#it is snagged like a limb after a storm

[curiosity-killed]

between wiping out, getting super light-headed/shaky/nauseous, and generally being extremely smangry for 75% of it, rehearsal was, shall we say, less than great today, but mostly im very annoyed with the way a) it hurts to put any weight on my heels and b) it feels like there's a chunk of bone loose in the back of my right ankle

#it is snagged like a limb after a storm #tree limb #yknow what it's fine #language is hard #brain is tired #ready to go sleep now #it is 7:30 pm #personal #anyway it does look like i'll be performing in at least 1 show! #yay

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Werewolf/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 3,408 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You're injured on a hike, and your friend leaves you stranded. Luckily, a kind man is there to help - but he isn't all he seems.

The hiking trail stretched before you, a winding path through lush forest, dappled with the light of a setting sun. Jayne marched ahead, her pace brisk and determined, barely acknowledging the rugged beauty that surrounded you both.

You lagged behind, your muscles aching and your breath coming in short gasps.

"Come on, hurry up!" Jayne called over her shoulder, her tone tinged with impatience.

You mustered the energy to quicken your pace, but the pain in your limbs protested. "I'm going as fast as I can," you responded, the strain evident in your voice.

Jayne stopped and turned to face you, her expression a mix of frustration and concern. "We need to get to the car park before dark."

You rolled your eyes, storming off ahead of Jayne as she continued to berate you. It was partly spite that spurred you on, partly knowing that she was right. It would be dark soon.

You were about to tell Jayne to hurry up when your leg snagged on a fallen branch. You stumbled, feeling something hit your leg as you tried to catch your balance.

The sudden pain was sharp, a white-hot flare that made you gasp, halting you in your tracks. You stumbled, reaching out to steady yourself against a tree.

"Are you okay?" Jayne's asked, although annoyance still made her scowl.

"I... I think I twisted my ankle," you managed through gritted teeth, the pain making it difficult to focus.

"I'll go back to the car and call for help," Jayne said decisively, already turning to leave.

The thought of being left alone, especially now with an injured ankle and the light rapidly fading, sent a wave of panic through you. "You're going to leave me here? Alone? I thought you said it wasn't safe to be out here after dark," you reminded her, heart skipping.

Jayne paused, her expression conflicted "I can only call for help from the parking lot; there's no signal here. Anyway, it makes sense for at least one of us to be safe in the car.”

The implication that your safety was somehow less important, that it was preferable to leave you vulnerable and alone, struck you as incredibly selfish.

"So, it's just about your safety, then?" you asked, incredulous.

Jayne's face hardened, a defensive edge creeping into her voice. "It's not like that, and you know it. What good would it do for both of us to be stuck out here?"

In the end, despite your protests, Jayne set off back down the trail, parking lot before it gets dark," she insisted, her gaze fixed on the rapidly fading light.

Annoyance bubbled up inside you, the day's frustrations finding a voice. "We wouldn't have to worry about the dark if you hadn't been late this afternoon," you retorted, the words sharper than intended.

“It’s not my fault your slow.”

"You always do this, Jayne!" you exclaimed, frustration now rising to the forefront. "You set this impossible pace and expect me to just keep up."

Jayne turned to face you, her hands on her hips. "It's not impossible. We've done hikes like this before. I just don't want us to be out here after dark. It's not safe," she countered, her voice firm.

"I get that, but maybe we wouldn't be in such a rush if someone hadn't overslept," you shot back, the tension between you crackling.

Jayne sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Look, I said I was sorry about that, but we can't change it now. We need to move."

Determined not to let the argument be the end of it, you pushed off from the ground, attempting to quicken your pace to match Jayne's. As you hurried to catch up, your foot caught on a hidden root, sending a jolt of pain up your leaving you abandoned and vulnerable as the shadows lengthened and the forest seemed to close in around you.

Time seemed to stretch into eternity as you waited, the dwindling light casting long shadows through the trees. Every so often, you checked your phone, hoping for a miracle of reception, but it remained stubbornly void of any signal.

The thought of Jayne returning with help began to feel more like a distant hope than a certainty.

As the forest grew darker, a sense of resignation settled over you. The idea of hobbling back to the parking lot on your own seemed daunting, yet the alternative—spending the night alone and injured in the woods—was far worse. Jayne's decision to leave, her potential to drive away in a fit of anger, wasn't entirely out of character, but the reality of being abandoned like this was a new low, even for her.

Just as you mustered the courage to test your weight on your injured ankle, a rustle from the underbrush made you freeze. Tension gripped you, the fear of being alone in the dark forest suddenly compounded by the presence of an unknown.

Then, he appeared. A man, tall and lean, emerged from the trees. His black hair was unkempt, as if he too belonged to the wilds, and his eyes—a striking shade of green-gold—almost glowed with an inner light.

"Do you need help?" His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to his rugged appearance.

Warily, you nodded, the instinct to distrust strangers warring with the immediate need for assistance. "Yes," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper, betraying your apprehension.

Something about him, maybe the genuine concern in his gaze or the calm assurance with which he surveyed the situation, eased the tight knot of fear in your chest.

“My name’s Nikhil, by the way.” His voice carried a faint accent, Indian, though you couldn't pinpoint where specifically. It was soft, though, and mellow in a way that had you relaxing despite your worry.

"I can help you walk," Nikhil offered, stepping closer. "You can lean on my shoulder, or if you prefer, I can carry you."

There was a lightness in his tone, a smile on his lips. Despite the situation, Nikhil seemed to find a way to lighten the mood, his confidence reassuring.

"No, thanks," you replied, managing a small smile despite the blush overtaking your cheeks. "An arm around your shoulder is fine."

As you tentatively placed your arm around him, you were immediately struck by his strength. His lean frame belied the solidity of his build, his muscles tensing under your touch as he carefully adjusted to support your weight.

The walk back was slow and awkward, each step a careful negotiation of the uneven ground and your compromised balance. Nikhil moved with a surprising grace, his steps sure and steady, contrasting the faltering nature of your own.

"Never thought I'd be someone's knight in shining armour," Nikhil joked, his voice light, trying to ease the tension.

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. You didn’t quite know what to say to that, so you said nothing.

The silence that enveloped you both was neither awkward nor entirely comfortable; it carried a tinge of tension. You found yourself searching for something, anything, to fill the void, to ease the growing restlessness in your mind.

It was Nikhil who broke the silence, his voice cutting through the stillness of the evening. "Were you hiking alone?" he inquired.

You hesitated, the memory of Jayne's departure still fresh, still stinging. "No, I was with a friend. She went to get help... about an hour and a half ago," you admitted, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Nikhil's brows knit together in a frown, a subtle shift in his expression. "That's odd," he mused, his gaze thoughtful. "We're not that far from the parking lot. It shouldn't have taken this long for her to get help—or to come back."

The implication of his words hung between you, undeniable. You knew, deep down, that Jayne's absence had stretched too long, her promise to return with help fading with each passing minute. The realisation, coupled with Nikhil's observation, cemented a growing dread in the pit of your stomach.

Despite the unease, Nikhil's steady presence, the warmth of his shoulder supporting you, offered a sliver of comfort in the midst of uncertainty. His concern, though offered by a stranger, felt genuine, a small beacon of hope on the long walk back.

As you continued to hobble along, leaning heavily on Nikhil, a sharp spike of pain shot through your ankle, forcing you to stop. "I need a moment," you gasped, stumbling.

Nikhil gently helped you to a fallen log, his concern evident as he knelt to examine your ankle. The skin was stretched tight, ankle puffy and swollen.

"It's definitely sprained," he concluded, his voice laced with sympathy. He looked up at you, his green-gold eyes serious in the dim light. "I know a shortcut," he said. "It's off the trail, but it'll get us to the parking lot faster."

The suggestion set off alarm bells in your mind. Going off-trail, especially in your condition and with night closing in, seemed like a recipe for disaster. "I don't know," you hesitated. "Isn't that a bad idea?"

Nikhil's assurance was immediate. "I know this forest well," he said, though the vagueness of his claim did little to quell your apprehensions. "Trust me."

"How well do you know it?" you pressed, seeking something concrete to hold onto in the sea of uncertainties.

He offered a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let's just say I've spent a lot of time here," he replied, the ambiguity of his answer doing little to satisfy your curiosity.

Despite your reservations, the desire to end the ordeal, to be back in the safety and comfort of the familiar, won out. You nodded. "Okay, let's go."

As you ventured off the marked trail, the forest seemed to close in around you, the trees standing like silent sentinels in the darkness. Then, cutting through the stillness, a lone wolf howled, the sound eerie and unsettling in the quiet of the night.

You froze, a new wave of fear washing over you. "I didn't think there were wolves here," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Nikhil's hand found yours, his grip reassuring. "Don't worry about it," he said, his voice steady and calm. "We'll be fine."

As you pressed on, the determination to keep moving overrode the throbbing pain in your ankle. The fear of being vulnerable in the dark, unfamiliar woods urged you to ignore the discomfort, to focus on the path ahead.

In your haste, your foot caught on something, sending you stumbling forward. Before you could brace for the fall, Nikhil's arms were around you, pulling you back against his chest. For a moment, you were acutely aware of the warmth of his body, the strength in his embrace, and the faint scent of pine that seemed to cling to him.

"Careful," he chided gently, a hint of amusement in his voice. You found yourself face-to-face with him, and the proximity offered a new perspective. His features, which had seemed rugged and mysterious in the dim light of the trail, now carried a softness, an approachability that made your heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Thanks for catching me," you managed to say, a mix of gratitude and newfound awareness colouring your tone.

Nikhil's smile widened, his eyes twinkling with a playful light. "Any time," he replied with a grin. You noticed sharp canines, and something in you tightened.

He straightened, his hands still steadying you. "We're nearly there," he promised, though the exact destination remained as vague as his familiarity with the woods. "Do you want me to carry you? It might be easier."

Considering the pain in your ankle and the unsettling howls that seemed to follow you, you nodded. "Yes, thank you," you said, embarrassment making your cheeks flush.

Truthfully, you weren’t sure it was entirely necessary for him to carry you, and yet you couldn’t say no.

As Nikhil carefully lifted you into his arms, you heard another chorus of howls, closer this time, sending a shiver down your spine. "Those wolves," you began, your voice tight with concern, "you're sure they're not dangerous?"

Nikhil's pace didn't falter as he carried you, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "They're not a danger to us," he reassured you, his confidence unshaken. The certainty in his voice was meant to comfort, but it only confused you more. How could he be so sure?

Your mind raced with questions, but the warmth of his hold and the steady rhythm of his stride lulled you into a sense of security.

Silence settled over you again, as you tried to subtly bury yourself into Nikhil’s hoodie. He kept walking, and eventually the trail gave way to the more familiar terrain of the parking lot.

The sight of the open space, bathed in the yellow glow of the overhead streetlights, had relief flooding through you. Nikhil carefully set you down, his arms lingering for a moment longer than necessary, as if reluctant to break the contact.

"Thank you," you said, your voice soft. The proximity, the rush of your own pulse, had you wanting to close the space between you and Nikhil. To kiss him.

As Nikhil stepped back though, the artificial light cast him in a new perspective. For the first time, you saw him clearly, and the sight took your breath away. His eyes, under the harsh glare of the streetlights, held an unmistakable glow. The sharpness of his canines, visible as he offered you a reassuring smile, and the poised, almost predatory grace with which he held himself, suggested a nature far removed from the human.

The realisation struck you so suddenly, it knocked the breath from your lungs. The man who had guided you through the darkness, who had offered comfort and protection, was not entirely what he seemed..

What was he?

As Nikhil noticed your lingering gaze, he seemed to retreat instinctively, away from the light. The subtle shift in his demeanour didn't escape your notice; it was as if he was suddenly wary.

"Why do your eyes glow like that?" you asked, the question driven by a mix of fascination and a need to understand the man who had been your unexpected saviour.

"It's nothing," Nikhil brushed off, his voice carrying a finality that suggested the topic was off-limits. "I should go now that you're safe."

Your curiosity was piqued, and his evasive answer only served to fuel it further. "Please," you persisted, stepping closer to the edge of the shadows in an attempt to see him more clearly. "There's something... different about you."

The night air was punctuated by another howl, closer this time, its tone carrying an almost human quality that sent a shiver down your spine. The sound seemed to resonate with something within Nikhil, as he shivered.

As you watched, his eyes glowed brighter. The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. It was ridiculous to even think it, but…

Nikhil didn't have to say the words for you to understand; he wasn’t human. He was something other, something strange and supernatural. It should have scared you, but when you looked at Nikhil’s angular face and unsure smile, it was impossible to be afraid.

"I... I understand," you said, finally, “you don’t have to tell me.”

As the cool night air sent a shiver through you, Nikhil seemed to notice from the edge of the shadows. Stepping forward, he shed his hoodie, offering it to you with a gentle, "Here, take this."

Wrapped in the warmth of his hoodie, the fabric carrying the faint scent of pine and something uniquely him, you couldn't help but smile. "How am I supposed to get this back to you?" you asked with a smile.

Nikhil's response was light, his eyes twinkling with amusement in the dim light. "Guess we'll just have to meet up again," he replied. He reached out as if to touch you, only to pause, brows furrowed.

The idea sparked something within you, a flicker of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again. "How about Friday at two?" you ventured. "I could bring a picnic, or we could go somewhere nice for lunch..."

"Sounds perfect," Nikhil agreed, his voice warm. The simple plan seemed to solidify something between you, something you couldn’t place.

Nikhil took a step closer, closing the distance with a certainty that seemed to pull you in. The warmth of his hoodie enveloped you, his scent—a mix of the wild forest and something uniquely him—filled your senses.

His arms encircled you, strong and reassuring, drawing you into his embrace. As his lips met yours, the world seemed to stand still, the noise of the forest fading into a distant hum. The kiss was soft, a gentle inquiry that you answered willingly, deepening the connection as your hands found their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his tousled hair.

Nikhil tasted of pine and coffee. He drew you in, tongue teasing your lower lip and you gladly gave him entrance; he was soft and warm and everything you needed, even as sharp canines dug into your skin.

Gently, you pulled away from the kiss, lips tingling. Nikhil, sensing your need to catch your bearings, tenderly kissed your forehead before stepping away.

"I'll be here, Friday at two," he promised. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small, slightly worn piece of paper and scribbled down his phone number. "Just in case," he added with a smile, handing it to you.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound breaking the lingering tension. "I didn't expect you to have a phone," you teased, a playful challenge in your tone.

Nikhil's response was a light, amused chuckle. "I might spend a lot of time in the woods, but I do have a house. With electricity and everything," he countered, his grin infectious.

“Good. I’ll call you, then.”

Turning towards the parking lot, the reality of your situation came back into focus. There, just as you'd left it, was the car. Jayne watched you from the back seat. Relief washed over you at the sight.

With a final glance back at Nikhil, who watched you with a look that was both protective and promising, you made your way to the car. You waved, and he waved back. Something soft settled in your chest.

As you reached the car and gently opened the door, the interior light flicked on. Blinking against the sudden brightness, she squinted up at you, confusion etched across her face. "Who was that?" she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Just someone who helped me," you replied, keeping the details sparse as you slid into the front passenger seat.

Jayne shifted, sitting up straighter. "I did call for help, you know," she said, her voice defensive. "But my signal was all over the place. I'm not even sure the call went through."

The explanation did little to quell the frustration that bubbled up inside you. "Why didn't you come back, then?" you asked, the question laced with the lingering hurt of being left alone.

Jayne's apology was quick, her gaze dropping as she admitted, "I didn't want to risk getting lost too... I thought it was better to wait by the car."

The silence that followed was heavy. While part of you acknowledged that Jayne's fear of getting lost was valid, the decision to leave you stranded still stung. It was clear that, although the ordeal had ended safely, the trust in your friendship had been shaken.

"I understand," you finally said, the words diplomatic yet distant. "I think this should be our last hike together."

Jayne, sensing the tension, quietly climbed into the driver's seat, her movements cautious. "Do you need to go to the hospital?" she asked, her concern genuine despite the awkwardness that now hung between you.

You shook your head, settling into the passenger seat with a weary sigh. "No, I'll just ice it when I get home. I'll see how it feels tomorrow." The last thing you wanted was to extend the evening any further with a trip to the hospital, especially with Jayne's company, which had become strangely unwelcome in light of recent events.

As the car pulled away from the forest,  you cast a lingering glance through the rear window. There, at the very edge of the treeline, stood Nikhil, a solitary figure blending with the shadows.

A small, grateful smile found its way to your lips as you waved Nikhil goodbye. He raised a hand and waved back, before vanishing into the trees.

Despite everything that had happened tonight, you were grateful for one thing; Nikhil.

#monster fucker #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster x reader #exophilia fiction #exophilia #tag: mxf #tag: female reader #tag: male reader #tag: sfw #tag: were

[yanderedbdimagines]

Hey! Could you write about a yandere Leon falling for a killer?

------

Of course! I received this request more than once now(about 3 times even), so I think I’m obliged to write a short scenario about it. xD

I hope you like what I have written here!

------

Leon Scott Kennedy

He couldn't quite trace the inception of these feelings or what had triggered his attraction to you. The onset had been swift, unsettling. His infatuation, like a malignant growth, had entrenched itself in his mind, disrupting every moment of respite from trials, fixating solely on thoughts of you.

Your presence was a constant weight, a haunting ache disrupting his focus, even amidst the life-and-death struggle he was meant to be embroiled in. If his emotions had any sway, they would have taken a different course.

This hotspot of festering emotions would eventually burst when he was confronted by a situation he never thought would happen to him. In the Disturbed Ward of the Crotus Prenn Asylum, he ran through empty patient rooms and scattered hallways, the smell of smoke thick in the air. Smoke that reminded him of a fire he couldn't see or feel. Maybe it didn't even exist, as the Entity's world often intermingled with the past and future of the location it had copied to create this arena.

He sensed your familiar pursuit, a silent chase aided by the Entity's eerie gift. Even the crimson illumination that bathed him vanished, appearing fleetingly as he narrowly evaded your surprise assaults, relying on sharp instincts and quick reflexes.

After leaping from a second-story window, he heard the distinct whistle of air through a narrow gap—the hatch. He altered his trajectory, yet his foot snagged on an unseen obstacle, sending him crashing to the ground, soon bracing for an imminent strike that never came.

Whipping his head around, he met your empty gaze. Your head tilted, eyes drawing to where his heart should be. A shake of your head, eyes narrowing, a souring expression of disappointment before shifting your focus. His gaze followed yours toward the by now opened hatch. Momentarily distracted, in that split second, you capitalized on his weakness, seized one of his legs and effortlessly dragged him toward it. A display of astonishing, violent strength that left him awestruck, the familiar gush of darkness soon blanketing Leon. Releasing his limb, it dangles in the gaping maw.

"Get out," your growl slices through the air, an angry rasp carrying an unspoken warning. It is clear that compliance with those two simple words is his only option.

You don’t even give him the time to react as you stalk your way back into the fog, the hand holding your weapon shaking with an emotion that could be anything but good.

Why did you let him go? Why didn’t you hook or kill him when you had the chance?

The questions linger in Leon's mind as he lay there; dazed, bewildered and entranced, the echoes of your command still reverberating in the air. The fog swallows you up completely, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the chilling uncertainty of your motives.

For a moment, he struggles to comprehend the abrupt turn of events. Your actions defied logic, a departure from the expected outcome in this twisted realm. But amidst the confusion, a realization dawns on him—a flicker of understanding that perhaps you weren't governed solely by the Entity's ruthless whims. Perhaps you are still human enough to show any shred of mercy. Perhaps you could even… Leon bites his bottom lip, almost breaking through the sensitive skin.

Regaining his bearings, Leon struggles to rise, his limbs protesting the sudden exertion. With a sharp inhale, he surveys the desolate surroundings, the eerie silence amplifying the storm in his mind. The kind of storm which could lead him to the kind of downfall he may never predict, and will shred him up from the inside out.

With a breath, he surrenders to the beckoning darkness beyond the hatch, a plunge into the unknown, propelled by uncertainty and a faint hope that your uncharacteristic act might hint at the possibility that you can love care.

#dbd #yandere #dbd x reader #dead by daylight #reader #leon scott kennedy

[stargirlfics]

“I can’t sleep unless someone’s with me.” Can you do w Bruce Wayne but from reader pov?

I absolutely can!! Here’s some soft Bruce! 🖤

You felt a little silly for wanting to ask him to stay.

Bruce, you had quickly learned, had a strained relationship with sleep and you knew how busy he was in addition to that but your heart ached for him not to go.

He was sweet enough to get you tucked into bed, eyeing you but shifting his gaze away when you caught him.

This was venturing into new territory in your relationship with him and you understood his nervousness, you felt the same.

It was your first time spending the night, a torrential storm pouring outside in Gotham City and Bruce noticing how sleepy you had become after your date made him insistent that you were welcome to stay the night.

He had reassured you that he would be close by if you needed anything and that no you couldn’t just sleep on one of the many chaise seats in Wayne Tower because they were uncomfortable and he’d feel better if you got a good nights sleep on a proper bed, and that earned him a reluctant but content smile and okay from you.

You didn’t bother asking him where he would sleep tonight, knowing he would tell you not to worry about it but instead went for it and caught his wrist before he could turn the bedside lamp off and leave the room.

“Bruce…I…can you stay with me tonight, please? I can’t sleep unless someone’s with me,” your voice comes out in a whisper and you muster the courage to look up at him.

Your heartbeat quickened when you found his usually stoic features softened in the dim, warm light of the lamp. A quick smile graced his sharp features and you felt a little more at ease knowing he wasn’t offput by your confession.

His hand moved so that your hold was no longer on his wrist and instead your palm was pressed against his.

“I’ll stay.”

Both reluctant to let go of each other’s hand the chiming of the grandfather clock in the foyer interrupted the moment, it was late and he was still wearing his suit as you settled a little more comfortably in bed, your body full of butterflies as you shyly watched him loosen his tie and get ready for bed.

He slipped into the bathroom connected to the room for a few minutes, emerging in sweatpants and a black t shirt you were sure smelled like his cologne, you’d have to remember to snag it for yourself one of these days.

You were sat up in bed now, your knees bent to your chest as Bruce climbed in and got settled. It was a little odd, trying to figure out what to do next, there was what you thought would be appropriate and then what you wanted to do but you didn’t have to ruminate on it long.

Bruce laid back and reached a hand out to your shoulder, nudging you back a little too.

“C’mere, please?”

His voice was soft and whispery, it coated your brain and made you melt inside, all your worries floating away now.

As if he ever had to ask.

You gave him another smile and sidled up to him, your limbs finding their place next to his warm body, your head finding its home against his shoulder, your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you for staying, Bruce.”

He’s a quiet man, you know this, you don’t expect him to answer but you swear you feel him smile against your skin, and that’s enough for you.

#YOUR HONOR I LOVE HIM OK #bruce wayne x black reader #bruce wayne x reader #battinson x black reader #battinson x reader #bruce wayne fluff #batman fluff #batman x reader #bruce wayne headcanons

[sotcwcrp]

SECRETS OF THE CLANS, JANUARY OPENING!

In celebration of our January 14th - January 28th opening, we're going to be highlighting each of the clans, to give you a better idea of what they're like / how different they are from the books!

Today's clan is...

Thunderclan

ART CREDITS: carnationcarnivore on discord!

❗Important note! Thunderclan is only SEMI-OPEN to new members! They will only be allowing in member whos specifically request TC on our membership application.

A spark comes to life in the depths of your chest. Arcing over a pumping heart and electrifying your very soul. Paws clobber the forest floor as a voltage races through those veins. Looking above, a series of pelts are crawling on trunks and flying across tree limbs after bushy squirrels. The sky rumbles with the admonition of an incoming storm, your ears perk at the chance of being doused by the thrumming rain. Keep up, now!

To be your eyes into Thunderclan Territory, Harrierkit a Thunderclan kitten is here to interview some of his clanmates! Take it away Harrierkit!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"So, what's Thunderclan's territory like?"

"Oh, it's quite marvellous! With so many trees and woods that go on for miles and miles! The sound of birds chirping and singing songs of beauty! Trees so tall you could reach the clouds and stars. And! Oh my, I'm getting ahead of myself little one. For seeing the territory with eyes of your own, is what I call an amazing first experience." - Lionhoney

Thunderclan's territory is an impenetrable woodland, decorated with dense foliage that's easy to get lost in. Ferns and thorny-thickets twist at every curve and low hanging branches promise to snag an unfamiliar cat's pelt. To those who have learned its navigation, the forest floor is an oasis to skittering bugs and nests of curious prey. Above your head lays a maze of tangled branches, rising to towering heights and spanning across the full length of the forest, those daring can venture across abandoned twoleg bridges or find themselves in a nasty fight with sharp-toothed red squirrels. The labyrinth of foliage and the web of branches overhead are so different as to almost be their own territories, but they interweave with one another in a timeless dance. The Hearthborn twisting and turning through thickets and the Timbered flying through branches with the sun on their "wings" have very different experiences with the territory, but both are so characteristically ThunderClan. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"What's the best place in our territory? Go lots' into detail please!"

"My favourite spot on ThunderClan territory is our Sacred Oak. I've adored looking up to it ever since I was a kit. It represents the past and my--our--future. Something magical is in that bark, and I swear it glows beneath the light of the moon. It holds secrets and stories and success. I plan to be part of it one day." - Foxleap

The Sacred Oak truly is magnificent; a tall, ancient tree, it is said that StarClan struck the tree with lightning to symbolize their approval of Thunderstar. All leaders from Thunderstar to Bugstar have had their pawprint carved and painted on the Sacred Oak, and on the reverse side, lovers have left their intertwined paw carvings as well, immortalizing their devotion to each other. The grand tree symbolizes ThunderClan's love, both the love between cats and the love of the leaders for their Clans.

But the Sacred Oak is far from the only notable landmark; ThunderClan has plenty of others across its large stretch of forest. The vibrant grove of berry branches, speckled with vines of multi-colored berries that lay through the trees and litter the ground below. Hidden away, by the edge of the territory lies a secret meadow, canopied by tightly knit trees and lush with tall-standing flowers and untouched grass. Daring timbered warriors can find themselves in the well-structured twisted canopy, an entire separate world above the floor! And to those in Thunderclan more adverse to the risk-taking heights, a muddy coliseum welcomes any cat for a good spar, though-- make sure you don't come back to camp all muddy by taking a leisurely dip in ThunderClan's flooded meadow!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Hey! Can you tell me a story 'bout something that happened in Thunderclan?"

"I remember when Silkshimmer, my apprentice, caught her first piece of prey. She had a bit of trouble gettin' the hang of huntin', and it was really takin' a toll of her self esteem. But, one day, we're out in the trees and the next thing I know she was leapin' through the trees like she had wings. I barely blink and suddenly she found herself with a crow beneath her claws. I'll never forget the way she smiled." - Robinfeet

A mentor is one of the most vital figures in a young apprentice’s life, and apprentices often come to see their mentors as a form of family. Aside from just training their apprentice, mentors offer general life advice, a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear, and an extra set of paws to help with whatever their apprentice is crafting at the moment, whether it’s a present for a loved one or their personal set of bark armor. When apprentices graduate, they wear their bark armor and colorful pawstains up to the highrock, and it’s frequently their mentors that help them put on their festive attire for their big day. When the crowd bursts into thunderous cheers once the warrior ceremony concludes, the mentors will cheer the loudest, and many of them cry. Mentor-apprentice bonds frequently last far beyond graduation, and Silkshimmer and Robinfeet’s connection is no exception. The two of them are still inseparable, even though Silkshimmer’s grown so much since her apprentice days and now has an apprentice of her own: young Ivypaw, who’s missing a foreleg, just like her! In fact, once a mentor’s apprentice receives an apprentice of their own, ThunderClan cats recognize them as a grandmentor. If mentors are frequently as close to apprentices as their parents are, grandmentors are then like grandparents; while not primarily involved with the apprentice’s training, they typically like to take an interest and check in with the youngster from time to time. Cats can often trace their “mentor lineage” just as well as they can track their family lineage, and these mentor-apprentice ties connect all of ThunderClan together, making the Clan feel like one big family.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"M' lucky to be in the best clan in the forest, what's our culture like compared to the others?"

“M-My mentor Cicadaskip just taught me this, and I think it’s really cool… U-Um, Timbered warriors of Thunderclan have a sort of secret code that they use to communicate with one another! We mimic the sounds of different bird calls, and then use them to warn other T-Timbered warriors about things like prey, clanmates, enemies… I-It’s really neat! I haven’t mastered all the calls y-yet, but I will one day! I just need to focus on making the calls more round, like Cicadaskip told me to!” - Amurpaw

ThunderClan loves to delve into the world around them and celebrate every little bit that the forest throws at them. The Timbered language is no exception, as it was born from their appreciation for the complex symphony of birdsong greeting them from sunrise to sunset. In fact, all of ThunderClan’s culture comes from embracing the forest’s gifts and displaying them to the world, with all the pride of a beautiful bird flaunting its feathers. With the abundance of berries, flowers, and other bright natural dyes found in the forest, ThunderClan cats often sport multi-colored looks, especially in certain patterns called pawstains. Their love of painting extends past their fur and onto physical objects as well, especially the bark armor they craft throughout their apprenticeships. Wood is one of the most valuable crafting staples for ThunderClan cats, but not all wood is created equal! After so many years of relying on and studying the trees surrounding them, the tree types grew to have characters of their own, from the quaking yet courageous aspen to the circles of ash keeping each other safe. ThunderClan cats even have their own version of astrology called arbology, which relates to different tree types and is used for light-hearted superstition and fuels many discussions during apprentice sleepovers. All-in-all, ThunderClan cats are spirited, bright, and as loud as the storms they celebrate, and they’ll always be deeply connected to the forest that shelters them.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"I think the council's really cool, what do you think, Withercall?"

“The council of Thunderclan has always been incredible. From the moment that me and my siblings entered the forest, they have been welcoming of us, giving us warmth, prey and kindness. The council do what they can for our clan, keeping us safe and fed… Especially the healers! Please do go see my dearest sibling Lunarlynx if you ever have any ailment. She will fix you right up, and make sure you feel even better than you did before!” - Withercall

ThunderClan's council is as dynamic and interconnected as the forest itself! From Raintansy's rebellious ideals to Lavenderdream's gentle, thoughtful nature, each cat in the council brings unique aspects and diverse perspectives to the table, and their relationships run as deep as ravines. As leader of ThunderClan, Bugstar is known to be reserved in relation to the rest of the council, but he never hesitates to make a quick decision when the Clan is in need, while his deputy, Daisyfang, is known for consulting many before determining her next move. Among the healers, although some may be closer than others, their connection to one another has grown throughout every trial and tribulation they have faced together, and they would trust one another with their lives. Merlinheart and Snowdapple are mates and are currently watching their kits, now apprentices, experience life and grow into their own pelts. Having trained beneath the two in the midst of crisis, Skyhunter and Raintansy have formed an unbreakable bond that travels well beyond words, and Lavenderdream and Lunarlynx—the Clan's newest healers—lean upon one another in every moment of doubt, always trusting that the other will catch them if they fall. Not only that, but all of the healers' kits view the other healers as their healer auncles, always looking out for them at every turn! Overall, while their strong, varying opinions may cause them to butt heads at times, there is no doubt about how much each cat on ThunderClan's council cares for their Clan.

#sotcwcrp #wcrp #discord wcrp #warrior cats #thunderclan #warrior cats rp

[doobnnoob-tf2]

prompt: how do the Mercs sleep

Scout: He takes up the whooooole dang bed.  No matter how big or small it is, he’ll find a way to take it all up.  Limbs are everywhere.  No matter what position he fell asleep in to begin with, it won’t be the same when he wakes up.  Blankets are everywhere, there might be a pillow on the floor, and the alarm clock might be halfway across the room.  He has the most obnoxious, open-mouth snoring.

Soldier: The team suspects he sleeps as stiff as a board, when in all reality he’s almost - almost - as bad as Scout when it comes to sprawling out all over the place. The only thing stopping him are his raccoons, all of which have their designated spots on his bed.  Once they have settled down for the night, he works himself around them.  On days off, he is known to fall asleep on his feet.  This prompts many games of “How Much Shit Can We Put On Him Before He Wakes Up?”.  When he’s upright, he doesn’t snore, laying down is a different story.

Pyro: Two words: Plushies.  Galore.  Their bed is 95% plushies of all sizes and shapes.  There is a single space in the middle just large enough for them to join their friends.  Each plush is placed with such care and Pyro will know if anyone has been moved.  They usually sleep, curled up tightly in the middle in a Balloonicorn onesie and still wearing their gas mask.  They only snore when they’ve got a stuffy nose.

Demoman: There’s always an arm or leg hanging off the bed, and a pillow tucked against his chest.  He’s a snuggler through and through, he’ll find something to snag a hold of and cuddle like there was no tomorrow.  When Demo says he’s going to bed, he means it.  Not long after he announces he’s retiring for the night, he’ll be in his bed and out like a light and he’s not waking up until his internal clock - or Soldier’s incessant yelling - says otherwise.  He does not snore.

Heavy: Big bed or not, he subconsciously tries to take up as little room as possible.  This is probably due to living with his mother and sisters and sometimes having to share a bed with them when the nights were too cold.  It is true, there is a smaller bed next to his for Sasha - it has been upgraded to be larger after Scout pointed out to him how small it was.  Once he falls asleep, he does not move an inch.  Meaning whoever is in his grasp better not have any plans on moving.  Scout likes to blame his own snoring on Heavy (”I don’t snore, it had to be the big guy.”), but he doesn’t snore.

Engineer: Does he actually ever sleep?  He claims he does, but no one has seen this happen.  There’s always some kind of equipment running in his workshop, following by a quiet curse, and then after a few moments of silence, it starts up again.  This may due to insomnia, or just the fact he takes frequent, light naps when there’s a lull in the daily battle.  Usually, he’ll lean against a dispenser and push his hard hat down slightly, and then nod off for a few moments.  Whenever he actually has a deep sleep, his snoring can put Scout’s to shame.

Medic: The true king of “Sleep is for the Weak”.  Though team speculation says this isn’t simply from napping during the day or suffering from a sleep disorder, and more that he’s injecting himself with something.  If anyone were to bring this up to him, however, Medic would laugh and sit them down and school them on all the side effects of huffing the Medigun’s fumes like a giddy child at Show-and-Tell.  But all good things must come to an end eventually, and he hasn’t quite perfected the science behind never needing to sleep.  It usually hits when he least expects it.  Which could range from working on paperwork, to doing physicals, to even eating in the common’s area.  One moment, he’ll be chatting up a storm, and the next - thump - he’s out.  When he crashes, he snores, there’s no doubt about that.

Sniper: It’s not so much a question of how as it is where.  And the answer is everywhere.  That chair, the top of his van, that windowsill, the cab of his van against the steering wheel, anywhere he can plant his ass and pull his hat down is good enough for him.  He’ll cross his arms, close his eyes, and he’s not to be disturbed unless you want a startled Australian shoving a giant knife through your gut.  However, that’s just his napping habits.  When he finally decides it’s time to sleep, he always crawls into the too small bed in the back of his camper and curls up.  He does snore, but a harsh nudge will earn you a grunt, and shove back, and then peaceful silence if you desire.

Spy: He also suffers from insomnia, which leads him to staying up long hours of the night, reading his teammate’s files or snooping through personal belongings he’d managed to nab when they weren’t looking.  But on nights he isn’t entirely feeling up to staying up, he prefers sleeping on the love seat in his smoking room more than he does his own bed.  It’s too big and empty for him.  He usually sleeps with his face towards the back of the couch and his mask and gloves still on.  Spy’s not always a pretty sleeper, though.  On off days, he can sometimes be caught on one of the other large, plush chairs with one leg kicked up on the back, the other on the floor, on arm curled up with the other still holding the book he’d been reading.  When he sleeps like that, one can see where Scout inherited his snoring from.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sharing one braincell #tf2ramblingsandsuch

[violetflowerswrites]

My Love

Catherine the Great x Leo Voronsky

Summary: Catherine vents out her frustrations about the Russian nobility on her lover, Leo. Pure smut, very little plot, no spoilers. Season 1 of The Great.

Disclaimer: gratuitous swearing, many many F bombs, very crude sexual humor, cannon jokes about beastiality, excessive drinking, consensual oral sex (male and female receiving), p in v sex

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: I’m a huge fan of historical fiction—the satire and sarcasm in this show is totally my vibe. But I also love how intimate it can get! I love Leo and Catherine and literally cried after I finished season one. Enjoy!

…

“Fucking idiots!”

Catherine the (not yet) Great storms into Leo’s apartment. The light blue fabric of her heavy skirts almost snags the corner of an armchair as she angrily sweeps by.

Leo leans back on a lounge chaise, sketchbook in hand. He wordlessly lifts up a clear glass of vodka that Catherine immediately snatches out of his hand in her tirade about the room.

She gulps the drink in one go and blindly throws the glass in the direction of the tree in the corner of Leo’s quarters. It shatters with a delicate crackle of broken glass.

“I am not a pretty, empty headed jewel for them to jape at as they please. I am a force to be reckoned with!” Catherine shouts, her cheeks and eyes alike inflamed with indignation.

“Shall I propose a toast?” Leo has already produced another glass to replace the one she destroyed.

“You may.” Catherine flops down with an audible exhale of air, still seething in frustration.

“Fuck the court.”

“HAH! Fuck the court indeed.”

They raise their glasses and clink them before unceremoniously shooting back the hard liquor.

“Huzzah!” Catherine shouts sarcastically.

Leo continues sketching a cartoon of Catherine with a large speech bubble that says “Fuck the court!” A quiet giggle escapes his soft lips.

“And what, pray tell, amuses my dear lover?” She settles into the soft cushions of her armchair, the drink and the exertion from her rant relaxing her long, graceful limbs.

“I was just thinking about how you used to be terrified of swearing, thinking us Russians a crude and improper people—which we are, mind you—and yet…”

“And yet here I am, a true Russian, swearing in every sentence I utter.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”

Leo then shows Catherine his cartoon and they dissolve in a fit of giggles.

“You get it now, my love. The world we live in is absolutely fucked so why not laugh a little. I don’t like to see you so upset. Although I have to admit, it does make me wonder…”

“About what?”

“I wonder if you would like to take your frustration out on me? Sexually?” Leo grins at Catherine, eyes twinkling through his mess of dark curls.

“You’re a naughty boy!” She gasps, blushing. The rosyness of her cheeks contrasts prettily with her ivory skin.

“Ooo do tell me more,” Leo winks and offers a hand.

Catherine takes it, and kisses his olive-skinned knuckles.

“My Lord.”

“Empress.”

“Are you inviting me to your bed?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am inviting you to fuck me, Empress.”

Catherine barks out an unladylike laugh and covers her mouth in surprise at the ugly sound. It makes Leo look at her in amusement all the more.

She clears her throat to recover. “I accept your invitation.” Catherine bends down in a formal curtsy. “Undress me.”

Leo proceeds to undo the laces of the empress’ dress, gently pulling apart the ribbons at the back. He presses his soft lips to the back of her neck, sending a slight shiver down her spine, before turning Catherine around to unbutton the frock. Her breath quickens as Leo’s mere proximity to her milky white bosom makes her skin flush an aroused pink, a phenomenon that does not go unnoticed.

“Empress?” Leo whispers against her chest, his eyes glued to his lover’s beautiful body.

“Yes?” She responds breathlessly.

“Do I have permission to touch you?”

“If you do not touch me this instant, I may have to go to the stables and fuck a horse like all those fools think I did.”

“Then I shall be quite jealous of the noble steed you deem worthy of your pussy.”

The two of them share a wry smile at the ridiculousness of their conversation. But, the moment Leo’s lips press hot, tender kisses to her chest, Catherine’s expression morphs into a pleased moan of desire.

His affections continue across her supple skin as he pulls apart her clothing, revealing her gorgeous feminine form to him once again. Somehow, Catherine’s hands have already removed his tunic and they are now exploring every inch of his handsome chest. She runs her fingers down his curly chest hair, leaving behind the slightest of tingles everywhere she moves. Leo’s breath quickly comes in pants as her touch alights his skin, and his heart, and of course, his cock, on fire.

“Shall we try something?” Leo suggests, an amused smirk barely hiding just how aroused he is.

“What’s that?”

“Come here,” Leo gestures for Catherine to get on top of him as he lies on the bed, and she does, quickly pressing kisses to his soft lips. “Now, turn around.”

“What?”

“Let me taste your pussy, and you can lick my cock. A win-win, don’t you think?”

“Leo, that's quite—oh!” Her sentence is cut off with a gasp, followed by a pleasured groan. Her lover's mouth is now planted firmly inside her pink folds. His chin glistens with her slickness in seconds.

“You were saying, my love?” Leo lifts his head out of her cunt with a wet noise. Catherine slowly loosens her hold on the sheets that she didn’t even know she was gripping with white knuckles.

“Never mind. You may continue.” She acquiesces quickly, her gaze now locked onto the bouncing cock before her. She has only sucked him a few times, thinking it not much to look at, much less taste, but she felt it is only fair that he gets what he’s giving.

So, Catherine widens her jaw and attempts to swallow the thick log down her gullet.

And proceeds to gag immediately.

Leo pauses at once and calls out, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, do not worry!” Her voice betrays some embarrassment.

Leo realizes that she’s trying so hard to please him and it makes his heart melt in love for her all the more. “You don’t have to—“

“Stop. I want to. Just let me try at my own pace.”

Catherine ducks her head down, lips pressing kisses to the pink tip of his cock, the engorged shaft and its criss cross of veins, the heavy ballsack dangling underneath.

Men are truly an odd creature, what with this uncomfortable thing dangling about in their trousers.

Another moan rips her out of her musings, her mind forgetting for a moment that Leo is eating out her pussy as if it is a delicious piece of fruit, perhaps his favorite peaches.

So she relaxes herself and tries again, slowly accepting his length into her mouth, her tongue lapping up the underside of the shaft. A strong, salty smell fills her nostrils as she inhales, trying to suppress her gag reflex.

She hears a guttural groan escape her lover's lips, somewhat muffled by her soft core, but clearly a sound of pleasure nonetheless. Encouraged, she proceeds to suck his cock in more, her cheeks hollowing out as she adds pressure on his member.

Leo gasps and groans underneath her, his hips thrusting upward automatically, chasing his high. In response, Catherine spreads her thighs and settles on top of Leo’s face even more, letting his hot breath tickle her most intimate regions, and his tongue appreciatively pries apart the petals of her pussy.

And then, he finds her pearl.

In seconds, Catherine releases his cock and comes with a scream, her eyes screwed shut and her hands clawing at the bedspread. Her breath comes in messy gasps as her body shudders with the aftershocks of orgasm.

Leo calmly sits up as she crumples into a spent heap on the mattress.

“Well, that was nice.” He quips nonchalantly.

“More.” The word barely audible through her heady pants.

“What was that?” Leo smiles, his own breath unsteady, betraying how aroused he is behind his causal grin.

“I need more.” Catherine locks eyes with him fiercely, like a lioness staring down her prey.

“Of course.”

Catherine climbs atop his lap, his still erect cock pressed against her soft belly, and she devours her lover’s mouth ferociously. They exchange tongue and saliva and breath in a duel of passion, their lips interlocking as if they could never kiss each other again.

Catherine breaks for air first, her tender breasts rising and falling rapidly. Leo seizes the opportunity to suck her sensitive pink nipples into his hot mouth, eliciting a shout from her lips.

“Oh god—!”

“God should probably turn his eyes away right now, don’t you think?”

“Leo—mmph!— you never stop joking, do you?”

“I’m just here for the ride,” he laughs and Catherine joins him, her voice ringing across the room.

“Shall I, then?”

“With what?”

“Ride you.”

“If it pleases you, Empress.”

Catherine squeals with unbridled enthusiasm and quickly aims Leo’s cock straight for her pussy. She smiles into another kiss at the same time she sinks onto his length.

“Mmph!”

Leo’s moan is swallowed by her lips, just as her cunt swallows his cock. Her sunlight blonde hair cascades in waves around their faces, as if a private curtain hides the two of them from the harsh reality of the world around them. Her warm, wet inner walls squeeze him as he grips the flesh of her hips in ecstasy. In response, Catherine locks her hands behind his neck and into his dark curls and starts to bounce her plush ass onto his lap.

“Oh! Oh! Yes!” Her voice comes out in high-pitched yelps that can surely be heard by the guards standing outside their doors.

To his credit, Leo is no quiet lover either. His relentless groans reveal just how much he enjoys being ridden by the Empress of Russia.

She pauses to catch her breath, rolling so that her clit rubs against his hard body. Leo marvels at her shameless chase of carnal joy, and quickly sucks his fingers wet and finds her sensitive nub between their connected bodies.

“Leo!” Catherine grits out his name and catches his hand, her fingernails digging into his wrist. His mind goes wild with equal parts pleasure and pain and he doubles down, rubbing even faster.

He thrusts upward to match her eager rhythm, which only serves to make Catherine scream louder.

“Fuck!”

“Yes, my love! Give it to me!” Leo encourages, his girth stretching her deliciously. She can feel him bottoming out, his length completely disappearing inside her with every bounce.

“Ohhhhh!” A particularly violent push elicits a long moan from the empress, her orgasm apparent to her lover underneath her. He can feel the throbbing of her cunt squeezing his cock, and he cums inside with an equally long exclamation.

Completely spent, they both roll onto their sides, facing one another with silken sheets covering their sweat-soaked, heat-driven bodies.

She sighs contentedly, her face adoringly searching his.

“I do love it when you call me that.”

“Hmm?”

“Empress.”

“That is who you are, is it not?”

“Indeed. But perhaps I like it more when you call me something else.”

“And what’s that?”

“ ‘my love’ “

Leo melts instantly and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

“My love. I’ll follow you forever.”

“Even if I make a fool of myself?”

“Oh, especially then.” Leo smiles with good humor, and quickly adds on, “my love.”

“I love you.” Catherine whispers, her gaze soft and pure with emotion.

Leo simply kisses her forehead and holds her tightly to the warmth of his beating heart. A heart that beats only for his love.

…

#the great #Catherine the Great #Catherine x Leo #the great fic #the great smut #the great imagines #Catherine the Great fic #Catherine the Great smut #Leo #Leo Voronsky

[scary-senpai]

Idk. I went back to working on Collateral Damage after writing it almost killed me. The fic is about Garou at the dojo/takes place pre-canon and for the sake of my sanity I locked the draft in a box for over a year. I am going to put this draft out in the aether and then gnaw on furniture or something.

Content consideration: All the angst; T for Trashmouth, death of parents, literally everyone is made out of red flags, pervasive ennui I guess. Sadness. Abuse of commas and metaphor? Too much Charanko for that literally nobody asked for, and yet. Gratuitous creative license vis-a-vis the way the sunlight falls onto the dojo during the scene in which Bang and Garou meet and making some far-fetched assumptions about what that might mean. I don’t actually know how sunlight works. I don’t actually know how anything works. Writing this fic has probably given me an aneurysm but I don’t think it’s contagious. As far as I know all my betas are still alive, just busy. I kind of edited this but mostly I screamed into the void

“You need to tell me shit like this, you know.”

Garou squinting into his phone, turning the camera to a makeshift mirror. Fresh from the shower, his damp hair hangs tangled across his face. Ashen, waxen, and hollow-eyed, Garou tugs at his gi, running a hand over crumpled fabric that will not smooth for him.

Charanko looks down, hopelessly lost in the room they share. Yet again, they are the last students to leave the dorms. Their classmates are already long gone, warming up, stretching, waiting patiently for class to start.

Garou doesn’t seem to care. He can get away with being late.

“Have you seen my fucking face?” Garou continues. “I look like shit.”

Charanko only knows what not to do—refrain from offering any sort of consolation, or encouragement, or words of concern. He cannot say anything that implies Garou might be weak, because Garou is not weak—in fact, Garou's strength is all he has.

“It's like I got hit by a goddamn bus or something,” Garou says. “All week. Can't sleep. Can't...” The words catch in his throat. “Can't anything,” he says at last, running his fingers through his hair, tugging as they snag on the tangles.

Charanko keeps his breathing cool and even. But before he even opens his mouth, Garou silences him.

All it takes is a single, menacing glance to sever this attempted concern. Charanko's comments fall to the floor, unspoken, mingling with all the dust and the dirty laundry, and everything else condemned to hiding in plain sight. All the while, Garou’s eyes burn with a faraway flame—a spark as easily kindled as it is extinguished.

————-

It’s dawn, but the light is elsewhere. This morning, Garou and Charanko walk together in the darkness, just as they have been doing every morning, since they began sharing the same room.

Somewhere above them, the unseen sun has already started its regular, ritual creep along the eastern side of the mountain. Day is breaking somewhere, or so they’ve been led to believe—Bang's campus, nestled on the western precipice, is both sheltered and obscured by the summit, and the stony cliffs that cast the dojo in their shadow.

In the distance, they can hear their classmates begin their drills. The sounds ring out from the dojo and echo through the harsh and hollow scenery—students laboring beneath blood-red rays that have yet to reach them, waiting for a light they cannot see. 

Outside, the darkness is languidly lifting. Charanko watches the sky above fade from jet-black nothing to solemn hues of funereal blue—a sorry palette of bruises, ash, and incense smoke that colors as much as it reveals.

The world, like Garou, is in bad shape today: dark, harsh, and unforgiving, with harsh contours whittled by cold. The spring storms have culled all the petals from their boughs, and the surrounding trees shiver their miserable little branches, their limbs cutting reticulate fissures through gray and sodden skies. 

“I can't take much more of this,” Garou says.

It’s unclear to whom Garou is speaking, if anyone at all. But he’s stopped walking, and he leans his weight into a fallen branch until it snaps, loud enough to make a point.

“You know, my dad would have been 36 today.”

Garou is unforthcoming with details, but from time to time, he lets things slip. Now that they’ve been spending more time together, Charanko is more attentive to these clues, these little hints spring up like new growth from dead ground:

My father wanted me to finish school.

He never once came to a tournament.

He never once saw me fight.

It’s not all his fault, I guess, but fuck—

Garou raises his eyes to the roiling sky, dark clouds backlit by strained light. He stopped walking a long time ago. Maybe he’s waiting for Charanko to catch up, maybe he’s lost in thought. It’s certainly a scene.

Spring in the mountains is mercurial and distant; there’s always more bad weather ahead. Last night's storm spared them, but there’s always more, there’s always something.

Garou grips the cellphone in his hand. Five fingers grip the scratched and battered plastic, five fingers white and rigid, impossibly cold.

“I just want my dead mom to call me once in awhile,” Garou says, staring intently at his feet, at the broken pieces beneath them. “Is that too much to ask?”

Charanko is, as always, lost for words. What to make of this strange boy—this visibly exhausted child, who has dragged himself out of bed, into the showers, and now to class—and for what, exactly? To strike down Charanko's concerns with one breath and then sputter out confessions in the next?

He settles for a murmur and a silent nod. I heard you, Garou. I’m here.

But Charanko, of course, says none of this aloud; Garou is tasked with breaking his own silence.

“I know, I know,” Garou sighs, almost sounding like himself. “No phones in class.”

Garou slowly lifts his head to reveal his features, the wide smile that cuts across his face like an open wound.

“Get the fuck inside, Charanko. It’s gonna rain any minute.”

Already Garou’s laughing, back to normal, or whatever he can pass for it.

#my writing #opm fanfic #Garou opm #Garou #wilf #(work i’d like to finish) #might delete later? #but only if I end up with a better version of the draft #(not deleting the draft just the post) #I think I just want someone to pat my head and tell me everything will be fine and comedy writing didn’t wreck me #ca chan can't science #ca chan can’t sleep #ca chan needs a hug

[bruinescence]

do whatever you need to do ,  hurry .

He could see why one might take the lapse in action as hesitance on his part, especially after the golden flash of light that so often foretold of a coming transformation settled heavy in the wood elf's guarded gaze. Only this time, instead of the transitional phase of gnarled limbs and the cracking and resetting of bone structure- only subtle as it was brief, Halsin remained rooted to the spot he'd taken up in one of the four doorways leading from the temple corridor to one of what he could only assume was of many inner sanctums. Four entry points on roughly the same plane with no discernable exit point from behind seemed a rather odd choice as far as architecture went, though it was not his place to ponder on the meanings behind ancient, Sharran dwellings. Granted, he wouldn't have the means to ponder on the idea much longer even if it would have settled in like the dust about the place after they'd made a hasty retreat into the odd nook once the then floor (now ceiling) had crumbled beneath their feet.

Well...'their' as in both he and the unfortunate tail-end of their line of explorers, and 'unfortunate' if only because the front of the brigade had possession of the moon-lantern whose light did not seem to want to follow the two that the earth had swallowed. The shadows would not complain about that. "Quickly-our backs to the enclosure!" He had not delayed a moment in stirring upon impact even while still finding his footing in the rubble of the lower floor, knowing too well how quickly the shadows of the curse could take hold like roots pushed up from the ground and eager to snag any attempt at retreat. From what he recalled upon their plunge into the shadow-cursed lands thus far, it was Shadowheart who seemed thoroughly unbothered by the dark hunger within the curse most, and yet for all of her grace, it would not serve to shelter the storm of the shadows that wished for his blood to finally join those he had failed to bring home some odd century ago. "-I must shut them out before they take hold-" The others would find them, to that he had little doubt...but there simply was no time to wait on a rescue mission lest he be torn to shreds from darkness that would seep into veins and then painfully razor outwards.

Once within the enclave of many doors, he briefly focused on her command that stood out amongst the emptiness he'd welcomed to invite full concentration to the matter at hand. There was a temporary way to protect himself from the curse outside of the light...the same manner in which his misguided successor had sought to shield the grove in her delusions, though on a less permanent scale thanks to him being the only druid in the room. Doing so alone and with no guarantee of rescue would be a death sentence. A steady exhale and a twitch of shoulders was about the only response he could muster to the cleric as his eyes continued to glow golden in the dark like the many flashing gazes of nocturnal beasts. The ground rumbled questionably, but he remained rooted to the spot as the magic within his chest swelled with each concentrated effort. Think of nothing...be nothing - nothing but a way of closing this space off from the world. Hide it from everything and hide within it. The druid's thoughts pulsed as mindless as a heartbeat that from one final, throbbing pulse- emerged a great row of thorns and vines erupting from the cracks in the floor about his feet and spreading into a wall that spanned all four doors.

"Spinae rituale-"

Though, unlike a regular wall of thorns, this particular wall kept spreading wider and thickening to fill each door frame twice over and more with vines as thick as the Archdruid's arms. Together, they wound round each other in intricate knots that sought to choke out every bit of air and space and hints of light between them. There was no stepping back from the spreading Oaken Father's embrace either seeing as its source of evocation had already sealed his feet to the floor with the first layer of vines. Though, when the stake like thorns began to erupt about to help solidify the room's defenses, Halsin did not move even when sharp edges speared at him and ripped parts of his druid gear with wooden daggers. The portions of flesh revealed along with the journey from his neck to his jawline were of a stiff, oakish gray bark that only further helped stabilize him in the midst of the thorn rite.

By the time the burning, black flames of the curse had begun nibbling away at the outside of the barricade of thorns, Halsin was already fully integrated into the living wall, though the glow in his gaze dulled ever so slightly as he stared ahead at some fixated point beyond the gleam of her armor. Until the others came with the lantern, he could hold steady against the curse eating through to him as an apple core did against an inchworm. Perhaps the rite would outlast a short rest or even two.

The vines continued to squeeze tight and wrench against themselves to the creaking and grinding whisper of a thought grown over and sealed in a thicket's shadows: 'who am I in your temple?'

#//sorry i kinda just drabbled an idea i had >w< #//i like the idea that the rite of thorns basically barkskinned everybody and then grew around them and they all become actual forest #//or somethin'...but this is a less drastic/perm revision of it #//him becoming bear is one thing...him literally embodying the oak father? yessss please #long post #nerimoi

[ayzrules-art]

the latter half of a spooky party, for @flashfictionfridayofficial ‘monster mash’ prompt! cw for mentions of blood / fire

FLOWER-FEAST.

Autumn is here in all its splendor, and Alejandro knows that the Withering Throne will be feasting to herald plentiful times ahead. He knows that Kyvana and her retinue will be feasting as well; autumn and winter may be scarce seasons for the Blooming Court, but that has never stopped their queen. Kyvana loves any reason to indulge.

The wind goes silent. The Blooming Queen appears in a burst of black butterflies and emerald-shelled beetles. Her hair is a gold bruise at the heart of the mass—mottled with the hues of overripe peach flesh. 

A man steps out from behind her—

*****

“Alejandro,” he smiles, slow and wide, with his lips peeled back. Flaunting teeth.

Alejandro—can’t move. Can’t think, can’t hear, can’t see beyond the rubies studding smiling canines bloody.

The storm of insects subsides. Kyvana calls his name, but Alejandro doesn’t fully register it. Not with his heartbeat thundering behind his sternum. Not with the scream ignited between his ribs, acid-hot on his tongue. Not with the clasp of the giant copper butterfly at his throat—cool like the press of Adrian’s palm. 

The memory is faint—practically bone-crushing.

He draws in a breath. Air rasps through his lungs, like salt to an open wound. The gleam of the rubies blurs before his eyes, and his limbs are too heavy to move, as if his veins have filled with molasses, drowning his consciousness to suffocation. Memories crowd his vision, and suddenly he doesn’t know if he’s six-hundred or sixteen. 

Shards of laughter, smiling teeth, clawed fingertips skimming like pale phantoms—each unearthed sensation joins the others in ramming his sternum to splinters. A hand in his hair—not real? Now gripping his jaw. Now trailing down his side. 

Heat, the bitter tang of rot, a weight pressing him close. Too close.

No, he thinks. No, please.

He wants to run. He tries to open his mouth. The sharp point of his canine snags against his lip.

He tries again, and now the air tastes like blood.

“Earth to Ali,” Kyvana giggles. The smoke is too thick to breathe through, and there’s nausea writhing up his gut, as heavy as the incense. He catches the swish of a capelet, Genevieve twitching forward—no more than a fraction of an inch—

“ViVi!” 

The name bursts from his mouth like a gunshot. He puts himself one—then two, three, almost five—steps in front of his charge. “Oh, but where are my manners?”

Alejandro moves to kneel, just like he did with Camelia. And just like her half-sister, Kyvana reaches for his shoulders, another giggle spilling from her quartz-dusted lips. “Darling, don’t be so old-fashioned! You know we haven’t done that for centuries.”

It’s the thought that counts, Alejandro had told Genevieve with a wry smile. They’re going to tell me not to bow, but it’s the thought that counts. The same is true of Kyvana’s response; the fact that she stopped him means he’s still in her good graces, which is always somewhat of a relief, given the Blooming Queen’s mercurial temperament.

But that offers no explanation as to why Adrian is with her.

Kyvana’s hands come to rest atop his shoulders. Her nails are long, talon-like, burnished in a sticky resin, with insects glued down over the curving points—bronze-shelled scorpions and white-winged moths, jointed limbs twitching with Kyvana’s every gesture. She uses her index finger to adjust the enormous petals at Alejandro’s temple, and the moth glued to the nail flutters weakly in response.

“You look as lovely as always,” Kyvana gushes, releasing his shoulders after another heartbeat. 

Alejandro wrenches the tremor out of his voice. “You flatter me, Your Radiance.” 

The Blooming Queen is wearing a crown of chrysanthemums and white roses, each flower the size of Alejandro’s palm, festooned with purple-gold sprigs of sage and witch hazel. There are honeysuckle vines gathered over her ears, and elegantly curved twigs branch out from the top of the headpiece, joined by a few slender twists of brambles. 

Alejandro takes a step back, carefully dodging the violet-striped butterfly that meanders its slow way among the chrysanthemums. Its full wingspan is at least twice the length of Alejandro’s head.

Adrian has been quiet, but etiquette and order of rank dictate that Alejandro acknowledge his patron before Genevieve offers Kyvana the greeting she’s due. Alejandro forces his jaw into some semblance of relaxed and angles himself in Adrian’s direction. His muscles seem to come to life to shriek in protest, as if the memory of Adrian has been gouged into his very physiology, every cell and instinct making up his bodily functions clamoring for him to run. When he swallows, it’s like ingesting a mouthful of glass. 

But he can’t avoid this. He can only steel himself against the way his head throbs, his pulse shuddering up to a howl—splitting a scream down his skull.

Stars, why is Adrian here?

“My lord,” Alejandro says in the most neutral voice he can muster, lowering his eyes so that he’s staring at the jeweled pomegranate Adrian wears as a ring. He can’t breathe.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You’ve found our arrangement to be satisfactory?”

“I—yes, my lord.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

This far from the central body of the festivities, the fires obscure more than they illuminate. Their bright orange glares twist the shadows into a chasm, blanketing his patron’s profile with the hot sear of smoke. The darkness pounds feverish and ashen, as if it’s closing in around them—impenetrable. 

Alejandro glances up, still not quite meeting Adrian’s eyes. His patron draws his lips into another smile, and if Alejandro didn’t know better—if he didn’t have crushed gemstones adhered to his own teeth and flaking off over his tongue, if he didn’t know Kyvana’s followers wore their allegiance in rubies—he would have mistaken the crimson glittering at the tips of Adrian’s canines for blood.

#Flash Fiction Friday #my writing #edit #alejandro #w&b

[90stvshowgoth]

—PULLING TEETH

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: after barely escaping death at the jaws of a night creature, you find sanctuary in a dreary old castle seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and unknowingly land yourself in the care of a being you couldn’t have ever expected to take pity on a human like you.

w/c: 4369

tags: slow burn, friends to enemies to friends to lovers, sickfic,

notes: i haven’t finished the third chapter of bne because WOW kurogiri you are hard to write man. in the meantime here’s this thing i wrote while i was at a hotel in yellowstone like two weeks ago.

You hadn’t ever put much faith in scripture when you were younger, much to the dismay of the pulpit and preachers in your hometown, you’re sure. But even you knew a truly biblical storm when you saw one.

The rain had soaked your clothes straight to the bone, the tense grit of your teeth all that kept them from chattering. It was painful to run through the cold even without clawing hooks of branches littered in your path; each finger, limb and joint frozen stiff yet forced by will alone to keep moving at the same breakneck pace through almost utter darkness.

Your stomach lurched as the ground was suddenly pulled away from under you, falling face-first into the wet dirt and leaves of the forest floor, lightning revealing the toe of your boot caught under a gnarled tree root. Without wasting a second you tried yanking your leg free to no avail, the salt of your tears indistinguishable from the ocean of rain weighing you to the ground.

It was then you heard it again, far closer this time. A guttural, whining howl that carried like the wind sent a newfound vigor into your thrashing. Sheer panic was all that gave you the strength to wrench your foot free from its hold, a sickening pop within your flesh clearly audible even through the roar of rain sending a shooting pain up your leg. Your mouth opened wide to scream but nothing could escape.

A part of you didn’t want to get up, couldn’t summon any second wind to keep running. By this point all it felt like was delaying the inevitable. You’d gone through so much only to die here...

But as soon as your eyelids fluttered shut the memory of what was chasing you flashed behind them, now wide open as you clawed your way onto your feet. The utterly hollow sockets unmoving in its cracked open skull, the leathery skin of its face peeled back to the bone showing off it’s rows and rows of teeth. God, the teeth. Flat, herbivorous molars guarded by pointed canines and concave, antler-like incisors that littered the roof of its mouth, with tusklike fangs almost glowing under spare moonlight and carved from the sharpest yellowed ivory.

When Dracula’s hoards began sweeping through the lands of Wallachia you’d seen first hand the slaughter that followed, but never before had you seen a night creature that liked to play with it’s food.

The storm had robbed you of your senses, the downpour feeling as if you were being held beneath the ocean; rout screaming through the trees, making your eardrums ache despite the palms pressed firmly against your ears. Adrenaline pumped so thickly through your veins that you couldn’t feel the pain you’re sure should’ve been coiling around your ankle, instead there was only a numbing panic that swallowed up any thought or feeling that didn’t keep you moving forward.

All at once you felt gravity betray you, the ground turning to a sheer drop as your back was met what must’ve been hard stone; jagged outcroppings of rock carving cuts alone your spine and shoulder blades. Luckily your hands were already shielding the sides of your face, saving you from any permanent damage, but the same couldn’t be said of your body. Freshly splitting gashes dug like rivulets down your legs and stomach, a long cut up the side of your arm that snagged on a pointed outcrop of the hill. For a horrified second you weren’t sure just how far this drop would go.

Thankfully not far, it seemed. Just as the thought took root your crumpled form made contact with silken grass, catching you almost tenderly after your fall. Bleeding, trembling hands slowly released themselves off your head, eyes uselessly trying to adjust to the dark through the warm blur of your tears.

At that moment a clap of lightning ripped itself through the black canvas of the atmosphere, illuminating the unmistakable silhouette of a monstrously imposing castle.

In the midst of panic you hadn’t spared a single thought as to who the castle might belong to or the very likely possibility that whatever baron or lord had taken up residence inside might actually prove more dangerous than the night creature itself. You weren’t even able to see it, not after the lightning passed and the towering structure flickered back into the darkness that surrounded you. The thunder that followed shook the ground and grassy stems you clung to; finally chasing you off the earth and sending you stumbling forward once again, only this time in the vague direction of a castle.

You almost slipped when the footing beneath you turned from wet dirt to slick stone but you managed to catch yourself before falling this time. Half walking, half crawling, you made your way up that waterfall of a staircase to the doorway which stretched above you so high you couldn’t see where they ended and the night sky began.

You practically threw yourself onto the doors once you reached the front gate, the broad archway unyielding as you banged your fist on the hardwood. The voice that escaped your lips didn’t sound like your own— far too high-pitched and shrill but it would have to manage as you screamed till your throat stung for anyone inside to open the doors that barely budged under your relentless shoving.

The stone beneath you was slick with water, making it impossible to get the foothold you normally needed to push the doors open, each failed attempt and unheard plea only making you feel all the more powerless, yet still your bloodied fists beat against the irreverent doorway.

You heard it then, the carnal, delighted howling of the beast stalking you. Whipping around, even through the darkness you could see the creature’s blue sockets alight with whatever magic that sustained it. Two beacons of azure light in the middle of a torrential rain from the other side of the clearing, quickly getting closer.

With a manic strength you didn’t know laid dormant you tried your damndest to shove it open, frantic looks behind you only proving what you already knew. It was almost on you, so close that you could start to hear its ragged breathing over the rain.

In one last, desperate bid for life, you took a running start and shouldered a crash into the unyielding door, the massive entryway budging open just far enough to throw yourself inside.

You were far too delirious to properly take in your surroundings, the entire room a dizzying mess of lavish and muddied colors. Instead, with the door closing behind you like a lock, leaving you utterly exhausted, you collapsed onto the floor.

There you lay, bloodied, broken, and sporting a new dislocated shoulder on what felt like carpet, the sensation almost enough to make you vomit. You were probably in more pain than you’d ever felt in your entire lifetime but all you wanted to do was cry with hysteric joy at escaping that monster and its teeth. You were safe.

You weren’t spared even a single moment to breathe before the night creature slammed itself into the towering iron doors, dislodging its weight but not by enough to pull its lumbering body through the doorway yet.

Like before, you tried to get up, tried to keep running, but with a fresh horror you realized you couldn’t summon your body to move save for a few twitching limbs, blood loss finally taking its toll. The carpet beneath you began to stain a far darker red under your half-dead form, but still you remained aware of each painful second, each slam of the monster’s body on the doorway budging open more than the last.

One wiry hand clawed itself from between the door’s gap, the sound of its claws scraping against its surface was like nails on a chalkboard as it pulled its hulking, gnashing appendages through the doorway. As the shrill noise carved its way into your eardrums, you finally went limp. Not unconscious, but loose as a rag doll and without an ounce of resistance left to give, finally resigning yourself to the fate you’d fought so hard against. With weary eyes beginning to grow heavy, your final thoughts were of wondering if maybe the universe is at least kind enough to let you bleed out before the creature finished dragging itself inside the castle to finish you off.

The last thing you saw before blacking out was a pale figure with golden hair; and as you let your eyes shut, the shrill scream of the night creature carved itself into your eardrums, following you down into blissful unconsciousness.

Alucard was having a hard time admitting to himself just how dreary he found the book he was reading. It was an old thing he’d loved when he was a teenager, and the pages were still yellowed and dogeared in those same places he had indented what felt like only yesterday. Those memories of his “before” were still painfully clear, so vivid he swears he could sometimes catch a glimpse of his mother’s smiling face as she stood in the doorway and Adrian wondered if this was in part what drove his father mad. The fact that waiting would in fact not heal his wounds, but keep them open and festering as he stood the test of time.

Every adventure that used to keep him up until the early hours of the morning, reading with rapt attention by dying candlelight, now seemed dull in comparison to his own plights that transpired only a few months ago. Each conversation between the characters felt so bland, taunting him with their sham of a life, reminding him all too well that they were just ink on paper. He had been staring at the words for so long, his brain had tricked itself into believing they were spelled incorrectly.

Alucard snapped the book shut, pinching the bridge of his nose and knocking his head against the back of his chair, lacking the energy or motivation to do much of anything else. Part of him was exhausted, too tired to move. But he knew all too well what awaited him in his nightmares if he was unfortunate enough to finally get some rest.

It was then, as he slumped forward to rest his achingly empty head in his hands, he heard a scream.

His eyes blinked open, the sound, however distant, sent a spasm of adrenaline through his limbs and he’d leapt from his chair, his nails lightly digging into the mahogany as he heard it again. He would’ve simply written off the noise as the wood of an old house settling during a storm if it weren’t for the torment in the muffled cry.

The study he found himself taking residence was in the east wing of the castle, several floors away from the entrance hall, where he swore that the faintest squeak had come from. One disadvantage to only being half-vampire was that his senses weren’t as sharpened as his others. He barely even registered the sound, buried beneath several layers of rubble and carpentry.

Still, he did. And hearing it made him come to a very rational conclusion.

“Goddamnit,” He had shot up out of his seat at the noise like a startled cat but after a moment of distended silence he sighed, resting his weight on the chair’s crest rail, squeezed his temples, and decided, “I really am losing my mind.”

It was bound to happen eventually. It had been almost two months since Sypha and Trevor had gone off on their merry way, leaving him an ancient relic among his own kind. He hadn’t seen another soul since, not counting the various animals or night creatures that stalked through the underbrush near the grounds, though it was debatable whether or not they even had souls.

He’d stopped denying his loneliness weeks ago, around the same time he actually considered sewing a few cloth scraps and spoons together to make doll-like replicas of the two who’d left him behind. The idea might’ve seemed mad to him a couple months ago, but then again, it at least gave him something to do. The boredom was perhaps the worst part, among many others.

But when he heard it again, that high-pitched scream, Alucard stopped to consider if maybe he wasn’t crazy after all.

He was out of the study in an instant, taking long strides down the winding corridors, one hand running along the wooden inlay of the wall beside him. He might’ve not been a full vampire but he still had some measure of his father’s senses, and through the imperceptible rumble of the structure beneath his fingertips, he could feel the most infinitesimal reverberations of something bashing repeatedly against the castle doors.

It almost sounded as if someone was knocking, banging their fists at the doorway, but he quickly squashed the notion as soon as it bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t let himself get his hopes up again, not when the crushing weight of having his optimism dashed was such a tangible fear.

This wasn’t the first time one of the forgemaster’s pets came sniffing around his father’s castle and it wouldn’t be the last, but Adrian was finding it difficult snuffing the small spark of hope that had lit inside him. For a moment he’d let himself wonder if someone instead of something was at the gates for once, some traveller or grave-robber that might’ve relieved him of his endless solitude, however briefly.

He could sense he was getting closer when the sounds of the front doors rattling filled the half-destroyed remnants of the hallways. But just as he’d reached the fourth floor, Adrian found himself almost tripping over his own feet, halting dead in his tracks at the heavy scent of iron in the air.

Human blood— but more than that, uncovered from the deafening curtain of the rain, he heard the wild tremor of a very human heartbeat.

Eyes wide but body still stiff, he was finally snapped out of his daze by the feeling of cold steel, his sword cutting through the air and into the palm of his hand.

With an energy long since missing from his veins, Adrian threw himself down the foyer, his feet not even touching the ground as he dashed through the corridors known to him like the back of his hand, spurned to go faster with each resounding bash of the monster’s claws against the doorway. By the time he’d reached the second floor the smell of blood was almost overpowering, but his steps, or lack thereof, didn’t falter. It wasn’t hunger that drove him, but instead his mother’s and his own will ringing through his ears to at least try to help people.

He willed himself to look away from the grotesque sight on the floor, this was no time for sympathy. Instead he honed his nerve as he leapt from the railings just as the night creature managed to pull itself inside. With one sure stab of his sword he’d split down the middle of its decaying, deer-like snout. From beneath the pulsating mass of reanimated flesh, Alucard could hear the collagen of its frontal lobe audibly snapping and splintering under the weight of his sword.

The shriek it gave as his steel was driven into its inverted head was enough to make his ears sting. Twisting his wrist for good measure, he kicked himself off its flayed head and landed neatly on the stone below. But just when he turned his head to take a step towards the human barely clinging to life, boney talons came whirring through the air straight towards Alucard’s skull. If he had dodged even a few milliseconds later, the creature would’ve carved him cleanly in two, its claws near enough to slice a few unfortunate strands of golden hair.

The dhampir turned narrowed eyes towards the night creature who seemed to be paying no mind to the gaping hole he had made in its head or the pints of tar-like blood that spewed from the laceration, pooling at its feet. Its jaws unhinged like a snake, rows of jagged teeth unfurled before his eyes, and it broke into a running start before moving to swallow him whole.

Drawing his sword arm back, he flung the blade straight down the monster’s throat, its hollow eyes expressionless even as its body contorted in unimaginable pain while his longsword internally sliced open a gash from its throat to its intestines, blackened blood bubbling from its pulled back lips. Alucard took another pitiful look at the figure lying half-dead on the floor, then back to the night creature that still clung to its wretched existence. Even after all he’d seen and been through, he still felt disgusted at the sight of human skin and blood caught between its twitching claws. Loneliness must’ve unhinged him a bit, as the sight made Alucard sure to call his blade back slowly, vengefully, no longer wincing at its last sounds of gurgling anguish.

It was a young woman, skin pale with blood loss and features almost indistinguishable through centimeters of caked on dirt and gore. She was breathing, though barely, covered in heavy, ragged clothes soaked through with rain. Her cuts were an infection waiting to happen and at the sight of them he spared no more time before scooping the human’s limp form into his arms and spiriting them away to his mother’s old medical wing. Her study was a place Adrian would often find himself visiting ever since he was stranded here, perhaps in some masochistic endeavor to feel something other than boredom or guilt.

It helped that it was close to the entryway, and within moments he was throwing open the doorway, supporting his charge so she’d rest them above his thudding heart.

With one hand Alucard swept away the books and pencils that were left scattered on the work table and with the other he gently set the unconcious girl on the bench, turning to rummage around through the drawers that were scattered nearby. He’d need tongs, bandages, disinfectant, and warm water. Luckily a sink sat in the corner, as his mother might’ve used this room for medical purposes eerily alike to his own and had been in need of similar things. As quickly as time would allow he drew a vat of warm water and swiped a rag from its hook, rushing back to his patient’s side with a purpose he hadn’t felt in months. Once he’d gathered the few tools and supplies necessary he settled on first getting them out of those rags, otherwise she was sure to catch hypothermia if she hadn’t already.

He used to be embarrassed about this part of the work, the thought making him scoff as he tossed cut strips of muddied fabric to the side. Alucard was at least thankful that both her bindings had escaped relatively in-tact and he didn’t see reason in stripping them, for this stranger’s sake as much as his own. Any optimism on his patient’s condition was cut short, however, when he looked up along her collarbone, noticing the bulbous indentation beneath their shoulder, bone clearly dislocated from its socket.

How much had they struggled to get here? The thought was enough to unsettle him, all too aware by now of the mountains of corpses who hadn’t managed to escape his father’s hoards; who either hadn’t fought as hard as you or had simply been unlucky. It made him all the more determined to save you, so desperate to clear some of the red from his ledger.

He softly felt his way along your clavicle, touch gentle as if he were apologizing for the pain he was about to cause, before resting his other hand below your shoulder blade and reset the bone with a fleshy pop.

When you had no reaction to the pain other than a fleeting series of twitches on your face he felt his shoulders relax ever so slightly. He’s glad that you were knocked unconscious, if only to spare you any more suffering for the night. You had earned that at least.

It was then the thought of a coma or some long-lasting head trauma came to his mind. But he’d seen one such patient alongside his mother when he was fifteen and he’s sure he’ll never forget the disturbing sound of that man’s heartbeat, no trace of vitality in the constant metronome. There was no such stillness in your chest. Calm from sleep and blood loss, yes, but far from steady, pulsing in defiance at the helplessness of your species.

The more skin revealed to him made the twisting feeling in his gut worsen, counting three deep lacerations along her back and forearms, stomach damn near plummeting when he cut along the seam of your trousers, revealing the swollen, blotchy inflammation of a broken ankle.

As if to make up for the cruelty they were dealt, Alucard was gentle with every inch of bleeding skin as he soaked away the traces of dried blood and soil, wringing it out until the water he’d drawn turned sour and had to be constantly rinsed out. By the time Alucard was finished he’d actually managed to uncover a human being under all that filth, light snores falling from your parted lips. Most of your injuries weren’t severe, bruises assembled into a painting on her ribs to her back, along with dozens of scrapes and surface-level cuts adorning the revealed skin; but nothing that proper disinfectant and bandages couldn’t fix in three or four weeks.

But your ankle was another story entirely. As the night carried on he’d routinely changed the rags he’d left on your inflamed skin, cooling down the swelling well into the evening until his fingertips were pink and sore. The bone near the ankle was still painfully distended, easily reset, but the unconscious sounds of pain that slipped from your parted lips made him almost feel guilty while healing your wounds; as if he was sorry to cause any further pain, even if he knew the sentiment was futile. Thankfully, he found some spare ankle splints in a supply closet nearby, proving that even after death his mother was a far more prepared doctor than he could ever be.

Something he tried to keep firmly at the back of his mind was the exact length of the healing process, one that would leave his charge bedridden for at least four weeks straight, more so if he calculated in the physical therapy afterwards. Either way, the rains had just begun to set in and it was clear that without any carriages or horses to take them into town, he had managed to acquire an unwilling house guest for the foreseeable future.

And Alucard hated himself for the spark of joy that idea lit in his chest.

It was an awful thing to be thankful for, that someone else’s suffering might inadvertently lead to the lessening of his own.

By the time he was finished the sun had already begun to creep above the horizon, the torrential rain weakening into a sunshower as morning light shone through the window onto him and his patient. Despite the sinking guilt at benefiting from his company’s trauma, when he looked at their sleeping face he was hit with the burdening truth that they had lived to see another day because of him. It felt good to help people, not through some violent proxy like how he’d killed his father to save the country, but through saving a single human soul with nothing but his own skills and shaking hands.

Shaking they were; sore and reddened from wringing out the towels he’d laid to cool down your swelling, cloth turning hot almost the second it touched the blistering skin. Once he was certain the bleeding had finally stopped, he’d given you a healthy dose of painkillers that would hopefully numb the inevitable shock when you woke up.

On that note, Alucard thought that perhaps allowing his charge to wake up in a hospital wing, surrounded by scattered, bloody tools amidst the smell of their own gore might not be the best way to calm down someone’s nerves after such an ordeal.

He held you like you were made of glass as he took you from the medical table, resting your sleeping head on his shoulder before leaving the ward behind. There was an abundance of spare bedrooms lining the halls and all he had to do was pick the first one he came across for his new guest. They were still on the first floor and with your ankle so badly damaged it’d be best to keep it that way for the time being.

The room he’d chosen at random seemed fine enough. Pale yellow walls lined with floor-to-ceiling windows gracing him with a view of the sunrise even he couldn’t deny the beauty of. After he’d tucked them into the king sized sheets, however, Alucard found himself at a bit of a stand still.

Should he leave? It’d be best to, wouldn’t it? And yet, after the weeks spent in isolation, Alucard hadn’t realized just how much he missed the simple chorus of another person’s breathing. It was a hypnotic thing that tricked his own pulse into falling in line beside it in tandem. For the first time in days, he was genuinely tired, exhausted from the hours he’d spent trying to bring his patient back from the brink of death.

Across from your bedside, Alucard saw a furnished loveseat practically beckoning him to rest, and he found no reason to deny himself sleep any longer, despite whatever nightmares he might face. Besides, he told himself, it was best to stay in the same room to keep a close eye on your condition, should anything change.

Because when you woke up he’d have more than a few questions to answer, and several of his own to ask.

#sad vampire make brain go brr #adrian tepes #adrian x reader #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania #castlevania netflix #alucard x reader #alucard tepes #terato #vampirefucker rights

[tippytopdays]

Tenacity

This ended up being a lot longer than intended but it's done enough for me to be satisfied with it.

Consider it a sequel to Weak

Combat was never something to be weak in. Be it blunt force weapons or ballistics, everyone knew something. Whole groups were skilled in things that could make a normal man’s head spin.

And then there was you. And you knew nothing.

You’d been born into this world with only your hands and basic know how for survival. There was no chance if you ran straight into combat with the nothing you had. Even if you did the only object even close to a weapon was the shovel you kept with you.

The handle had snapped like a twig, leaving you with the nothing you had come into this with.

There was no way to tell when they’d come. No warnings, no signs; only an oppressive presence that forced every Bandit into hiding and slaughtered every Zed.

The Agency was efficient after all. And you were no different.

Why they were here didn’t matter, only that they were. Like a plague set upon an unsuspecting town doomed for destruction. The hideaway you’d made out of the abandoned factory had fallen within hours of their appearance; an effort for supplies or scavenging you’d assumed. And once they’d found your nest of stolen goods and ratty furniture you’d bolted, nothing to your name except the shovel you’d snagged on the way out.

Clearly, that hadn’t mattered in the slightest.

The gunfire still hadn’t stopped. They were still coming.

You’d hidden in the only place you’d hoped they wouldn’t dare invade, their own abandoned facility. It was far more run down than the factory; machinery that once calculated to the extremes shattered to bits on the floors, testing chambers long silenced, and labs in ruins so decrepit nothing could even begin to repair them.

And the bodies half disintegrated with rot strewn about gave you little solace, as their stench permeated the entire facility.

A door activated from down the hallway, sliding open with a hiss.

They would find you, hidden behind a cluster of desks in some lab far away from the entry. It had been Hell to get back here and you had no doubt it would be equally Hellish to get out. The only open doors had been either blasted or left open by whoever had stormed this place before you.

One of them being at the end of the hallway, now left occupied by whoever had just come in.

Heavy footsteps tromped the corridor. You held your breath, mouth covered with your hands.

Another door was opened, somewhere opposite to yours. And still they came; one after another each room was searched, like a countdown to the inevitable.

A dark shadow loomed from the hallway, stretching through the long broken in door and over the desk you hid behind. Plastered against the wall as an omen of death.

There was no way out now.

Whoever it was stepped into the room. It was strange, you’d briefly noticed over the pounding of your heart, there was no swarm of steps behind the first. He was alone.

Why? Where were the others?

Footsteps thundered in the mostly empty lab. Containers that possibly once held important testing fluids and had long been smashed onto the ground crunched underfoot as the Agent wandered from one side to the other. Clattering came from one end of the room, opposite of your hiding space, furniture being disturbed in his curiosity. Briefly you’d peeked around the very edge of the desk; you could barely catch a glimpse of the him, let alone decipher what he was doing, but the barrel of what was definitely a very large weapon strapped across his back deterred you from any further investigation.

It was so strange, this was far too deeply wedged into the building for it to be mere coincidence. Was there something they’d left here? Something in this old, musty lab that you’d just so happened to take refuge in? A weapon? A lost experiment?

Loud clunking echoed in the mostly empty room as something large was righted. Something shifted, something moved. It was always something, none of it you could decipher. Only that it was there.

And it was getting closer.

It was only now, in this lieu of clattering and banging just out of your peripherals that you noticed this was the only sound you could hear. No shouting, no explosions. Only the footsteps traversing this room, and the commotion he was making.

Why, of all times, had the gunfire stopped the moment this Agent had entered the room?

There was no time for ruminating. At best you had mere seconds before you were discovered, an uncomfortably loud shattering of glass from just a handful of feet away nearly jumping you out prematurely.

But where would you go? Where would you hide now when the only safety had already been compromised?

A shuffle, a twitch of a limb that you weren’t paying enough attention to—exactly how didn’t even cross your mind as the desk shifted just so, dislodging a precariously set lamp. It tumbled to the hard floor, shattering to pieces.

All noise stopped. Your breathing followed.

If you weren’t screwed by coming here, you were now.

Whatever was in his hands clattered to the floor, forgotten entirely as stomping footsteps approached at a rapid pace. You didn’t have time to scramble away, to hide again before he was upon you, the desk squealing as he yanked it from your back.

Cold, angry red glared down from very familiar goggles, and fear turned to horror.

Hank. He had come back.

How was he even alive in the first place? Hadn’t he died in your arms?

The mere reality of his presence before you was as horrifying as it was clarifying. Hank still being alive was a very good implication of why the noises from the rest of the building had come to a halt. May have even been the cause for them even, since you didn’t recall any resistance forces in this ghost town.

Funny how adrenaline clouds memories when one’s wrapped tightly in terror.

You’d scrambled away, far enough that the piping on the wall behind the desk dug into your side. He watched, still and silent as death while the flickering glare of the hallway light obscured his eyes behind the lenses of his goggles.

Why had he come back? For you? To finish what he’d started? To burst your skull like he had intended upon your first meeting?

The silence was deafening, not even the whisper of cloth as he stood from hunching over your hiding place. Still staring at you he stepped around the overturned furniture, uncaring of the crunch of the lamp beneath his boot. A bright flash across the barrel of the heavy machine gun strapped around his back was enough to have you flinching away, arms raised.

Years of running, hiding in the dark, over in just seconds. You could flee the Agency and scurry out of sight of the Bandits all you needed, but here it was hopeless.

When he crouched down to your height you covered your eyes, cowering.

Nothing escaped Hank. Not even you.

All cognitive thought stopped as something very large plopped onto your head.

Your eyes snapped open behind your hands. The weight shifted, fingers of a hand—a very large hand—entangling into your hair.

Was he going to crush you with his bare hands? To throw you like you weighed nothing and toss you to your death?

The grip shifted, pushing your head back. Your hands fell away from your face and into your lap, shaking as he manhandled you.

He was just staring at you, an arm reached out to hold you by the head. The light from the hall was muted behind his utterly massive frame, barely any reaching around the width of his shoulders just to kiss the edges of the goggles. A foul stench of blood wafted into your face as he breathed, a drop splattering against your leg in his leaning over you.

He was monstrous. He was dangerous. Every nerve in your body was firing double and you knew if you were to run, he would catch you.

He was stroking your face.

In your haze of panic the hold on your hair faded, his touch trailing down. It wasn’t gentle, the harsh scrape of his nails down your temple causing a twitch to jerk in your neck as his fingers traced baselessly across your cheek. It was senseless patterns, no real thought behind it as it flickered to and fro over your skin.

As he brushed across the bridge of your nose, you followed it across the mask on his own face.

It was the same motions you had given him in his final moments.

You paused abruptly. The fear, the terror, all of the adrenaline in your body seemed to just flush away at the realization and you just stared, agape.

He remembered. Somehow that was more surprising to you than the fact he’d miraculously risen from the dead, and even more baffling than his touch tracing your face.

Had he come back for you because of what you’d done for him?

Just as suddenly as he’d started he stopped. The hand pulled away from your face, brushing over your neck to grab you by the collar.

You noted briefly that, while it was harsh, there was no energy to throw behind it. Not even malice in his movements as you were yanked forward into his arms and hauled over his shoulder.

And as he stomped back out of the room, carting you down the hall and into the moderately fresher air outdoors, you noted that he had taken precaution to not throw you over the shoulder that the gun’s barrel was propped against.

Your eyes flickered to the trigger.

There was no magazine. It was empty.

_____________________________________________________________

The door to the building opened with a hiss. He’d barely given enough of a glance towards the cameras to know who it was, “Alright Hank, what did you think was so damn important that you got me up at midnight-“ Mid fiddling with his data pad the man’s ranting came to an abrupt halt, red lenses focusing onto the body tossed unceremoniously over the assassin’s shoulder. Slowly, he raised a hand to pinch the apex of the mask on his face.

“Wimbleton did you seriously just bring in a stray?”

“Shut the Hell up Doc.”

#madness combat #madness combat x reader #hank j. wimbleton #hank j. wimbleton x reader #2BDamned #mentioned at least #fun #my writing

[bokettochild]

All Trussed Up and Nowhere to Go

Whumptober Day 1!

Apologies if this isn't as whumpy as my other stuff. When I set out to write whump specifically it never quite comes out...

Anyways, have Twilight and Hyrule suffering together!

There were many places Twilight would rather be at the moment. Many places that a wolf belonged, or a hero even; in the forest, with his brothers, curled up in front of the fire at Lon Lon Ranch or in Legend’s house...

To be honest though, we would have taken fighting the crashing waves of Wind’s Hyrule mid-storm over the sharp pain that pierced through his fur and dug into his flesh.

He’s been chasing a stray moblin away from camp. It had been the only one to escape their battle yesterday and it had come back after the others were settled down for bed. It didn’t make sense to wake the whole camp so that they could kill it, not with it being alone, so instead he’d asked Legend, who wasn’t sleeping anyways and was busy staring up at the stars like he did on some nights, to watch the camp. For all the vet knew, he was just taking a leak, or stretching his legs. At any rate, Legend had agreed and pulled himself up onto the rock Twilight had been using as a perch so he could see out beyond the camp better, and once the vet was secure, he’d grabbed his sword and headed off into the forest.

The moblin was smart, of course it was! It was probably infected too! And somehow the trail had disappeared after a while. Not that that meant anything to a wolf.

Twilight had let the dark power wash over him, shifting him easily into his shadow form at he leapt through the woods after the scent of the filthy monster. It wasn’t hard to track the beast after that, and he’d sped through the woods at the monster's tail, snapping and snarling enough to drive his quarry mad with fear as his teeth came within inches of the monster's flying limbs.

He hadn’t even seen the fence.

The ‘blin had sprung the fence with ease, a bit of downed wire that some farmer had left un-repaired for one reason or another, likely unconcerned with it in the wake of the animals having either escaped or having been moved. Twilight wished the owner had bothered though, as sharp barbs had pierced through his paws, tangling around his legs as he whined and writhed away, only serving to further entangle himself.

No amount of snapping and pushing, pulling and struggling had done anything to free his paws, and once he’d gotten his muzzle snagged in the pointed iron, the wolf had eventually fallen still, only soft whines escaping him as the wire continued to dig into him. Moving only hurt more anyways, and he was beginning to doubt, when the others did eventually find him, that his face and wrists wouldn’t be scarred for life from this.

He was good at waiting though, bound or not, and he kept his ears pricked for the sound of boots stomping through the forest after him or the voices of his brothers and mentor calling out his name in concern. But no matter how good a person is at waiting; he had hoped it wouldn’t take so long.

The distance to camp was a long way, that was all, it was fine, the others were probably searching for him the minute Legend realized he’d been away for too long, right? The silence of the forest was his only answer, and Twilight prayed that the moblin had had the good sense to keep running away, rather than trying to sneak back to camp.

Oh Ordonia! What if the moblin had just been a scout? What if the others were under attack from monsters he had dismissed as all being dead? It wasn’t as if the shadow hadn’t brought monster to them through portals the very same day that they had killed them or otherwise destroyed his forces. What if the camp was overrun? What if they were all barely holding on, waiting for his help? Waiting for their tank of a rancher to bust through the undergrowth, or Wolfie, to destroy a monster about to get a good hit in on one of them?

“Twilight?”

The wolf breathed a deep sigh of relief, only to whimper at the wire digging further into his sides and muzzle at the movement. The sound seemed to catch the attention of the speaker, because only moments later there was the almost imperceptible sound of boots padding softly over the ground, and Hyrule’s freckled face swam into vision.

The traveler was breathing hard, brows pinched in worry as he took in their wolf friend. Barbed wires had become tangled around the wolfs paws, trailing up his legs where they’d tanged and trapped the beast. Wolfie’s muzzle was similarly trapped, and crimson blood trailed across nose and paws both into the ground as the wolf’s midnight blue eyes stared sorrowfully up at the traveler.

“Wolfie.” Hyrule choked out, kneeling down and gently running his hands through the long fur. Twilight could only whimper in response, a soft cry for help that he hoped his brother would understand. The young hero frowned, eyes darting to the forest briefly before back down to whimpering wolf beneath his fingers. “I’m supposed to find Twilight but-” The kid shook his head resolutely, eyes flashing golden in the early morning light. “The others will find him. Don’t worry Wolfie, I’ll get you free, alright?”

Had Twilight been able, he would have breathed a soft thank you to the kid. Hyrule was his best option to be honest, the kid knew the most about survival and healing, even barring the training Warriors had received or Wild’s many experiences.

That thanks didn’t last for long however when Hyrule screamed in pain.

Lupine ears flicked forwards, a hesitant sound escaping him as he stared at where Hyrule sat cradling his hand, tears springing in at the corners of his eyes as he stared at the wires bound around his friend.

“Iron, oh shit.” Hyrule huffed a deep breath, shooting him a weak smile before turning his keen eyes onto the wires wrapped around his brother. “Barbed too, oh you poor thing. Both of us poor things, Legend’s gonna have my hide when I get back.” Another wince as the kid glanced up into the woods. “But they’re all looking for Twilight still, I-”

He could very likely smell the hesitance and conflict that made Hyrule pause and bite his lip, if it weren’t for the blood already trailing across his nose and making it hard to smell anything save for the bitter tang of copper.

“I can handle it. It’s just a bit of iron, right? I’ll just drink a potion when we get back. I’ll be fine.” Wait, why would Hyrule need a potion? What happened?

Despite the barbs that dug into him, Twilight shifted to inspect Hyrule better, worry brewing inside him as his gaze traveled over dirt flecked fabric and slightly scratched hands. That would be from the barbs and likely the trees as well, but it wasn’t anything to warrant drinking a potion; probably just a salve and some bandages, the same as Twilight himself would need.

Unfortunately for all involved, probably and definitely are not the same, and as soon as Hyrule turned his attention to the fencing wrapped around his friend, there was another sharp whimper of pain.

Had he been able to see, Twilight would have stared and watched, trying to figure out what bothered the traveler so much. The kid had once been stabbed and walked it off as nothing, (Legend had been utterly furious and Sky had cried) so it couldn’t be from the pain, not when simply touching the wire was, at worst, an annoyance when you got your fingers pricked. He’d know, he’d spent ages out under the sun unrolling and binding the stuff in place with the other farmers of Ordon. It was always the best choice to keep the larger livestock in, although the smaller ones had a tendency to jump over it altogether.

But again, what should be and what is are two different things, and the longer Hyrule worked the more the kid seemed to be in pain. It was only after Hyrule’s fingers had brushed over his own nose, pulling away the barbs and freeing his face, that he’d smelled it.

Something was burning.

And it wasn’t the pleasant smell of burning wood, or the ashy one of fabric disintegrating into flames. It was the smell of meat left over the fire too long, so that it jumped and danced at the flesh of whatever animal it was until it was blackened and raw. And worse yet, it was right under his nose.

Hyrule choked back a sob as he pulled another wire loose from dark fur.

Pain stirred in his chest as he stared up into Hyrule’s face, the kid’s jaw set and brows furrowed, blinking furiously at the tears that welled up in his eyes as wire after wire was cut or pulled free from the canine-shifters flesh.

He’s in pain.

Hyrule’s blackened fingers swiped at his tears briefly, and the whole world stopped.

Black.

Hyrule’s black fingers.

Smoke sizzled off of the traveler’s hands, skin glowing softly with a hiss as Hyrule went back to work, but Twilight’s mind was already rushing, and in instants he was pulling himself away as best as he could, barking furiously and snapping when Hyrule’s hands came closer.

Why had Hyrule never said he was fae? Great Ordonia! The kid was going to destroy his hands if he kept this up! He wasn’t supposed to touch iron! He couldn’t! Why hadn’t he just called for help?

“Wolfie, I’m almost done, stop!” The traveler pleaded, panic flooding his eyes as he grabbed ahold of the wolf’s long fur. “It’s just a couple more wires. I know it hurts, trust me, I’ll get you out, okay?”

Of course, you know it hurts! It’s burning you, you freaking idiot!!!

Gentle hands reached out for him again and Twilight only snarled in response.

Don’t touch me! You’re hurting yourself! Stop! No! You’re not doing this! Not on my watch!

The traveled scowled, drawing back as glimmering golden eyes had locked onto those of the snarling work, the traveler’s voice just a bit too echoey for this part of the forest, his teeth just a bit too sharp in the dawning light, eyes a bit too bright and glinting as they glared the wolf down. “Wolfie, by- I swear if you don’t calm down, I will pin you in place! You have to stop moving or you’ll just make it worse on both of us!”

Of course, reasoning doesn’t work on over-protective heroes, so in minutes Twilight found himself pinned in place while the Traveler used his full weight to hold him down, sitting on top of him while he finished cutting the last wire before pulling it away from Twilight’s paws, letting the wolf limp away from it as he kicked it against its mother post with a hiss.

Wolfie whimpered.

“I’m sorry.” Hyrule sighed, delicately setting a hand between the canine’s ears, but Twilight saw the wince all the same, and he could only bark angrily as he shook it off, glaring up at Hyrule with all the frustration he could muster. The healer only frowned, hurt flashing across his face as he brought his blackened hand up and cradled it at his chest. “You’re welcome, I guess. What’s got you in a dither?”

“Your blasted hands.” The shadows had washed over him in instants and Hyrule stood staring up at the glaring hero as Twilight caught hold of the kid’s wrist, hands gentle and gaze softening to be even gentler as he stared down at the damage done. “Ordonia dang it, Hyrule, I tried to tell you to stop!”

“You’re okay!” Hyrule choked out, maybe in a sob and maybe in a laugh as the kid relaxed slightly. “You’re- oh gosh, we were-”

“Hyrule.” His form had no effect on his voice apparently, because it was more grown than words that met the others’ ears, and Hyrule flinched at the sound. “You can’t- I-” A million thoughts swam in his mind, worry, anger, concern, disapproval, thanks-

In the end, he just pulled the kid into his arms, mindful of both of their injuries as he sighed. “Yer a freakin’ idiot and I don’t want you ta ever do that again, ‘kay?”

Hyrule nodded into his chest.

“Good. Now let’s get back to camp an’ get something on those burns, and next time,” Blue clashed with golden green. “Go get help instead of burning yourself on iron, you stubborn fae, or I promise you- shut it, I know what promises mean to fae- that I’ll sit on you the whole time Legend yells at you for it, ya hear?”

Hyrule nodded shyly, shoulders hunching up as Twilight let himself relax, pulling his little brother to his side with a sigh and a ruffle of brown curls. “Good, now let’s git. We need to treat those burns.”

And have a talk with the old man about making things in camp, and in general, safer for a young half- blood fae.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #idiot writes whump #whumptober 2021 #lu hyrule #lu twilight #lu wolfie

[tamakissimp]

B.K/I.M- save the bunny

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: What are you supposed to do when you’re dead friend is suddenly standing before you?  𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: cursing, someone getting hit, mention of murder? 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2008 𝕒/𝕟: not my best work but o well....yeah also there’ll probably be part 2 to this

This wasn't how Bakugou wanted his Friday night to turn out. He was supposed to come how to a quiet place. Silence and tranquillity enveloping him as he let himself fall onto the plush cushions of his couch. Maybe there would be a warm meal waiting for him if he was lucky. He could finally let his worn-out muscles take a break from the constant stress they're under.

Something must have gone wrong somewhere. Or else he wouldn't be here, standing before a mocking bunny mask. Floppy fabric ears and blood-stained cheeks staring back at him. The sewn-on grin seems to scream 'punch me'.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he snarls. He grits his teeth while trying to keep his explosions at bay.

The bunny simply tilts their head as they stay silent. Their long limbs seem to move spiderlike as their body turns. Bakugou's eyes following their movement.

No. Shit. Fuck. The bunny tilts his head towards the other side as they snag a photo frame from the coffee table. Pointy fingers glide over the glass, lingering on a specific person in the picture.

Bile starts to rise in Bakugou's throat. Its acidic bitterness only seems to light the fire to his aggression even more.

"Who the fuck are you?". It's useless, he knows. Like hell, a villain like 'The Bunny' will just give up their identity. The silence is killing Bakugou. His nerves on edge and his muscles rippling as he struggles to constrain himself.

He lifts his hands, an explosion already blooming out of his palm. He is ready to blast whoever this might be into bits.

"That's no way to treat your friends," a distorted voice says. Great, so this bastard can speak. Bakugou opens his mouth, about to yell their ears of but a simple word shuts him up.

"Kacchan.". His hand drops to his side his mouth hangs agape. He had dreamed of this moment. Fantasised about the moment he could apologize and hug his friend. He had planned out exactly what he would say. What he'd do, how he'd act. But this wasn't in the plan.

The bunny's pointy fingers come up to its face before ripping the mask off. A mop of green hair springs out from underneath. "Cat caught your tongue?" he asks mockingly before running those same fingers through his hair.

"How..". Bakugou's throat fails on him. His voice stops working. Is he crying? He wants to tell himself he's not but he's honestly not sure anymore. Knees buckling underneath him yet he still manages to keep himself standing up.

"How am I still alive?" Izuku finishes for him. He casts the mask aside, throwing it on the floor before letting his body fall onto the couch, the same couch Bakugou planned to rest on. He lazily drapes his arms over the top of it.

The casualness of his movements mocks Bakugou. As if he isn't Japan's most wanted criminal sitting on Japan's number one hero's couch.

"Everyone always asks that, you know?" he says he glances down at the picture frames he's still holding. "It's getting old.". He lazily runs his finger over the glass.

"You died. I buried you. Inko fucking mourned you, she still does," Bakugou says. His voice wavers and he hates himself for it. He's showing weakness.

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to fake a death," Izuku says.

Bakugou's red eyes bore into his green ones. A silence hangs between them. It feels almost surreal to Bakugou. His mind hasn't caught up to the fact that his friend, or rather ex-friend, is sitting before him and isn't six feet underground.

While Bakugou's movements are ragged and forced, Izuku almost seems comical. His body has seemed to adapt to his villainous life. A theatrical elegance laced into his movements.

"I don't see you as a friend anymore," he breaks out. Izuku's eyes grow for a second and so does his smile. He straightens his back as he silently urges Bakugou on to speak.

"I buried my friend," he says. "You're not him. You might think you're him but you're not. He isn't this pathetic." He grits his teeth before lifting his hands again, getting ready to swing at him. Izuku quickly jumps up from the couch.

His eyes glint in mischief as he takes in the sight before him. "Oh, looks like you still haven't dealt with your anger, Kacchan.".

The nickname sets him off. He storms towards the green-haired man, fists raised and palms crackling from explosions. That is until he hears a familiar sound.

Both of them look towards the front door. Bakugou's face slacks with shock while Izuku's lights up with excitement. This isn't supposed to happen. Why is this happening?

Izuku quickly moves the kick his mask underneath the couch before he places the picture frame back. Bakugou eyes linger on the picture for a second. It's one of the three of you. Bakugou squished in between you and Izuku, his fingers raised behind both of your head to give you bunny ears. Oh, if he could just turn back time.

"'Suki?" you call out. Bakugou fears for his life, or rather, yours. Who knows what the crazed psychopath standing before him will do. "I thought I'd swing by and-".

Your words stop as you walk into the living room. The bags in your hands drop. Soup spills out of the containers you so meticulous packed. Bright orange curry stains the spotless carpet beneath it. The hot liquid splashes up against your leg, most likely burning your skin though you don't care.

You try to speak, mouthing opening and closing like a fish. This must be a dream, one of those horrible nightmares Kirishima often gets. That is until a familiar wobbly voice reaches your ears.

"Hi, bunny," Izuku says. Within a second, he has closed the space between you. Your arms wrap around him instinctively. It's an awkward hold. You used to be able to rest your chin on his head. Now, his muscled body towers over yours.

"Y-You're...You're dead," you whisper against his chest while nuzzling your cheek into him. His body heat seems to bring you a type of peace you haven't known of in years.

"I know, I know," he says while running his hands over your back. Sobs break out of your chest as your emotions seem to flow over. Salty rivers running past your burning cheeks and dripping into Izuku's musky hoodie.

Your body shakes as you grab onto Izuku, painfully so. You're sure you're going to leave bruises on his sickly pale skin yet you can't bring yourself to care. The aching in your chest that you've suppressed for years finally seems to boil over.

Hot and heavy emotions spill into your mind. You aren't sure if the salty taste in your mouth is from biting your lip until blood gushes out of it or the tears streaming down uncontrollably. You're sure that you look like a mess. Tears and snot dripping down your chin.

Instead of trying to see through your tear-blurred vision, you burry your face further into your friend's chest.

He's dead or at least supposed to be. You buried him, cried at his funeral and went through grief for him.

Yet here he is, in the flesh. His voice still sounds the same. He still smells the same. But he is not the same boy you knew years ago. His smile isn't the same. And his scarred hands sure aren't the same. Everything about him is the same, yet slightly different, giving you a mental whiplash.

"You have some fucking explaining to do," Bakugou says. His voice breaks you out of your trance. You pull away from Izuku, your body immediately screaming in protest. You look up at him. It feels strange, you used to be at least a head taller than him

"How the fuck are you still alive?". Bakugou doesn't have time for nicknames or formality. Not when he knows that the man standing before him has the blood of at least a hundred on his hands.

Izuku steps away from you, unwinding his arms from your body. Bakugou quickly strides over and pulls you away from the offending man. He pushes you behind him while one hand still grips onto your arm. You want to ask him what the fuck he's doing but Izuku starts talking before you can.

"It's a long story," he says. "Can't tell you everything but, long story short, I had to fake my death. Some guys were after me but it's all fixed now!". The vagueness mixed with his eerie smile only makes him look more like a psychopath.

"All fixed? All-fucking-fixed?". Boiling anger rising to Bakugou's head, clouding his thinking. He taking quick steps up to his ex-friend. Izuku doesn't even flinch when Bakugou grabs onto his neck tightly. "You left. Fucking made us think you're dead and you think you can just come in and say that everything is fixed?".

Spit flies out of his mouth and lands on Izuku's cheek, a shiver of disgust running over his spine at the feeling. Yet the green-haired man can't stop the excitement from bubbling up at seeing his friend so rilled up.

"Bakugou, Jesus fuck, calm down," you say. This situation should probably feel more serious than it is. Yet the shock still evident in your body and the adrenaline clouding your mind makes you unable to properly process it all.

"Like hell, I'll calm down!". Bakugou finally lets go of Izuku's throat. A set of cough falls out of the green-haired man's throat. He smirks as he glances down at the aggressive blond.

"Come on, Kacchan, we shouldn't do this in front of our little bunny," Izuku says with a smirk. The gears finally seem to click in his mind. Suddenly, the bunny mask, the name, the costume, it all makes sense.

"You sick fuck!" Bakugou yells before landing a hit square on Izuku's jaw. He stumbles back a bit, taken aback at Bakugou's sudden outburst. The blond takes the opportunity to land another punch right on his nose.

A wet crunch sounds through the room. You cringe as you feel bile rise in your throat from the sound. "Izuku!" you yell out as you try to get to your friend or ex-friend, you're not sure.

Bakugou stops you thought, his arms wrapping around your body and spinning you away from the green-haired freak. You pound your hand on his arms pleading with him to let you go but your ministrations do nothing to the number one hero.

Izuku laughs as he wipes away the blood dripping from his nose, tainting the grimy grey of his hoodie with it. "You're gonna regret that, Kacchan," he says. Bakugou doesn't even give him the light of day as he makes his way out of his apartment with light speed

Your throat grows dry and painful as you plead Bakugou to let you. To let you go to him. "It's okay, he's gone," Bakugou says.

You shake your head violently as you claw at his back, trying to get his arms to loosen their hold. "I need to see him. I gotta-I gotta see him. Suki, please!". The hoarseness of your voice shoots painful stabs into Bakugou's heart.

But he doesn't let his mind linger too long, running down the stairs two steps at a time. All he can focus on is getting you away from that creep before he can touch you again.

"Please, I can't leave him again," you sob out. Bakugou simply lays on hand on the back of your head, pulling you even closer to him. Thankfully he doesn't see Izuku following behind him.

"Please, not again," you say before your voice bursts out in sobs again. Fuck, how much Bakugou wants to blast that fuckers skull in. He's sure his friends at the police force wouldn't mind turning a blind eye for him. But that'll have to wait until later. Now he needs to focus on keeping you safe, safe from him.

#what the fuck is this?🤠 #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #bakugo x reader #katuski bakugou #bakugou angst #Izuku #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoriya #katsuki x izuku #mha #mha imagine #mha fanfic #mha angst #bnha fanfic #bnha imagines #bnha #bnha x reader #izuku x reader #villain!deku #villain!izuku #deku x reader #deku imagine #my hero academia #my hero imagine #my hero imagines #my hero x reader #hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero x reader

[sheep-and-lykos]

In A Week’s Time: Elliot x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

VERY long Stardew Valley fic and I have fallen back in love with the game and Elliot.

Really just plain vanilla lovings below!

Song Choice: Not Just A Girl - She Wants Revenge

Summer. A scorching summer season had settled amongst the valley. Where others saw a reason to just flock to the beach and wade in the oceans or to take advantage of the museum's better quality air conditioner, you had been excited for this season to make profits. Sure, you had made a good profit off of spring's fresh crops what of strawberries and parsnips and bulbs of garlic all in a row; it was summer you were waiting for as well as many other farmers around. You could just imagine your crop fields full of patches of blueberries and of melons, peach and orange trees in full bloom as well as stalks of hops to keep the kegs full of aging beer (and let's not get started about the starfruit patches to which you'll be turning into wine by the end of their respected harvest).

You were out of bed before Elliott - which was rare as he's used to waking with the gulls cawing horribly before the sun even rises over the ocean's shore. The writer's eyes prying open to see you already out the door, flowing auburn hair a mess against the soft pillow covers, sticking to his chiseled face as he watched on in confusion as you bolted out of the front door. He squinted, grumbling something under his breath about how eager you were and quickly followed behind you.

The early summer morning breeze was cool, crisp, inviting as you overlooked the expanse of your farm from your porch. The sun barely peeking over the trees of the forest bordering the outskirts of the farm, bits of orange rays poking through, and twinkling off of the iridium sprinklers littered around, scarecrows still standing tall, protecting the now empty fields of dead spring crops.

The front door opened behind you, you peered over your shoulder to see your beloved husband standing there, squinting as the sun slowly rises over the horizon and spill into the farm. You always loved how squinty-eyed he was when he wakes, hair tied back. He was always so handsome, even when he had just woken up. You giggled, remembering how he had woken up when the spring had started and you had woken early to start planting the usual plots of strawberries, parsnips, and beans. The poor man had his shirt on backwards and nearly had his shoes on the wrong feet before you helped correct him. It was always so sweet of him to wake up early with you every crop season to help you clear and plant and water with you.

"My darling?" he mumbled behind you.

"It's summer, Elliott! Time for the biggest harvests of the year!" you proclaimed, puffing your chest out proudly.

"I'll make coffee," he nodded, leaving the front door open to allow your cat to slip outside and happily trot towards the barn and coop towards the south exit of your farm that leads to Marnie's ranch.

You smiled, watching him leave to the kitchen slowly, you snagged your trusty hoe that sat right by the front door and set off.

Around midday, you had retired back to the house where Elliott was waiting, radiating with excitement. He had just come back two hours ago from Pierre's store with many bags of seeds roped around his hands and wrists for you to start sowing. You climbed the stairs and overlooked the expanse of your farm with your husband. You both took in the tilled dirt ready to be watered after lunch. You were both excited to slowly be able to see the dull beige and browns and ochres of the farm's soil to slowly bloom vibrant greens and pinks and blues and yellows of fresh vegetation by the end of the season.

"Tired, my darling?" he stepped inside, allowing you to pass into your home.

"Not yet," you hummed.

"Good! I have wonderful news I'd love for you to hear," he chimed.

"Oh? And what would that be, Elliott?"

Leading you towards the kitchen, you noticed a large, square vanilla envelope bent in a slight curve. A glass mixing bowl sat a little ways away, most likely used to press out the envelope. It was opened, the obvious tear towards the top of the envelope, the contents gently pushed back inside. What looked to be a single sheet of paper was inside.

"Do you remember the genre of book you've inspired me to write, my love?" Elliott hummed.

You could remember that day clearly. Nearly two seasons had passed, the end of the scorching summer was settled on the land, the valley preparing for fall. The weather had cooled just a tad, but it was enough to warrant you a trip down to the beach for a dip in the ocean. Your crops were all done for the season, every last bundle of blueberries plucked, every melon uprooted, hot peppers and tomatoes picked from every patch you had planted. You were done for the rest of the season when it had come to the farm.

But as soon as you arrived at the beach, you had immediately lost all focus upon seeing Elliott's cabin. You had been meaning to visit, and before you could even realize it, you were knocking at his front door. The poet was surprised to see you, emerald green eyes widening in pure delight at the sight of a new visitor.

Auburn hair tied back by a vibrant green ribbon, delicate locks not long enough framed his face nicely. Sharp jawline freshly shaved, not a single hair missed nor a single blemish on his healthy tanned skin. A loose white button-up long sleeve shirt sat unbuttoned a bit on the top. His shirt had been tucked into a pair of loose black slacks. If you hadn't been blushing at the sight of a man as handsome as Elliott, you would've questioned him on why he decided to dress like a pirate.

Instead, he had roped you into an elegant conversation, allowing you to step into his cabin. Enchanted with his delicate words, you soon found yourself staring at him as he looked at you, groomed dark brows pulled up slightly as he waited for your answer.

He smirked as you shook your head slightly, clearing the fog from your mind as you suddenly found yourself in an embarrassing position.

"Sorry, excuse me," you stuttered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Elliott simply chuckled softly. His silky voice filled your ears before he glanced back at you, a smile still tugging on his chiseled lips. Yoba, they looked so soft.

"It's this awful heat. I find myself losing my words too. I was asking you your favorite genre to read." "Oh!" You felt your stomach tighten into even tighter knots. "I... Romance I guess. I haven't really had a lot of time to sit down and read something proper like an actual book. Maybe a news article on my phone or something but..." "Romance? Ah, a classic form of literature! I find myself sinking into romantic novels myself, especially during a storm."

"Romance," you hummed.

He pulled the single piece of thick paper from the envelope, still a little curved from its time spent in the mailbox since early this morning.

"It's a very short notice for such big news, but I've been invited to do a reading tour for the book you've inspired me to write."

He handed you the piece of paper.

It was from his publisher, a full schedule on the bottom of the short notice. Every day was packed with readings to signings and meetups, all scheduled for one week.

Next week.

"You're leaving Saturday," you noted the date stamped at the very bottom, the following Sunday being his return.

"I am. But only for one week, my radiance." He paused for a moment, you looked up at him with wide eyes full of excitement. "Will you be alright? I'll be gone for one week and it's already the start of a new crop season for us-"

"Go on it! This is what you've wanted, yeah? I'll be fine!"

Elliott stared at you with slight shock, soon melting into a warm smile full of absolute love.

"I'll be here for the rest of the week, though. I'll still be here to help water what is not covered, help with your animals."

You nodded and looked back down at the paper in your hands. You noticed the time to leave on Saturday is missing.

"When do you leave Saturday?"

"I believe before noon."

Elliott produced one round-trip bus ticket from the envelope. The same company that brought you here to Pelican Town a little over two years ago.

Lo and behold, he would be leaving at ten o'clock in the morning.

Elliott plucked the schedule and ticket from your hands and placed them back on the counter. He quickly replaced the empty space between your hands, he filled them with his own. Grasping them tightly with his own, he pulled you closer to him.

His hands were strong, skin soft, fingertips scarred slightly from countless papercuts he's given himself from binge-reading new and old books on rainy days as well as spending countless and stressful days writing, editing, and rereading his work that he'll now read to many people out there in the world. You loved how nice his hands felt, warm, but not too warm to make your hands overheat. His hands were bigger than yours, enveloping them with their strong warmth as he pulled you closer until you both were pressed flush up against each other.

You caught whiffs of him. You always loved how Elliott smelled, from his shampoo and conditioner to the subtle hints of his aftershave and cologne. Pomegranate was the main node you would get (it was really the fruit that had started your acquaintance with him when he asked if you grew them on the farm) but he would also always smell somewhat like the sea. Sea salt in the ocean breeze, fresh and alive, and inviting like the ocean on a hot summer's day.

And looking at your husband before you, you could feel your body heat up even more. His hands slowly rising in temperature, slowly roasting your fingers and palms still a little cool from handling your iridium hoe. You swore you could feel little tingles sparking between the minute gaps between your fingers and palms, fireworks, explosions of nerves edging you both further and further closer to the end of the cliff until-

You both suddenly found yourselves suddenly tangled in each other's limbs. Bodies pressed flush up against each other, no room between your persons. Your breasts pressed firmly against his chest, stomachs with no gaps between, legs struggling to stand up properly and support each other.

Your hands snatched at the collar of Elliott's button-up, crisp and clean with no wrinkles in sight now sat crumbled in your grasping hands. Your fingers flexing, suddenly releasing the collar to claw and crawl to his broad shoulders, snatching at the thin, soft material by the handful, pulling him closer if that was any more possible.

Elliott's passion placed into his display of affections always seemed to catch you off guard. You knew Elliott was a passionate man the moment you met him, but as you grew to knew him and quickly fell for him, you learned that Elliott and romance went together like Gus and any event where he's able to serve the town. Elliott always made you feel loved, always made you feel beautiful. He may look like he belongs on the front of a romance novel cover with his god-like appearance, but damn it all if he doesn't know how to absolutely ravish you as the books would suggest.

One of Elliott's strong hands had come to the back of your head, agile fingers gently grasping at the back of your head, fingers wrapped around your locks, locking your heads together. The other went around to behind your shoulders. He grabbed at the back of your shirt, a fistful of cloth fabric teasing him whereas he teased you with a few tugs, threatening to rip your shirt right off of your body without another thought.

It wouldn't have been the first time he would have done that.

Elliott's lips seemed to be made for yours. Every kiss was perfect.

Elliott softly moaned into the kiss, the swaying weight between you two nearly had your legs fumbling, nearly allowing the two of you to fall over yourselves. Elliott pulled away for just a moment, emerald green eyes gazing into yours for a brief moment, lust filling his gorgeous hues the more he looked at you, a faint pink blush dashing over his chiseled cheeks. You could feel your face heating up as well, the apples of your cheeks suddenly scorching just looking at him right here, nose to nose with your loving husband.

He had quickly pulled you into another kiss, lips tenderly pressing against yours in a passionate embrace, lulling your legs to finally be able to move towards the bedroom.

It was sloppy, your backs pressing against the walls of the short hallway connecting the living room to your shared bedroom. Elliott had you pinned to the wall at one point, your head pushed to the side, mouth open as soft mewls and moans escaping from your slick lips as Elliott sucked at the nape of your neck. His large, strong hands were squeezing your wrists, your fingers limp yet curling as you felt him pressed his clothed erection brush against your person.

You both had managed to tear yourselves from the wall, suddenly another mess of tangled arms, hands grasping in hair and snatching at clothing until Elliott's nimble fingers had finally dipped under the bottom hem of your shirt, carefully peeling the hem up into a small curl of fabric until he could firmly grab at it with both hands. With a swift and sudden pull of his hands, you had suddenly found yourself topless in the sights of your beloved.

Flushing under his emerald gaze, Elliott had paused for a brief moment to look over your body, eyes scanning your form, lust slowly consuming his features the more he gazed at your form with fluttering eyes. Elliott hummed deep within his throat, hands coming up to cup at your shoulders. Hooking his thumbs under the straps of your bra, he delicately slid them off of the curve of your shoulders and crawled his fingers to the hooks behind your back. Your bra quickly came undone in his hands, the delicate lingerie now sliding off of your body with a tug of his agile hands and carelessly tossed over his shoulder.

The sight of your naked breasts alone was enough for Elliott to start to unravel more and more.

A coy little smirk fell upon your lips as you saw out of the corner of your eye the tenting in his pants, noting how the fabric was tightening more and more as the seconds ticked by.

"I hardly think it's fair for you to still be dressed while you're stripping off all of my clothes," you pointed out.

"My dearest, I believe you're right. How rude of me."

Elliott had complied with your statement, but he was a little shit. Nimble fingers that had just ravaged your top and bra off of your person within just a few seconds, had plucked the top two buttons of his shirt apart at a snail's pace; All with a devilish look in his eye as looked directly at you.

You flung yourself at him, hands grabbing the collar of his button-up and pulling his close to connect your lips once more. Elliott's hands moved from his shirt to grip at the sides of your head firmly, sinking his fingers into the locks of your hair. Your hands fumbled down to the rest of the buttons, fingers struggling to pluck them apart one by one until you had no more to unbutton. Your fingers brushed against his bare chest and abdomen, lightly sun-kissed skin, toned generously as the lean muscle under your fingertips flexed softly at your bare touch.

Elliott shrugged his button-up off of his shoulders and tossed it aside, the hunk of material sliding against the hardwood floors.

Elliott advanced towards you, pushing you backwards until the back of your knees bumped into the lip of the bed. You stumbled back a bit, losing your balance and falling back into the mattress, your body bouncing a bit as you landed on the springy mattress. Elliott smirked, enjoying as your breasts bounced with you.

Elliott's graceful fingers moved from your shoulders downward, fingers dancing down your body, past the curve of your breasts, and digging gently into the soft skin of your stomach until his fingers danced along the waistband of your pants. The button had suddenly slipped free and the zipper had been pulled down.

Elliott had leaned forward, you softly gasped when you felt his warm lips press gentle kisses down the center of your torso in a straight line, going from the bottom of your neck to in between the space of your breasts down to your belly button all while he had wrestled your pants out from under your rear. He worked your trousers down the length of your legs, eventually hitching them off from where they bunched up at your ankles and allowed the trousers to flop onto the floor, all while he was still trailing kisses right down your center.

He briefly looked up at you under a near curtain of auburn locks, emerald green hues amused at your heated face, wonderful lips smirking as you softly begged him to keep going.

His index fingers hooked around the delicate upper hemline of your underwear. Twisting his fingers just a bit to secure the hemline, he slowly pulled downwards, peeling your panties away from your pussy and down the length of your legs, soon joining your pants on the floor. The sight of you dripping wet, heat blooming from between your legs stirred Elliott onwards, but he remained collected; no matter how much he wished to absolutely ravage your body.

Elliott had stood up, you whined a bit as you immediately missed the feeling of his lips trailing up and down your torso, worshipping you, ravishing you with his soft kisses.

Your loving husband gripped the waistband of his own trousers and fiddled with the buckle of his leather belt. Shiny brass clicking a little at him fiddling and soon the long strip of punched leather slid out from the belt loops of his black slacks and was tossed onto your trousers pooling at his feet. You watched on in awe as he slowly dipped his hands under the waistband for just a brief second before plucking apart the button of his own pants and pulling the zipper down, revealing straining boxer-briefs.

You flushed at the outline hidden inside the confinements of his underwear. Cock straining, erect, yet tortured to be stuck into tightening underwear.

The black slacks dropped to the floor, Elliott nudging both his trousers and yours off to the side of the bed just out of the way. The matching black boxer-briefs looked awfully tight, you could only imagine the struggle Elliott was going through as he looked over your delightful form.

A few locks of auburn hair drifted out of place, some sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead while the others hung loose in his face, covering his eyes slightly. A faint blush still settled on his cheeks as he looked down at you with half-lidded eyes full of lust and desire.

"Elliott," you cooed, your body heating up.

Your gut was coiling, heat pooling more around your pussy, your stomach feeling full of butterflies. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, feel your blood roaring with life.

You needed him inside of you now.

"My dear (Y/n), what do you need?" he purred, still eyeing you as if you were nothing else but prey.

"You," you whimpered.

"And what do you want me to do?" he teased, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a coy smile.

"I want you to fuck me into this mattress."

You swore you could see something snap inside of Elliott. The once calm and collected writer you called a husband seemingly snapped. You could no longer see the emerald in his eyes. The sea of lovely green now consumed by his pupils blown wide.

It was a good thing you both live on a farm, a good walking distance away from the rest of Pelican Town, otherwise, you and Elliott would be looking at many noise complaints from the rest of the town.

You watched as he snatched off his boxer-briefs, the poor man-handled fabric flung away, no longer in your line of sight.

What was in your line of sight, however, was your husband's cock springing outwards, now free of its confinements.

You only had mere seconds to gaze at it before Elliott had pinned you to the mattress, the man hovering over you, hands pinning your shoulders to the mattress, impaling you with his cock.

A moan lodged in your throat, choking slightly as you cried out in pleasure at the tightness. Elliott gave a satisfied groan as well, broad shoulders sagging for just a mere moment to lose himself in the sea of pleasure he found himself in.

You loved how Elliott's cock fit inside of you so perfectly, it was like to was made for you. His cock was large, thick, always stretching your tight pussy just right. Just the feeling of being stretched had you whining, clawing at the sheets by the handful. Your head rocked back into the mattress, cradled by the bunched up sheets under your head and neck. Your eyes screwed shut at the painful stretch.

Elliott moaning softly, panting against your chest. His long auburn locks had spilled across your sweaty chest, thick strands clinging to your breasts, pooling on your person for a brief moment as Elliott had dipped his head to revel in the feeling of his cock in your tight pussy.

He craned his head back up, looking down at your sweaty face, mouth wide open as you cried and mewled under him. A wild smirk spread across his lips.

He was generous enough to give you a quick second to adjust to the tight stretch before he had started to slowly piston his hips.

The back of your head curled into the sheets piled underneath you more, your throat stretching, baring more skin to him. Elliott had leaned back down again, still pistoning his hips at a slow rate to enjoy the tight feeling of your slick walls around his cock.

Your guts were knotted with lust, only wanting you to raise your hips and match him with his thrusts, meet his cock thrusting inwards with you lifting your hips up, wanting your sexes to slap together, to rock the bed and make it groan like you normally do together. You loved how wild and powerful Elliott could be in bed.

Elliott's hands snatched at your hips, nails digging into the soft skin. You whimpered at the bite of crescent moons, loving the pain adding on to the pleasure bubbling inside of your person. Each thrust seemed to make your organs knot closer together, made the coils heat up, and tighten. Your moans only spurred him to speed up once he had given you ample time to adjust to the tightness inside of you.

Elliott had let go of your hips, favoring to trap the sides of your head by placing his hands out flat against the ruffles and rumples of the sheets now bunched under the back of your skull, careful not to snag at any of your locks. His grip on the sheets tightened, supporting him better as he rocked his hips back and forth at a great pace, pounding into you like a machine powered by pistons.

He had dipped his head down to meet your parted lips. He groaned into the cavity of your mouth, wincing and tightening his grip on the sheets as your walls had clamped down on his cock. You could hear the sheets creaking, the soft fabric stretching and compressing under the intense grip Elliott was putting it through until he had released it just a touch.

He pressed hot, open-mouth kisses all around your face. He trailed kisses along the curve of your jaw all the way back to your earlobes where he would nip and gently tug at them. He would trail a sloppy line down the curve of your neck, grazing the columns of your throat with his teeth. He definitely had produced a good amount of hickies along your neck and upper chest, so much to possibly warrant a turtleneck at the beginning of summer if you were to have made any plans of going out in public. He had even gently sunk his teeth into the soft plush of one of your breasts, enjoying the little squeaks you produced as your clawed at Elliott's back and grabbed at his broad shoulders.

Once he had deemed he had marked you up enough, he had only continued to ramp up his pace until you suddenly choke at the speed. You gasped, feeling your passageway clamp down on him once more, your husband crying out in pleasure and tossing his head back to revel in the feelings spiking through him.

You cried out, feeling the coils inside of you tighten even more, now white-hot as the seed about to enter your womb pretty soon as your climax was fast approaching.

You caught sight of Elliott's eyes, emerald hues still missing, lost in a sea of black. His pupils dilated, still-full blown with lust, looking as though he had captured a starless sky in his eyes.

It was hypnotic, and the thundering of your blood in your ear like war drums had only added on to the pressure building up in your core. The splitting pressure inside of you had you squeezing your eyes closed, wincing, a soft moan passing through grit teeth as a wave of painful pleasure rattled through you, only tightening the coils inside of you even more.

Elliott was unraveling as well, auburn locks falling in his face, hiding his reddened and sweaty rugged face behind the curtain of his groomed mane. His shoulders tensed, lean muscle flexing in his shoulders and biceps, veins poking against his lightly tanned skin. His thrusts had gone from fast and passionate to sporadic and sloppy, longing and yearning to finally release inside of you.

A sudden eruption of heat spilled from between your legs, a massive release of pent up pain and turned to pleasure. A lewd moan had spilled from your open mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Elliott groaned above you, riding and thrusting into your slickening pussy, only allowing him to lose himself to his gaining lust.

Your limbs suddenly felt heavy, weighed down by bones seemingly made of lead and iridium, allowing you to sink into the plush comfort of the mattress as Elliott continuously pounded into your pussy without fail. The man of many elegant words had crippled down to only guttural moans and heavy groans. He could barely make any other noises, he was too busy chasing his won climax. He huffed and puffed in your ears, shoulders shaking as he pistoned his hips back and forth like a well-oiled machine.

It had nearly been another full minute before you felt the slight twitch inside of your passageway, his cock stiffening ever so slowly in between the rushed thrusts of his hips. His thrusts were growing sloppier by the thrust, the bed groaning under the two of you as it rocked with each thrust. The two of you were a flurry of moans and lingering kisses, Elliott occasionally kissing down your jaw or sucking at your neck. Your pussy still slick with your sweet only allowed him to seemingly thrust faster inside of you, you could feel his cock twitch a bit more.

He was going to cum quickly.

His hands on either side of your head snatched at more of the rumpled bedsheets, twisting as his back arched downwards. With each thrust, there was no room left between your two persons, no air gaps between your sexes, drawing his cock nearly out of you only to slam right back into you without mercy. You swore you were drooling, trapped in the starry bliss clouding your mind, still chasing the joys of your climax as he only ravaged your pussy more and more.

The stiffer he got, the sloppier he got with his thrusts until hot milky white suddenly erupted from Elliott's cock, the man coming with a choked shout. His shoulders curled up into his neck, head shooting back, auburn locks spilling over his broad shoulders and you milked every last drop of semen out of his cock still buried inside of you.

You cried, mewled as you felt the fullness inside of you, only to exhale as Elliott's cock had slid right out of your passageway, his semen following quickly after to spill onto the bed.

Elliott nearly collapsed on top of your worn person, the man of elegance managing to roll himself to land right next to you. He draped one of his tanned arms over your body, the meat of his arm over your breasts so his hand could reach under your armpit, dragging you closer to his sweaty chest. You both laid there panting, hearts racing as moments ticked by, the thrill of your orgasms slowly riding down as you both looked at each other in the eye. Sweaty faces, blushed at the cheeks and noses, you both couldn't help the small and loving smiles spreading across your faces. You both looked at each other through the messy, frizzy locks clinging to your sweaty faces. A good shower was to be put in order now, but it would have to wait.

You shivered, still feeling his hot seed spilling slowly out between your nether lips, tangling with the sheets under your person, a mess you would both clean in just a moment.

But for now, you both laid there side by side, looking lovingly into the eyes of each other, enjoying the euphoria and riding it until it ends in his loving embrace, tangled in the sheets in the farmhouse far away from the world.

You stood there by the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive with your husband right by your side. You could tell he was nervous, he would always toy with his long locks when he was. He had even pulled his hair back and tied it to try and stop himself from fiddling with his luscious auburn locks, but he couldn't help himself.

He was nervous, and rightfully so!

He was going to be gone for a week, reading for his adoring fans, signing autographs, meeting new and important people.

You took his hand, startling the man out of his daydream. Wide emerald eyes looking at you for a mere second before he seemingly calmed down... just a bit.

"You'll do great out there. I promise," you smiled. "Just breathe, remember to stay calm and you'll do great."

Elliott smiled warmly at you. He only wished you could come along with him, join him on this adventure he was going to have, but you had a farm to take care of, animals to raise and crops to tend to so you can help feed the town.

You had your responsibilities, and now, he did too. This would open up a lot of doors, a lot of opportunities to expand his craft, make good relationships and business partners, spread the word about his writing more and more.

He only wished he could have you by his side. After all, you were his biggest inspiration for finishing his book. This was all because of you; Because you had introduced yourself to him your first day of arriving at Pelican Town, because you took up his many requests on the wanted board in front of Pierre's, because you had taken the time to get to know him, to give him many wonderful gifts, to give him the mermaid's pendant... You had spoken to him nearly every day, no matter if you were covered in dirt from the farm or covered in slime and bits of dead bugs and whatever horrors you had slain in the mines, you made it your goal to befriend him, to stick your muddy boot through his cabin door and get to know him. Even now, the mermaid's pendant sat heavily against his throat, the polished silver chain choking him with suspense as he started to worry.

What if something happened and he wasn't here to help? What if something happened to the farm? It's summer, storms would surely come to try and wreck the farm. What if you were caught outside? What if you were caught in the barns? What if you got hurt and he wasn't there to help you? To protect you?

The bus had rolled down the street and stopped right in front of you both. You both eyed each other one last time before you fully turned to him, Elliott doing the same.

Now face to face with your husband, you reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. You could feel your throat tightening up just a tad as he wrapped his strong arms around your person, a quick press of his lips against your cheekbone.

"I promise to write to you every day, my radiance," he murmured into your ear.

"Every day?"

"Every day without fail."

"I love you, Elliott."

"And I love you, (Y/n)."

The doors to the bus swung open, the bus driver not even looking in your direction at first.

Elliott pulled away only to press his lips to yours. The kiss was so full of passion for how brief it had to be without keeping the bus driver and the other bus occupants waiting.

You pulled away to look him in the eyes. You could see the yearning for him to stay with you, but you both knew this was coming sooner or later.

"Be careful, yeah?"

"Of course, my dearest."

And with that, Elliott picked up his (overstuffed) suitcase and carry-on bag and set off into the bus.

You watched on with a reassuring smile as Elliott sat down at the window facing you. You followed the bus as far down the sidewalk as you could until there was no walkway left. You watched from your spot on the sidewalk as the bus was slowly swallowed by the darkness of the tunnel, heading towards the city.

With a soft sigh, you glanced down at the mermaid pendant sitting around your neck. You gently grasped the shimmering blue twisted shell and gazed back at the tunnel.

You ignored the biting, bitter feeling bubbling in your gut, wrinkling your nose at the sensation of dread wafting around your mind, and turned to follow the trail back to your farm.

Maybe if you busied yourself with farm work and the mines and whatever foraging you could find, the week would fly by quickly and Elliott would return to you sooner than you would think.

Upon arriving at the farm, you sighed. You knew the farm felt emptier the moment you stepped foot on the land. Even as your cat brushed around your leg and trotted towards the barn and coop, you hoped time would fly by quickly.

Picking up the milking bucket and shears from the chest by your house, you followed behind your faithful kitty, attempting to busy your lonely mind with work until your beloved author returned to you.

#stardew valley elliot #elliot x farmer #elliot x reader #stardew #stardew valley #stardew valley fic

[jaskiersvalley]

Pssst @eriakit, your tags are quite lovely and rather inspiring. Also, I love seeing people digging through this blog, you’ve made my day by leaving so many notifications of likes and reblogs behind.

Somehow, Kaer Morhen was full of life. Against all odds, despite Witchers not meaning to feel anything, let alone love, the old keep was stuffed to the brim with it. Maybe Geralt and Jaskier’s relationship was the easiest to define which was saying something. But not even Jaskier wanted to hazard a guess as to what on earth was going on between Cahir, Eskel, Lambert and Aiden. What was more important though was that Jaskier got on quite well with them all. Especially Cahir and Aiden who were also so called guests, even if they had been pulled into the family unit of the School of Wolf. This unlikely friendship was only made better by everyone’s dedication to mischief. Somehow, the commentating incident had launched a whole game for them.

“Behold-” Jaskier murmured in the kitchen, “-as the two older pups of the pack fighting over the choice cut of dinner.”

In front of them Geralt and Eskel were bickering, shoving more or less playfully at each other’s shoulders as they both tried to reach for the same piece of meat on the serving tray. Jaskier continued, “But watch as the youngest sneaks in, approaching the platter from the other side and snagging the cut. Being the smallest and the youngest means that he has to be sneaky to get what he wants in the face of the others’ brawn.”

“What is a lesser known fact-” Cahir picked up, “-is that this is a deliberate ruse by the older ones, knowing that the youngest would see their offering of the best as an offense.”

Twin glares were turned at Cahir as Geralt and Eskel stopped. Their glowers morphed into the worst look of innocence when Lambert growled a “really?” in their direction, meat on his plate. He snarled and threw the plate on the table before storming off.

“Thanks, dickhead,” Geralt snapped at Cahir.

Aiden, innocent as ever, picked up Lambert’s discarded plate. “It seems the hierarchy in this pack is more complex than previously assumed.” He piled the plate high, enough for two before sauntering off after Lambert, whistling.

That evening Jaskier stumbled across both Cahir and Eskel in the great hall, sulking on sofas and trying to sleep. It seemed Lambert’s wrath had meant they were both kicked out of the bedroom for the night. Feeling a bit of pity for them, Jaskier returned to his and Geralt’s bedroom, only to drag their bedding into the hall, making it an impromptu cuddle party. Thankfully Eskel was more than willing to join Geralt and, after a few huffs, grunts and shoulder bumps, it seemed that Cahir was forgiven because he was pulled against Eskel’s chest and clamped down in a tight hug.

“The wolf has forgiven his mate,” Jaskier started up with a snicker and a wink at Geralt. “The powerful hug is both a signal of affection but also dominance. There is no way anyone could get out of such a hold. So much power and strength channelled into holding someone just tight enough to warn and love at the same time. The Wolves are truly magnificent and gentle creatures. To feel such a hug is high on many observers’ wish list.”

“For fuck’s sake Geralt, just hug your bard and shut him up,” Eskel growled.

Of course they weren’t left alone, Vesemir liked to stroll through the halls and corridors at night, making sure everything is safe. He took one look at the pile in front of the fire and turned on his heel. Not three minutes later Lambert and Aiden appeared with their throws and blankets.

“Ah,” Jaskier sighed. “The offended pup and his mate arrive upon hearing about the cuddle party. Thankfully there is plenty of room for them to -oof.”

He was cut off by Aiden ‘accidentally’ lying on top of him as he tried to wriggle in behind Eskel. The fact Geralt didn’t snap at him suggested that maybe Jaskier’s commentary was more than enough for the night. They all settled in, a tangle of limbs, furs and throws. As they approached the edge of sleep, a new voice gently narrated the scene.

“As we can see here, the pack has curled up for the night into a protective ball. They’ll let their leader guard them for the night, trusting him to keep them safe. It is a touching sight to behold though the smell of sweaty pups is one that only a proud father could tolerate.”

Smiling to himself, Vesemir watched his pups slumber, happy to have so much love within the walls of Kaer Morhen.

#geraskier #eskel/lambert/cahir/aiden #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #tldr: more narration shenanigans