nesta. “When I open these doors and show you your surprise, don’t worry – you can figure out ways to tell me how I’m the best mate ever later on.” He said, winking playfully.

Nesta crossed her arms, eyebrows furrowing. “You know we’ve both been in the library, right?”

Eris smirked. “I know, smartass. The library has little to do with the surprise. I just wanted a quiet place for this, where few could hear you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slight pink blush coming across your cheeks at Eris’s words. He noticed instantly, rolling his eyes. 

“Get your dirty mind out of the gutter, (Y/N).” Eris quipped, putting a hand on the knob of the door. “While I know I could positively rock your world and am dying to do so, I think this is something you’ll appreciate more.”

Before you could come up with a response, Eris turned the handle and pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The scent of old books, hot wax, and parchment hit you immediately as the grand library was exposed. Spiralling wooden staircases stretched up and around the mighty shelves, designed to look as if they had carved into the trunks of mighty ancient trees. But it was not the books your eyes landed on, nor the cosy setting of plushy furniture over in the reading nook.

You let out a squeal as your eyes landed on the figures at the table in the centre of the room – two females, one with large wings and one with bright teal eyes. “Gwyn? Emerie?” You exclaimed, frozen in shock. Beside you, Nesta’s hand covered her mouth, which had dropped open in equal surprise. 

It took only a split second for the Valkyrie’s to leap off the table and run towards you and Nesta. Gwyn beelined for you, happy tears lining those bright eyes as she launched herself into your outstretched arms. You began crying as well, clinging onto the slender female as if you couldn’t believe she was really here. Emerie had done the same with Nesta, and the two held each other tightly.

“Oh my god, Gwyn…” You breathed heavily through your tears. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“We missed you too.” Gwyn replied, her soft voice muffled slightly as she had buried her face into your hair. “Gods, it’s been tough without you.”

“You’re here…” You muttered with shock. “You left the House of Wind? And came all this way–”

“It was terrifying, but worth it for you.” Gwyn reassured you. 

You wiped your tears as Gwyn finally let go. “But, how?” You asked.

Emerie had also let go of Nesta, and walked over towards you, wrapping her strong arms around you in a warm embrace. “Eris arranged everything with Azriel, and he brought us here.” She answered. “He wanted to surprise you guys. By the looks on your faces, it seems he succeeded.”

“He sure did.” You laughed. “I was not expecting to see you guys this soon. I mean, I wanted you to come visit, of course. But I figured it’d be a lot to ask, for you guys to come all this way.”

Emerie snorted. “Well, we weren’t exactly dying to stay in the Night Court.”

You and Nesta exchanged a worried glance. “Are things really that bad?” She asked quietly.

Gwyn shifted, the happiness leaving her teal eyes for a flickering moment. You noticed how she no longer wore her priestess robes, but rather an ocean blue dress and a white shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She seemed sullen at the mention of the Night Court.

Emerie, noticing Gwyn’s change, spoke up instead. “Eris and Az can fill you in later. But we haven’t seen you for months. Let’s have tonight be about us.”

Gwyn perked up and shook her shoulders, as if brushing off the topic. “Yes, we have so much to catch up on.” She shot you and Nesta a playful glare. “You both have a lot of explaining to do.”

You snorted, realising just how much you truly had to fill your friends in on. Nesta nodded in agreement but grinned ear to ear, her happiness radiating throughout your chest as if it were your own. 

“The library is yours until tomorrow at sunrise,” Eris spoke up, stepping forward but maintaining a respectful distance from Gwyn and Emerie. “Nobody else will enter, and I have my most trusted guards at all exits. Nobody will try to come in, but the dragons will also be nearby, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Dragons?” Gwyn squeaked, her eyes like saucers.

“You did say we have a lot of explaining to do.” Nesta muttered, shoulders shaking with effort not to laugh at Gwyn’s expression.

Eris smiled gently. “You will be well protected. Should you need anything, simply knock on the main door and a guard will summon a servant. Azriel and myself will be here at sunrise to take Gwyn and Emerie home, but until then, enjoy your night.”

The High Lord snapped his fingers, and the room suddenly shifted. Four large beds appeared in the corner by the hearth, complete with luxurious duvets and pillows. The table in the centre was filled with mouth watering food – pastries, roasted vegetables, perfectly cooked meats, a variety of wine and juices, everything you could possibly think of. The room lit up with dozens of candles, a soft yellow glow cast over the wood of the library corner. 

“Holy shit.” Emerie muttered, jaw agape at the spread of food on the table.

Eris simply smiled as she immediately headed off towards the table, Gwyn and Nesta following. He turned to go, but you ran after him quickly. “Eris?” You called out.

As the male turned towards you, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you.” You muttered, resting your head against his chest. “I can’t express how much this means to me.”

Eris rubbed your back, holding you closely. “While I know you want nothing to do with the Night Court after everything that happened, I know how much you missed your friends. I knew I wanted you to see them the second things here settled down and it’d be safe enough. I know my court has a lot of progress to make in terms of its treatment of females, but my goal is to make it safe enough that Gwyn and Emerie can live here, if they wish. As can any female in need of safety, just as you wished.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again at Eris’s thoughtfulness. You knew he’d face a ton of resistance changing things, given how archaic the males of Autumn seemed to think. But for you and Nesta, for his mother, for every female who deserved a better life, he would do this. “Thank you.” You muttered quietly, heart bursting.

He planted a kiss on your forehead as you pulled away, stroking your cheek. “You have no reason to thank me. It is the right thing to do. Now go, enjoy your night with your friends.”

Eris lightly smacked your rear as you turned back towards Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta. You yelped, shooting him a playful glare as he exited the library, chuckling. Your face was red as you saw Emerie’s amused expression, and Gwyn’s shocked one. Nesta simply smirked at you, sipping on a goblet of red wine.

“Ok, I really need the full story.” Gwyn said.

 *********************

“Ok, so let me get this straight,” Emerie said through a mouthful of crispy chicken. “(Y/N) is basically some Mother-blessed goddess of life who brought Eris’s mom back from the dead, you each have a dragon to protect your ass, Eris is going to completely remake this court and snuff out the backwards-thinking ways, and the three of you are all mated to each other? Am I missing anything?”

You shrugged, popping another coconut cookie into your mouth and washing it down with a swig of your mimosa. “That about sums it up.”

“That’s insane,” Gwyn commented, swirling her cranberry juice in its goblet. “I’ve literally never heard about a mating bond like this. Or dragons being real.”

“Can we meet the dragons?” Emerie said excitedly, sitting up straight. 

“Not quite yet,” Nesta said. “Maybe next time. I, for one, don’t want to leave this library yet.”

Gwyn mumbled her agreement. The four of you had decided to move most of the food off the table, instead spreading the table cloth across the plushy rug by the warm hearth. The food had been placed atop the cloth in a picnic style as you all laid or sat around it, content to lounge in the warm pyjamas that had been set on each of the beds. Gwyn and Emerie had listened with wide eyes as you and Nesta filled them in on everything, the reality of it settling in like a cold wave. You had been in survival mode for weeks now, not getting a chance to process anything. The more you explained it, the more memories came back. They stifled your throat, closing in on it and slowly suffocating you. Nesta had sent waves of comfort through the bond, putting you at ease.

Luckily, after several drinks those dark memories had long been forgotten hours later. A warm buzz had settled over your body, leaving your lips looser and your mind lighter. Your stomach was about to burst from the amount of food you had ingested, but you couldn’t be happier. Reuniting with your friends was something you had dreamed of for weeks, and you had to pinch yourself to make sure it was real.

“So…High Ladies, then?” Emerie drawled, turning onto her side. 

“I guess so.” Nesta said, shrugging casually. 

Gwyn piped up, “Is that what you want?”

Nesta took another sip of wine. “Yes and no. I’ve never wanted to be a leader or anything, but I’m better suited for this than as a soldier in the Night Court. Besides, at least I will be able to use my position to help others.”

“Unlike your sister.” The Illyrian female said, anger flashing in her deep brown eyes. “She doesn’t do jack shit. She just flaunts her Illyrian wings while we get ours clipped. It’s disgusting.”

You hummed your agreement, adding. “When I’m High Lady, I’m actually going to do shit to change things for females. Unlike Feyre. No offence, Nesta.”

“None taken.” Nesta said dryly. “Trust me, I’m with you on that.”

“Besides,” You continued, your lips letting the words out before your brain could stop to filter them. “Once I’m done changing the backwards shit around here, I’m going to go to the Night Court myself and invite the females who have suffered to come live here and have a better life. The stupid males will lose their minds and start turning on each other. Next thing you know, revolt, uprising, and then boom, Rhysand’s court is just as shattered as mine was when Feyre was done with it. That’s the angle I’m playing.”

When you stopped, the room was quiet. Nesta was buttering a biscuit, unbothered. But Gwyn and Emerie were slack-jawed. You had previously told them that there was more to your plan than just escaping the Night Court, but you had never gone into such detail for them, fearing it was too risky.

“Wait, you’re going to try and rescue the females in the Hewn City and Illyria and bring them here so that the males end up turning on each other?” Gwyn asked.

You nodded.

“Won’t that be considered kidnapping?” Emerie piped up. “Or like, an act of war?”

You scoffed. “I’m not going to force anyone to come. Offering sanctuary is not a crime, neither is protecting those who choose to come with us. Rhys is a shitty High Lord, he has done nothing to help females outside of Velaris because he thinks it can’t be done. That things just are the way they are. Imagine his face when he realises I can do more to help them in the first few years of being High Lady than he can in his centuries of it.”

“Eris is on board.” Nesta added, reassuring Gwyn and Emerie. “He wants this too. And he will make it happen.”

“Damn.” Emerie muttered. “Karma’s a bitch.”

“Can we come live here when everything’s ready?” Gwyn asked tentatively, her voice quieter.

“Of course.” Nesta said, reaching forward and squeezing the priestesses' slender hand. “But it would be a big change. Are you sure you’re ready to leave the library for a whole other court?”

Gwyn nodded fiercely. “After everything that’s happened, my disdain for living under Rhysand’s rule outweighs my desire to stay in the library. Besides, I think starting fresh could be a good thing for me.”

“What about you, Emerie?” You asked, turning towards the Illyrian female.

She rolled her eyes. “Duh. You could tell me to leave Illyria tomorrow and I’d do it in a heartbeat. Just give the word and my bags will be packed.”

You chuckled, resting your chin on your hands. Your voice slurred slightly as you spoke, “I love you guys.”

Gwyn giggled. “We love you too.”

Emerie sat up, swaying slightly. Mischief sparkled in her eyes as she asked, “Speaking of love, has either of you jumped in bed with Eris yet?”

Nesta went red instantly, and you hid your face in your hands, shaking your head at Emerie’s bold, and very drunken, question. Gwyn squealed in protest, “Emerie!”

“What?” She asked, shrugging. “They’re mates. Nesta and (Y/N) are hot. Eris is hot. Just fuck already if you haven’t.”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink!” Gwyn scolded, reaching forward and grabbing the goblet of booze from Emerie’s hand. Luckily, she didn’t notice, just continued staring at you and Nesta, expecting an answer.

But Emerie continued. “So how’s it going to work? Are you going to take turns and watch each other, or is this going to be an all hands on deck situation?”

You hoped beyond hope your face wasn’t as red as Gwyn’s as you lifted your hands, shooting Emerie a glare. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.” You said, but it lacked the ferocity you had hoped.

Gwyn smacked Emerie’s arm hard. “That’s inappropriate,” She scolded her friend, still blushing fiercely. “Besides, I don’t think three people at once would even work.”

“Oh, we’ll make it work.” Nesta said quickly and casually. You whipped your head towards her, face heating up even more. But Nesta had paled, eyes widening, clearly not having meant to say that out loud. 

A heartbeat of silence passed, everyone in the room frozen in shock at Nesta’s words. Seconds later, the four of you erupted into laughter. Your body felt weightless as you laughed, your mind beginning to wander as Nesta’s words swam in your brain.

“I cannot believe I just said that.” Nesta muttered with embarrassment, putting her head in her hands.

“Me neither.” Gwyn chuckled, shaking her head.

Emerie’s laugh was booming, echoing across the chasms of the vast library. She clutched her stomach, tears streaming down her face, making the three of you laugh even harder. It felt like hours before the laughing died down, and you all collectively decided it was time to try and get some sleep. Dawn was in a few hours, and the adrenaline of the alcohol had worn off, leaving you exhausted.

Unsurprisingly, Emerie was the first to fall asleep – or pass out, more fittingly. She snored softly, not having even settled under the covers before closing her eyes and letting sleep take over. Gwyn followed shortly, curled up under her blue bedspread. You sighed heavily, staring up at the arching patterns carved into the wood of the library beams.

It was so beautiful. Everything in this court was. And things would be better once you, Nesta, and Eris had made changes to the ways of Autumn to make things safer for females. It was a thought you had clung onto for weeks, a mere memory of a hope moulding into a very possible reality. Maybe that was why you had a mating bond with both Nesta and Eris – because the universe knew the three of you could challenge the archaic ways of the past and lead the court into a better future.

(Y/N)? Nesta’s voice sounded in your head, breaking you from your sleepy thoughts.

Yes? You replied.

I just wanted to say even though I was embarrassed by what I said about making the three of us work, in bed I mean, I did mean it. It was not a joke.

Your cheeks heated up again, and all you could muster was a pathetically curious, oh?

Nesta’s smirk could be felt through the bond. I’ve wanted to take you to bed for so long. And from what I can tell, Eris has, too. I crave you. More than I’ve craved anything or anyone before. Every time I see you I have to fight the urge to drag you to bed and worship every inch of you. 

Your body felt warm, the sheets too hot suddenly. How am I supposed to sleep after hearing this?

She chuckled. I will leave you to fantasise about exactly how Eris and I are going to do to you.

Not fair.

Rest well, my love.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful  @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford  @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @the-sweet-psycho @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @red-bees @daughterofthemoons-stuff @bloodicka

[ladyescapism]

fractured bonds - part 3

summary: Rhys' little sister has always been nothing but loyal to her brother and court. however, the cauldron chooses the most inconvenient male as her mate: Eris Vanserra. will Ryn accept the heir of autumn as her mate? will her family?

part 1 -- part 2 -- part 4

a/n: Part 3! Here we go. The next part is going to have some drama! Hope y'all like it. Remember to message me or comment if you want to be added to the tag list!

warnings: sickly character, cannon violence, vomiting

wc: 1,900

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

Ryn’s legs couldn’t carry her fast enough. Her blood was rushing through her body, but failing to push her hard enough to outrun Hybern’s Naga. She had already gone a few miles, and in her weakened state, she wasn’t going to make it much further. 

Azriel was the one who sent her out here to get any extra information on Hybern that she could, anything to help. Her deadline to get back was nearing, but not close enough to cause concern. And she doubted anyone else knew to look for her. 

She kept going, determined she was going to make it. If she could get to the edge of the camp, the Naga might retreat, and she could get some help. But she wasn’t sure she was even running in the right direction. 

She ran right into a clearing. 

Fucking hell, she cursed to herself. Now I don’t have any cover. 

From the other side of the clearing, a howl cut through the night air. She barely heard it over the rushing in her ears. 

Just what I need. Wolves.

The night was illuminated by the moon just enough that Ryn could spot a red head riding a horse come through the clearing, flanked by two hounds. 

Eris.

She didn’t have time to feel embarrassed by the relief she felt at the sight of him. She let the need she had felt to run to her mate all these weeks take over. 

Exerted, Ryn let herself collapse when Eris was close enough that she could make out the features of his fine face. She was ready for his dismount, and his concern for her well-being. She was ready to get on the horse with him and ride like hell. 

But Eris kept going. He did not stop. He rode head on to the Naga. 

She tried to call to him, but her throat was ragged from her time screaming these last hours to make any noise. All she could do was watch as Eris and his hounds take on four Naga. 

As he approached, Eris swung one leg over the horse, but didn’t fully dismount and with one clean slice, gutted the Naga that was readying to make his leg its next bite. Eris jumped from his perch on the saddle and steadied himself for the battle. 

A dog came and blocked Ryn’s view. She mustered the strength to crawl around it. Eris came into view just as he took the head off another Naga. 

Eris was being circled now. 

The other hound was at Eris’ back, snapping and snarling at the Naga hissing in its direction. The dog had a deep gash on its hind leg, unable to put much weight on it. 

Out of the corner of her eye, the horse was standing, spooked by the violence, but to well trained to leave its rider behind. 

The sight of her mate in danger spurred more strength in her body. Her mind hadn’t caught up as she made her way to the horse. 

“Ride, Ryn!” Eris called, desperate. “Get out of here! Go!” 

She didn’t respond, but finally found the hilt of a short sword. 

Stumbling as she moved as quickly as she could, she made her way to Eris.  

“No,” Eris cried. “Run, Ryn! Go!” 

The Naga were too distracted with Eris and his dog to notice her till it was too late. Ryn took the dog’s position at Eris’ back. She was back to panting at the exertion. She lifted the sword at the same time the Naga launched itself at her. Just as the Naga in front of Eris decided to capitalize on his distraction. 

Eris became to occupied with his own fight to yell at her anymore. The fight didn’t last long after that. Ryn finished off the Naga and so did Eris. 

After she heard the sword pull from the flesh of the other Naga, the exhaustion and the unsavory time spent in Hybern captivity during the last few hours caught up to Ryn. 

And as the darkness clouded her vision, the last thing she saw was the stars twirl, and felt a strong body break her fall. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Eris POV ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eris caught Ryn just before she hit the ground. He sat there for a moment, looking down at her worn body. She was still breathing, still panting from the fight, but her eyes had shut. 

“Why did you stay, lovely,” Eris asked, praying she would be well-enough to answer in that moment. 

Before he stood, he let himself curve his back and cradle her frame, just for a moment, to thank whatever gods were listening that he still got the chance to prove to her that he could be good. 

But an all too familiar sent reached his nose. 

Dragon’s Blood. 

The copper tang of the poison made Eris want to gag. He had only ever smelled it once, as he searched for a way to eliminate one of his father’s many enemies discreetly. 

Eris hauled Ryn into his arms and rushed to his horse. He did not know how long ago she was poisoned, or how it was administered, but she needed treatment. Because once her fever reached its pinnacle, she would not be savable. 

Eris managed to position her so that she was sitting up, so if she vomited, either from her body rejecting the poison or the fever, she would not choke to death. 

Eris rode like hell. He did not care if his hounds kept up. He did not care that one was injured and left behind. He did not care that his horse was tired and riding like this would cause it stress. All he cared about was feeling her heartbeat and her breath. 

He got into the camp but did not stop riding. He kept his pace, straight to the healer’s tent. A few people had to jump out of the way and shouted after him, not knowing or caring who he was. Eris still could not care about anyone or anything but getting her healed. 

“I need a healer,” he shouted. “I need a Night Court healer.” 

A female he did not recognize stepped out of the tent and paled at the sight of Ryn’s state. 

“I am Madja, healer to the High Lord and his family.” 

Eris dismounted and pulled Ryn from the saddle. He pushed past the female as he spoke. 

“She has been poisoned with Dragon’s Blood. I don’t know how long ago it was administered, or the administration method, but she has not started vomiting yet.” 

Eris set Ryn down where another healer gestured. 

“She is exhausted, dehydrated, but not seriously bleeding for what I can tell.” 

Madja whispered something to the other healer, and they disappeared, quickly replaced by another set of hands. 

Eris did not let the panic through. He just stood and watched as the healer, Madja, administered something by injection. Something else was poured down her throat, and she gagged. 

The healer kept working. Eris tensed at every injection and prod and inspection. He stopped breathing when Ryn wretched and the healers had to force her on her side. 

Eris only let his eyes stray from watching her chest rise and fall when her heard the Shadow Singer speak to his High Lord. 

“I sent her a few hours ago. Her timeline to check in isn’t for another 10 minutes. I had no reason to be concerned.” 

Rhys gave a single solemn nod. “Madja, what happened?” 

“From what I can tell,” she explained, “Kathryn was given the liquid form of Dragon’s Blood. A lethal dose, but it was watered down, making it not as fast acting. She has a high fever, and she has vomited everything she had. The fever hasn’t broken yet, and she will most likely still experience the hallucinations that come with the poison. She will need to be kept under observation for a day or two, but she will be better soon.” 

Rhys looked relived as he made his way to his sister’s side. He reached down and cupped her face. “Our girl has survived worse, Madja. She will heal just fine.” 

“She is young, and healthy. I have the same optimism.” 

Eris was not comforted by that sentiment, that she was put into these positions often. And he could not hold his tongue. 

“So,” he sneered, “you send her into dangerous situations often?” 

“Thank you for saving her, Eris,” Rhys said, ignoring his question. “She would likely be in a much worse state if not for your intervention.”

“You didn’t answer me,” Eris growled. 

“What I send my spies to do is none of your business,” Azriel responded for Rhys. 

The air thickened with tension. 

“I heard your father was asking for you,” Rhys added smoothly, making his dismissal of the prince clear. “You might want to go see what needs attending to.” 

Before he could respond that he was not leaving Ryn’s side till she could sit upright, a shrill cry cut through the air. 

It was a cry of terror, of pain. 

“It’s the hallucinations,” Madja said from her workstation. 

“Give her something,” Eris hissed. “Anything to make her stop.” Ryn kept making that noise, only a few words barely distinguishable in her cries. 

“I can’t give her any sedative, that would only slow her body working the poison out. The best we can do is try to comfort her and make sure she doesn’t hurt herself.” 

Azriel turned away as she let out a scream. He hung his head in what looked like shame. He took the few steps towards the exit and did not pause as he left the healer’s tent. 

Rhys looked shocked at Azriel’s departure and conflicted as what to do. Eris wanted to hold her, to push the sweat soaked hair from her forehead. He wanted to silence her cries and reassure her that she was safe, even if she couldn’t hear him. 

The only thing stopping him was that he wasn’t certain Ryn wanted him touching her in any state, let alone such a vulnerable one. 

“ERIS!” The cry ripped from Ryn’s throat. 

Eris snapped his eyes back to wear Ryn’s sick form lay. Rhys looked between his sister and the prince. A flash of understanding crossed his features, followed by anger settling in his eyes. 

“No no no no,” Ryn cried. “No no no, not him not Eris. Please...”

She faded off, whimpering and moaning as if she was begging for whatever happened to her to not happen to Eris. 

He couldn't take it anymore. He rushed to her side finally pushing those stray, sweat soaked hairs back from her forehead and planting a kiss right at her hairline. 

“I'm right here, lovely,” he whispered softly. “I'm right here. No one is hurting me. No one is going to hurt you anymore. I didn't let them get to you once, and they will never get to you again.” 

Ryn stilled. She still whimpered, but she nuzzled into his neck. Tears fell down her cheeks, fat as raindrops in an autumn storm. But Eris’ pulse echoed through her soul, and it seemed to calm her more than any sedative would. 

Rhys took in the sight of his sister being cradled and comforted by who he thought was an old enemy and the anger faded from his eyes. For she was being comforted in a way that no other male on this earth could. 

Because in that moment Rhys saw their connection. He could almost see the golden thread shimmering between them. Rhys stepped away and let Ryn be comforted by her mate. 

Tag list:

All works:

@feysandzoyalailover @fanfictioniseverything @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @marina468 @singhillada

Fractured bonds:

@a-mexican-waffle @cafe-inaaa @feiwelinchen @theviewfromtheotherside

[stalkerofthegods]

Loki Deep dive

Signs he's reaching out- seeing the Snaptun Stone, Large numbers of spiders, Fire seeing his symbols and things that remind you of him in a dream, a close brush with danger, Dreams of Loki speaking to you, Repeated appearances of any of the animals related to Loki, sudden obsession on him or seeing things related to him that you wouldn’t regularly notice

Days & holidays! - Autumn Equinox, Samhain, Yule, Sep 5 UPG (tumbler meme devoted to him day) , Julaften, Saturday, April fools, Lokablót

Equivalent- logi  (the personification of fire), Prometheus, Tantalus, Jesus, Pan, Cernunnos, Dionysus, anasi, Bacchus, Lugh, Hermes, Mercury, Elegua, Eshu, Prometheus, Veles, Coyote and Crow

Dislikes- in my experience he wasn’t a fan of Hermes, he doesn’t like Heimdall (Heimdall kills Loki ) 

Married- he is married to Sigyn! (the goddess of Victory)   Also, Loki’s first wife (Angrboda who was a Jotun ) taught Loki magic, later he devoured her heart because she was an ‘evil’ witch.

Zodiac- Aries and Gemini 

Siblings - Blood Odin, Hellblindi and Balyestyr

Devotional- volunteering to help survivors of trauma, helping with orphanages, and those who are in need, laughing at yourself.

Animal - Coyote, Salmon, Snakes, Foxes, vulture, Quiscalus quiscula, wolves, serpents, cats, falcon, butterfly, raven, flies, dragons, spiders.

colors - yellow , green , red, pink, neons, purple, gold, silver, Black, violet 

offerings - Candy, Atomic Fireball (he loves alcohol ex- tequila, rum, brandy, and mead, but he does get tired of it beacuse it’s offered so much), Pez, Pixie Sticks, cookies/pastries, caramel apples. Speaking of apples, He loves red food (ex-Red Velvet) He likes things with a lot of pepper spice, or even just the peppers themselves (habaneros seem to be a favorite), good whiskey, bread, knives, whatever reminds him of u, also baked goods, or anything really, you can give him just sugar or just food, whatever says “LOKI!!”, he also loves caffeinated drinks!, he likes cinnamon, chocolate, Tobacco, weed, cheesecake, especially with berries,  old granddad brand of alcohol, and hard cinnamon flavored or spicy liquor, and spicy runs and mulled wine! Carmel golden apples!  He also loves Nutella, I would recommend giving whatever you think he would like, he likes new things I heard.

Number - 13  and Kaunaz, Naudiz, Thurisaz, number 3, The Berkana rune, 

Planet- Pluto, Dark Moon

To do in his honor  - Inner Child work, Llaughing at yourself, Accepting that no one and self is perfect, and mistakes are okay, Feeling all of our feelings, drawing, coloring, singing, dancing, being creative, working with children or the elderly, collecting and sharing jokes, going on a walk, get lost, go on an adventure with friends or fellow outcasts, go clean up a local park in his honor, do something ur scared of, joke in their honor 

What he favors in devotes - Passion and drive, inc stubbornness, a go-getter, hunger for life, child like playfull Ness

God of - Celeverness, change, Creation, Cunning, Divine, Discovery, Humor, knowledge, sex, Seduction, shapeshifting, trickster (mischief), wit, truth,  temptation, the hearth, nature. 

Patron -outcasts (black sheep), earthquakes, changing cycles of the moon, nature, fire itself.

his weapon- Lævateinn

Herbs - daisy, mistletoe, Lavender, Patchouli, Cinnamon, Clove, Hemp, Holly, Mistletoe, Cedar, Juniper, Elder, “yellow rattle” plant, lokasjóður, “Loki’s Purse” (a plant), Loki oats, wild oats, birch, alder, mullein, acorns, Aspen trees (UPG)

Preferred coffee- very very sweet. (I also heard he likes mocha) 

Remind me of him - smiling, laughter, dancing, knives, horns, flowers, trees, flies, foxes, rings, black nail polish, masks, spiders, red hair, cat eyeliner look, eyeliner, blue eyes, plastic toys, nature 

Blessings - sharper knives (be careful they may be blunt one second and then sharp)

Tarot- The magician, Wheel of Fortune, the sun, the devil, the tower, the magician, 

Signs - spiders, vultures, snakes, seals, foxes, flies, wolves, Dandelions, coyotes 

Alter decorations - boats, kids' toys, anything listed here really.

Scents - He likes cinnamon, mulled wine, cotton candy, and peaty whiskey and yew, but nothing strong or overwhelming or alluring and anything too feminine, he also dislikes super masculine colognes. He likes Pine, cinnamon, sugar & spice, honey, and wild berry incense and dragons blood incense 

Animals• Fox, spiders,Flies, salmon horses, vultures 

Crystal• Volcanic and Sulfurous stones (ex. Obsidian Gypsum, Hematite, etc.)((is associated with tectonic activity)), pyrite (fools gold), color-changing stones, Bloodstone, Xlead calcite, Sunsgone, Stones associated with the air element, red stones, Stones of any other color you associated with Loki (ex- red Jasper, Garnet, Carnelian, Ruby), Stones that scream “LOKI!!”, but mostly - Red Jasper, Amber, Garnet, Goldstone; Plastic, Acrylic, Glass, Gold, Bronze, Silver, Magnesium, Orange calcite, hematite, fire agate, onyx, etc.), serpentine, fire quartz, smoky quartz, pyrite, multi-colored/color-changing stones (labradorite, fluorite, alexandrite, bismuth, etc.), carnelian, and tiger's eye, kambaba jasper, prehnite, garnet, green aventurine, malachite, and petrified wood, Yellow calcite

Symbols•fox, Knox, web, Tangles, snakes, Flies, salmon, horses, Mistletoe, (I've also heard vulture, hawk, skull

Names•known as sky traveler, Ve, or, father of monsters, Flamehair, “that bastard” (UPG), Lie-Smith, Sly-God, Shape-Changer, Sly-One, Lopt, Sky Traveller, Sky Walker, Wizard Of Lies, and Loftur and I'm sure there's more. (I’ve accidentally called him Taco Bell before myself.) 

Mortal or immortal • Mortal, but has apples to live longer, suspected the Apple effects last YEARS (like more than 100+ years. Because he is not “old” or dead yet, and in mythology, they take it to stay young and live forever.)

Vows/omans• Blood brother with Odin, Loki swears oaths that he will devise a scheme to cause the builder (of the wall of the asier home) to forfeit the payment, whatever it may cost himself.

Morals• He's morally grey 

Age - at least 2,000 years old (probably older.), based off of the aseir starting point, when the Norse first had evidence of worship because he was older than the asier

Personality• understanding, and fast going, can be jealous and has a quick temper.

Fact• He had a wife before Sigyn and he is in a cave until Ragnorok. I also heard he like farts a lot. And sends spiders, so beware, he made spiders in Sweden mythology 

Roots• Norse mythology 

Appearance in astral or gen• red hair and fair skin but not too red or too fair. Also, blue eyes I think or green. Or anything at all really.

Children- Hel, Jormangandr, Fenir, Sleipnir, Vanir, Narfi, (from sigyn) Svadilfari,  and Einmyria and Eisa (with Glut.) He also ate a woman’s heart and bore the first witch, some say also a HUGE cat. 

Season• the month of Gemini and Aries 

Status• God and Yotan

Element- Fire, air, nature.

Personality- Loki is not always the most mature and can sometimes act like a toddler. Also chaotic Neutral. he is not an omniscient Deity, but true to his word.

Parentage • The tree Lufey and farbauti

Prayers•

Flame-hair, your soul burning into the night, Throwing caution to the wind And casting the die of fate, Teach me your fearlessness. Lie-smith, your sharp words like daggers, Cutting through illusions to the bone And revealing the reality we refuse to see, Teach me your clarity. Silver-tongue, whispering carefully veiled truths, Sowing shrouded mystery in your wake, And leading only the clever onward, Teach me your secrecy. And leading only the clever onward, Teach me your secrecy. Gift-Bringer, recognizing all the overlooked, Giving rightly earned reward where it’s due, And in turn, blame as well, Teach me your justice. Scar-lip, ending silence in the face of injustice, Grinning down at the outcasts And rallying your voice with theirs, Teach me your anger. Pain-holder, accepting your punishment, Embracing the consequences of your deeds, And taking the fall of those who are weaker, Teach me your resilience. World-breaker, harbinger of chaos, Spitting fire upon the stagnant And carving the spear of change, Teach me your courage. Cruel-striker, slanderer of the gods, Burning the inefficient and stale, Revealing potential in the ashes, Teach me your insight. Sly-walker, throwing your mischievous grin about And casting laughter into the darkness Where before there was only despair, Teach me your joy. Shape-changer, manipulator of all walks of life, Confidently adapting to every situation, Commanding the strength of any form, Teach me your cunning. Hearth-fire, warmth of my heart, Your arms a sanctuary where none is found Light and life of the home I can always return to, Teach me your nurturing. Sky-treader, ever true to your wild heart,Letting none even try to contain your spirit As free as the sky itself, Teach me your passion. Hail Loki, And thank you, my God, For everything you bring to my life.I love you so.

- by @klawl

Links/websites/sources •

Links I recommend - 

Loki is the Norse god of mischief, and the hard cold truth, even tho he may be a jackass, but he is wise enough to be truthful, and charming in many ways.

[dawneternal]

Take the World in Your Hands | Eris x Elain | One

Summary: Eris's brothers catch wind of his proposal to Nesta. They plan to find and deliver her to their father as a gift, surely winning his favor. Their plan takes a turn when they kidnap the wrong Archeron sister and Eris finds her in the Autumn Court dungeon.

all aboard the crack ship???

do I agree with the ethics of sleeping with your brother's mate? Not personally. Did I trigger my own morality OCD by writing this? Maybe a little. Was it worth it? Who knows.

Warnings: blood, wounds, eventual smut. 18+

Ao3 link / Masterlist

There was nowhere to go.

Elain turned around in a circle, one hand clutched to her chest as if it would calm her heartbeat. But the panic kept rising, numbing her fingers, freezing her feet to the ground.

The image had come into her mind not five minutes ago, the urgency with which it unfurled immediately set her heartbeat racing. Three flames danced toward her, traveling through the dark. There was something brutish and wicked about them. They were tracking her. She didn't know how, but she could feel it. They knew exactly where she was.

She had stood from her spot in the garden, thoughts whirling as she tried to figure out what to do. There was no one here. She was completely alone at the River House. She reached out in her mind to see if anyone would hear, but she felt nothing. No one.

Notging should be able to winnow to the River House, right? She had heard Feyre say so before? Perhaps she should go inside then, maybe search for a weapon. If only she could get her body to respond and move.

Time ran out. Three huge redheaded men appeared before her, grinning like wolves. The scent of decaying leaves and crisp air clung to them, stinging Elain's nose.

Even if she could have cleared her mind to make a decision, there was no time. One of them lunged and grabbed her, another pressing a cloth to her face as she struggled. She felt the familiar tug of winnowing, and then the entire world disappeared.

Footsteps echoed through the hall.

Elain pulled her knees up to her chest as they grew louder. She tucked her head into her folded arms and shivered. The brutes who had kidnapped her had returned several times to jeer at her, throwing bits of moldy bread as if she were a caged animal they wanted to rile. Every taunt held a promise of what was to come, their delight growing as the color drained from Elain's face. Apparently, she was to be a gift to the High Lord.

These footsteps were not as heavy as theirs had been, but the idea of a new bully was almost worse than those three returning. Perhaps it was the High Lord coming to claim his prize. The iron gate of her cell rattled as someone placed a hand on it and heaved a deep sigh.

"Did they hurt you?" A smooth voice met Elain's ears, but she did not look up.

Another sigh, and then, "You're the High Lady's other sister, yes?"

Elain lifts her head at this, brows furrowed. The face before her was similar to her captors. The same copper hair, cunning amber eyes, and smattering of freckles. But the curve of this man's jaw and the sweep of his cheekbones conveyed an elegance the others had not possessed. There was something delicate and cruel about his beauty, whereas the others had been simple brutes through and through.

Elain only stared at him, filling her red-rimmed eyes with as much ferocity as she could muster. She thought of her sister's steely silver gaze and attempted to channel it into her own. The man held her gaze and studied her, his expression unchanging.

"I'll return in a few hours," He said, when it became clear she was not going to speak, "I'll need to come up with some sort of diversion. If anyone comes to see you, do not tell them I was here."

Then he was gone, those echoing footsteps disappearing back down the dark stone hall. As the metal door shut behind him with a clang, she finally placed him.

It was Eris, the one who had danced with Nesta in the Court of Nightmares. His demeanor and dark clothing fit in well with the stone city, but his shimmering hair and flaming eyes were the brightest thing there. Too bright to belong. It had stuck in her memory.

So it was the Vanserra brothers who had kidnapped her. They had been the flames in the dark. Was it a cruel trick for Eris to visit and pretend to care?

Elain curled up on the cold floor, wrapping her arms around herself, and waited.

Elain heard nothing to indicate that Eris had returned. She was jolted from her sleep by metal rattling against the gate.

She jumped to her feet, barely making out the figure before her in the dim light. Eris was cursing under his breath, clutching his side.

"Take it," he snapped, thrusting his hand through the bars, "Hurry. I can't do it."

Elain stumbled forward and reached for it, shuddering as she found his dripping hand. He pressed a key into her palm, slick with blood.

Fingers cold and trembling, she stuck her hand through the bars and found the keyhole. A chorus of shouting began in the distance.

"Hurry," Eris hissed, followed by a grunt of pain. The blood made the key slippery and it took her a moment to get it to turn.

"I'm trying," Elain sobbed as the rabble became louder. Closer. The key clicked and turned.

As soon as the door had swung open wide enough for his arm to reach through, he grabbed her wrist and pulled.

And then they were falling through the world.

They landed in the snow, surrounded by darkness. Elain stood still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning around her. Then she became aware of Eris kneeling beside her, still grasping her wrist as he stained the snow around him with crimson.

"The cabin," He rasped, releasing his grip.

Only then did Elain notice the cabin before them. Lush pine trees filled the space around it, branches heavy with snowdrifts. It was silent here, save for the wind howling above the trees and the heavy breathing of her rescuer.

She waded through the snow and found the door to the cabin unlocked. Eris crawled after her, letting out a grunt of pain, and collapsed just inside the door. Elain closed the door and bolted it, then kneeled beside him.

A fire was already roaring in the hearth, warming the room. She could finally see her companion fully, laying on his back, chest heaving. The light made visible all of the cuts and blooming bruises across his face and shoulders. His face was pale, a drop of blood trickling from his parted lips. Eyes closed tight as both hands clutched at the red spot at his side. His hands covered the bulk of the wound, but the rips and stains of his jacket poked out around his fingers.

"What happened?" She asked softly, brows furrowing.

"My brothers found me," He gritted out, "Ash Wood and faebane."

"Stay still and I'll help you, Eris," She pressed down on his shoulder in attempt to still his writhing.

"You know my name?" His eyes opened, resting on hers. Something fluttered in Elain's chest.

"I've seen you before," Elain looked away from his intense gaze, eyes sweeping through the cabin.

"And you trust me?" He grunted, then shut his eyes tight, mouth twisting in pain.

"You rescued me." Elain shrugged. She stood and began searching for supplies.

The furniture here was weathered and well used, and knick-knacks and decorations dotted the space. She found clean towels in the kitchen and a first aid kit in the wash room.

Returning with her supplies, she knelt beside him once more and began to lift his hands from the wound. He resisted, trying to keep his hands clutched there.

"Let me see, Eris," She said. He relaxed as she said his name, letting her lift his wrists and press a towel into his hands. He gripped it tight as she inspected the wound.

"Tell me your name," He said, the words strained.

"You don't know the names of the High Lady's sisters?" She teased, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I need to take off your jacket."

"I can't sit up," Every other breath was a gasp.

"I'll cut it then."

Elain grabbed the scissors from the first aid kit and cut away the thick jacket, beads scattering as the thread was severed. She peeled back the layers and cut away his shirt. The fabric was so soaked with blood it fell to the floor with a wet splat.

The wound, near his bottommost rib, still bled but it was not as deep as it could be. Whoever tried to stab him had not been successful. Though it did seem the tip of the knife had been twisted, tearing the flesh around it. Elain could not help but wonder what the attacker looked like after Eris had finished with them.

"I know Feyre and Nesta," Eris grunted as she applied pressure with a clean towel. Elain's eyes skimmed over the numerous scars across his muscled abdomen. Some were still pink and healing.

"And Elain," She murmured, "Your brothers did this?"

Eris did not answer. Silence settled between them as Elain packed his wound with gauze and secured a bandage over it. Then she scrubbed as much of the blood away as she could, gently taking his hands and wiping each one clean.

He looked at her again, briefly, then did a double take. His brows furrowed, jaw clenching, as he brought his fingers to the bruise on her cheekbone to examine its severity.

"Which one of them did this?" He growled.

"That was me," Elain said, cringing at the cold feel of blood on her skin. "I lost my balance trying to look through the cell door."

"Don't lie," He gritted out.

"I'm not," Elain pleaded, reaching for a new towel to press against his injury. Fresh blood seeped from it. "Please calm down."

Eris was searching her body for other injuries. He found the bruise around her bicep, yellow splotches where a strong hand had gripped her too tightly.

"Tell me which one of them did it," Eris snarled, though his vision was moving in and out of focus.

"The tallest one," Elain said to appease him, gathering new gauze and bandages with her other hand, keeping the pressure on his ribs. "Stop moving, Eris."

"I will kill all of them," He continued grumbling, trying to raise himself up on his elbows.

"Open," Elain commanded, pressing her thumb against his bottom lip, ignoring the smear of red she left. He glowered at her and tried to fight her touch, but he was weak and tired and Elain won out, dropping the pill into his mouth. Bitterness and the taste of his own blood covered his tongue and he scowled. Elain held his mouth closed with the back of her hand, keeping him from spitting out the medicine.

Immediately, sleep was pulling him away. He tried to fight that too, forcing his vision to focus on Elain as she worked over him. But he couldn't resist whatever she had given him and his consciousness fell away.

[faewitchsdeities]

𝕷𝖔𝖐𝖎

(𝙻𝚘𝚔𝚒) ʷʰʸ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵏ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ↑ ₒ ₋ ₒ

𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊(𝖘): Lokee, Luki, Logi, Lukkanet, Locke sprindlar

𝕲𝖔𝖉 𝖔𝖋: Trickery, Mischief, Cunning, and Seduction

𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖉𝖆𝖞(𝖘): April fools, July 23rd, Autumn equinox, Loki's Blot, Samhain, Yule, Thursday

𝕽𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘: Son of Farbauti and Laufey, mother of Sleipnir, father of Hel, Jormungandr, and Fenrir, as well as Narfi. PACT BROTHER WITH ODIN. (Not Thor -.-) , Husband to Sigyn and lover to Angrboda

𝕰𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖊𝖘: Heimdall, (arguably the other Aesir)

𝕾𝖞𝖒𝖇𝖔𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖒-

𝕬𝖓𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖑(𝖘): snakes, foxes, wolves, coyote, ravens/crows, horses, goats, flies, spider, ant, seal, salmon

𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗: Double snake symbol (Urnes), knots, chaos star, hearts, figure 8s, Naglfar, Loki's mask, fishing nets, lightning, earthquakes, the numbers 0, 1, 3, &8, shackles

𝕮𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗(𝖘): red, orange, purple, violet, indigo, black, green, gold

𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙: Fire and Air

𝕻𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖊𝖙: Pluto, Saturn, Uranus, Dark moon/waning moon

𝖅𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖈𝖘: Aries

𝕾𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖗 𝕲𝖔𝖉𝖘: Hermes, Lugh

𝕺𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘- Singing, dancing, helping minorities and children

𝕳𝖊𝖗𝖇𝖘/𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖘: aconite amber resin bentgrass birch burdock root cedar cinnamon clove clover dandelion dragon's blood ebony elder hemlock hemp/weed holly ivy juniper lavender mandrake root mistletoe moss myrrh patchouli rue tobacco

𝕱𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖘: Anything sweet- candies chocolates coffee fruits pastries soda/juice drinks sugar etc.. - as well as red foods- cherries cranberries peppers pomegranate strawberries tomatoes etc..

𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖘/𝖈𝖗𝖞𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖘/𝖒𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖘: acrylic amber bronze clear quartz coins and other cheap random metals diamond fire opal fools gold galena garnet glass gold gold stones grenade lead magnesium obsidian onyx plastic red jasper rutilated quartz silver

𝕺𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗: Incense, shiny things, plastic and stuffed toys, found/cheap things preferred, bunny, snake, fox, and raven imagery, art and poetry, knots, hearts, fishnets, lightning imagery,

𝕴𝖓𝖛𝖔𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖐: Aids in spells with getting through tough, tight, and narrow situations, owning up to your shit, mischief, cunning plans, change, cleverness, creativity, youthfulness and beauty, seduction, androgyny, blessing and sharpening a blade or knife.

𝕬𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊: Tall with a slim/cut muscular body type. Long pretty red hair, green/violet/gold eyes, a masculine yet feminine face and a sharp jaw, said to be one of the most beautiful Jotunn.

𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖊/𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘: ~A cunning trickster who had the ability to change his shape and sex, the creator of lightning, hearth fire, the spirit of life. In the beginning he was a beloved friend and honorary member of the Aesir, but toward the end he became an enemy.. Was/is a companion of Odin and Thor, helping them with his clever plans but sometimes causing them embarrassment and difficulties, though also being any enemy of sorts. Though his father was a Jotunn (a giant), his mother was considered a goddess, thus Loki is included among the Aesir.

-Once cut off Thor's wife's hair and was forced to replace it. He tricked dwarves into a wager for his head if they could deliver wonderful gifts the the gods (including the hair). They made a hammer for Thor, A great spear and a drop-near gold bracelet for Odin, A boat and a huge golden boar for Freyr, and of course new hair made of gold for Sif -Thor's wife. Loki then told the dwarves that the wager said that they could only take his head and that they could not damage his neck. They were enraged but Odin told them that they should have paid more attention when making a wager with the god of trickery. Though Loki was still punished by having his mouth sowed shut so he couldn't deceive for a long time.

-One day someone stole Thor's hammer and left a ransom note, later demanding Freya's hand in return for the hammer that protected both Asgard and Midgard. Loki had an idea though, -much to Thor's dismay- he dressed the thunder god as a bride and took advantage of the giant thief's poor sight. (Also disguising himself as a woman) He tricked the giant, successfully making him think that Thor was Freya. As they ate Thor let out his apatite and the giant said something about his bride having a big stomach. To avoid being caught Loki said that the "goddess" was just eager to consummate their marriage. Thor was furious and embarrassed. The giant got excited and foolishly set the hammer on the table next to Thor. The thunder god took his hammer back and smashed the giant's head, all while still wearing his pretty dress. The gods always had fun talking about the time when Thor dressed up in drag.

-One day a builder came to Asgard offering to make them a wall that they needed. He said he could do it in record time, but that he wanted Freya's hand in return. The gods were enraged by his audacity and said no but Loki convinced them to set a wager- he could have the goddess as his wife if he was able to do the impossible task in an impossible amount of time. The idea was that he would try his hardest but not be able to finish in time, therefore giving the gods a free wall that they could just finish the end of. But the builder had a strong and mystical horse that could lift and carry all the large pieces for him. As the builder got closer and closer to finishing with time still left, the other gods we nervous and angry with Loki- who told them he had a plan. He turned himself into a beautiful mare and seduced the builder's horse, running off to the woods with him, and rendering the builder unable to finish the wall. Enraged, the builder revealed himself as a Giant and was killed, his head smashed in by Thor's hammer. Loki returned much later with an eight legged colt; his son Sleipnir which he gifted to Odin when he got older and stronger- in exchange for the horse's origin to be kept secret.

-It's said that he gave humans lightning to warn them of Thor's loud thunder before it happens, because he knew it was frightening. The swift walker of the skies is the lightning running ahead of Thor's great thundering cart.

-Tricked Baldr's blind brother Hodr into throwing the one thing that would kill the god; mistletoe- right at his chest. He indirectly killed Frigg's son; one of the most beloved god's in all the Aesir. As his punishment his one of his sons turned and killed the other and he was tied to a stone in a cave, by his dead son's entrails- a snake coiled on a stalactite above his face, dripping venom down onto him. Though Loki's wife Sigyn sat by his side and held a bowl over his face to protect him, she had to move every once in a while to empty the bowl, allowing the poison to drip onto his face as he convulsed, causing the first earthquakes in Midgard. It is said that he was to break from his chains and aid in Ragnarock. Baldr's story goes on to describe the burning of his body in a funeral pyre on his ship, Nanna accompanying him. BUT in another version, the goddess Frigg persuaded the other gods to restore Balder to life. She repaid their obliging wizardry with kisses. (THIS IS WHERE THIS IS MY THEORY) if the second ending is true and Baldr is alive, I think that Odin would eventually release Loki under the guise that he either not cause Ragnarok or aid the Aesir instead of what was prophesized. [I haven't really thought that a deity was speaking directly to me until I read this story, it's like I saw it and it came at me all at once like a vision. Just thought I'd include it.])

[flygefisk]

kabocha, the beast of the woods, and calabaza, his sons. kabocha is distrustful of dragonkind, carefully hiding his little homestead deep in the orchard. cala (downturned horns) and baza (upturned horns) are curious, though, about these creatures so unlike their father.

once upon a time, in a forest deep and dark, there lived a beast. a creature of sharp claws and bared fangs and glowing green eyes, howling in layered voices. the people of the nearby village feared this beast greatly. they left the carcasses of livestock at the treeline, with honey and cream and fruit, hoping these gifts would keep the beast sated and away from the village.

in return, the village flourished. the beast, it seemed, kept away the other pests of the forest, and their crops and livestock grew strong and healthy, and the villagers could forage with no fear of wolves or forest-cats. and so it went, for many years.

until one day in late autumn, when a farmer found one of his cows lying gutted in the field. surely, he thought, only the beast had claws great enough to do this. so he gathered his neighbors and they debated what to do.

they left the beast an early sacrifice, and larger. it was gone the next morning, and the woods were quiet, and the villagers sighed in relief.

but then they found another cow, torn open and left in the red-stained grass. and over the next few days, a goat, a hound, a half-dozen chickens. their crops, which often flourished even into winter, had begun to wither, devoured by the little forest pests that had stayed away for so long.

the villagers grew worried. they gathered to debate what they should do once again. if they continued leaving gifts, and the beast continued taking their livestock, they may not have enough to make it through the winter. they feared what may happen should they refuse to leave sacrifices, but they feared starvation just as greatly.

"perhaps," said the schoolteacher, "the beast will sleep through the winter, and it is only gathering bulk to sustain itself."

"perhaps," said the butcher, "it has grown a taste for fat and flesh, and desires fresher fare than we give."

"perhaps," said the preacher, "it wishes to devour life and soul, and mere meat will sate it no longer."

"yes, that must be it," the preacher insisted. "such a beast cannot survive on fruit and flesh alone! such a beast craves fear, and pain, and death. we must leave it living things if we are to survive!"

the villagers trusted the preacher now, just as they had always done, just as foolishly, and left two live goats tied at the treeline. they were gone in the morning, but the fields were still stained red.

it was a difficult decision. but they made this sacrifice all the same.

laid at the treeline, jugs of cream and sweet wine, bowls of fruit, jars of honey and butter, loaves of bread. and a child. this child, the villagers had thought, was an orphan, who would miss it? strange and small and unloved, but a life nonetheless.

and in the morning, it was gone. it was all gone. the gifts, the child, the howls, the beast.

who knows what happened to the village? and who cares? these people who left food at the forest and then were shocked when hungry animals came into their streets. these people who chose not to investigate their animals' death in favor of throwing themselves to the mercy of some beast. these people who left a child to die to protect themselves.

i certainly do not know. nor do i care. i took my goats and their gifts and this child, and i left. i will do better by him than they ever tried to do. i will protect him, as i had protected them.

i hope they turned on their preacher. i hope they starved and fed the crows. i hope the rats run that village now.

[brokenrecordplayersblog]

═══════════ ・○・ ═══════════

Hello lovelies, I hope you're all okay, I had an idea for Price and a civilian reader.

Please let me know in the comments who you want next.I write books and headcanons so please comment on who do you want to see next.

Please enjoy the fanfic.

═══════════ ・○・ ═══════════

It was autumn, the leaves were falling everywhere, as they muted from their bright greens to more rustic oranges, reds and brown hues, signalling that winter was comming.

The woods were littered with leaves, they covered the roads for miles in a sea of red and orange.

It was a sight to see during the day. To witness the calming feel of the chilling air as the leaves fell and how the soft rays of sunlight hit against the trees in the English countryside.

However, now it was dark. And John was driving. It's been an hour since he hit the road, as the landscape shifted from the military base, to large buildings that came shy of touching the sky, to forest for miles.

His heart grew impatient, all he wanted was to be reunited with his lover, to feel their gentle touch on his skin, their soft kisses, the way their arms would hold him at night. He missed it all.

His grip on the steering wheel became tighter as his thumb played with the golden wedding band around his left ring finger.

It was gold with the engraving of maple leaves on it, you had to be really close to see all of the fine little details.

He couldn't wait to go home, to see the love of his life waiting for his return.

Soon he drove through small country roads. His headlights lit the way through the darkness as his blue eyes were fixed on the little drops of rain that crashed against his windshield.

He passed by a few deer and wolves as he drove in complete silence. He didn't bother putting on some music, or turning on the radio, as the thoughts of his partner were enough to keep him company, he was too entisiastic to see his partner.

He took a left turn, near a small chapel of Holy Marie.

Instinctively he did the motion of the cross before before pressing his thumb and index finger to his mouth and letting go.

He continued to drive through that small road, which led deeper into the woods. Until he saw the cabin.

The log cabin he had bought a few years back, to get away from everything. He used to come here when he wanted some time off, away from the stress of the military. Away from people, just him and nature.

But now it was more than just that. It was his little sacred heaven. It was his home, it was where the love his life lived.

The cabin, was large, made of large logs and red bricks and hardwood. It was big, about two stories high, it had a patio that was right in front of the lake and a porch on the opposite end of the house. It had railings made out of metal and hardwood all around the small space, were bushes of wild raspberries and rosehip. That was where he normally parked his pick-up truck.

It was a one hour drive to and from the base. Hidden amongst the tall trees of the forest, away from prying eyes, their neighbours were mostly older couples or war veterans that wanted peace and quiet.

John liked the little community, they would often do collective dinners and breakfast, holidays, birthdays and other celebrations.

It was a nice little place, nice and quiet....

He smiled as he parked his truck. Right in front of the porch. And stepped out, he grabbed hold of his duffle bag and happily made his way up the small flight of stairs that lead to the porch and unlocked the door.

His heart was pounding as he was hit with a wave of warmth and sweet smell of baked goods.

He let out a sigh of content as he took off his boots at the door, sighing in relief that his feet were free. He shuffled to the bedroom. His feet aching, his body covered in dirt and sweat. He still had his gear on but he really didn’t care. There was one thing he wanted. He opened the door that led to their bedroom, slowly in order not to startle them.

And there they were. They were asleep, cuddled up in the blankets, amongst the blankets he could make out a set of pajamas that consisted of one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts.

He felt a smile creep up on his face as he took in the sight in front of him.

He slowly made his way to the bed. Crawling to wrap his big arms around them, resting his head on their chest momentarily.

“Love, darling, honey, pup.”

John whispered every pet name he could think of, pressing delicate kisses to their cheeks.

“love of my life, my pretty little thing. Wake up.”

His smile widened when he heard them mumbling and rubbing their eyes. He propped himself up by his elbows, pressing a kiss to their lips.

“M’ home. Beautiful.”

His smile grew wider as he was meet with their pretty eyes, so full of sleep. It took them a moment to see straight but the moment that saw John laying there. They tackled him to the bed and wrapped their arms around him. Securing him in place as held him close. It didn't matter if he smelled of sweat, gun powered. If he was covered in dirt and blood.

He was home, he made it back home... he made it back to them.

The low rubble of Price's chuckle made them smile as they cried of joy. And once again they shared one more kiss before as they just laid in each others arms.

[brigittttoo]

Fic Stats Meme

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and your fic with the least amount of words.

Both @elwenyere and @goddammitjim had open tags and this sounded fun! Let's see what the stats say:

Most hits

Slow Waters - Star Wars, 37k, Codywan, 7123 hits

The events of seven days in the mid-autumn of 2025, between the arrival of the Fett brothers -- the three-man Ranger team nicknamed "The Clones" by the general public -- to the Tokyo Shatterdome, and the last mission made against the Kaiju invasion.

Second most kudos

Inexpressibly to Untangle - Star Wars, 6k, Codywan, 533 kudos

"He’d always wondered why they’d called it that, when they can see real stars all the time, and the rearrangement of blood pressure just greys out his vision. It’s nothing like crisp white sparks of light on a vast black field, or a little speck of red on a purple sunset, or three yellow suns burning in tandem on the horizon." A post-Order 66 canon AU in which Obi-Wan and Cody crash-land on Endor.

Third most comments

Portrait of Monsieur X - Captive Prince, 37k, Damen/Laurent, 47 comment threads

"Without moving, Laurent spoke. “I wonder how long it takes for a portrait to become something different than its subject,” he said quietly. Damen wondered if this was a question he was truly meant to answer." It's the 1890s and Damen is hired to paint Laurent's portrait. A fic with guilt, ruin, and love.

Fourth most bookmarks

Wolfssegen - Star Wars, 7k, Codywan, 42 bookmarks

"Three years ago, just after Cody took on the old house on the outskirts of a small town, there had been a full moon, and Cody had woken the next morning to find the mangled remains of an iron wolf trap strewn across his back steps. The next full moon, he'd dragged a chair outside and waited up all night, and watched the patient glow of Obi-Wan's eyes from just beyond the tree-line." A vaguely historical, vaguely German story about wolves and magic.

Fifth most words

What Year Was Our House Built? - Star Wars, Codywan, 23,713 words

Cody and Obi-Wan live a peaceful, domestic life in a beautiful house, but all is not what it seems. When they start to have dreams of a different world, and objects start to appear in their home, and something in the basement just doesn't feel right-- that's when someone has to ask: What Year Was Our House Built?

Least words (not counting artworks)

Corn? - Venom (Marvel), Chickens, 354 words

A brief glimpse into the navigations of chickens Sonny and Cher in Eddie and Venom's life.

Tags: Open for anyone who sees this!! what a fun little glimpse into what I usually try not to look at. Numbers are not usually very large but I'm so proud of everything on this list. Yes, even the chicken one.

[therealmintedmango]

Cerberus - Part Three

Genre: Werewolf/ Shifter AU; Medieval AU; Strangers-To-Lovers AU; Heavy Angst; Soulmate AU; Eventual romance/ smut

Rating: NC 18+, Explicit

Words: 7,396

Pairings: (Eventually) ot7 BTS x Human Female Reader

Warnings: Dark themes; Yandere Vibes; Death; Gore; Murder/ Killing; Dark Dreams; Wolf Centric Chapter

Tag List: (Please notify me if you wish to be added/ no longer want to be apart of the tag list!) @openup-yourmind, @deeepvibes, @xxsunny-side-upxx, @heoniebaby

Cerberus Playlist — Apple Music (Let me know if you have a good song to add to the playlist and I’ll chuck it in there!)

——————-

The hunt is on,

For it is night.

I lurk in the shadows

Under the pale moonlight.

All creatures tucked away in their beds,

Slumber taking its hold and pressing

Down, down, down.

Either a fairytale or a nightmare,

I get to decide,

For you cannot run and

you cannot hide.

Though she does not see me nor sense me,

I can see her sweat and shake,

A virgin so pure and fragile,

I dare not defile.

Not until she is heady and ready,

Shivering in my claws — it’s not too late.

For she is mine.

…Mine…

Mine…!

MINE!

I wake with a fright, my heart is beating viscously, thumping clean out of my soggy skin. I sit up, the bed frame creaking under my movements as I push the heavy sheets to the side. My body glistens, dripping in a hot-cold sweat under the moonlight that baths my room in her silver, pale glow. My nightgown is soaked, covered in my perspiration, the cream-colored silk clings to me for dear life. The hairs around my neck are plastered in place. My breaths come out in heaves, my hands shake with terror.

Shuddering at the nightmare I just had, I stare at the princes’ family portrait as my eyes adjust. There are no teeth here, nor claws—no looming figures that stalk me in the throes of the velvet night. Just seven sets of rust-colored eyes staring down at me. I tear my eyes away and stare at the tree branches outside, there is a heavy fog relaxing among the wood in an eerie cloak, blanketing the night.

I’m awake. I tell myself as I rub my face in my hands, feeling a cold night sweat occur. I am awake and I am alive and that is all that matters. I gulp, trying to regain some composure.

That nightmare was truly hellish.

Twigs snap under my bare feet, branches slice the skin on my face and arms as I race as fast as I can muster. A giant wolf or dog was chasing me deeper and deeper into the bog, the thicket of trees and vines so tall, there was no room for escape as my path came to a dead end. Its eyes a light golden color, its fur shrouded in the night as it hunted me, stalked me like I was pretty prey. The creature snarls, bearing its blinding white teeth, claws like sharp knives ready to pierce my skin raised above me as it let out this feral, ghoulish howl from the depths of its belly. It sounded like it was almost gleeful, a chorus of wailing howls surrounded me, forming a circle of terror with their sunset eyes, fangs, and ferocious sounds. I called for help, for someone to save me, but there was little to be done. Within the next instance, a whole pack of wolves smiled at me as the moon fell from the sky…then they descended upon me.

Then I awoke.

I shudder once more, a ripple of uncomfortable remembering races through my body.

My eyes sweep a glance at the fireplace, the stone hearth is dead, as it is well into the early hours of the morn, not even a peep of the sun shimmering gold and reds on the horizon. No autumn birds sing outside in their nests. All is still in the house and in the wood. I take some deep breaths and try to compose myself, still sitting in the guest room the princes’ have allowed me to reside in.

Why they are so kind and gentle to me, I shall never understand.

My tongue is dry and I long for a glass of water. I have a bell next to my bedside to call upon the staff if I need something, however I like to do things myself, much to the princes’ dismay. Besides, it is far too early to call upon someone at this hour. I shall go to the water pump outside beside the kitchen and fetch myself a glass of water. An easy feat, I tell myself as I slink out of bed.

I quickly light the long eggshell-colored candle in the holder next to my bedside, feeling the cool of the floor under my feet gives some relief to my anxious body. As quiet and gingerly as I can, I open my door and make haste for the stairs. I have been residing in this home for around a month or so and I have gotten to know these halls a fair bit. There is still an air of mystery and glamor to this house, the grounds, and the people inside the walls.

The princes’ all delight in doing various activities with me throughout the week such as poetry reading with Seokjin after breakfast on the days he isn’t taking care of his royal duties. I have noticed his voice and his demeanor change when he reads about romance, which he does not do often…he almost appears wistful. Yoongi likes to play the piano in the study with me, though he is much better than I at the instrument. It is mesmerizing to observe him play such intricate melodies.

Hoseok is particularly active. He delights in taking me for strolls any time of the day and has promised to take me hunting once the ball has come to pass. Namjoon and I discuss various books in the study's library. He has so many first editions to such classic tales—I enjoy his vast knowledge of the world. Maybe one day I will make it out there. Jimin has asked for my opinions on the gardens, though he says they are not fully ready to view and walk through yet. He brings a brand new bouquet to have in my room every fortnight which is incredibly thoughtful.

Taehyung is so fascinating to be around. He is neither too loud nor too quiet, he is neither too sharp, nor too soft. He is so many things and I believe that’s why he paints and creates many things. Jungkook is the biggest enigma out of the family. He does all the things his brothers do, but he is the most secretive by far. I suppose being one of fourteen myself, I understand you are a combination of all good things your siblings are.

Getting to know these princes’ is a touch overwhelming, but it certainly leaves me craving more from our interactions. Those amber eyes they all share bore deep into my skull at times, speaking to me in a language I can’t quite understand.

The wolf decor in the hallway to the dining room catches my eyes and I almost freeze in my tracks, the candle flame flickers as I suck in a tight breath. In my haste to procure some water and my wandering ,rabid thoughts, I have failed a few things: I do not have on the proper attire to be roaming around late at night, I don’t exactly know how to get to the water pump outside, and I haven’t realized just how eerie the castle looks shrouded in the blackness of night. I tear my eyes away from the stone wolf heads and their hollow eyes as I slink through the dining room quickly. The only sound I can hear is the slight crackling of the flame and the soft padding of my feet across the lush carpets and wooden floors.

At last I have reached the kitchens and I know the pump for the water is not far. Dawning on me, I have not seen the space where my food comes from. There are several large hearths for cooking, brick ovens, a pantry that is as long and wide as my room upstairs, cupboards filled with intricate plates and dishes that are in mint condition though they look centuries old. Dried herbs hang along the walls and the counters are so clean, I think to myself as I glide my fingertips across the cool, smooth stone surfaces. It smells of faint spices from last night’s roasted pheasant and slightly sweet from the cranberry pie that was served for dessert.

Mice are maybe quieter than I, but I secure a glass out of the cupboard—one that looks neither too fancy nor too breakable. I am a clumsy fool most of the right time. Never saying the right words or feet tripping over invisible laces.

There is a small door in the corner of the kitchen and a slim hallway one leading to a staircase upstairs to where the staff live, I assume. I gingerly press the wooden door open, fearing I have stumbled onto someone’s living chambers. The wood groans slightly as I push the latch free from its metal confines and I have come this far to give up on my conquest for water. I suck in a breath and close one eye in anticipation, mustering strength up to thrust the door open.

I feel it before I see it. The cold of the dead of night.

Before I go and do anything else brash, I quickly scan the ground around me. I see a singular brick on the ground outside and I place it between the threshold of the door, so I will not be locked out of the castle.

The darkness outside is thick, palpable. The fog is like cold, faint whispers of ghosts floating around my body. A breeze whips up and I clutch my candle close, fearing the yellow flame would be whisked away. I look for the water pump close to the house, wandering along the side of the brick and marble stone. The night air sends a wave of shivers down my spine. It turns my nipples to hard pebbles under my nightclothes. The fog is dense and the night is dark and the little hairs on the back of my neck start to raise in warning. I am determined to find some water, even though I am inching further and further away from the only door I know will grant me entrance into the house.

My body is telling me to run, run far away! Dash away like a mad person! Dash away like you did all those many moons ago!

However, the need for this water to survive is all that is keeping me stitched together at this moment.

To calm my nerves, I hum a tune I have not heard nor sung in years. A lullaby my mother used to sing to me. It’s a relaxing melody, the notes light and sweet. It usually coaxes tears to my eyes, though I cannot be swayed to dwell too much on her memory. The wind and my lullaby are the only things that my ears pick up on.

The little light from my candle finally catches the gleam from the metal pump, glimmering in the tiny glow. I have to make haste I think as I work quickly. I work in a flurry, setting the candle on the edge of the pump and placing the glass right where the water will flow out. I wish not to be out and about on this night any further. The metal groans and sputters awake, cutting the eerie silence wrapped up in the fog of the early morn with a knife. The noise sends a shutter down my spine as I continue to rouse the liquid from the mouth of the water pump. My throat is metaphorically in the middle of a barren desert, sticking to the roof of my mouth, tongue shriveling away placed behind my parched lips.

Something underfoot snaps in the wood close to me as soon as the water springs to life, filling my glass up.

The liquid spurts out, spilling everywhere, dribbling over my cold feet, my dry throat stiff and useless as I cannot even utter a simple whimper. I stop pumping, the groan of the metal pump clunking back into place with a thud. My heart is beating clean out of my chest, a black figure seems to emerge from the shadows; my nightmare is still very prevalent, swimming around in my brain as I nearly pass out from the fright of something lumbering toward me in the throes of the foggy, velvet night. My mind is doing spins, searching for the right thing to do. Do I run? Scream? Do nothing and pretend I don’t exist? Play like I am deceased? My stomach is empty, falling into pits on the frigid ground, my heart pumping blood into my ears.

It looks like a bear? It is very large and lingering, a snarl protruding out of the creature's jaws. No, a dog? I wish to vomit. The thing is stalking the tree line like a wolf—

“Y/N?”

I spin around, nearly tripping over myself, eyes blown out in shock as Taehyung's deep baritone fills the night with its earthy tone and rich timbre. He is in his night clothes, a quizzical expression on his face as he looks down upon me. The second youngest brother’s eyes flit to mine, the water pump and the tree line of the somber wood. Taehyung’s candle is raised to illuminate his strikingly handsome face in the soft golden flickering glow.

“What are you doing out here?” His amber eyes look down at my feet as a smirk dawns his lips. “You have a penchant for being barefoot, I see.”

“Prince Taehyung…” I whisper, my heart still beating rapidly, buried within my chest cavity. A blush blooms over my face. I am now acutely aware he can see straight through my silks, the cool, night air making my chest perky.

After a moment of awkward silence, the dog-creature nearly forgotten, Taehyung says, “I needed a midnight snack and there was a draft in the kitchen. I saw someone propped the kitchen door open and I heard the water being pumped so I came to investigate.” The sixth eldest prince smiles as he regales his discovery of me outside. “Let's get you inside, little bird.” He says softly, picking up my now mostly full water glass. “Hold my night clothes so I shan’t lose you in this thick fog.”

With haste, I do as he commands. Taehyung leads me back through the door of the kitchens and off to bed with a cold glass of water finally.

I miss his expression when we are outside: the way his thick brows are knitted together, eyes wild and unhinged, teeth are bared, gleaming in the glow of the candle and moonlight. This was his way of sending a silent warning to the creature hiding in the fog and tree line.

She is MINE. STAY AWAY.

-

The early morning hours, where breakfast is served and everyone is flurrying about, are some of my favorite hours here in the Bangtan brother’s castle. I enjoy watching the brothers and staff mingle and mix, the princes’ keeping each other up to date with their lives and what they are going to accomplish each day. It inspired me to rise with them, not only to dine with all seven of them, but to hear what they are working on. It reminds me of my brother’s back home. My chest aches at the thought of them, sadness and misery clutch the edges of my mind and the morning sun rays permeate the curtains in my room.

The ball they hold for their kingdom on the night of the pregnant harvest moon is fast approaching. Not only are the staff deep into preparing, but the princes are as well. Each brother is doing something exquisite and unique which I am looking forward to seeing. Seokjin and Namjoon are splitting the duties of organizing the ball, though Seokjin is focusing on the food mostly and Namjoon is strengthening ties with other kingdoms as each of the neighboring states have been invited as well. Yoongi is taking care of the music; he is out with the Royal Bangtan Orchestra most afternoons, though he always has time to sit in front of the piano with me. Hoseok is handling entertainment like jugglers, fire eaters, and palm readers, which sounds fascinating to me as I’ve never experienced anything like that. Jimin is in charge of the gardens as well as adding impressive bouquets at every table and ropes of bright flowers that line every threshold. Taehyung is taking care of displaying Bangtan’s most eloquent and opulent paintings and statues on display. He is also very concerned about the fashion choices for the ball as wigs are all the rage right now and he wants to impress the crowd with his stylish, yet sensible choices. Jungkook has a surprise happening in the evening when cocktails and dessert is presented and though I press him for information, he holds tight to his secrets, smiling like a smug dog who has just buried a giant bone in the wood for safe keeping.

I’m grateful to them. Amidst the planning and preparation for this ball, they have still kept me in the loop and connected them, nor have they cast me out of their lives. If anything, I feel more entwined with them than at the beginning of my stay. A pang of sour guilt eats at my heart as I dress for the day in a simple, yet chic light blue gown. I hope that my brothers have received an invite and are coming so I can see them again and they will take me home. It’s not that I do not enjoy the company of the princes of Bangtan. Nay. It is the loss of my own thirteen brothers that consumes me, dread prickling my senses, the thought of torture or death backing me into a corner. I feel like a rabid dog, bothering the staff about anyone calling upon me or any letters received in my name. Nothing has turned up, no matter how much I write…or worry…It seems like I am at a stalemate, losing one family and being taken in by another…

I shake my head as I reach the end of the stairs, my stomach growling desperately for food as I try to shake a bad feeling from my mind.

Although I have made it my mission to rise and not waste the precious hours of the day, due to my roaming around before dawn even set in, I overslept. Taehyung gratefully escorted me back to my room last night with my water in hand, though he looked as if he had seen a ghost and barely said anything when we were back inside the castle. I am greeted by a few lingering staff leaving the dining hall in a flurry, concern painting their expressions. It smells of bacon, eggs, mapel, and tension hanging in the air. Wrapped up in my own thoughts, I have missed the angry dialogue protruding through the air. Like a silly moth to a brilliant flame, I am entranced; I wander closer as everyone scurries away from the ruckus.

“WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO? LET THESE DEMONS WIN?! LET THEM DESTROY EVERYTHING WE HAVE BUILT UP?! IT IS UNACCEPTABLE TO LET SOMEONE DIE LIKE THAT, NAMJOON!”

I almost gasp as my fingertips ghost the door to the hall. I have never heard Seokjin speak so angrily to anyone, let alone his brother.

There is a wicked snarl and something is shattered in the room. I recoil with the noise, the shouting and glass breaking reminding me of my father. Since no one else will, I should try and stop their bickering at once I think as I push open the door. I am greeted by Namjoon’s back to me, his large body and posture was menacing. Seokjin’s hair is standing on end, lips pulled back to reveal a set of pearly white teeth. Seokjin deflates when he sees me silently walk into the room, amber eyes that were narrowed and wild locking onto mine, turning into solem orbs at the sight of me.

“WE SHOULD NOT HAVE TAKEN HER IN! SHE IS GOING TO BRING NOTHING BUT MISFORTUNE AND DEMONS INTO THIS HOUSE!” Namjoon shouts. He then turns once Seokjin looks away shamefully, nodding to me frozen behind Namjoon.

They are talking about me.

Tears well in my ducts instantly, I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying in front of the princes. My heart dies and falls into my stomach, my throat feels tight, and I desperately wish I was anywhere but here. I wish I were millions of miles away from this place and all the gloom I carry around with me.

Namjoon sags, looking terribly remorseful, lifting his hands to reach out to me. “Y/N…”

I flinch away from his outstretched hands.

“I apologize, dear princes.” I whisper the words out as I turn to leave, throat going hoarse. “I-I never realized what a burden I was here. I-I-I will leave at once!”

“No!” Seokjin and Namjoon both yell, but it was too late.

I fled out of the dining hall and into the grand entrance of the building, running outside. I let my feet guide me as salt tears blurred my vision, the bottom of my gown was ruined as it was getting stained by the mud my boots were kicking up. Me. They were arguing about me. I choked on a sob, strangling my throat. I didn’t realize I was such a burden. Of course I am. I am doing nothing but pestering them, eating their food, and staying in their home for nothing in exchange. I ran into the hedge maze winding round and round until I was so utterly lost and exhausted, I took rest at the closest gazebo I found.

Stupid! I chastise myself. Stupid girl! Of course you are a burden! Your whole life you have been a burden! You make messes and hope that someone will come along and clean it up for you!

More tears and cries fill the space in the garden as I replay the short portion of conversation I heard between the two brothers. My heart is breaking. I should have never been so reckless with their kindness. They have done more than enough for me and I should never have overstayed like I have. Though I am feeling more comfortable everyday in the Bangtan castle, this is not my home.

I watch a monarch butterfly flit and flounce through the air once my tears have ceased. The autumnal butterfly’s wings beat like it is trying to get away from something, moving frantically up and down, then side to side. It carries itself past me, turning to me briefly as if to say RUN and I have an unnerving feeling looking at the beautiful creature.

A sinister feeling crawls up my spine…The same eerie and odd one I got last night…As if I was being watched…My eyes blow wide as I quietly scan the spot I am sitting upon. There is no movement in the hedges, no autumn breeze or sway of the foliage, the garden is silent. No movement is heard from any discretion, but I feel like I am being stalked. I am isolated out here in the garden; who will save me if I am in danger? I shake my head slightly. I am no one else’s burden. I have to save myself. All the baby hairs on my body stand though I cannot bring myself to stand. I am tired physically and frozen to the spot on the shaded gazebo spot in terror. My heart is beating when I hear a slight rustle coming from behind me. Do I dare look?

A head pops out from behind a tall, lush hedge and I nearly scream. The fifth eldest amber eyes lock on to my wide orbs at his sudden appearance. Jimin is like an air elemental, I never hear him coming; he is silent, cunniling deadly, or fragrant and sweet, but he can be boisterous and whipped up into a tornado if provoked unfathomably. I have only seen him act that way to Jungkook though when they spar in a wrestling match.

“Y/N?” Jimin smiles as he sees me sitting under the gazebo. “What are you doing out here?” His golden, amber eyes really drink me in as he approaches, seeing the sorry state I find myself currently in. His eyes flick to something behind me as he takes my hand in his suddenly, pulling me promptly up, his puffy lips moving into a tight-lipped frown. Jimin’s presence calms me down immediately, though his worry still makes me slightly concerned. “Come now, you have somewhere to be soon, though it is a surprise.” He says in his feather-soft voice as he leads me away.

I give a chaste look over my shoulder to find the butterfly floating down and landing in the spot I was just in.

—

“It is a marvelous day to go to town, wouldn’t you say so, Y/N?” Seokjin says as we step out into the busy and boisterous town in the middle of the afternoon. He takes my gloved hand as I step from the royal carriage.

“It is, yes, your majesty.” I say, gingerly avoiding puddles of water or urine on the cobblestone pavement. I could not discern what was what.

Seokjin apologized profusely for the outburst I witnessed from earlier in the day. He was extremely sorry (I thought I caught a glimpse of a tear swimming in his golden eyes) and he vowed to repay me by taking me to a surprise. On the way here, I knew we were headed to the dressmaker as she lives in the south-east side of Bangtan. I easily accepted his apology for I knew how remorseful and ashamed he was for his behavior and words. Seokjin explained how they all voted to have me stay at the castle and Namjoon was really the only one against it. He was worried I would bring a kingdom of angry citizens and an army of guards to them. It was nothing more than worry and concern coloring his view of me and a potential situation I’ve put them all in. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Still, I felt more like a burden to them now more than ever.

During my stay in the Bangtan castle, I told them about some of my past and only that I’ve run from an abusive and oppressive kingdom. No lies, but not half truths. I am not ready to admit to any person that I am a murderer. That I’ve killed my own father at that…

“Paisley, will you escort Y/N inside, please? And give Madam Hwasa this to settle the payments.” Seokjin handed her a fat velvet bag full of jingling gold coins. Paisley, one of the staff I have become closer over the weeks with, has come along as our chaperone. Though, I suspect part of the reason she is here because she fancies Jongbak, the footman.

“Yes, your majesty.” She says softly as she ushers me into the dressmaker.

Madam Hwasa barely says a word as we enter. She is older than me, I gather, but not by much. She has a face that is ethereal and otherworldly, dazzling to look at, though she always seems so sad. It is as if she is waiting for a lover to return to her forlorn heart and she speaks in a meak manner. The princes have taken me to her twice now as they did not have too many spare clothes lying about fit for a woman. They say she only apprenticed for only a year before she took over for the master dress designer because she was so talented. They say her silks and fabrics have magic in them.

Paisley hands her the sack of cash and I am once again whisked away behind the dressing room curtains. She undresses me in a flash, the garments protecting me from the autumn cold are stripped from my body—my undergarments stay as I await Madam Hwasa to return. She works quickly and quietly, her small fingers working with haste in an expert fashion.

A slight chill runs down my spine down into my stockings. I feel like I am being watched again, but Paisley has stepped out of the enclosed curtain room. It’s just me, my garments, a chair, and a half-circle of mirrors. The little hairs on my neck stand at attention, the eerie, aching chill blooms throughout my body making me shiver. Jeonghan had told me that spine shivers are caused by people in the future stepping on your grave. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. What a terrible thing to think about.

I fold my arms across my chest in a protective stance, my senses are on high alert since last night. Dreams were the windows into your soul, were they not? Why was I dreaming about dogs or wolves or beasts? What about the creature last night, out in the fog, stalking the tree line? And what about those teeth, those claws….and those golden eyes—

“You have the mark of a demon.”

“Pardon me?” I turn around in shock as Madam Hwasa floats into the room behind me silently. I hadn’t even heard the curtains flutter or the floorboards. She has a cream colored garment with gold and silver gemstones in a dazzling display which swirl and cascade down the luxurious fabric. Since I’ve been here before, she knows my measurements and with her skill I doubt she’ll need any adjusting as she is excellent with her craft.

“The mark of a demon is there,” she raises a beautiful, long finger to the middle of my back, “in between your shoulder blades.”

I look down sheepishly. This is the bane of my existence, this off-colored mark that stains my skin. My mother had it too. She said it was good fortune —in the shape of tiny bird wings. Yet another thing of my skin that isn’t mine but, in fact, belongs to someone else. “Tis’ only but a birthmark, ma'am.” I mumble.

“I never noticed before.” She almost snickers. “And your clothes are filthy! You smell like those mutts!” She snaps her fingers and I place my arms straight above my head.

“Pardon me, ma’am?” I stammer as she wastes no time throwing the heavy ballgown over your shoulders. It had no sleeves and showed off my whole collarbone and the top of my chest. My eyes pop open. This was quite a daring garment, but it was beautiful, with the crystals placed so delicately and perfectly, it hugged my torso until the middle of my rib cage, fanning out in lush plumes of fabric—I looked like a fallen star. “Madam, I am sorry? I do not touch the hunting dogs per the princes’ requests—“

“You are a foolish girl if you cannot figure out what your dreams are and what I am telling you.” She snides as she ties me into the dress. Dreams? Demons? That’s twice today each has been mentioned. My tongue runs dry.

I was not only astonished by how I looked but by how Madam Hwasa was speaking to me.

Madam Hwasa clicks her tongue as she stalks me in a circle, eyes running up and down my body. “Watch out for those wolf boys. They are going to gobble you up.” Her eyes narrow, her stare catching mine like blazing fire. I am not sure she approves of what she is seeing though her fixation gives me a sense that she is challenging me.

“Madam, you are frightening me.” I whisper as I notice I was trembling. Was it anger or terror? Mortification or loathing? I wasn’t quite sure. Another woman had never spoken to me in such a manner, so direct, so merciless. “I need to go.” I look at myself in the mirror and my ducts are pricked with tears, my arms limp at my sides.

“My apologies Lady Y/N.” She clicks her tongue once more and pulls her long gaze away from mine. “You are going to be a beautiful, dangerous creature when you bloom into your full potential.”

I haven’t a clue what she means and my face twists in shock.

She calls Paisley in and they reformat me back in my original frocks and skirts. Under Madam Hwasa’s cold stare and long fingers, I feel more exposed now than when I was in that dress or standing in my undergarments. Madam Hwasa packs my ballgown and hands it to Paisley who share the unit exchange of fingers slinging over one another and long eyelashes fluttering and mouths curling up in shy smiles in the afternoon sun.

Maybe I am a demon for I don’t believe anything like that will ever happen to me. I am a burden and an annoyance. To my mother, my father, my brothers, and now the princes I live with.

Prince Seokjin steps out of the carriage and escorts Paisley and I back inside as we are whisked away from the dressmakers shop. She waves as we drive off, I see her as I am facing backwards. A cat-like grin spreads across her lips and I swear her sad eyes suddenly flash a brilliant green-yellow color.

“How did you like your outfit for the ball? Was it to your liking?” The princes asks like an eager puppy would, wide eyed and excited.

“It was very marvelous, indeed. Thank you for such a lovely dress, your majesty.” I replied in earnest because I truly felt that way.

“Nothing but the best for our little bird.” I flush at his words and Paisley looks at me out of the corner of her eye and I try not to be smitten lava with his nickname for me.

I have an uneasy feeling as Seokjin prompts Jongbak to stop for a stroll at the park in the middle of town. The park is massive and reminds me of paintings and books as it looks like it shouldn’t belong in the middle of town. There is a crystal clear river that runs through, with exquisite bridges, intimate gazebos, and lush gardens to boot.

The eldest prince sticks out his elbow for me to take as we meander through the gardens. I take it and he carries me through the park. Paisley and Jongbak stay by the carriage, no chaperone needed in such a large, populated space.

I still feel like my stomach is in knots and I am having trouble finding the words, but Seokjin’s presence is calming me down. It is hard to feel unnerved with such a fine gentleman with me though. Prince Seokjin is tall, handsome, a great conversationalist, compassionate yet he has a wit and hilarity to him that makes him all the more charming. He was the full package and I would have loved to see him when he was but a young lad. Men bow and ladies curtsy when they see him; they light up like fireflies in June under a full moon when they come upon him. He greets everyone yet keeps conversation with me, smiling. His amber orbs sparkle when he tells a tasteful joke about a gentleman caravan and I give him my full laugh from my belly, though it is undignified for me to make such a noise.

“Pardon me, your highness!” I say breathlessly, still laughing at his nonsensical story as we come to the edge of a gorgeous bridge across the river. “My apologies for producing such boisterous noise!”

“Do not fret.” He simpers down at me, the shadow from his top hat blocking the brilliant sun. “Little bird, my favorite part of my day is when I get to see you smile. You are unraveling more and more every day.”

Immediately my cheeks blaze at his words and his stare.

I remember the look Paisley and Jongbak share and for one fleeting moment, I could have sworn he looked at me with half-lidded bedroom eyes.

“Your majesty, good afternoon.” Voices like silk and honey call behind us.

I turn, breaking the hold I had on Seokjin as the prince almost stands in front of me. “Good day, ladies of Twiceland.” Nine beautiful goddess-like women in brilliant colored dresses simper, glowering down at us as they make their descent on the bridge.

“Where is your pack?” A tall one questions in blue. “Your wild and untamed brothers?”

“What brings you to our kingdom?” Seokjin ignores her being as polite as he can, though his tone is short and curt.

“Is this your ward?” One with doe-eyes and a bright pink smock coos at me. They snicker as I introduce myself much to Prince Seokjin’s dismay.

“Yes, indeed. She is a guest of Clan Bangtan and will be treated as such.” Prince Seokjin is seeming to lose his cool with these vibrant women and I can see why. They are relentless. “If you will excuse us, we were just leaving; on our way home for dinner.”

“Careful, Lady Y/N.” One with a square jaw and short hair giggles as Seokjin takes my arm as lightly as possible, ushering me away from these strange women with haste. “Be wary of beasts such as canines!” They cackle as we rush away, returning to the carriage in a strained silence that has not happened to me since my arrival in this kingdom.

My head is dizzy and my breath is coming out in short bursts. I look at Prince Seokjin and he looks like he is absolutely seething. His aura is dark, nasty hornets shaken and enclosed in a glass container.

As we make our way home, the sun setting, casting the land in a luscious orange and yellow. The castle is far from the town, rich, thick wood surrounds the grounds, encasing the large mansion in its own halo of trees and thickets. glow I hear the call of a lonesome wolf. Fear pricks at my heart and I clutch my skirts. “Everyone keeps mentioning dogs and wolves to me, your majesty. It is frightening to me.” I open once more to the prince who looks startled across from me.

I know I can trust him, I feel it in my marrow and sinew. With my whole beating heart and fizzing brain I know I can trust Seokjin.

“Little bird.” Concern colors his tone as he gingerly places his large, warm hand over mine. “Canines, specifically wolves, is our family animal.” He taps the metal wolf on his chest. “It is our crest. Canines have been intertwined for thousands of years with the family members of Bangtan. If someone says something about dogs or wolves, they are referring to us as a form of insult.”

I nod my head. That does make sense I suppose.

“Nothing will ever harm you.” He gently squeezes my hand. “I promise you. All seven of us will do everything in our power to keep you safe.”

I say nothing but give him a wry smile in which he returns with a beautiful smile that makes my heart throb, trapped in my chest.

——-

I did not go to dinner. I need to apologize to her earnestly. My outburst was childish and uncalled for. Hoseok and Yoongi reprimanded me, sparing in wolf form. Though I am the bigger out of the two, they always win. Pinning my neck just so. I shall be licking my wounds, physically and emotionally, for a long while. It wasn’t right. I let my emotions win like the terror I am. I am more calm than this. I chastise myself as I emerge from the wood. But still….I cannot help the way I feel!

My mind wanders to her lashes, her voice, the way she is soft, yet powerful. She is full of potential, a most excellent queen if she only opened her eyes a little more. Does she see that we hang on her every whim? Her every desire? If only she just picks one of us…What we wouldn’t do for her…

I find her in my study an hour after dinner should have dispersed. She has fallen asleep reading a book about wolves in my favorite red velvet armchair. I give a soft snort as I stalk closer to her quietly as not to disturb her. Her chest softly rises and falls, her cheeks flushed with sleep.

Stooping down, I inhale her scent from the top of her head. Fresh elderberry and sunflower. How badly I want to mark her. How badly I want to rub my face against her neck, tilting her head back, watching her gasp, swallowing saliva down her throat, and scent her vulnerable jugular. My amber eyes lock into her flesh as her head was tilted to the side, exposing her veins. What would it feel like? To run my lips across her flesh, feeling her pulse throb, the sharp inhale of her nostrils, the moan that escapes her breathless lips…

What would it feel like to sink his sharp wolf fangs into her, feeling the life drain from her? The blood ooze from the puncture wounds, her organs fail trapped inside her withering, frail body? To see the light leave her eyes?

Enough with these thoughts.

I scoop her up swiftly as if she was but a babe or a rag-doll and take her to her room, calling upon the maid named Paisley to undress her and prepare her for slumber.

His ears prick as she stirs. “Thank you, Namjoon.” She mumbles quietly. I don’t say a word. I shed my human form once I get to the edge of the wood. I give a cry to let the others know I will not be back this eve and only Jungkook responds.

Hyung, be safe.

It is not him the brothers should be worried about. The thing they need to worry about is safe in the castle—for the night.

———-

In my dreams that night, I am led by seven different colored wolves to a brightly colored carousel. The wolves are all friendly, large, and each smelt rather different from each other. Their fur is soft and exquisite, I run my hands across the canines as they rub their heads against mine. In my wonder, I wish to ride them, but I refrain. Their amber eyes glow with knowledge behind them and they grin wolffish, cunning smiles, revealing their sparkling, pearly fangs. They whine and pant and yip as they lead me up to the shimmering, merry fair ride in the middle of the wood.

They each jump on the slow moving platform, following some pattern, transforming into seven men in waist jackets, complete with top hats and masquerade masks upon their faces. I can’t help but feel like I know them. They call you with their howls, beckoning me with items in their hands: books, foods, flowers, sheet music, paintings, dancing shoes, and gloves. Do I know them like this? Do I want to?

Everything echoes in this space. I suddenly feel like I am suffocating, it is hard to breathe as they try to pull me onto the platform, but I pull away. I made a mistake and I need to flee. I am in danger.

I turn to go. The wolf men growl in warning and I freeze. My blood is ice, my pulse is in my ears, and I feel the seven sets of eyes upon me like they are going to gobble me up. I am prey!

WE WILL KEEP YOU SAFE. YOU ARE OURS. YOU ARE MINE! They cry in unison, an awful noise like they are wounded, shot animals.

The wolf-men lunge at me, their bodies piling on top of me, covering me as they growl and whine and snarl. Gnashing teeth and hungry claws tear me limb from limb as they pull me apart, ripping the pink muscles away under my flesh. My blood is pooling around me as I lie paralyzed in my own sticky, red mess or hair and skin, and organs.

A scream rips through my throat.

Two large, amber eyes glimmer at me from the end of my bed as a giant black wolf lays near my feet, its head slightly cocked to the side, its ears perked at attention. I faint from the frightening sight and my mind plummets back into darkness once more.

———

Part Two And A Half l Part Four

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Sun and Moon show Beastars au.

Two of my hyper fixations put into one.

Just like in beastars, in this universe, predators(carnivores) have instincts to kill and eat prey animals(herbivores) and prey animals have instincts to be scared of or even run away from predators, even when said predator is clearly being friendly.

Prey animal species

Sheep

Goats

Alpacas

Llamas

Deer

Moose

Pigs

Horses

Donkeys

Zebras

Okapis

Giraffes

Elephants

Rhinos

Gazelles

Tapirs

Cow/Bulls

Monkeys

Gorillas

Lemurs

Koalas

Kangaroos

Red pandas

Sloths

Rabbits

Mice

Rats

Squirrels

Chipmunks

Chinchillas

Groundhogs

Beavers

Porcupines

Chickens

Ducks

Swans

Ostriches

Parrots

Toucans

Tortoises

Iguanas

Moths

Butterflies

Bees

Ants

Crickets

Flies

Predator species

Wolves

Coyotes

Foxes

Tanukis

Dogs

Dingoes

Hyenas

Cats

Lions

Tigers

Leopards

Snow leopards

Jaguars

Cheetahs

Tigers

Caracals

Lynxes

Raccoons

Weasels

Skunks

Opossums

Otters

Anteaters

Bears

Bats

Owls

Eagles

Hawks

Falcons

Seagulls

Pelicans

Secretary birds

Herons

Alligators

Crocodiles

Caimans

Chameleons

Snapping turtles

Snakes

Frogs

Toads

Spiders

Wasps

Hornets

Scorpions

Dragonflies

Mantises

Species of the main characters:

Freddy: Bear.

Monty: Alligator.

Chica: Chicken.

Roxanne: Wolf.

Sun: Lion.

Moon: Snow leopard.

Eclipse: Tiger.

Eclipse: Lynx.

Bonnie: Rabbit.

Lunar: Sheep.

Bloodmoon(old design): Wolf.

Ruin: Deer/Coyote hybrid.

Autumn(me): Red panda/Snow leopard hybrid.

Sun was lucky to be the one in a million animals born without instincts, so he doesn't have the urge to eat prey animals.

Bloodmoon on the other hand has very strong instincts and many prey animals have gone missing because of him, including his old roommate.(a groundhog named Chester) Bloodmoon doesn't want to eat prey animals, but his instincts are too strong. So Autumn, who is part of the predator rehabilitation foundation(P.R.F for short) became his new roommate to keep an eye on him. The main story will be about Bloodmoon trying to become friends with Lunar, with Autumn making sure Bloodmoon doesn't lose control and eat Lunar.

[tadpoledyke]

For those of you who asked, here's the first of my lesbian knight fantasy short stories and I hope to write more.

Lady Deleilun, eldest daughter to King Meuric of Guineda. Rumours surrounded her as thick and tangled as the black locks that cascaded and bounced around her face.That her real father was a fairy king, a Kelpie, or some other terrifying otherworldly being. That she came from the peat bogs, birthed by the mud itself, and if one looked her directly in her deep brown eyes, they would sink into the ground where they stood, slowly engulfed by the warm earth. When a baby with skin like spiced mead is born to alabaster parents, people start talking.

She was never to be a reagent though. Seven years after Deleilun, when her hair was just beginning to grey, Queen Eira birthed twin boys, fair of skin and hair. Siors and Steffan would then grow up to fight. First for their father's affections, then the throne of Guineda.

This had left the young princess to spend her formative years in solitude. While the royal household slept, she would steal manuscripts to read by candlelight, curled up at her windowsill. On warmer nights, if she felt she could get away with it, she would ride into the woods on horseback with a dagger strapped to her thigh.

A lady of her calibre usually had plans of betrothment in the making the minute they procured their first blood. Often, even before that. Gangly, underdeveloped girls wedded to equally immature and awkward boys all for purse and politics. But the rumours around Deleilun kept suitors at bay. Every monarch for miles knew that no dowry was worth angering the faefolk.

That was until swordsmen on their patrols started to see an embodiment of Áine herself instead of an unrefined youth. The twigs in her hair were now more endearing than unkempt, and the whisperings of her beauty, political knowledge and charming manner were starting to outweigh any fear of fae curse. By the time Deleilun turned twenty, the proposals were coming in thick and fast.

Among the nobles from across the lands that tried, there was nobody who could spark even a flicker of interest in her eyes. With most noble ladies her age already married and bearing children, her parents were apprenhensive.

A windy autumn eve, three days to Mabon. The wine, simmered with honey and fruit of the season just as the princess liked, was flowing like water. Lords and princes from as far south as Brittany had displayed their skills with swords, bows and quills: reciting poetry in praise of their lands, themselves and the lady of their affections.

Then came the turn of Prince Cain, heir to the throne of the neighbouring kingdom. Twig-armed and squeaky-voiced, it seemed a miracle that he could even pick up a sword. With a smug smile, he began his verse.

Honor’d thy womb would be

to hold and bear mine fiery seed

Not a second did pass before Deleilun’s jewelled goblet clattered to the floor.

You wretched men with eyes like wolves!

With bile for blood!

Wine soaked into the hem of her dress, staining the soft white wool red as she strode across the court.

Where I see maiden you see meat!

You want not wives nor mothers!

Accursed is the woman who shares your bed!

Accursed is the daughter she shall then bear!

Cain reached for his sword but a steely gaze from one of his knights stayed his hand.

If you so think my womb be a coffer,

So help me God,

I shall see that it will never be filled.

this maiden betrothes herself

To the rich, wet soils

The wrinkled trees

The blossoming flowers, the babbling brooks,

sweetest of fruit that Guineda bears,

And the providence from which they come!

And thus, she shall never lay with a man!

I declare with all thee and God as my witness!

I will never lay with a man!

Meredydd inhaled sharply, trying their best to maintain a knight’s stoic expression. There was more poetry in the fair maiden’s outburst than there was in any of the verses the nobles had recited that night. And what a maiden she was too. A hallowed sight. Earth brown skin glowing with passion, fire behind her eyes and a single tear rolling down her plump rosy cheek.

This was the same girl who had regularly awoken them in the dead of night to steal candied ginger and almonds from the castle confectionery. These were more than simple midnight treats, though. They were currency to bribe the stable-hands with, should they be spotted trying to sneak her horse out.

Her face would flicker in the weak lamplight and Merydydd’s arms would ache. Sore from training, those arms would still labor. Hoisting the princess onto her horse, picking her up when she would Tumble into the creek. Over years of this midnight ritual, she had learnt to control her horse with just her legs, the way knights did to keep their hands free for weapons.

How long before I can hunt pigeons with you and the other squires then, Didkins?

We don’t hunt pigeons, your highness. You need a falcon for that and even father doesn’t have one.We shoot deer on horseback, sometimes boar and pheasant. All things you will be able to do when you stop snapping your bowstring at my arm.

Keep calling me that and I’ll keep doing it, Didkins!

She laughed and snapped her bowstring once more. And by God and all his divine creation, Merydydd could never forget that laugh.

A gentle tap on their shoulder brought the esquire back to reality. Most of the guests and the royal family had left the great hall. The torches were starting to dim, and nobody was bothering to top up their grease.

Merydydd. I am assigning you to Lady Deleilun’s quarters tonight. Inside. I know it is not customary but the King insists. After tonight…

The older knight trailed off, trying to find the proper words to describe the unspeakable

Yes, Sir. His Majesty is right to worry. Nothing men want more than a woman they can’t have.

Sir Ivor placed a heavy hand on Merydydd’s shoulder.

No blunders tonight, son. If the Lady is hurt her father will have my head.

Yes, Father.

It was just past midnight when Merydydd gently opened the heavy oak door to Lady Deleilun’s room. The first thing they sensed was the warmth from the fire, which bathed the whole room in a flickering orange light. A cool autumn breeze whistled through the gaps in the window shutters, made from beautifully carved deer antlers. Deleilun’s ladies in waiting cuddled up on a soft hay mattress on the floor, while the princess herself was fast asleep in her elaborate bed, lost within the pile of pillows, blankets and a soft bearskin for warmth. Her beloved tomcat Llew paced around the bed, yellow eyes alert to any vermin that may emerge from the walls.

The young soldier propped themselves up on the window ledge and gazed out over the castle grounds, determined not to fall asleep.

It was difficult. The fire was warm. The gentle rhythmic snores of all three ladies was comforting. Merydydd took to pinching themselves every minute or so to keep awake.

A sudden rustle and the sound of tiptoed footsteps made them start and jump from their post. They spun around, ready to draw their sword.

I thought sleep would have taken you by now, soldier.

Merydydd could not decide where to look as the firelight flickered delicately across her bare skin. The only thing that covered her was the soft veil over her hair, from which dark, curly tendrils emerged. The rest of it was in two long braids that fell over her chest.

It was hard to think of the chivalrous thing to do in this moment.

Lady Deleilun squinted a little, and then smiled softly.

Didkins?

Merydydd’s face only got redder as she approached.

Hand me that dress before I freeze my tits off. Where’s all that knightly chivalry?

She teased as her old friend rushed to grab the woolen robe she had pointed out.

Merydydd finally spoke.

Do you need the chamber pot, my lady?

Deleilun shook her head and turned around, motioning to Merydydd to lace her dress up.

They did, trying not to think about the way their fingers felt brushing against her soft skin.

I’m restless. I need to go to the chapel.

It’s not safe, your highness! There’s a reason I’m here.

Come with me then. You’re armed aren’t you?

Merydydd placed a hand on the hilt of their sword and nodded. Deleilun smiled and grabbed her Didkin’s hand before they could object. The pair crept from her room, tiptoeing down the stone steps and across a small stretch or garden to the chapel.

Deleilun knelt before the altar and quickly made a sign of the cross as Merydydd tried to light one of the old, half-melted candles. The castle had a few chapels and this one was the least used. Covered in moss and ivy, it was hardly appropriate for nobility, but she liked the solitude it provided.

He finally got a flame going and sat to the side, avoiding eye contact.

Merydydd’s training for knighthood had intensified in recent years, putting a stop to their midnight adventures. Deleilun remembered all of his complaints about the weapons the squires had to train with; purposefully made to be heavier than those used in combat. They certainly did his biceps good. The presentations of proposals had given her an excuse to look at him from afar. He had grown into a fine man of honourable stoicism.

What she saw now was the Didkin she was accustomed to. Bashful, boyish charm. Hair the colour of autumn leaves, tousled by the wind that brings them. Innumerable freckles dancing in the light of burning tallow. In contrast with his muscular frame, his face was still soft. Grey-green eyes wide, with beautiful long lashes that curled upwards like new shoots.

She sighed and turned her eyes back to the wooden cross. Symbolism of the Son of Man aside, it was a calming shape. So simple. Drawing the eyes in a repetitive motion.

Do you think I’ll miss out, Didkin? On copulation, that is.

He replied without looking up from the candle flame.

I wouldn’t know, my lady.

She raised her eyebrows.

Really? Young handsome squire like yourself?

His cheeks flushed at her compliment and he turned his face upward, away from the candlelight so as to hide it. Once it subsided, he turned to meet her expectant gaze for the first time that night.

It’s not that simple, Deleilun.

He whispered. She could not help but smile slightly at his use of her first name. Just as he used to do in the days when they would play in the paddock, muddy from spring rain. Running and tripping and rolling and wrestling, alongside the other children of the noble households and the hunting hounds.

You remember picking llygad y dydd for me? Almost every day, in the seasons that they grew. The little white ones?

He nodded.

You are a good man, Didkin. You always have been.

Didkin looked at the cross, then at Deleilun, then back at the cross.

There is something I must show you, Deleilun.

He sighed, voice quivering a little as he slowly crossed himself. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. He then stood up, kicked his boots off and started pulling his trousers and leggings off as well. Once those were off he gathered the clothing covering his top half, and lifted it up over his chest as his friend looked on, alarmed.

Goodness Merydydd what-

Look, Deleilun. Please just look.

Her eyes scanned his form, every curve and crevice more pronounced in the yellow candlelight. She was about to ask, what injury warranted the swaths of bandages around his chest, when her gaze landed in between his sturdy thighs. No phallus extended from the bramble bush of pubic hair.

Put your clothes on before you catch your death, you sheep’s dick.

Merydydd nervously put their clothes back on, never taking their gaze off Deleilun. She had turned back towards the altar, lips pursed in thought.

I’m sorry, your highness… I… should not have … I can explain …

Deleilun smiled slightly and shook her head

You can’t surprise me with much, Didkins.

Father’s mother, somewhat prophetic. Before she died, told mama she would birth a girl destined to be a knight… I suppose that’s me.

Deleilun turned to face them, grabbing both his hands.

Are you a girl though, Didkins?

Merydydd bit their lip as the princess continued

When I was born, so many thought, from the way that I looked, that I could never be my father’s daughter. Some people still fear that. Even I don’t know the truth.

He sighed.

The truth is I don’t feel a woman. But I am no man either: only as much man as it takes to pick a lady’s favourite flowers.

And teach her to ride? And handle a bow?

Deleilun added, smiling as she made little circles around his knuckles with her thumbs.

She giggled as she met eyes with the squire and pulled him closer. Merydydd smiled slightly, already feeling the rumoured pull of her peat-bog eyes.

[damien-wolfram-art]

The Quick Yellow Fox Denned Up with the Old White Wolf

Minato never had a shrine to call his own. He was a curious young kitsune who spent his days darting around the wide world in search of fresh sources of life force. Though he was benevolent wherever he went, he knew it was unsafe to stay in one place for long for his antics in any given village left many humans drained and wary of him. He didn’t mean to cause trouble; it was simply a part of his nature.

Other beings were fascinating to him. He would watch them from afar with perked ears, poking through his fluffy blond hair, sparkling deep blue eyes, and a wagging golden pillowy tail. Some would eye the pale yellow robed kitsune with disdain and keep their distance, fearing his power. Others would approach him fearlessly and ask for his blessings. Others yet, would look at him with the same curiosity and desire as he offered to them.

He would den up with those individuals from time to time. Their company was a comfort to him, however fleeting, for the young kitsune rarely stayed still and his interests were as fickle as the Autumn weather. His travels took him all over The Land of Fire and its neighboring countries. He visited The Hidden Eddy village with its whirlpools, and its red-haired maidens in the south. He visited the whispering woods of The Village Hidden in the Sound and met other vagrants who were passing through the north. He even spent time in the deep woods of The Hidden Leaf Village at the center of the country.

It was about a day’s stroll to the south-east of The Leaf that he hit a wall of scent that stopped him dead in his tracks. It was a strong salty funky scent that was chock full of pheromones. He couldn’t help himself. He had to know where it was coming from.

Following the scent was straight forward enough. He had little trouble staying down wind of it, but its pungency was distracting to the kitsune, and he ended up walking right into a trap. Snap! It was a bear trap.

Minato’s eyes went wide, and his pupils dilated on the offending jaws that were digging into his left leg. He was bleeding so much that he thought he’d faint. The only thing keeping him conscious was the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching him. He tried to run in the opposite direction, but the jaws only tore deeper into the flesh of his lower leg and made him scream.

The footsteps closed in on him and he whipped his head around to see who or what it was. “Not this again,” said a soft voice filled with concern. Rushing to his aid, came a larger grizzled man. He had a shorter white tail and canine ears poking through his longer fluffy hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail. His tired dark eyes focused on the trap, and he took hold of its teeth. “You might want to grab that stick there and bite down,” he suggested, motioning with his strong neck to a fallen branch near Minato. When he abided, he wrenched the jaws of the trap open. Minato didn’t scream this time. The pain had proved too much for him. He blacked out.

He woke to the same pungent smell from before and a trickling sound. He was curled up in a den dug out of a three-meter-tall cliff. His wounded leg was wrapped up and no longer bleeding. Around him were the forms of many large wolves. He stiffened, almost reverting to his fox shape, but calmed when he realized they were all peacefully sleeping.

A shifting and a sigh at the den’s entrance drew his attention. He sat up to check it out and when he did, he saw his savior from earlier that afternoon, gilded in the white light of the moon. The trickling sound got louder, and the scent got stronger. Minato’s ears guided his eyes to the source of the sound. A heavy stream of urine crashed into the loose soil at the larger man’s feet; it foamed on impact.

Feeling a twitch between his legs, Minato swallowed a moan. He’d never come into contact with such an attractive sight and scent. There was something powerful and well-seasoned about the man at the entrance. He needed to know more.

“Uhm, excuse me?” He called to him meekly. The man at the entrance looked back curiously, though he did not stop peeing. Minato only grew more excited by this. “Were you the one who saved me?”

The man finished relieving himself with a few quick and firm spurts, before tucking away his long pale member. Minato couldn’t help but stare– entranced by how the foreskin clung loosely to the firmness beneath it. He could even make out a small blueish vein running along part of its length before it was hidden away behind his long dirty white and red patterned kimono.

The white-haired man turned to Minato and smiled in a way that formed wrinkles around the corners of his mouth. “So good to see you’re up again, little fox. I freed you from that terrible trap, that’s true.”

Minato blushed at the way he’d been addressed. Rarely had anyone called him anything, but Kitsune. “Wh-why did you help me?” He asked.

“Why?” The larger man pondered aloud, grabbing at his squared chin. “Well, that trap was most likely not meant for you. It’d be cruel to let you die in it. Besides…” He sat down beside Minato. “You’re much too young to be dying, little fox.”

The kitsune blushed deeper, leaning closer to the bigger man. “You can call me Minato…if you’d like,” he offered.

“Minato huh? With a name like that, you must have been born by the water.”

“Yes, actually. You’ve got excellent deduction skills,” Minato said with a short laugh. “What about you? What are you called?”

“Sakumo. I am the Alpha of this pack.”

Minato felt the fur on his tail stand on end. “Sakumo…Alpha huh? No kidding,” he whispered.

“I know what you're thinking. An old wolf like me?”

Minato waved his hands in a nonthreatening manner. “No no no! Not at all! I think you’re very impressive.”

At that moment, Sakumo began to smell something coming off of Minato. It was a woodsy spicy scent hidden under a strong musk. The kitsune’s tail curled around the old wolf’s torso, beckoning him as he moved in closer. Both of their scents mingled in the air around them, making the both of them painfully aware of each other. That night, and for the few nights he needed to recover, the quick yellow fox denned up with the old white wolf.

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