#had to hold myself back like a wolf during a full moon from describing his waist in too much detail youre welcome

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i’ll relearn love at our kitchen table ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

word count; 4.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, satoru gojo vs. the mortifying ordeal of being loved, fluff fluff fluff!!, a hint of angst if you reeeaallyyy squint, gojo’s pov, the babygirlification of satoru gojo, i just think being babied would fix him <33

a/n; i wanted to write something for suguru or shoko but this man is genuinely holding my brain hostage atp so more satoru fluff it is!! physically i could write gojo angst yes but emotionally? imagine the toll…

when satoru steps over the threshold to your apartment, he’s downright exhausted.

it’s a heavy kind of fatigue, a little sickening. the kind that seems to sneak its way into his bones, crawl its way under his skin. dragging him down, down, down.

a yawn slips from his lips.

the mission itself wasn’t too tough — anything is a breeze for satoru gojo, that fact needs no elaboration. this one was just a little more taxing than usual, slightly more important, which meant he had to deal with the technicalities of it all. had to listen to the elders go on and on about the importance of discretion, about finishing things swiftly and efficiently, and something else he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.

and the curse? a small fry, really. nothing worth fussing over. but it was annoying, with that irritatingly effective barrier technique. how long did he have to stay inside that goddamn veil before it let him get close enough to land a hit? 

satoru doesn’t want to think about it, can’t be bothered to figure it out when all he wants is to collapse into the warm comfort of a soft mattress. all he knows is that when it finally lifted, the night sky was the only thing he could see. a vacuum of stars — taunting in its perpetuity.

so, with all that being said; to say satoru feels a little worn out might be a bit of an understatement. 

hair slightly tousled, eyelids heavy with sleep-deprivation, he slumps against the wall and allows himself to simply breathe. a soft groan flows from his parted lips as he stretches idly, a small respite for his stiff and achy joints, his tired muscles. 

it’s been a long day. but satoru still finds it in him to exhale a relieved breath, to drag his blindfold down to his neck and kick off his shoes.

because it’s been a long, long day — but now he’s finally home.

(not just a house, not just an apartment, but a home. a place of comfort and belonging. satoru didn’t think that was a luxury he would ever be able to afford.)

the moment he lets the door close behind him, a particular scent greets him. soothing in its familiarity, the only thing in his life that never seems to change; a blend between fresh laundry, and watered houseplants, and something that smells a bit like honey. maybe even sweeter than usual, though satoru chalks that up to his mind playing tricks on him. 

it’s nice. so nice. coming back to something warm and real, a respite from his hectic work. a safe haven, of sorts, one that hasn’t been taken from him just yet.

satoru likes to think of your front door as a threshold between realms, a gap between within and without. one is dark in its saturation, plagued by that never-fading smell of iron, while the other is simply warm. sacred in its normalcy. 

everything looks just as it should, the same as when he rushed out this morning; a fluffy blanket draped over the couch haphazardly, that soft golden light streaming out from the kitchen, your shoes by the front door.

satoru blinks, drowsily.

wait.

why is the kitchen light still on?

as if his eyes could ever deceive him, satoru rubs the skin under them groggily — blinking once, then twice. 

yep, it’s still there — that soft fluorescent glow. a sight he’s come to associate with breakfast and dinner and a mellow kind of love, laughter shared over warm meals made by human hands. food tastes better, satoru has come to realize, when you have someone to eat it with. 

ah, but it’s odd. did you forget to turn the lights off? that’s not very like you. 

as if possessed by a strange, irresistible longing, his feet carry him to the kitchen in question. undeniably groggy, his uncoordinated steps are riddled with fatigue, but the yearning in his chest compels him to move forward anyway — a kind of yearning he only fully understands when he enters the space, and sees you slumped over the table, a familiar flicker of cursed energy capturing his attention.

you’re asleep.

satoru stills, where he stands by the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

everything looks the same as always — cookie jars placed on the highest shelf to give him an excuse to help you reach them, origami made from newspapers he never bothers to read anyway, a vase standing proudly on the kitchen counter, stuffed with fresh flowers he bought for you two days ago. 

the red roses still haven’t wilted, shining in the blue of the moonlight flickering in. good. they’re pretty, but maybe next time he should get you something more original. maybe some sunflowers, something that could rival the brightness of your smile. do they even sell sunflowers this time of year? if you were awake, satoru would ask you, even though you always tell him to just google it —

but you're not awake. you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against the kitchen table, snoring softly.

satoru feels his mood lift at the sight alone, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as tired anymore. something soft and almost otherworldly sprouts in his chest, as he takes you in, stepping closer. almost giddy, just to see you up close.

you look so peaceful and relaxed, so content. elbows resting on the table as soft little breaths fall from your parted lips; he spots a bit of drool on the corner of your bottom lip, gaze fond as he wipes it away with his thumb. he can’t resist the urge to poke your cheek, and it makes you stir ever so slightly — lips curling up into something akin to a sleepy smile.

satoru grins.

(you’re so cute.)

despite his fatigue, he hears himself chuckle, all soft and amused and a little bit lovesick. it comes to him so easily, when he’s with you; that upturn of his lips, the butterflies in his stomach.

satoru is still getting used to it. this cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love. the kind that always feels like spring. but with every day that passes, the life he has with you becomes a little easier to digest. his future with you becomes a little easier to visualize.

yeah, he thinks. he could get used to this. coming home to you.

a soft smile, as he exhales a somewhat exasperated breath. you really shouldn’t be sleeping out here, though. silly.

satoru leans forward, inching closer to your pretty, sleeping face — he almost feels bad, waking you up like this. but he wants to hear your voice so badly.

so he cups your cheek, cold skin meeting warm, his hands still lingering with the bite of the midnight air. his fingertips tingle, buzzing with the body heat that trickles from your veins to his — one single touch is all it takes for him to soften.

the word that falls from his lips breaks the peaceful silence of the kitchen, breathing life into the moment. whispered into your ear, causing your brows to furrow as you gently slip from sleep’s embrace.

“baby…” 

satoru is smiling, when your eyelids flutter open. a sincere smile, reserved for you and his students. bathed in the mellow hue of the kitchen lamp’s illumination, a soft glow curls around the strands of his white hair, creating a halo of artificial light.

blinking sleepily, you gaze at him in silence. something shines in your eyes, something satoru tentatively recognizes as adoration. and he gazes right back at you, with heavy-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. teasing, lighthearted. thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.

then he grins, hopelessly endeared. ”hey there, sleeping beauty.”

a yawn tumbles from your lips, and you lift yourself up. leaning into his touch. “toru…” you mumble, voice a little raspy but still oh so sweet.

satoru doesn’t say anything. he simply takes you into his arms, gently, touch so very delicate — as if you’re made of porcelain. and you just let yourself fall into his embrace, while he tucks you under his chin, safe and secure. 

it’s warm, he thinks. it feels right. complete, somehow.

and satoru thinks to himself that this must be what love feels like. what it’s supposed to feel like, anyhow, all sweet and light. all good and normal, something you never have to question. a cornerstone.

“you’re back…” you drawl, muffled into his uniform as your arms sneak around his thin waist. bringing him closer.

stroking the back of your head softly, satoru’s chest rumbles as he speaks, voice deep and a little raspy. soothing, a lullaby just for you. “yeah,” he hums. ”were you waiting?”

all you do is nuzzle further into his chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart; breathing out a sleepy little mhm that has him going weak at the knees, lips curling up helplessly.

“i wanted to…” you continue, stretching your arms a little to shrug away the remnants of sleep still clinging to your joints. “but i fell asleep.” 

satoru feels you move in his arms, until your jaw settles on top of his shoulder and you press a chaste kiss to his neck. an exhale leaves his lips, something tender in the way his breath wavers.

“welcome home,” is whispered, muffled against his skin. a sentence he never wants to go a single day without hearing. “did the mission go okay?”

he plants a kiss on top of your head, speaking in a low tilt, reassuring. “it did. just took a little longer than i thought.” a soft inhale, as he basks in the scent of your shampoo. “i wanted to text you, but the veil blocked my signal. sorry, sweetie.”

another soft yawn, and a shake of your head. “s’ fine, don’t worry,” you murmur. ”i’m just glad you’re okay.”

satoru chuckles. there’s a fondness to it, light. and then something else, something more heavy — it rumbles through his chest, almost like a purr, or a soothing thunderstorm. he can only hope it’s enough to comfort you.

“of course.” he says the words like they’re indisputable, like they’re written down in scriptures old and worn. cradling you in his strong arms, he pulls you closer to his chest. hoping you’ll feel his heartbeat against you, feel that he’s there. “i always am, aren’t i?”

no answer. only a tiny hum, absentminded.

and satoru knows, deep down, that his words don’t mean much. that a part of you is always going to worry over him, no matter how many times he tells you that there’s no need. that he’ll be fine.

the thought makes him feel a bit guilty. a little sick to his stomach, at the thought of being a source of your anxiety, the reason you can’t fall asleep at night — but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also make him feel somewhat giddy. the thought tastes sweet, on his tongue, even though it probably shouldn’t.

having someone who worries for you is a luxury, satoru has come to realize. a luxury he has, now, one he hasn’t had since —

well. that’s neither here nor there.

(“be careful, satoru,” he recalls a kind boy saying.

but that was many, many springs ago.)

“oh, right.”

at the sound of your voice, satoru pulls away ever so slightly, gazing down at you. “hm?”

with a single step back, you look up at him. tilting your head. hands still resting securely on his waist, fingertips squeezing at his hips. lightly, affectionately. barely restrained fondness. ”have you had anything to eat yet?”

“yeah. got some takeout on my way back.”

satoru expects you to sigh in relief, at his instantaneous answer. you don’t like it when he skips meals, so these days he’s been trying not to do it as much. even though he doesn’t always have the time to eat properly, and even though the sweets he chews on between missions make him lose his appetite. but he makes an honest attempt, for you.

someone worries for him. someone wants him to eat well. that’s more than enough motivation for satoru gojo.

but you don’t exhale, and you don’t look very relieved, either. you look… disappointed. eyes suddenly glancing down at the floor, lips curled down into a barely noticeable frown. 

“oh,” you breathe. “okay. good.”

one second. then two. satoru tilts his head.

“why?” he stops to think. maybe… “did you make something?”

a certain recognition flickers in the depths of your eyes, and satoru thinks he must be right on the money. chewing at your bottom lip a little, you wait a moment before curling your fingers around his wrist — tugging him away from the kitchen table.

satoru follows, pliantly, until you’re standing in front of the fridge.

“well, um… here,” you mumble, somewhat sheepishly. fingers tapping at the handle before pulling it open. “take a look.”

satoru watches as the fridge door opens, slowly.

he blinks.

the first thing he sees is a single slice of strawberry shortcake. the strawberry looks fresh, glittering like a ruby on top of the softly whisked cream — and layers of sponge cake, that look like they’d melt in his mouth.

and that’s not all. there are a wide array of baked treats stuffed into the cramped space, protected by plastic wrapping and containers. everything from cupcakes with too much frosting — just the way he likes them — to chocolate chip cookies that crumble at the corners, satoru never seems to run out of things to look at. colourful treats, lovingly made and sitting right in front of him. it’s like he’s standing in a patisserie. they almost seem to sparkle, in the peripheral of his vision; glimmering softly, tantalizingly, like something out of a dream.

childish. that’s what nanami and shoko always call him, and he always protests, but —

maybe they have a point, after all. satoru certainly feels a little childish, when he realizes his eyes must be wide and bursting with child-like giddiness. a simple kind of joy, at seeing the ample selection in front of him. especially after that tedious mission prevented him from getting any sugar into his system.

”i did my best,” you mutter, sharing the sight with him as your eyes trail over a pretty bag of pink and green macarons. ”dunno if they turned out any good, but… i hope you’ll like them.”

satoru’s gaze flits over to you. 

he opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

”did you… make these?” a beat. ”for me?”

a blink. ”.. yeah?” who else would they be for?, your eyes seem to say. a little confused.

for a second, satoru can only stare at you. in complete silence, the tired cogs inside his head turning sluggishly as he thinks about the implications of that answer. and with a soft flutter, he feels his heartbeat pick up, warming him up from the inside out. 

you made them. with your own hands. you made all of these and you did it for him.

for some reason, satoru finds it oddly hard to speak, like someone stuffed a bunch of cupcakes down his throat. it’s weird — usually he can’t seem to stop talking, especially not when he’s with you, but… 

(something about this is just too tender.)

you must have been baking all day. no wonder the apartment smelled sweeter than usual, when he walked in.

as if itching to curl around one of the macarons, his fingers twitch, but satoru gulps and keeps them still. he wants to say something, anything, wants to thank you or ask why you’d spend so much of yourself on him, but satoru only stays silent.

and maybe it’s because he’s tired. maybe he’s just a little caught off guard. usually this wouldn’t be that hard to handle — he could just throw himself on you and shower you in kisses, show his appreciation with a flurry of dramatics and declarations of love. 

but right now there seems to be a disconnect, between satoru’s mind and body. maybe the mission drained him more than he realized. or maybe it’s more than that, maybe there’s nothing he can say or do; what words could he even begin to use to properly verbalize the emotions he’s feeling right now? how could his touch ever begin to measure up to the sweet sensation unfurling in his chest?

the silence doesn’t last long. as satoru stands there and spirals, you speak up, most likely chalking it up to him being too sleepy to react. 

”this mission was especially rough, right?” you begin, with a soft tilt of your head. a smile curls its way onto your lips, proud and sweet. sweeter than everything in the fridge combined.

one step, then two. you inch closer to him, until there’s almost no space between you — standing on your tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for his head. smoothing down his tousled hair, fingers tangling themselves between the soft white strands and getting lost in them. and it’s gentle, the way you begin to pat his head, doting. 

then you speak. ”you did well.”

and it’s such a simple thing to say. three words, three syllables, but the words just tumble out from your mouth so earnestly that satoru can’t help but still. his breath hitches in his throat, softly, barely noticeable, but it’s there. that surprise.

he never knows how to act, when you get like this. patting his head and ruffling his hair like he’s something warm and sweet and worthy of love. something delicate, and not the strongest man on the planet. 

it’s so weird. you’re so weird.

(satoru leans into your touch without thinking, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.)

it’s perplexing, this feeling, and the fact that he can’t pinpoint why frustrates him to no end. isn’t this wrong? shouldn’t he be the one ruffling your hair, coddling you?

what formula is he supposed to follow here, exactly? should he tease you? pull away from your touch?

satoru wishes his six eyes could tell him the answer, but they don’t. they’ve never been very good with emotions, with things that aren’t directly tied to his suffering or imminent death.

(so ironic. all these eyes and nothing to see. they failed to see suguru’s silence, back then, and now they fail to see what reaction would please you the most. 

really, such a worthless ability to love people with.)

no answer comes to him. so satoru doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t pull away.

it does feel slightly wrong, though. like this feeling isn’t something he’s supposed to have, there must be some mistake, he can’t possibly be allowed to feel so loved — can he? having you bake him all his favorite treats, run your fingers through his hair. praise him for working hard.

really. isn’t he being too coddled?

(… but it feels so nice.)

satoru suspects that there’s a lot to love he might not fully understand, just yet.

maybe tomorrow, when he’s a little less tired, he can try once again to give you the impression that he’s perfect. that he doesn’t need affection, that he doesn’t crave your support or your touch. that he’s above all that, the strongest, someone for you to depend on.

depend on him, while he depends on no one. that’s the kind of existence satoru gojo is. that’s how it should be, that’s all he knows, but…

— ah. it feels really nice when your nails scratch his scalp like that.

and suddenly, that’s all satoru can think. no more pesky what-ifs, or second guessing every good thing he gets. right now, it’s just you and him. your fingers in his hair, his footprints in your life.

satoru allows himself to melt under your touch, almost meekly. leaning down just a little further, to make it easier for you to smooth your hand over his head. he nuzzles into your palm with a happy little exhale, and for some reason he feels sort of bashful.

try as he might, he doesn’t manage to successfully shoo the emotion away, so all he can do is hope you don’t take note of it.

and you just continue your onslaught of affection, now ruffling his hair with both your hands, like he’s a big puppy getting cooed over. satoru has a nagging suspicion that you might be getting a little carried away, but he doesn’t stop you. greedy, in the way he wishes your hands would never leave his hair. the way he hopes you’ll never be too far away from him to reach.

”such a hard worker,” you coo, and he feels himself grow flustered. ”my baby deserves so much love.”

”woah there,” satoru chokes out, grinning, desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint to his ears. ”are you flirting with me? i have a partner, you know.”

a giggle slips from your lips, sleepy and amused. ”oh, do you?” one of your hands goes to cup his cheek,  thumb caressing the edge of his jaw as you gaze at him fondly. ”lucky them.”

the grin you’re wearing is awfully bright. soft around the edges in a way that has him speechless, brain malfunctioning ever so slightly. satoru makes a mental note to scrap the sunflower idea — there has to be some brighter flower out there, one that can actually compete with your smile. sunflowers just won’t cut it.

but then you let go, and satoru gets broken out of his lovesick stupor.

when your hands leave his skin, his lips curl down into a soft pout. one he rushes to smooth away, before you can notice it.

you step back, failing to stifle a soft bout of laughter, but satoru knows it’s not because you saw it — he knows because your gaze is glued to his hair, and he internally winces when he thinks about how messy it must look, after your little bout of cuteness aggression. 

(you really are weird, finding him cute of all things.)

he expects you to tease him a little more, but you don’t, turning away and tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. ”if i’d known you’d be home this late,” you speak, stealing one last glance at the pastries before closing the fridge. ”then i would’ve waited until tomorrow. so you could eat them fresh.”

an apology rests on satoru’s tongue, but as if sensing it, you rush to reassure him.

”ah, but this is fine too! they should still taste good!” you turn away, muttering. ”… hopefully.”

then you nod to yourself, crossing your arms absentmindedly. 

satoru looks at you for a second. 

then he steps forward, unable to resist the temptation — tapping at your wrist with the pads of his fingers, before gently curling them around it, coaxing you into turning your head towards him.

the kiss he presses to your lips is soft, delicate. his fingers trace along your jaw, cupping your cheek and tilting your face up slightly, just letting his warm lips rest against yours. sweet and chaste. he sighs into the kiss, content, and feels your pulse pick up.

then he moves down to your jaw, slow and methodical — lazy kisses, sleepy but so full of affection. and little pecks, scattered all over your lips, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

you seem to melt a little, against him, and satoru relishes in it; his ability to make you relax. far more valuable than the six eyes, he would argue.

when he pulls away from you, with what takes tremendous self-restraint, he’s smiling. his gaze meets yours, layered over with pure adoration, blue eyes crinkling as he looks at you. as if you’re his entire world. the kitchen light embraces him, cascading down the contours of his face; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his barely noticeable dimples.

and there it is, again — that flicker of love in your eyes, that adoration. as if you’re looking at a painting, something too beautiful for words.

(satoru hopes you can see that very same adoration, reflected in his eyes as he looks at you.)

after a moment, he leans forward, to rest his jaw on the curve of your shoulder. you stumble a little under the weight, caged in as his arms hug your midriff.

”god,” he sighs, breathless, heavy with giddy disbelief. almost whining when he continues, nuzzling into your neck as if to hide. ”why are you so perfect, huh? i don’t get it.”

at that, you huff out a laugh, an amused little breath. wrapping your arms around his neck and scratching softly at his nape. satoru shudders just a little, arms tightening around you.

”stealing my line…” you mutter, accusatory, smile laced over with a honeyed affection. 

another amused breath, this time from him. this is one battle he won’t let you win. ”nah,” he grins, tugging you closer. ”’s mine.”

this is warm, he thinks. this feels right. complete, in a way that satoru never understood before you.

he could probably stand there forever, just basking in it. soaking up your body heat and the smell of your shampoo. until your warmth is all he knows, until he can never get your scent off his skin.

and satoru thinks that he could get used to this. a cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love, one that smells like spring and tastes like strawberry shortcakes and feels like tight hugs shared in kitchens.

your love makes him feel so human. and it’s scary, terrifying even, but it's also too good to pass up. it’s worth the risk. so worth everything.

a yawn leaves your lips, suddenly. satoru feels you soften in his embrace, nuzzling closer to him, stumbling just a tad; he doesn’t think it’s fair, for such a simple gesture to make him as happy as it does.

”sleepy?” he coos, smile giddy and fond. ”let’s go to bed, okay? no more sleeping on the kitchen table, silly.”

a disgruntled little huff resounds throughout the air, as you let your arms fall to your sides. ”that’s on you,” you declare, poking the plush of his chest with your finger. ”i only fell asleep because you took so long.”

a teasing glint flickers in satoru’s eyes.

”wanted to see me that badly, huh?” he coos. you roll your eyes, and he pulls your cheek. ”that’s cute.”

”so what if i did?”

satoru stills. you’re smiling, a little mischievous, but mostly sincere. and it really is very unfair of you, he thinks — to do this to him while his guard is down. 

but he manages to pull himself together, raising an amused eyebrow and booping your nose in a way that catches you off guard. blinking up at him, eyelashes fluttering. 

satoru clears his throat. ”well, that’s sweet.”

then he turns on his heel, suddenly, and strolls over to the fridge. ”but you know what’s even sweeter?” he chirps, fingers curling around the handle as he swiftly pulls it open. 

licking his lips, absentmindedly, his eyes trail over all the different pastries. so close yet so far, just out of reach; his fingers move forward, towards that mesmerizing slice of strawberry shortcake —

”— no.”

a hand settles on satoru’s waist, and tugs him away from his well-deserved prize. taking advantage of his momentary surprise, you close the fridge decisively, and give him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.

satoru whines, loud and grating. pouting sweetly, trying to make you feel bad. ”c’mon, just one bite —”

”no.”

”but they’re for me!”

”they’re for you to eat tomorrow. i was only gonna let you eat them tonight if you were on the brink of starvation, or something.”

”i am!”

”so the takeout was a lie?” you narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious. ”have you been skipping meals, again?”

satoru pauses. weighing his options. ”well, no, but…”

”— then no.”

another soft whine. you turn away from him, when he tilts his head and gives you his best set of puppy dog eyes. in fear of giving in to them, satoru knows, as you have so many times before. ”please?” he tries, to no avail.

”you’re not eating sweets before bed, satoru,” you deadpan, and his smile falls further, exaggerated. ”and no, we are not having that conversation again.”

he can tell you’re trying to sound stern, but a giggle tumbles from your lips nonetheless, at the ridiculousness of the situation. keeping a grown man away from your fridge, knowing that he’ll wolf down every pastry he sees and get himself sick if you don’t. all while the man in question whines at you in protest, frowing so deeply, disappointment evident on his features.

(except satoru really isn’t very disappointed at all. like this, he gets to stare at your smile all he wants, after all; knowing you won’t notice it, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to his pleas.)

he tries again, one last time. just because he knows it’ll make you laugh. you do, a little exasperated, and satoru couldn’t be happier. 

and he thinks to himself that if this is what love is, if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, then it can’t possibly be that much of a curse. 

maybe he should revise the hypothesis, get a second opinion. he’ll have to ask you tomorrow, over pastries and coffee, and hear what you have to say.

as you both stumble to the bedroom, sleepy and a little delirious, satoru thinks that maybe this is enough; the lighthearted banter, the fond laughter. everything good and real and normal, within the space of your apartment, a home he never thought he’d have.

(and maybe, a second opinion isn’t necessary, after all. maybe it doesn’t really matter if love is a curse or not, as long as he gets to share it with you, like this.)

that night, satoru dreams. curled up with you beneath the blankets, limbs tangled together, as if he could never be close enough.

he dreams of kitchen lights, of sweet treats and warm hands. of spring breezes, and a love he’s finally beginning to accept for what it is:

good. wholly and thoroughly.

#lovesick satoru is my favorite satoru but yknow whats even better? lovesick satoru/lovesick reader #i just have such a firm belief that this man is a loser when hes genuinely in love ok. #hes so touch starved i think he’d crumble into a little puddle on the floor if u kissed his cheek #loves to tease and fluster you n hes so good at it but the moment u give him the same treatment? he is Gone. down for the count #spreading the loser satoru agenda <33 i love this man so dearly. #i NEED to hold his waist btw idk if i made that clear. i need it like i need air to breathe. like why is it so tiny if not to be held by me #had to hold myself back like a wolf during a full moon from describing his waist in too much detail youre welcome #overall idk what to say i just think love could fix him #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk x reader

[sezija]

Hello! I recently saw your art of Ghali, Drephl and Rleiph, and decided to finally try out making wiki pages! I plan on making all three of them before adding them, but I have a few questions on about them. (Im pretty sure that you wrote the fic, but please correct me if I’m wrong)

first off, the fic is AMAZING, I cried multiple times while reading it, and everything goes together so perfectly there’s too much to talk about so I’ll stop here before it gets too long.

1) On Ghali, I wanted to double check that she took the last name Shims, because at some point it refers to the family as “the shims”

2) on Frihl, does he keep the last name Shims, or take his husband’s name?

3) can I say that Rleiph has pale speckles in her physical description?

4) could you give me more insight on Ghali’s , Drephl’s and Rleiph’s personalities? I personally struggle with describing those myself.

5) are there names for Drephl and Frihl’s parents, as I would like for them to be in the relationships category.

6) same for Rleiph’s girlfriend. Also, does she have a physical appearance? I’d love to draw the two of them together.

7) WEREWOLF CENTAUR. Amazing idea. What does the kid look like? I know that they’re described as a foal, but WHAT IS THEY JUST HAD A WOLF HALF INSTEAD OF A HORSE HALF, OR A WOLF HALF DURING FULL MOONS. I would love to know things like their skin tones and hair color too. (And coat) also thank you for all these centaurs, there isn’t even a catagory on the wiki for them yet.

8) what kind of clothes does everyone wear?

9) I know that Drephl and Ghali probably just went to a courtroom and signed some papers, but I really want to draw Drephl standing on a stool with her under an arch, where they just hug. This is also so I can mess around with possible wedding traditional clothing during that time period.

10) what is the name of Drephl and Ghali’s grandchild? The werewolf one?

Thank you for this amazing fic! Loved the art you made, and this will be very embarrassing if you didn’t write the fic!



Putting this under read more;;

Ok first of all. omg??? that's so cool what the hell!!! i'm so happy you liked my fic so much???

1) Yeah, she becomes a Shims

2) I think he takes his husband's name (which i don't have yet)

3) I forgot to give her some white in her coat in the art lol, but i decided to work that in; she's born with just a brown coat, but some white speckles start appearing as she grows older :3

4) They honestly don't have much, yet; the style i wrote in makes it really hard to add Character and Personality other than just stated facts like "she likes hiking" and "she's a computer programmer", sorry

5) Not yet, sorry

6)

7/10) I want to give them at least 2-3 kids so i can actually make them all different, though i imagine they probably have 5-8 year age differences cus raising just one is chaotic and hard enough lol. someone made really good art of their kid!!! (i've come up w the names Phil, Lei, and Majil so far) (j pronounced like (consonant) y)

8) currently i've just been drawing them in some clothes from our time cus i haven't had the motivation&energy necessary to figure out the Fashion of their time, but i can say that the blanket??? dress?? things the centaurs wear is like. actual clothing they wear in their time period&place

9) I love that so much. also, it honestly makes a lot of sense for them to hold an actual celebration; your wedding is basically the only time in your life where you have an excuse to gather every single person you're close to in one place for a big party (aside from your funeral but uh. yeah.) their marriage was meant as the point where they no longer cared what anyone else thought bc they were so secure in their meaning to each other, so i love the idea of them going all out and then just hugging.

also behold! look what i found from way back when i was writing the fic :)

#sezijasks #this is. whattttttt i didnt know ppl cared abt my fic ??? #i was like "oo ive got a new tablet maybe ill finally draw the Fam'' #and then out of the floorboards oozed fanart and asks and reblogs of excitement and i was like !?!?!?!??! #its made me write some additional scenes to flesh out their personalities #idk if i'll release them yet they're just lil blurps but who knows #asks #i named zir 'nail' and it took me like 10 minutes to realize thats an actual english word lmao. its pronounced more.. finnish-like #put 'najiil' in finnish google translate and make it sound it out and uve got it #(the 'j' is less pronounced but if its not there it does it like english so)

[musingsofvenus]

⭐(i would LOVE if you talked about the kill bill au, but i'll take any director's commentary!)⭐

*cracks knuckles* This answer is Long As Hell 😌 I chose select scenes from my favorite chapters.

I also elaborate on other details in the author's notes section of each chapter on AO3, so I only included comments I haven't already gushed about below

Director's commentary is below the cut. If you haven't read the kill bill au, spoilers are yonder.

Request is from this post. Thank you for the ask!!!! 💗

Chapter 1

An unexpected spurt of blood hitting his face makes Charlie flinch. As he wipes his cheek, he sees a bullet leeching its way out of the woman’s chest. The bullet clatters to the ground, and a trickle of blood leaks from the hole left behind. Seconds later, her chest stutters with a weak gasp.

“Uh, she ain’t dead,” Charlie announces.

I'd say 80% of the dialogue is lifted directly from the movie or script. Whenever I write, I have the movie playing in the background for visual/story reference. I rewind and rewatch 100s of times.

Aside from that, I really loved writing this bit. Hillbilly cop Charlie and his sidekick Buttcrack Santa are my favorite humans. One thing I had a hard time with was describing the bullet leaving Leah's body; it took me a long time to figure out how I wanted to rework that scene. Translating movie action to words is hard. Some things just work better visually. But I think it turned out alright

Chapter 2

I LOVED this entire chapter. There's so many fun scenes. I wrote it in one sitting. I have so many comments about it

There was something about his perfect smile and his Southern charm that drew Leah in. His pretty brown eyes with gold flecks in them were like molasses, full of sweetness and affection just for her. And his hands, large and strong, played with Seth during the day and held Leah tenderly at night.

THE BLACK GUY ALWAYS DIES FIRST!!! I agonized over this a lot because it's my pet peeve in movies. So I just decided to make myself feel worse by describing Laurent as the hottest, most incredible lover ever. SIGH. I entertained the idea of having him reappear at the end of the fic as a vampire, but I ended up scrapping that idea. The logistics of that would've been too annoying

The charcoal wolf charged at them, wasting no time raking its claws across Leah’s face. She screamed in horror and agony, clutching at her face as it gushed torrents of blood and burned like fire.

I thought it would be ironic to have Emily be the one to scratch Leah in the face, since Emily was originally the one who got scarred in Twilight.

Long, pale white fingers grasped the edge of the boat, and a pair of red eyes broke the surface of the murky water with a laser focus on Leah. Long brown hair, turned teak from the water, floated along the surface in loose tendrils.

VAMPIRE BELLA! EVIL BELLA SUPREMACY! CRYPTID(ish) BELLA!

Remember when Victoria was watching Bella from the water in New Moon after Jacpb fished her out of the ocean? Yeaaaaah that's this

Chapter 3

“Your eyes haven’t cooled yet,” she realizes. “You’re a pup still.”

Leah nods sullenly. “A late bloom,” she confirms.

This is a reference to something that I can't remember lmao

Embry scowls. “Why do I always have to get the drinks?” he demands. He grabs Leah’s stool, scurrying to her left side and pointing angrily at ‘Kim’ as he leans his head over Leah’s shoulder like her body is a shield. “Why can’t you get it for once?!”

“Because I’m the boss,” ‘Kim’ hisses, raising the cleaver threateningly. Embry backs away with a yelp. “Now shut up and get this woman her drink!”

I was cackling as I wrote this interaction. This scene was SO funny in the movie so I tried to do it justice with my remix.

Her second and final weapon is a katana, and it sings from within the wooden scabbard. Embry holds the bottom end of the scabbard and thrusts the katana into the flames. The scabbard remains unscathed and the symbols carved into it glow a bright red.

I really couldn't tell you how Embry made this sword or what kind of magical process goes into it. I don't know why the blade glows in the fire or what it says on the sword either. It just sounded cool. I was literally making things up on the fly

I also couldn't think of a better alternative weapon to give Leah. In the movie, Beatrix gets a sword because she's in Japan and trained in martial arts. Is Leah trained in the art of swordsmanship, or is she just winging it? Beats me lol

Chapter 7

I just want to give a quick shout out to evil Emily and sleazy Paul. They were my favorite horndogs, RIP to the real ones

Writing their death scenes was fun but also challenging. I'm literally running out of creative ways for Leah to get through her kill list without being repetitive. But the show must go on 🥴

Emily drains the rest of her whiskey and runs a hand across her mouth. “They have two kinds of venom. One turns humans, and one just causes paralysis.”

She tosses the empty jar over her shoulder, excitement making her eyes wide as she counts off her fingers. “The paralytic is harmless to us. It’s like a temporary sedative to the nervous system. But the other kind? Well that’s the most effective poison for our kind– it breaks down tissue faster than we can regenerate it. It can even cause hallucinations.” 

Emily's monologue while Paul was dying from the poison was a fun scene to rework from the movie. I watched the movie's scene between Elle, the black mamba, and Budd too many times to count. Somewhere in Twilight it's mentioned that the science behind vampire venom is that it paralyzes their prey with pain so they won't escape while feeding. I thought it would be cool if they had different venoms that served different needs, hence the paralytic and the turn-you-into-vampire juice.

Leah’s lips are right next to her ear as she whispers, “Where’s Sam?”

“You-”

A stab to her stomach makes Emily shout and double over. It’s quick, nothing more than a sharp flash and it’s over, but the lingering sting knocks the breath out of her. The oozing wound does not close.

“Where’s Sam?” Leah repeats, her voice rising.

When Leah dipped from the hospital in chapter 2, I couldn't think of how to include the scene from the movie when Beatrix is bashing the nurses' head in with the door and screaming "Where's Bill?". I thought it would with better in this scene. I was also coming up empty on how to pull this fight scene together so that addition saved my ass

Chapter 8

Curious, Bella turns on her heel and lifts her gaze. The sight leaves her bewildered.

This is wrong. All wrong.

There are two blue moons in the sky. 

She squints, leaning closer, and then she feels it: A huff of air that blows her locks away from her face. A vibration throughout her body from a growl so loud the ground shakes with it. A heart that has long since stopped beating in her chest drops into the pit of her stomach.

Nothing is going the way she remembers.

The shroud of darkness before her parts like a curtain, unveiling a large white muzzle. Trembling lips peel back to show off rows of sharp and gleaming canine teeth. Its jaw opens wide, unnaturally so, and the base of its throat glows with the light of hellfire.

Bella had a handful of prophetic dreams in Twilight and that storyline went nowhere. Her dreams are literally messages from the deep, and when she got turned into a vampire all of that just got dropped...? So I incorporated that back into this fic.

I also just really liked how I described her dream sequence in this chapter. Shout out to me lmfao. I'll never achieve this greatness again.

“Dreams again, love?” Edward asks quietly.

Fall Out Boy reference. IYKYK

“‘O, swear not by the moon, th’ inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circle orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.’” Jacob scrunched his face into a grimace. “How do you read this stuff? What does that even mean?”

“Juliet doesn’t want Romeo to swear his love by the moon because it’s always changing, and she wants his love to be constant.”

Foreshadowing 👀 Also the sun and moon trope for Bella x Jacob is absolutely perfect. They are literally the definition of that trope. I love them. I'm obsessed with them. Okay? Okay.

Shout out to that teacher in New Moon (?) that made Edward recite lines from Romeo and Juliet. I imagine if Jacob were in that clas with them, he would hate everything about the play and scoff at Edward's memorization of it

A weaker version of that sunny smile of his bloomed on his face as he murmured, “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

He was always trying his best to make sure Bella felt nothing but love and comfort in his presence. Even so close to death, he was still trying.

“I love you, Jacob,” she choked out.

Jacob’s bloodshot eyes softened, and a trickle of blood dribbled from his nose.

“Love you more,” were his last words to her. 

Yeah so I hurt my own feelings writing this. I also heavily referenced the scene in Eclipse when Bella says goodbye to Jacob after the newborn fight.

Also remember that time when Jacob just suddenly called Bella 'honey' and it wasn't a big deal???? Well, it IS to ME.

Okay love you bye

#ask #kill bill au #twilight au #twilight fanfiction #i have another one sitting in my inbox working on it nowwwww

[kingandfireheart]

Lucien Vanserra Sass Appreciation Post

For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:

What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)

What stories are left: Lucien

When Lucien introduces himself:

"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:

"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of. "Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat. I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." "It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it. "You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already. Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:

He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile. Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door. A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:

Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"

When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:

“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword. Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”

When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?" Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"

When they run into the Boggee:

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look." Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.

When he gives Feyre a title:

"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that? Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:

“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?" "Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that. But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.

When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:

Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.

When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:

A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?" Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."

When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:

Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you." Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin. No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."

When Lucien hides:

"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."

When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:

Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut." He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."

When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:

“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?" "Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?" That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats." Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. "I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre." I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat. "I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said. A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”

When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:

What?”

Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”

“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.

When Lucien is the mom friend:

"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?" "Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. "What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded. I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it." Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

When Lucien loves drama:

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. "While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

When Lucien bolts:

“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

When Feyre goes to a party:

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae." ...

I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight." "Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party." "Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.

When Lucien plays a prank:

"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."

When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.

“Human fool,” he hissed.

But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.

“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.

"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”

When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.” I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous. “You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.” He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him. “Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”

When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:

"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again." He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it." "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"

When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm." "I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said. Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:

“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?” “I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.” Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”

When Lucien is a fashionista:

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

When game recognize game

“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.

I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.

But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.

Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.

Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

When Lucien is scared of Amren:

“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”

“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.

When Lucien is a little murderous:

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”

“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”

My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”

A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.

When Lucien makes a friend

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte.”

Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”

#lucien vanserra #sass appreciation #this is 90% acotar #I didn't include ACOFAS or ACOSF because his sass is not as strong #other than calling Rhys and Feyre assholes #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts, 02 indruck?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one and interpreted the prompt kind of broadly. It's set in the same world as this Sternclay prompt

Fun fact: there is a fire lookout in the Monogahela, but the structure I describe is based on more elaborate ones elsewhere

02. I bought a house three months ago but I’m finally moving in and discover you’ve been squatting because you’re homeless

Only in Duck’s life would “dream job” and “months alone in the woods” be equivalent.

The Bickle Nob Fire Lookout is a coveted position, and Duck is pretty fucking flattered they chose him as the ranger for July and August. He took the high clearance off-roader to get here, he’s got his bags full of everything he needs not to die of boredom (or anything else) and his schedule of supply drops. He’s as ready as can be and so fucking excited when he opens the door of the wide-windowed cabin.

Then he jumps back, startled to find a skinny, silver-haired man asleep on the floor.

“Uh, sir? This site is off-limits to visitors.”

The man wakes up in a series of catastrophic movements; he bangs into the wall, tangles in his blanket, and nearly stumbles out the window when he manages to stand.

“I, I’m sorry, I didn’t foresee anyone coming here.”

“Department spent all of June arguin’ about whether it was worth allocatin funds for this, so that’s why the place was empty. Fire up North two weeks ago scared ‘em enough to send me up here.” Duck explains with a casual smile; after all, even if he’s way off the trail, there’s no reason to assume this guy is out to cause trouble, “if you got lost hikin, I’m happy to radio down and ask for someone to come get you and take you back to your camp.”

“Nono, I, ah, I’m not lost. One needs to have a destination to be lost.”

“O-kay. Uh, well, whatever you’re lookin for, I’m afraid this ain’t it. This buildin is for the fire lookout only.”

“I promise I’ll be very unobtrusive. I even have my own supplies, you won’t have to worry about me in the slightest.” The man smiles,opening one of his two bags to show it crammed with shiny packets of food.

Duck shakes his head, “Can’t do it, sorry. I’m serious though, if you need a ride into town I can get a hold of someone who can help. Maybe, uh, you could find whatever you’re lookin for there?”

“No” the man sags, but begins zipping up his bags, “I do not think I will find it there. I am sorry for intruding.” He steps out the door, turning towards the deeper woods on the western slope.

“You need a map?” Duck calls. The man doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

Duck unpacks as much as he can, checks the weather station and notes the readings suggest those thunderheads on the far horizon are coming his way. By dinnertime, they’re right on top of him, rain pattering on the roof and thunder rattling the windows. He’s scanning the trees when he spots a metallic flash, not of lightning but of silver hair. His mystery visitor is huddled under a tree, wind forcing the hood of his raincoat back over and over again.

The rules and regulations in the forest are there to keep the environment and visitors safe. If something doesn’t violate those basic requirements, Duck sees no reason not to bend them.

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

“I really cannot stress how grateful I am that you allowed me back in.” The visitor, who introduced himself as Indrid, finishes packing their scant trash into the can, “I promise that as soon as the storm passes I’ll leave you be.”

“Yeah, about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “you really don’t got anywhere to call home, do you?”

Indrid opens his mouth. Duck stares, pointedly, at the holes in his white shirt and the worn shoes sticking out from frayed jeans.

“....No, I do not.”

“In that case, you stay here the next two months, on two conditions: one, you don’t get in the way of me doin what I’m here to do. Two, you don’t tell anyone I let you do this. Deal?”

“Yes, yes absolutely” Indrid shakes his hand, bouncing up and down a bit, “thank you so much. You will barely know I’m here.”

This turns out to be completely true and utterly false.

Indrid does keep to himself most of the day; he draws, reads, lays in the sun outside the cabin and generally stays out of Ducks way while he’s working. But he’s also the person who sits and jokes with him during meals, who eagerly follows Duck’s hand when he points out interesting birds or plants, and watches intently when Duck reads his instruments.

He never thought he could live in a fifteen by fifteen foot space with another person and not have a full head of grey by the end of it. Indrid Cold is the exception that proves the rule, Duck certain he’ll never be able to be cooped up with anyone but Indrid ever again.

It helps that he still gets his quiet time; Indrid will got out for walks, even watches for smoke so Duck can do the same. They use the wild foraging guide and Duck’s knowledge of local plants to bring back extra food. Indrid was particularly pleased when he located some wild blackberries. When Duck reminded him to watch out for bears near the berry patch, Indrid simply smirked and said there was only one bear on the mountain who could get him.

Duck’s daydreaming of what Indrid might do if caught on his way back from a dusk walk. And, more urgently, how he can convince Indrid that he wants to sleep outside tomorrow night. So it takes two tries of the front door before he notices it’s locked.

“Indrid?” he knocks, “you in there?” Stepping back, he finds the windows hastily covered by his bedsheets and blankets. He knocks harder, “that’s real fuckin dangerous, if there’s a fire we won’t see it. ‘Drid! Open the damn door!”

He continues banging, unanswered, as the moon--two days from full--rises above.

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

Indrid covers his ears to block out Duck’s increasingly worried shouts from outside. This is the right choice, the best of a bad bunch; it will keep Duck and anyone else nearby safe. The ranger will probably turn him away come morning, rightly furious at his irrationality. Indrid resolves not to argue with him; he’ll slink back into the trees, just like he did the last time someone threw him out for his transgressions.

It starts in his chest, his heartbeat climbing to marathon speeds in spite of him holding still. Then his skin prickles, silver hair sprouting from every follicle, followed by his back bowing in pain and his jaw elongating with a crack. From there the adrenaline kicks in, flooding his body so the transformation doesn’t render him unconscious (and therefore helpless) with pain. When next he raises his head, a werewolf with glowing, red eyes looks back at him from the darkened windows.

Beyond the covered windows, someone howls. Then he scents it, another of his kind coming dangerously close. He has to go out, he can’t leave Duck out there with something that will rip him apart, surely he likes the human enough for his mind to see him as a friend, not prey-

CRACK

The door splinters off its hinges; he growls, ready to defend his home. A deeper growl answers him as a larger wolf, black-furred and yellow eyed, stalks across the threshold.

“What. the. Fuck?” the newcomer snaps, “I told you, you can only stay if you don’t fuck up my work and locking me out comes real fuckin close to that!”

He cocks his head “Duck?”

“No, I’m the fuckin president of the united states.”

“I, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to all fours, then flattens to his belly just to be safe, “I didn’t know, I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Duck points to the broken door, “you coulda just done that from the opposite side and I woulda been dinner.”

“No I, I know that if I confine myself I tend to be...calmer. I don’t get overstimulated and then agitated.”

“You coulda just told me. Lockin me out is real rude.”

Indrid whines, crawls close enough to nose at him.

“You don’t gotta do that; I ain't assertin dominance or some shit, I’m just a little annoyed.”

He whines again, “please don’t make me leave.”

“I won’t.” Duck’s voice turns softer.

“And you will not get angry at me for not being appropriately grateful for your leniency?”

Duck frowns, “Aw jesus, did you come from one of those old-school packs?

“Yes” Indrid grumbles, hating himself for how easily he fell into manners he loathes, how deep the teachings of his home run.

Duck eases him up so they’re both sitting, then noses the side of his face, “We don't do that around here. Least, I don't. I don’t spend a ton of time with most of the other Weres when they’re wolfed-out, but they ain’t big on tradition and hierarchy the rest of the time.”

“Ah. That’s, that’s good.”

The other Were stretches, stands and pads about the room, removing the make-shift curtains, “You gotta teach me how you’re so fuckin accurate on when the moon is full enough to make us shift whether or not we want to; I thought I had a day left. I, uh, I was gonna ask you to sleep in here while I ‘slept under the stars’ so you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re not afraid of hurting someone?”

“Nah, especially not this far out. Sometimes I hunt deer, but whatever strain of this I got doesn’t go feral unless some shit goes majorly wrong.” He drops the blankets on the floor, “don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like huntin tonight. Or stargazin. I’m beat from work.”

“Agreed. Transforming against my will always makes me tired.”

Duck lays down on the floor,yawns, “In that case: sleep tight ‘Drid.”

Indrid tries to do just that. But every time he catches Duck’s scent he wishes he could move closer to him, then remembers that would be rude, and continues in that back and forth until he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that his Were form runs cold; he’s shivering in spite of it still being close to eighty degrees.

His ears flick at Duck’s footfalls. Then a warm, bulky frame curls around his freezing, lanky one.

“This okay?” Duck carefully drapes an arm over him.

Indrid sighs, feeling safer than he has in a year, “better than.”

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

“I’m a seer.”

Duck looks up from his breakfast, mouth full but question clear.

“Last night, you asked me how I knew we’d transform. Seeing the future makes it rather easy.”

“Damn, that does sound handy.”

“In many ways it is. Though it carries some, ah, some downsides.” Indrid steers his thoughts towards safer paths, “If you’d like, I could use it to help you with the fire lookout.”

The ranger grins, the expression twice as warm as his fur the night before, “That’d be fuckin great.”

Indrid smiles back, keeps his eyes on the windows so as not to look longingly back at the rumpled sheets. They awoke this morning in a heap, Duck’s modesty preserved only by a blanket and Indrid’s hair stuck in all directions. He’d been ready to apologize for not moving away before dawn, but Duck simply reached out, stroked his hair down, and asked if he wanted coffee.

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

“You’re right, you can see more animals this way.” They’re perched, fully transformed, on the rocks outside the cabin. Indrid knows how to use his night vision for hunting, but Duck is teaching him how to use it for more peaceful matters.

“Yeah, long as you stay put most animals get up the nerve to nose around some.”

They’d transformed side by side, Duck banging his head in the process. Indrid licked near the bruise and made soothing, sympathetic sounds when Duck whined and cursed his luck. Back home, being demonstrative was frowned upon; here, Duck seems to always be casually bumping their bodies together.

When they go to bed several hours after moonrise, they curl up side by side without hesitation. It’s so very easy to tune out his visions when Duck is near and Indrid falls asleep while the ranger is still whispering about the birds they can hear.

He wakes up an hour later in a panic, disasters of visions past tearing through his mind.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?” Duck noses the base of his neck.

“Nothing. Just a bad dream.” He closes his eyes, tries to focus on Duck’s scent, his breath, the wind in the trees, but still the ghosts of his memories lurk in the corners of his vision.

“Can I try somethin?” Duck murmurs. Indrid thought he’d gone back to sleep.

“Of course.”

Teeth tenderly and ever so carefully clamp the fur and skin of his neck. He goes limp in one breath. He was high status enough that no one ever did this to him, but goodness does he wish they had

The ranger let’s go, “Do I need to do it again?”

“Please.”

Duck obliges and Indrid whimpers, melting shamelessly in his arms.

“Thank you. I think I can sleep now.”

“Any time, ‘Drid. Uh, before you, uh, go to sleep there’s somethin I wanna ask you. Since you need a place to stay, do you, uh, wanna stay with me? In Kepler.”

“You’d really like that? You, if this is out of pity-”

“It ain’t.”

There were no futures where it was. Indrid wanted to hear the words all the same.

“Besides” Duck nuzzles him, “we already know we make damn good roommates.”

Indrid can’t help it; he howls, brief and joyful, safe in the knowledge that Duck will be ready with a laugh and a kiss in reply.

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugly #taz amnesty #werewolf au

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

The Light Within the Dark Trees’ Shadows Fanfic

Title: The Light Within the Dark Trees’ Shadows

Summary: When Logan was younger he sought comfort in the moon. Now he dreads its’ arrival.

Pairings: platonic analogical

Word-Count: 925

Warnings: werewolf transformation, panic, hurt/comfort

Round 2 since Tumblr destroyed the initial post. Awhile back, I asked for input on what prompts i should do next in my inbox and this is the result of it. Hope y’all enjoy <3

-

When Logan was younger, he sought comfort in the moon. As absurd as that sounded–to seek comfort in something that was a hunk of rock several hundred thousands away. It did not matter to young Logan.

Crescent, Gibbous, Full–he found all of its phases to be astounding. He spent nights gazing at the stars and the moon, imprinting it all to memory. He could look at the daylight sky and point out where constellations rested, invisible to the naked eye.

But as the red-violet rays of the sunset started to die down, he found himself dreading the arrival of the moon. He paced along the forest ground, wringing his hands together. His behavior was absurd. He couldn’t prevent what was to come. It’d be best for him to just accept it.

A twig snapped behind him and he whirled around, a growl stuck in his throat.

“Whoa, it’s just me.” A lanky shadow said, raising their arms up in a placating gesture. As they stepped closer, he relaxed upon recognizing their mop of purple hair and dark brown eyes; Virgil.

“I apologize,” He murmured, fingers tracing his tie, “I shouldn’t have ran off like this.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Virgil waved him off.

Logan nodded, a choked, clenching feeling taking hold of his throat. They stood there silently for awhile, gazing at the fading sunset through the trees.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” Virgil blurted out, “I mean, I get if you are. But the twins and I…we’re here for you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not scared.” Logan said, face carefully blank and devoid of emotions.

“Then why did you run off?”

“I needed a breather, I could not take hearing another of Roman’s and Remus’s inane arguments, especially since they refuse to listen to reason, and it has nothing to do with–” Logan’s breath hitched, “what is to come.”

“I’ll…try to talk to them about that,” Virgil promised before hesitating, “but we should head back–”

He couldn’t stop himself. “No!”

“No?”

Logan took pacing again, hands rising and falling as words failed him. A frustrated growl escaped him then, deep and guttural. He froze rigidly at the sound of it.

“Logan,” Virgil took a step forward, “it’s happening soon, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Logan whispered lowly, “and for the sake of your safety, you need to be gone before it happens.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

What?

“You have to,” Logan insisted, “I am not in control of myself when I am like–like that. That’s why–I cannot risk endangering you or the twins!”

Virgil pursued his lips, “And you won’t hurt us, I promise.”

The sky had darkened considerably. A wind shook the trees, sharp and whistling. Logan only had mere moments to persuade Virgil out of this.

“You have no way of knowing that!”

“I do.”

“H-how?!” Logan spluttered, a whine reverberating beneath it.

“Because you had the chance, time and time again, but you haven’t,” Virgil said, “You participate in Remus’ experiments, you provide constructive critique to Roman’s ideas, hell you even help me listen to reason when I spiral. I know that this won’t change anything.”

“This is different!” Logan protested. He opened his mouth to elaborate but all that came out was a piercing scream. He managed one look up at the bright, glistening full moon before collapsing.

The first thing that came was the pain. Some might describe it like an ever-devouring flame, that consumed one’s body and soul. It wasn’t quite that way for Logan. It was more akin to a raging blizzard. So cold and biting he was barely cognizant.

Logically, he should be dead from the strain of it. But this curse did not make logical sense.

At one point, he stopped screaming because he physically couldn’t. His heart stopped, and then started. Multiple times. He was undergoing cardiac arrest from the strain of it. Logically he should be dead. But the curse kept him alive through it, feeling every bit of it.

His bones shifted, extending in some ways and drastically shortening in others. Some of them melded together to form new shapes. His muscles twisted and contorting around them, finding new places to call home. His humanity was slipping away, fading as a something else took hold. A wolf with sharp teeth, blackened fur and elongated claws.

It was Logan, but also not Logan. The wolf was its’ separate entity, one that slumbered within Logan but came out to prowl during the full moon. It did what it wanted, taking very little input from the human conscious.

The wolf rose to its paws, stretching.

“Logan?”

It stopped mid-stretch, it’s golden eyes staring right at Virgil. The human didn’t reek of fear. The human lowered its’ head slightly, compressing his gangly form to appear smaller. A sign of submission–of respect.

‘Pack, pack, pack,’ A foreign thought pressed into the wolf’s mind. No doubt, emanating from Logan. As much as the wolf hated Logan’s interference, it could not argue against this. Never in its’ existence did it have a pack. And this human Virgil was good, it decided. He was worthy of being pack.

This meant, he was very much worthy of taking multiple licks to the face by an overenthusiastic wolf.

“Whoa!” Virgil said with a startled laugh, toppled to the ground by it. He didn’t mind it, however, because despite his own internal fears, he’d been right. The wolf wouldn’t hurt him. And after the sun rose again, and Logan was back–he’d help him get a little closer to accepting the wolf and appreciating the moon once more.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #analogical #kat writes #i will riot if it destroys my read more again

[hannigramfanfic]

Hannibal Fanstory: “The Hunter and Child of the Lupin” Or “Kiss of a Lupin” or “Prince of Wolves - Vilku kunigaikstis

PROLOGUE

There is a Tale told by old Storytellers when fires are lit, and everyone is settled for the night about a Hunter from a distant land and a feral child of the Lupin he met one heavy winter in the lands of the North – where the Spirit of the that Forest, the Ravenstag dwells – when given a task by the vile King Mason Verger to find the child and kill it, while bringing him the head of the creature from Ancient times.

It is said Mason came into power by overthrowing the previous King – Jack Crawford – and his Queen – Bella or Phyliss – and it is unknown what happened to those kind people, because you dear Travellers who come to sit by my fire to hear this Tale have yet to hear how it all began.

Our Tale first begins in the land of Wolf-trap, Virginia where due to unforeseen consequences a pregnant woman bearing a child within her womb leaves behind a place where she was born and raised as behind her in the far distance a great fire burns the woodland causing animals living in it to run alongside her horse as the flames black out the skies.

Choking out a multitude of stars that shine like path and leaving yet only one shining in the sky – a bright single star that would change the child’s life within her womb as the legacy of Wolftrap dissolved in ash and wind.

————————— 

12 MONTHS LATER

Baltimore, Maryland – the former Kingdom of the Missing King Crawford

Despair.

Pestilence.

Starvation.

Depressed souls who head’s hang with the weight of oppression as Hannibal Lecter – Hunter, member of the Hunter’s Guild – and unknown to many in who he was in this country keeps the hood of his long cloak up as he walks through the muddy streets with his horse – Cersai – of Baltimore, Maryland remembering when it had been under King Crawford’s gentle rule.

The street had been a vibrant hive of activity: festivals, market stalls bursting with the hustle and bustle of market stallers shouting their wares to people in the streets, while children ran about with windmills and kites.

That was gone: in place now due to Mason taking reign the color and vibrancy had been drained to monochrome grey and inky black, while faces have become hardened like stone; children are weak and starving beg for scraps at what has now become Mason’s palace from the kitchens only to never get enough and adults have become suspicious of any stranger no matter where they came from.

Neighbor becomes pitted against neighbor, not trusting them at all for any help at all even when the Plague sickness comes and affects either both or one of them as Hannibal passes some Plague doctors standing near a Condemned house talking in whispers – like snakes slithering across each-other to keep warm – wearing the long white beaks like that of a crow or raven beak then turn their beaked gaze towards him.

Watching him walking up to King Verger’s castle, a grotesque building hewn from blood-red rock and spiked turrets where the remnants of people who displeased Mason Verger hang from indicating to all below if they disobeyed this was what would happen. Guards in armour patrolled the battlements.

Hearing the bellowing noise of large bull oxen’s and rumbling of a carriage makes him step out of the way with Cersai seeing, in fact, it is Slave Carriage bearing within poor, frightened souls bound in chains of iron and steel. Their heads hung down in dejection, while rags of cloth barely cover their modesty as it large wheels splash up the foul mud of that for centuries during Mason’s reign has had all manner of traffic go through it.

What makes his Inner Predator within Hannibal want to get rid of Mason if he weren’t controlled by the Hunter’s Code and Contract is the fact the prisoners that been in the Slave Carriage as it heads within the castle – were children. Some of them younger like his darling sister Mischa who been murdered in his homeland when he been only a child of 17 years of age by a rogue general who had overthrown his father – Lord Dvaras – had heard rumours about Mason having certain particular tastes and that was he liked young children – female or male even.

The three Plague Doctors, who have followed him he can sense are still watching him wondering why a foreign stranger has come to such a desolate bleak place where even the strange Plague, Hannibal had seen affecting people in other places he had travelled through and the grief it had brought countless families.

“Mister? Mister? Please any…. spare coins to spare?”

A small voice says, drawing him out of the haze he in and looking down sees it a group of orphaned urchins – their cheeks hollowed in by hunger; eyes bloodshot and bags under them; hair unkempt and unwashed as patchwork rags cover their modesty – and shakes his head at them, having his money pouch already stolen in another town he had passed through. Slapping down greedy hands when they reach for his crossbow on his back, plus dagger and sword hidden by his long cloak.

“Cease that. There not for children to play with. Understand me?” He chides them, making them resist what they are doing, and nod meekly followed by still staying close to him when suddenly a snide leering almost voice shouts at them “BEGONE YOU LITTLE VARMINTS!!! GET!! GO ON!!!” revealing to Hannibal’s displeasure another lacky of Mason’s – Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Captain of the Guards and downright leech-of-a-man – who kicks one the urchins out the way.

They met before, when the man had tried to join the Hunter’s Guild and now sneers at him even when Hannibal reaches into his saddle bag to pull out the Hunter’s Code and Contract – which all Hunter’s sweared to with a Blood oath – then spits heavily, managing to aim it close to Hannibal who just keeps a calm composure.

He couldn’t let the Inner Predator in him loose just yet.

It wasn’t the right……time for it.

————————————–

Now in the Household of the Verger Royal Family: there is Mason Verger, a vile man with no good soul in him causing more torment and ruining people lives than in actually helping them; there is his sister Lady Margot – a young woman of 35 years of age, who is also sadly one of those people that is tormented by her brother behind locked doors and wishes she could be free of him; while there is her Lady-in-waiting Alana Bloom – a simple country girl with strong heart and fierce loyalty to her mistress.

The servants are:  Peter Bernadone – a stable-lad who a cares for the horses for King Mason, though is strongly controlled by a sadistic Lord Clark Ingram; Francis Dolerhyde, the Blacksmith who fashions all the weapons and armour and stays with his adopted little blind girl of seven years of age Reba McClane – who’s father and mother are unknown as she was abandoned at early age and find by Francis as a baby among some bed of heather in the once fertile forests around Baltimore, Maryland; the scholar/ jesters of the Court are Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz and Jimmy Price who Mason uses when he puts on big parties to celebrate certain events and finally Lady Bedelia Du Maurier – rumoured to run the Brothel houses in the seediest parts of Baltimore, Maryland and is known as the Verger’s Tax Collector.

Hmm, yes?

Oh, you want to hear of what lies beyond this place.

Well that is…. the Northern land as far as the crow can fly to it or a horse can travel to it. Not that I’ve tried to travel there myself.

Tall mountain-scapes of tall-peaked mountains dusted with coatings of fine, crisp snow and swathes of large coniferous and deciduous trees that spread outwards to reach to them and waterfalls made from glaciers tumble downwards to form meandering rivers that spread across the strange land like arteries of a giant’s arm and gentle, bubbling streams or of becoming just deep pools of gleaming water that waterfalls just endlessly pour into them.

Autumn there brings a multi-hue of soft oranges, yellows, reds and lilacs and wildlife is ever abundant from all creatures great and small, while Ancient Text tells of how large Beast Gods roamed the forest and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – watched over all.

It is said the creature possesses the body of a stag, a coat of lustrous Raven’s feathers and a thicket of antler’s that are larger a normal stag’s antlers.

But that is only myth told from the Ancient Text as no-one has ever seen this creature described and yet, it is what Mason fears for some reason.

You ask me why?

It is believed because of Prophesy told to him by a mysterious cloaked figure wearing robes of sea bluish-green and holding a stuff, bearing the carving of Raven that is why. And hear is thus:

Neither Human or even a man

When the Crescent moon doth shine and become full

Turning crimson like spilled blood in the inky, black sky

Come will something that will tear and ravage you asunder

It will break your stone you surround yourself with

Bellow out it’s war cry like the horn of a Carnyx

And pierce you to the very throne you defiled

Beware the golden eyes in the night.

Now that I have started off this Tale, let’s us travel to another place – the Northern Land where we will shall find out what happened to the young man from the Wolftrap Legacy that many had believed had faded into the histories of time to be forgotten for eternity.

 PART 1

A multitude of stars shines brightly in the night-sky, while under the canopy of tall coniferous trees bearing on their fir branches white, undisturbed snow and on a perch of a half-destroyed old tree – that had been hit by lightning – sweeps off into the night on silent wings.

A ghostly white shadow among the inky blackness, while slowly golden eyes appear from the gloom as they step slowly into the moonlight now streaming through the canopy above – a pack of wolves, a family.

There is a difference – on the back of one of the Mother Alpha Wolf – last of the remaining Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – is a young man, gripping her fur mixed with silvery highlights.

While in front, keeping an eye out for dangers are his wolf-brother’s – three of them – and his Wolf-sister, who walks close by. Their names in Ancient are stated thus: Murasaki Kushina – the Alpha Mother, remaining Ancient Beast of the Wolf Clan; daughter Murasaki Chiyoh; and the three sons Murasaki Ashisaki, Keito and Hiharo.

They are Will’s family, after his mother Lady Cassia - Othelia who had given birth to him in this forest one heavy winter night soon afterwards weakened by hunger and trying to survive while grieving the loss of her husband – Lord Orilivano – who unknown to her at the time of when he been a small child had been bitten by rogue Wolf – so passing on the curse onto his only son – Will.

Will knows nothing of his heritage or even where he comes from. He believes his real mother is Murasaki Kushina and knows nothing of what the birthmark on his shoulder means.

“O’kaasan, where are we going?” He asks her in the language of the Wolves – that she had taught him, and she answers in her deep soft voice. “It’s a surprise, my dear little one.”

Will smiles at that. Being with his Wolf-mother, brothers and sisters he knows nothing of the Human beyond the forest he was born in and has not seen another human ever in his life.

His real mother unbeknownst to him is buried in wooden glade, where only the Spirit of the Forest – The Ravenstag – knows where. He remembers one autumn with the leaves spiralling and dancing down onto the forest floor he seen the beautiful creature with a lustrous coat of raven’s feathers ruffling gently in the breeze as it grazed with some deer then it was gone.

Chiyoh, who had gone off soon comes up beside and hands him a branch bearing some succulent edible berries from a winter food storage hole that been made last winter and taking it with one hand, scratches her behind her ear to thank her for it.

Keito – the second youngest of Murasaki Kushina’s Wolf cubs about the same age as Will – comes up, nipping her ear playfully soon making them both bound forwards in front of the others, making Will laugh happily at the sight in front of him.

If only he knew at the time in the Kingdom of Mason Verger, a Hunter would soon be arriving in the forest he lived in and would change his life forever.

  The mountain-passes that separate the Kingdom of Mason Verger from the Northern Forest, where the Ravenstag is to dwell is a Border pass patrolled by four guards – Tobias Budge, Matthew Brown, Abel Gideon and the reluctant Frederick Chilton – who control who goes through to the other side.

Coming up the carved path in the mountainside, while heavy rain falls down causing some parts of the cliff-face to become waterfalls of murky water that tumble down into the misty abyss below, he sees a Raven flying overhead – it’s beady gaze looking down at him – and continuing head up the path, soon sees a groove hollowed by years of intense weathering going over it until it finally hollowed out a pass.

During King Crawford’s reign with his kind permission people could come and go often escorted by himself and the Queen to show the beautiful land beyond the pass then it all changed when King Mason Verger took control and changed the rule so that only a handle of people he chose could enter the pass if they were acceptable and reliable in the tasks he gave them.

Slipping off the horse, he heads to stone-carved hut shaped like large dome to within, where Frederick Chilton – one of the four Border Pass Guards who rather be somewhere else – lifts his head up from making notes to see who has come in then takes the Sealed Pass signed by King Mason from Hannibal.

Hannibal lowering his hood of his long cloak, heads back over to his horse to check she is alright at the sametime the other three Border Pass guards appear, coming into the large stone-carved dome wearing hides of animals to disguise their scent from when they go through the pass and hunt in the land beyond it.

“Chilton, who is this Silver-fox of a foreigner?” One of them – Abel Gideon – a rude, boorish brute of man wishing like Chilton to be somewhere else – like for example the whorehouses of sin, greed and lust rumoured to be run by Lady Bedelia Du Maurier.

“A Hunter, dear Gideon. He has been given a Border Pass by King Verger to enter that accursed land.” Another man speaks – Tobias Budge, once a former member of the Hunter’s Guild until leaving for unknown reasons – who know considered Hunters like Hannibal to be just worthless scum in it for the money they would get from the job.

Hannibal notices the third Border Pass guard is a young man, with his hands crossed over his chest while leaning nonchantly against the stone-carved dome wall with one leg up on it watching him with certain look. He would have to keep an eye out on this one. Something about the gaze indicated a hidden personality the other three men didn’t know about and was something Hannibal had experience with

Having a hidden personality of his own.

  It is in the middle of the night, the rain has ceased outside until leaving only pools of water on the ground in some places as Hannibal silently leaves behind the four sleeping Border Pass Guards and heads quietly to the Pass, where for the moment he soon swears he sees ghostly figure of a child – looking almost like his darling sister Mischa – then getting up into the saddle of his horse, indicates with soft click of his tongue for it to start going through the pass.

It is eerily quiet, with the wind-weathered pass looking like it is leaning in towards any travellers who come into the Pass then finally he reaches the other side to come upon a sight that has been untouched ever since Mason’s reign: large swathes of coniferous and deciduous trees spreading outwards towards towering mountains that jut out like sharp ragged teeth in the clouds of mist that surround them.

A strange sense of calm descends on Hannibal. Never has he seen such a pristine, beautiful place where Humans who once remember King Crawford’s gentle rule now fear to tread in case they incur the wrath of the now King Mason.

Slowly he begins to descend the carved path leading to the very bottom of the valley where the Ancient Beasts were still rumoured to roam and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – was said to dwell.

  “O’kaasan, what’s wrong?” Will asks, when Murasaki Kushina comes to halt at the large river – Kahaku – where glacial boulders covered in moss, lichen and tiny moths lay within the refreshing water that comes from the mountains in the far distance.

“Man!!!? We must leave!!!?” Come my children.” She replies to him, while Will finds himself gripping her fur more tightly and looks around at the trees that cover both sides of the large flowing river that goes through the forest and out towards the ocean.

Listening attentively, Will uses his special skill he had to block out all other noises and slips his eyes close to immerse himself fully. He soon hears a steady heartbeat coming from the “Man” as the strange creature his O’kaasan had called the strange creature.

He wondered:

Why had they come here to where he lived?

What purpose had brought them here?

Warning growls - bring him out of those internal questions - coming from his other siblings, making him shoot his eyes open seeing watching through some gaps of broken trees that have fallen into the large river at some point.

Until it managed to build a dam of sorts. The “Man” who soon moves from his watching point, gets up onto the broken branches and clambering over them begins to wade through the water towards them until stopping in the middle of the large river.

“Speak Human. You have come into our Forest with some purpose. Why?” Will hears his O’kaasan growling with her fangs bared in warning, while he slips off her back and keeps close to her.

Noticing how the strange “Man’s” maroon eyes stare at him – like they could stare deeply into his soul – and before he even is thinking he is front of them, while they stay still as he starts to pad around them.

Inhaling every mixture of scent coming from the strange “Man” - all unrecognisable and unidentifiable – then bringing his hands up to their shoulders, pushes the strange creature to kneel on both knees so their eye-level.

  Hannibal now kneeling on both his knees in the water of the large river, stays still when the young man – no doubt in his mind the remaining heir of the Wolftrap Legacy – leans close to his cheek inhaling deeply with curiosity at what is he to them.

He knows if he makes a wrong move, four wolves and a one of them an Ancient Beast described in Ancient Texts saying to have existed in this forest, could easily tear him to a bloodied mess.

Keeping his hands still by resting them on his lap, Hannibal doesn’t even flinch when a moist, warm tongue licks his ear to test his reaction and moves to the other – almost like the young man is starting to scent-mark him – then pulls back slightly giving him a look that means he must reciprocate.

Leaning close to the young man’s ear, he brings out his tongue to lick softly – wishing deep also he could take hold of the young man, but he doesn’t – and when finishes scent-marking the other in the way he been indicated then goes back to staying still to feel his cheeks grabbed hold of.

This forces him to tilt his head backwards, where soon sharp teeth or fangs – he can’t tell just yet – bite into his skin – not tearing but marking – drawing some blood as the action of it makes him gasp breathlessly.

Feeling his eyes flutter close, his hands come nearly up to take hold of the young man when a twig snapping underfoot breaks the gentle peace and calm and lowering his head after feeling he is suddenly his now alone sees the young man and the Wolves have left.

Another presence though makes him turn his face to look down the large river, seeing a sight he would never forget even until his and the young man’s tale had faded into history.

A lustrous coat made of Raven’s feathers, gleaming in the soft moonlight from above and antlers that seem to Hannibal’s mind extend to the very heavens then it tilts it’s head backwards bellowing heavily. It’s breath rising like fine mist into the cold, night air.

PART 2

After finding a large hollow of a giant tree that has managed over years of growing in cliff-face until it’s large roots within have hollowed out some form of cave, Hannibal now sits up against one of large roots, twisted slightly as the tree which had been growing searched for water and nutrients.

On the cave wall are Ancient Markings of Forebearers who once in Ancient Times had lived in the forest with harmony with the Ancient Beasts illuminated by the makeshift fire he has made, while on makeshift some meat – rabbit – is being slowly roasted on a makeshift spit made from twigs.

He is calmly sketching with some charcoal a drawing of the young man with the wolves he had met – paying attention to the soft details of the youthful face and soft kissable lips – into an old drawing paper sketchpad and smiles softly when he senses a presence entering the cave.

Hannibal knows who it is and finishing off the final touches, gently closes the sketchpad to place it to one side then reaching forwards turns the makeshift spit so the meat is thoroughly cooked hearing the young man pad up to him.

Lowering his hands to his lap, after doing that task he turns slightly to face the young man with sea bluish-green eyes – deep pools of that colour that remind him of clear pools of water with sunlight filtering down from canopy of trees to shine down on them – curious and intrigued in what will happen next.

The young man still on his hands and knees, while wearing a lace white tunic of sorts and black breeches – which must have been stolen to make what he wears now – reaches for one of Hannibal’s hands. Taking hold of it, while he forgets how to breathe at the feel of tempting kissable lips brush against his wrist’s pulse followed by hint of fangs.

“Something wrong, my Love?”  He asks, before he can correct himself because they’re not Lovers and yet, he couldn’t deny the attraction he was starting to develop for this feral Wolf-Child with curly-brown locks and something else within him he just couldn’t explain what.

“No, just the way you look at me.” The young man replies to him, lifting his head with his eyes closed at first, while stilling holding Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal finds himself stroking the young man’s delicate cheekbone with feather light touches.

This makes the young man flutter his eyes open, revealing those beautiful eyes when he goes to move his hand away to sort the makeshift spit, so the meat doesn’t burn scorching him with such heat from that look, Hannibal can feel himself slowly becoming aroused then composes himself only just, asks the question.

“How do I look to you?” making the young man smile at him, replying with “As if you were deciding whether or not to eat me. Not that I’m adverse to the idea.” then goes back to nuzzling Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal starts to feel conflicted by what has been said to him.

It was true, he had a darker side to after tortured in his own homeland by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – who overthrown his father and in front of his very young eyes at 17 years of age had taken his little baby sister away, while Gruta’s men took great relish and pleasure in violating his body again and again until he been forced to accept he would starve if he did not eat the food they gave him.

Then to his ultimate horror happened to him, they brought him food and due to his weakened state Hannibal had eaten it then afterwards had discovered the food had been his own sister – slaughtered for meat.

Anger had risen in him, while he soon killed the men who had murdered his sister and as the years went by when he travelled to the land King Mason owned after overthrowing King Crawford in the shadows of alleyways and underground caverns he was given another name “The Chesapeake Ripper” - based on the mythological monster the Wendigo from Ancient Texts who ate the flesh of man.

Coming out of the harsh, cold memory he locks it away in the oubliettes of his Mind Palace and slips his hand away to check the meat on the makeshift spit – finding it is ready to eat – then taking it off the holder, rips some of the meat off and holds it out to the young man.

Sea bluish-green eyes flick to the meat and to him than back to the meat, while Hannibal sighs softly and states. “It’s not poisoned. See.” tearing the meat piece in two then eating it to show to the young man it is only rabbit meat with some wild rosemary he found growing near the cave sprinkled on top.

The young man leans upwards though taking the other half of the meat from his fingers and placing it in his mouth soon presses his lips against Hannibal’s causing him to stiffen slightly then fully relaxing, opens his mouth as the meat is soon shared between them through their mouth’s.

He finds himself starting to breathe heavily through both his nostrils, changing position each time when a warm, moist tongue laps against his and starts to entwine as they keep on eating the rabbit meat between themselves then before he is even thinking of what he is doing, Hannibal has soon pinned the feral Wolf-child to the cave floor on his blanket – he had laid out from his traveling kit - and yet, keeps his hands either side of the young man’s head.

Both are breathing heavily, while he can feel soft hands start to unlace his clothes and pulls back heavily only to soon arch slightly with a breathless hitched gasp when feels the young man leans up to bite one of his nipples through the fabric of his crème-white tunic at the sametime twisting the other nipple, so it rises and peaks under those ministrations.

His hands begin to scar into the cave floor slightly as he un-arches his back and leans over the young man still gasping breathlessly as between his thighs in the confines of breeches, Hannibal can feel the tightening pressure indicating he is slowly becoming aroused and needs to release it one way or another then moves his head back down to kiss the young man again, needing to distract himself from it.

A hand clawing down his shoulder – sharp and lethal feeling to his skin – causes him to groan heavily in machoistic pleasure as it draws some blood in the process, while a sly soft hand soon slips between his thighs to cup him through his breeches heavily and starts to unlace him teasingly slow it makes move his lips away to pant heavily in the young man’s ear.

“If…. you don’t hurry. I won’t last much longer.”

“Don’t worry….I plan to extend this for very long indeed, Hunter.”

“Not….haaa….You wee minx!!!?….not Hunter, but Hannibal.”

“Hannibal….….hmm…then evidently I should tell you mine.”

“Yes…. ahhh!!…Oh, there, you wee minx!!!”

“Will, my name is Will.”

Hannibal wonders how long he can last, while Will now slips downwards, and he find himself flinging his head backwards crying out heavily when he finds himself swallowed down into moist, hot mouth then slipping his hands downwards grips the young man’s head to hold it closer to his groin, watching the sleek curly brown head start to bob back and forth between his thighs.

His mouth agape, he finds himself fisting his hands into the blanket for support as slick, slurp noises and breathless moans, gasps, pants and whimpers fill the cave then he tenses heavily, heart pounding heavily against ribcage feeling himself cup the young man’s cheek to stroke it as the sinful moist, hot mouth swallows down his release.

Soon Hannibal falls backwards to land slightly on the tree root and his travelling pack then whimpers from overstimulation when he is forced to experience another orgasm, while the young man has managed to slip his clothes off fully leaving him only in his crème-white tunic and lace breeches wide open to fully expose him.

“Enough…. Will…Enough!!!……I…want you!!” He gasps out, chest heaving heavily with laboured gasps making the young man raise his head, some remnants of Hannibal’s seed still on his lips and crawls up to him to look at him.

“You want….me?”

“Is that so much to ask of you?”

“No…..I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…..as my….Mate.”

TO BE CONTINUED

For  @vintagefloof, @amatesura, @avidreadr2004, @crazystaglady, @hannigramfanfics and all the rest of the Fannibals out there. Here is the fic I have been working on… finally arrived. Enjoy. 

#hannigram fanfic #submission #fanfic #hannigram

[innermuse24]

Hannibal Fanstory: “Prince of Wolves - Vilku kunigaikstis”

PROLOGUE

There is a Tale told by old Storytellers when fires are lit, and everyone is settled for the night about a Hunter from a distant land and a feral child of the Lupin he met one heavy winter in the lands of the North – where the Spirit of the that Forest, the Ravenstag dwells – when given a task by the vile King Mason Verger to find the child and kill it, while bringing him the head of the creature from Ancient times.

It is said Mason came into power by overthrowing the previous King – Jack Crawford – and his Queen – Bella or Phyliss – and it is unknown what happened to those kind people, because you dear Travellers who come to sit by my fire to hear this Tale have yet to hear how it all began.

Our Tale first begins in the land of Wolf-trap, Virginia where due to unforeseen consequences a pregnant woman bearing a child within her womb leaves behind a place where she was born and raised as behind her in the far distance a great fire burns the woodland causing animals living in it to run alongside her horse as the flames black out the skies.

Choking out a multitude of stars that shine like path and leaving yet only one shining in the sky – a bright single star that would change the child’s life within her womb as the legacy of Wolftrap dissolved in ash and wind.

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

12 MONTHS LATER

Baltimore, Maryland – the former Kingdom of the Missing King Crawford

Despair.

Pestilence.

Starvation.

Depressed souls who head’s hang with the weight of oppression as Hannibal Lecter – Hunter, member of the Hunter’s Guild – and unknown to many in who he was in this country keeps the hood of his long cloak up as he walks through the muddy streets with his horse – Cersai – of Baltimore, Maryland remembering when it had been under King Crawford’s gentle rule.

The street had been vibrant hive of activity: festivals, market stalls bursting with the hustle and bustle of market stallers shouting their wares to people in the streets, while children ran about with windmills and kites.

That was gone: in place now due to Mason taking reign the colour and vibrancy had been drained to monochrome grey and inky black, while faces have become hardened like stone; children are weak and starving beg for scraps at what has now become Mason’s palace from the kitchens only to never get enough and adults have become suspicious of any stranger no matter where they came from.

Neighbour becomes pitted against neighbour, not trusting them at all for any help at all even when the Plague sickness comes and affects either both or one of them as Hannibal passes some Plague doctors standing near a Condemned house talking in whispers – like snakes slithering across each-other to keep warm – wearing the long white beaks like that of a crow or raven beak then turn their beaked gaze towards him.

Watching him walking up to King Verger’s castle, a grotesque building hewn from blood-red rock and spiked turrets where the remnants of people who displeased Mason Verger hang from indicating to all below if they disobeyed this was what would happen. Guards in armour patrolled the battlements.

Hearing the bellowing noise of large bull oxen’s and rumbling of a carriage makes him step out of the way with Cersai seeing in fact it is Slave Carriage bearing within poor, frightened souls bound in chains of iron and steel. Their heads hung down in dejection, while rags of cloth barely cover their modesty as it large wheels splash up the foul mud of that for centuries during Mason’s reign has had all manner of traffic go through it.

What makes his Inner Predator within Hannibal want to get rid of Mason if he weren’t controlled by the Hunter’s Code and Contract is the fact the prisoners that been in the Slave Carriage as it heads within the castle – were children. Some of them younger like his darling sister Mischa who been murdered in his homeland when he been only a child of 17 years of age by a rogue general who had overthrown his father – Lord Dvaras – had heard rumours about Mason having certain particular tastes and that was he liked young children – female or male even.

The three Plague Doctors, who have followed him he can sense are still watching him wondering why a foreign stranger has come to such a desolate bleak place where even the strange Plague, Hannibal had seen affecting people in other places he had travelled through and the grief it had brought countless families.

“Mister? Mister? Please any…. spare coins to spare?”

A small voice says, drawing him out of the haze he in and looking down sees it a group of orphaned urchins – their cheeks hollowed in by hunger; eyes bloodshot and bags under them; hair unkempt and unwashed as patchwork rags cover their modesty – and shakes his head at them, having his money pouch already stolen in another town he had passed through. Slapping down greedy hands when they reach for his crossbow on his back, plus dagger and sword hidden by his long cloak.

“Cease that. There not for children to play with. Understand me?” He chides them, making them resist what they are doing, and nod meekly followed by still staying close to him when suddenly a snide leering almost voice shouts at them “BEGONE YOU LITTLE VARMINTS!!! GET!! GO ON!!!” revealing to Hannibal’s displeasure another lacky of Mason’s – Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Captain of the Guards and downright leech-of-a-man – who kicks one the urchins out the way.

They met before, when the man had tried to join the Hunter’s Guild and now sneers at him even when Hannibal reaches into his saddle bag to pull out the Hunter’s Code and Contract – which all Hunter’s sweared to with a Blood oath – then spits heavily, managing to aim it close to Hannibal who just keeps a calm composure.

He couldn’t let the Inner Predator in him loose just yet.

It wasn’t the right……time for it.

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

Now in the Household of the Verger Royal Family: there is Mason Verger, a vile man with no good soul in him causing more torment and ruining people lives than in actually helping them; there is his sister Lady Margot – a young woman of 35 years of age, who is also sadly one of those people that is tormented by her brother behind locked doors and wishes she could be free of him; while there is her Lady-in-waiting Alana Bloom – a simple country girl with strong heart and fierce loyalty to her mistress.

The servants are:  Peter Bernadone – a stable-lad who a cares for the horses for King Mason, though is strongly controlled by a sadistic Lord Clark Ingram; Francis Dolerhyde, the Blacksmith who fashions all the weapons and armour and stays with his adopted little blind girl of seven years of age Reba McClane – who’s father and mother are unknown as she was abandoned at early age and find by Francis as a baby among some bed of heather in the once fertile forests around Baltimore, Maryland; the scholar/ jesters of the Court are Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz and Jimmy Price who Mason uses when he puts on big parties to celebrate certain events and finally Lady Bedelia Du Maurier – rumoured to run the Brothel houses in the seediest parts of Baltimore, Maryland and is known as the Verger’s Tax Collector.

Hmm, yes?

Oh, you want to hear of what lies beyond this place.

Well that is…. the Northern land as far as the crow can fly to it or a horse can travel to it. Not that I’ve tried to travel there myself.

Tall mountain-scapes of tall-peaked mountains dusted with coatings of fine, crisp snow and swathes of large coniferous and deciduous trees that spread outwards to reach to them and waterfalls made from glaciers tumble downwards to form meandering rivers that spread across the strange land like arteries of a giant’s arm and gentle, bubbling streams or of becoming just deep pools of gleaming water that waterfalls just endlessly pour into them.

Autumn there brings a multi-hue of soft oranges, yellows, reds and lilacs and wildlife is ever abundant from all creatures great and small, while Ancient Text tells of how large Beast Gods roamed the forest and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – watched over all.

It is said the creature possesses the body of a stag, a coat of lustrous Raven’s feathers and a thicket of antler’s that are larger a normal stag’s antlers.

But that is only myth told from the Ancient Text as no-one has ever seen this creature described and yet, it is what Mason fears for some reason.

You ask me why?

It is believed because of Prophesy told to him by a mysterious cloaked figure wearing robes of sea bluish-green and holding a stuff, bearing the carving of Raven that is why. And hear is thus:

Neither Human or even a man

When the Crescent moon doth shine and become full

Turning crimson like spilled blood in the inky, black sky

Come will something that will tear and ravage you asunder

It will break your stone you surround yourself with

Bellow out it’s war cry like the horn of a Carnyx

And pierce you to the very throne you defiled

Beware the golden eyes in the night.

Now that I have started off this Tale, let’s us travel to another place – the Northern Land where we will shall find out what happened to the young man from the Wolftrap Legacy that many had believed had faded into the histories of time to be forgotten for eternity.

  PART 1

A multitude of stars shines brightly in the night-sky, while under the canopy of tall coniferous trees bearing on their fir branches white, undisturbed snow and on a perch of a half-destroyed old tree – that had been hit by lightning – sweeps off into the night on silent wings.

A ghostly white shadow among the inky blackness, while slowly golden eyes appear from the gloom as they step slowly into the moonlight now streaming through the canopy above – a pack of wolves, a family.

There is a difference – on the back of one of the Mother Alpha Wolf – last of the remaining Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – is a young man, gripping her fur mixed with silvery highlights.

While in front, keeping an eye out for dangers are his wolf-brother’s – three of them – and his Wolf-sister, who walks close by. Their names in Ancient are stated thus: Murasaki Kushina – the Alpha Mother, remaining Ancient Beast of the Wolf Clan; daughter Murasaki Chiyoh; and the three sons Murasaki Ashisaki, Keito and Hiharo.

They are Will’s family, after his mother Lady Cassia - Othelia who had given birth to him in this forest one heavy winter night soon afterwards weakened by hunger and trying to survive while grieving the loss of her husband – Lord Orilivano – who unknown to her at the time of when he been a small child had been bitten by rogue Wolf – so passing on the curse onto his only son – Will.

Will knows nothing of his heritage or even where he comes from. He believes his real mother is Murasaki Kushina and knows nothing of what the birthmark on his shoulder means.

“O’kaasan, where are we going?” He asks her in the language of the Wolves – that she had taught him, and she answers in her deep soft voice. “It’s a surprise, my dear little one.”

Will smiles at that. Being with his Wolf-mother, brothers and sisters he knows nothing of the Human beyond the forest he was born in and has not seen another human ever in his life.

His real mother unbeknownst to him is buried in wooden glade, where only the Spirit of the Forest – The Ravenstag – knows where. He remembers one autumn with the leaves spiralling and dancing down onto the forest floor he seen the beautiful creature with a lustrous coat of raven’s feathers ruffling gently in the breeze as it grazed with some deer then it was gone.

Chiyoh, who had gone off soon comes up beside and hands him a branch bearing some succulent edible berries from a winter food storage hole that been made last winter and taking it with one hand, scratches her behind her ear to thank her for it.

Keito – the second youngest of Murasaki Kushina’s Wolf cubs about the same age as Will – comes up, nipping her ear playfully soon making them both bound forwards in front of the others, making Will laugh happily at the sight in front of him.

If only he knew at the time in the Kingdom of Mason Verger, a Hunter would soon be arriving in the forest he lived in and would change his life forever.

  The mountain-passes that separate the Kingdom of Mason Verger from the Northern Forest, where the Ravenstag is to dwell is a Border pass patrolled by four guards – Tobias Budge, Matthew Brown, Abel Gideon and the reluctant Frederick Chilton – who control who goes through to the other side.

Coming up the carved path in the mountainside, while heavy rain falls down causing some parts of the cliff-face to become waterfalls of murky water that tumble down into the misty abyss below, he sees a Raven flying overhead – it’s beady gaze looking down at him – and continuing head up the path, soon sees a groove hollowed by years of intense weathering going over it until it finally hollowed out a pass.

During King Crawford’s reign with his kind permission people could come and go often escorted by himself and the Queen to show the beautiful land beyond the pass then it all changed when King Mason Verger took control and changed the rule so that only a handle of people he chose could enter the pass if they were acceptable and reliable in the tasks he gave them.

Slipping off the horse, he heads to stone-carved hut shaped like large dome to within, where Frederick Chilton – one of the four Border Pass Guards who rather be somewhere else – lifts his head up from making notes to see who has come in then takes the Sealed Pass signed by King Mason from Hannibal.

Hannibal lowering his hood of his long cloak, heads back over to his horse to check she is alright at the sametime the other three Border Pass guards appear, coming into the large stone-carved dome wearing hides of animals to disguise their scent from when they go through the pass and hunt in the land beyond it.

“Chilton, who is this Silver-fox of a foreigner?” One of them – Abel Gideon – a rude, boorish brute of man wishing like Chilton to be somewhere else – like for example the whorehouses of sin, greed and lust rumoured to be run by Lady Bedelia Du Maurier.

“A Hunter, dear Gideon. He has been given a Border Pass by King Verger to enter that accursed land.” Another man speaks – Tobias Budge, once a former member of the Hunter’s Guild until leaving for unknown reasons – who know considered Hunters like Hannibal to be just worthless scum in it for the money they would get from the job.

Hannibal notices the third Border Pass guard is a young man, with his hands crossed over his chest while leaning nonchantly against the stone-carved dome wall with one leg up on it watching him with certain look. He would have to keep an eye out on this one. Something about the gaze indicated a hidden personality the other three men didn’t know about and was something Hannibal had experience with

Having a hidden personality of his own.

  It is in the middle of the night, the rain has ceased outside until leaving only pools of water on the ground in some places as Hannibal silently leaves behind the four sleeping Border Pass Guards and heads quietly to the Pass, where for the moment he soon swears he sees ghostly figure of a child – looking almost like his darling sister Mischa – then getting up into the saddle of his horse, indicates with soft click of his tongue for it to start going through the pass.

It is eerily quiet, with the wind-weathered pass looking like it is leaning in towards any travellers who come into the Pass then finally he reaches the other side to come upon a sight that has been untouched ever since Mason’s reign: large swathes of coniferous and deciduous trees spreading outwards towards towering mountains that jut out like sharp ragged teeth in the clouds of mist that surround them.

A strange sense of calm descends on Hannibal. Never has he seen such a pristine, beautiful place where Humans who once remember King Crawford’s gentle rule now fear to tread in case they incur the wrath of the now King Mason.

Slowly he begins to descend the carved path leading to the very bottom of the valley where the Ancient Beasts were still rumoured to roam and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – was said to dwell.

  “O’kaasan, what’s wrong?” Will asks, when Murasaki Kushina comes to halt at the large river – Kahaku – where glacial boulders covered in moss, lichen and tiny moths lay within the refreshing water that comes from the mountains in the far distance.

“Man!!!? We must leave!!!?” Come my children.” She replies to him, while Will finds himself gripping her fur more tightly and looks around at the trees that cover both sides of the large flowing river that goes through the forest and out towards the ocean.

Listening attentively, Will uses his special skill he had to block out all other noises and slips his eyes close to immerse himself fully. He soon hears a steady heartbeat coming from the “Man” as the strange creature his O’kaasan had called the strange creature.

He wondered:

Why had they come here to where he lived?

What purpose had brought them here?

Warning growls - bring him out of those internal questions - coming from his other siblings, making him shoot his eyes open seeing watching through some gaps of broken trees that have fallen into the large river at some point.

Until it managed to build a dam of sorts. The “Man” who soon moves from his watching point, gets up onto the broken branches and clambering over them begins to wade through the water towards them until stopping in the middle of the large river.

“Speak Human. You have come into our Forest with some purpose. Why?” Will hears his O’kaasan growling with her fangs bared in warning, while he slips off her back and keeps close to her.

Noticing how the strange “Man’s” maroon eyes stare at him – like they could stare deeply into his soul – and before he even is thinking he is front of them, while they stay still as he starts to pad around them.

Inhaling every mixture of scent coming from the strange “Man” - all unrecognisable and unidentifiable – then bringing his hands up to their shoulders, pushes the strange creature to kneel on both knees so their eye-level.

  Hannibal now kneeling on both his knees in the water of the large river, stays still when the young man – no doubt in his mind the remaining heir of the Wolftrap Legacy – leans close to his cheek inhaling deeply with curiosity at what is he to them.

He knows if he makes a wrong move, four wolves and a one of them an Ancient Beast described in Ancient Texts saying to have existed in this forest, could easily tear him to a bloodied mess.

Keeping his hands still by resting them on his lap, Hannibal doesn’t even flinch when a moist, warm tongue licks his ear to test his reaction and moves to the other – almost like the young man is starting to scent-mark him – then pulls back slightly giving him a look that means he must reciprocate.

Leaning close to the young man’s ear, he brings out his tongue to lick softly – wishing deep also he could take hold of the young man, but he doesn’t – and when finishes scent-marking the other in the way he been indicated then goes back to staying still to feel his cheeks grabbed hold of.

This forces him to tilt his head backwards, where soon sharp teeth or fangs – he can’t tell just yet – bite into his skin – not tearing but marking – drawing some blood as the action of it makes him gasp breathlessly.

Feeling his eyes flutter close, his hands come nearly up to take hold of the young man when a twig snapping underfoot breaks the gentle peace and calm and lowering his head after feeling he is suddenly his now alone sees the young man and the Wolves have left.

Another presence though makes him turn his face to look down the large river, seeing a sight he would never forget even until his and the young man’s tale had faded into history.

A lustrous coat made of Raven’s feathers, gleaming in the soft moonlight from above and antlers that seem to Hannibal’s mind extend to the very heavens then it tilts it’s head backwards bellowing heavily. It’s breath rising like fine mist into the cold, night air.

 PART 2

After finding a large hollow of a giant tree that has managed over years of growing in cliff-face until it’s large roots within have hollowed out some form of cave, Hannibal now sits up against one of large roots, twisted slightly as the tree which had been growing searched for water and nutrients.

On the cave wall are Ancient Markings of Forebearers who once in Ancient Times had lived in the forest with harmony with the Ancient Beasts illuminated by the makeshift fire he has made, while on makeshift some meat – rabbit – is being slowly roasted on a makeshift spit made from twigs.

He is calmly sketching with some charcoal a drawing of the young man with the wolves he had met – paying attention to the soft details of the youthful face and soft kissable lips – into an old drawing paper sketchpad and smiles softly when he senses a presence entering the cave.

Hannibal knows who it is and finishing off the final touches, gently closes the sketchpad to place it to one side then reaching forwards turns the makeshift spit so the meat is thoroughly cooked hearing the young man pad up to him.

Lowering his hands to his lap, after doing that task he turns slightly to face the young man with sea bluish-green eyes – deep pools of that colour that remind him of clear pools of water with sunlight filtering down from canopy of trees to shine down on them – curious and intrigued in what will happen next.

The young man still on his hands and knees, while wearing a lace white tunic of sorts and black breeches – which must have been stolen to make what he wears now – reaches for one of Hannibal’s hands. Taking hold of it, while he forgets how to breathe at the feel of tempting kissable lips brush against his wrist’s pulse followed by hint of fangs.

“Something wrong, my Love?”  He asks, before he can correct himself because they’re not Lovers and yet, he couldn’t deny the attraction he was starting to develop for this feral Wolf-Child with curly-brown locks and something else within him he just couldn’t explain what.

“No, just the way you look at me.” The young man replies to him, lifting his head with his eyes closed at first, while stilling holding Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal finds himself stroking the young man’s delicate cheekbone with feather light touches.

This makes the young man flutter his eyes open, revealing those beautiful eyes when he goes to move his hand away to sort the makeshift spit, so the meat doesn’t burn scorching him with such heat from that look, Hannibal can feel himself slowly becoming aroused then composes himself only just, asks the question.

“How do I look to you?” making the young man smile at him, replying with “As if you were deciding whether or not to eat me. Not that I’m adverse to the idea.” then goes back to nuzzling Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal starts to feel conflicted by what has been said to him.

It was true, he had a darker side to after tortured in his own homeland by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – who overthrown his father and in front of his very young eyes at 17 years of age had taken his little baby sister away, while Gruta’s men took great relish and pleasure in violating his body again and again until he been forced to accept he would starve if he did not eat the food they gave him.

Then to his ultimate horror happened to him, they brought him food and due to his weakened state Hannibal had eaten it then afterwards had discovered the food had been his own sister – slaughtered for meat.

Anger had risen in him, while he soon killed the men who had murdered his sister and as the years went by when he travelled to the land King Mason owned after overthrowing King Crawford in the shadows of alleyways and underground caverns he was given another name “The Chesapeake Ripper” - based on the mythological monster the Wendigo from Ancient Texts who ate the flesh of man.

Coming out of the harsh, cold memory he locks it away in the oubliettes of his Mind Palace and slips his hand away to check the meat on the makeshift spit – finding it is ready to eat – then taking it off the holder, rips some of the meat off and holds it out to the young man.

Sea bluish-green eyes flick to the meat and to him than back to the meat, while Hannibal sighs softly and states. “It’s not poisoned. See.” tearing the meat piece in two then eating it to show to the young man it is only rabbit meat with some wild rosemary he found growing near the cave sprinkled on top.

The young man leans upwards though taking the other half of the meat from his fingers and placing it in his mouth soon presses his lips against Hannibal’s causing him to stiffen slightly then fully relaxing, opens his mouth as the meat is soon shared between them through their mouth’s.

He finds himself starting to breathe heavily through both his nostrils, changing position each time when a warm, moist tongue laps against his and starts to entwine as they keep on eating the rabbit meat between themselves then before he is even thinking of what he is doing, Hannibal has soon pinned the feral Wolf-child to the cave floor on his blanket – he had laid out from his traveling kit - and yet, keeps his hands either side of the young man’s head.

Both are breathing heavily, while he can feel soft hands start to unlace his clothes and pulls back heavily only to soon arch slightly with a breathless hitched gasp when feels the young man leans up to bite one of his nipples through the fabric of his crème-white tunic at the sametime twisting the other nipple, so it rises and peaks under those ministrations.

His hands begin to scar into the cave floor slightly as he un-arches his back and leans over the young man still gasping breathlessly as between his thighs in the confines of breeches, Hannibal can feel the tightening pressure indicating he is slowly becoming aroused and needs to release it one way or another then moves his head back down to kiss the young man again, needing to distract himself from it.

A hand clawing down his shoulder – sharp and lethal feeling to his skin – causes him to groan heavily in machoistic pleasure as it draws some blood in the process, while a sly soft hand soon slips between his thighs to cup him through his breeches heavily and starts to unlace him teasingly slow it makes move his lips away to pant heavily in the young man’s ear.

“If…. you don’t hurry. I won’t last much longer.”

“Don’t worry….I plan to extend this for very long indeed, Hunter.”

“Not….haaa….You wee minx!!!?....not Hunter, but Hannibal.”

“Hannibal….….hmm…then evidently I should tell you mine.”

“Yes…. ahhh!!...Oh, there, you wee minx!!!”

“Will, my name is Will.”

Hannibal wonders how long he can last, while Will now slips downwards, and he find himself flinging his head backwards crying out heavily when he finds himself swallowed down into moist, hot mouth then slipping his hands downwards grips the young man’s head to hold it closer to his groin, watching the sleek curly brown head start to bob back and forth between his thighs.

His mouth agape, he finds himself fisting his hands into the blanket for support as slick, slurp noises and breathless moans, gasps, pants and whimpers fill the cave then he tenses heavily, heart pounding heavily against ribcage feeling himself cup the young man’s cheek to stroke it as the sinful moist, hot mouth swallows down his release.

Soon Hannibal falls backwards to land slightly on the tree root and his travelling pack then whimpers from overstimulation when he is forced to experience another orgasm, while the young man has managed to slip his clothes off fully leaving him only in his crème-white tunic and lace breeches wide open to fully expose him.

“Enough…. Will…Enough!!!......I…want you!!” He gasps out, chest heaving heavily with laboured gasps making the young man raise his head, some remnants of Hannibal’s seed still on his lips and crawls up to him to look at him.

“You want….me?”

“Is that so much to ask of you?”

“No…..I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…..as my….Mate.”

  “No…...I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…...as my….Mate.”

Those words echo and re-echo in Hannibal’s mind, while hands begin to peel of clothes until both are free of them as maroon eyes soon look downwards at a beautiful unblemished and un-marked body then the young man rolls into his back, getting up onto his hands and knees.

Dipping his spine in such a way, it shows the perfect curve of it and willing his heart to stop thudding against his ribcage gets over Will to fully mount him at the sametime slipping his hands down the young man’s sides to grip his hips then bends his head down to gently kiss the nape of his soon-to-be-lover.

Inhaling the natural scent of him, making Will turn to nuzzle his nose against his affectionally and stroking his cheek with one hand whispering to him. “Did you just smell me?” as Hannibal, finds himself reaching into his traveling pack to get out the glass bottle of oil – which will just have to do for what was going to happen next.

“Difficult to avoid, Myilamis, when you tempt me so much with your beautiful eyes, lips and body.” He replies in husky whisper, uncorking the bottle of healing oil with one hand and thoroughly coating his fingers in it.

“Hurry…...I want you, Hannibal.” Will whimpers, making Hannibal snarl slightly, biting down on the young man’s nape for his impatience hearing it cause a breathless moan as those fine hips push back into his groin and slipping hand down with fingers coated in the oil, cups between those fine cheeks.

He rubs his oil-coated fingers over the puckered entrance, hearing the soft breathless moans coming from the young man as he starts to spread the oil on it then slips a finger within into tight, warm insides.

Hearing Will soon give a pleasured cry and arch against him slightly, followed by the young man turning his flushed face to look at Hannibal with mouth agape in breathless pants and gasps over his shoulder.

“Please…...Hannibal?”

Kissing Will’s nape, he coats himself enough with the oil and leaning over his soon-to-be-lover or Mate has he been called pushes his hips forwards until finally become fully sheathed within tight, warm insides as he trembles heavily over Will, feeling himself arching slightly when inner muscles choose to clench around his cock in such a way it is exquisite.

“Will…. if you squeeze me like that, I’ll……cum before we even mated properly.” Hannibal pants out, feeling Will relax his inner muscles around him and yet, only start to undulate his hips back and forth into his – the urge to Mate becoming strong.

Breathless moans, harsh pants and gasps followed by skin slapping against skin fills the cave, while the scent of Mating rises into the air then a guttural cry, followed by gasping of “Oh…god!!!…. Will!!!.” and finally silence as both succumb to what they just experienced together.

 PART 3

The dawn chorus of birds singing makes Will gently curled up against his now Mate’s or Hannibal’s warm, muscular with the blanket over both their bodies, flutter his eyes open only to shoot them open as he suddenly realises what he has done and panicking heavily, wriggles free out of the older man’s grip.

“Myilamis, what’s wrong?” Hannibal asks him, reaching out for him as he flinches away from it, moving back on his and knees at the sametime a shadow covers the cave entrance to reveal the sight of his Wolf-mother – Murasaki Kushina – who flicks her gaze over to Hannibal, who he can see is now kneeling with his head bowed low.

Blondish hair falling in front of his bowed head, which nearly touches the cave floor, and something is said to his Mate. But he doesn’t understand what is said, so just watches as Hannibal reaches for his strange clothes to slip back on.

  “SILENCE, HUMAN!!!”

Hannibal standing in front of Murasaki Kushina – the Wolf Goddess, last of the Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – as she rests on top of a large boulder that juts out from large precipe carved strangely in the shape of a wolf, with it’s mouth bared open, while waterfall falls out of the mouth to tumble down into the abyss below knows he shouldn’t have angered her.

But he had to tell her at some point that Will is going to figure out he is Human of sorts and he came from the land on the other side of Border Pass, while she was not his actual Mother.

“I apologise, Murasaki Kushina-san. But you must understand King Mason wishes me to rid you of the son you have raised as though he was your own and give him the head of the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – because he believes it can cure whatever is affecting the people of his what are not his lands.”  Hannibal apologises to her, remembering when he had seen the beautiful creature at night looking straight at him.

Like it could see deep into his soul. And maybe it could see deep into his soul – see the deep secret he was keeping hidden from other humans around him, about the mark on his arm shaped as golden ferns with black flowers growing on them that if people saw it they would think he had the strange Plague that was spreading through the land of King Mason.

“You must leave, Human. If you came back here to this land, I will rip of your head. Do you understand?” She snarls at him, causing him to lift his head up to stare into those eyes of her’s and finds himself replying. “And leave Will behind. He is Human and Heir of the Wolf-trap Legacy.” Then shouts the rest of the words at her, feeling the anger rising in him.

“HOW LONG DO YOU THINK YOU KEEP HIM LIKE THIS!!! EYES UNCLOUDED FROM WHAT IS STARTING TO HAPPEN!!!”

“ENOUGH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I HAVE DONE TO PROTECT HIM!!! HIS MOTHER DIED GIVING BIRTH TO HIM AND IF I LEFT HIM HE WOULD HAVE DIED HIMSELF AS A BABE!!!!”

A snarl escapes from Murasaki Kushina, bearing her fangs with dripping saliva and getting up from her perch, jumps down to lunge towards him biting straight down into his shoulder with them – going through muscle and bone.

Blood soon spurts upwards into the air, covering the ground with crimson petals as Hannibal feels himself being pushed backwards to the edge of carved precipe. This forces him to brace his feet apart and place his hands on her muzzle trying to make her see some sense of reason when he suddenly feels he is right at the edge of the precipe of the carved stone wolf’s snout.

“O’KAASAN!!!? NO!!!!?

A shout – Will shouting – makes Murasaki Kushina immediately still in nearly pushing Hannibal off the edge, while he feels himself soon being turned and flung heavily down the jutted precipe causing the blood from his shoulder to smear down the stone.

Covering it slightly in gleaming path of crimson, while he rolls down the arched stone-carved neck of the stone Wolf coming to the bottom where he finds himself hitting a tree branch that had fallen over at some point – a long time ago – with a sickening thud.

He goes to get up, seeing Will has gotten in front of him on his hands and knees looking different from before – his hands have become sharp claws and fangs have unsheathed – and hearing snarling coming from his Lover.

Murasaki Kushina, her muzzle still covered in his own blood looks between them both – to her own adopted son and to Hannibal – making him lower his head slightly, wishing it hadn’t been in this kind of way as she says to him. “What have you done!!!!?”

She pads close, only for Will to get in front of him as the young man’s voice starts to come out in warning snarls for her to back off and hackles raised, while sea bluish-green eyes have become like swirling tempest then something glinting out of the corner of his eye, makes Hannibal try and get up - even though he is deeply wounded.

He watches the iron bullet - that come from a rifle – in slow motion impact into her shoulder, shattering it to an explosion of bone, muscle and blood making Murasaki Kushina stumble backwards only slightly as he manages to hold Will back for his own safety then a loud bang echoes in the air around them, one Hannibal recognises as a fire-cannon – lit by a piece of charcoal causing a reaction to allow the iron ball to explode out towards whoever the weapon had been pointed at.

It slams into the Wolf-Goddess with such force, her large body falls off the precipe of the stone-carved wolf into the raging white-frothed waters of the waterfall that tumbles out of the open mouth down into the rising mist that comes up from the abyss.

Will manages to wriggle out of his grasp, rushing over to edge to look down at the sametime Hannibal – who had taken his crossbow with him, when Murasaki Kushina had asked to talk to him – sensing the person hiding in the foliage of the bushes and trees, kneels up bringing it up then quickly fires an iron arrow to where he can see the hidden Hunter hiding.

It causes a cry to become half-choked one, when it hits and blood spurts up slightly to land on the ground illuminated slightly to indicate he got whoever they had been then immediately drops it when the pain in his shredded wound reminds him he must get to his traveling pack – where healing herbs where in it.

At the sametime, he suddenly hears Will emit a blood-curdling howl – head tilted backwards to expose his throat – of such pure grief, pain and anguish it penetrates deeply into Hannibal’s soul.

Emotions he had locked away after Mischa’s death to become released from the confines of the oubliettes he put them in and allows for single solitary tear to run down his cheek then because of the blood-loss he is experiencing, he feels himself falling to one side with a muffled thump.

His breathing starts to come in laboured gasps, while Will who is still in his Wolf-like state comes over to him starting to nudge him to try make him keep his eyes open as he hears his Lover whining heavily – not able to speak – at him.

“It’s alright, Will. I want…leave…. you…...It’s alright….”

Hannibal manages to say, before darkness sweeps in like raven’s wings and covers his vision as he sinks into unconscious state.

  In the centre of the forest, where the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – dwells, is a large island with giant sequoia growing on it as the roots of the large tree reach beneath the earth and into the lake, while it is the island that Will now leads Hannibal’s horse – Cersai – with Hannibal on her bare back, until they finally both reach it.

Reaching up with his hands, Will pulls Hannibal off her bare back into the water pulling his Mate over to soft bed of moss, where wildflowers – rare and unknown to any Human eye – grow then sunlight soon filters down from through the large gap of the ring of trees to shine down on the three figures – a horse, a young man with Wolf-blood running through his veins and Hunter who was now his Mate and had captured his heart.

  Blackness like ink from inkwell surrounds Hannibal Lecter as the man lays calmly on the bed of moss, surrounded by wildflowers as little Kodoma start to appear curious and intrigued by him then sit around him – some on the moss-covered rocks and others on the roots of the Great Sequoia.

A tinkling noise echoes in the air, followed by leaf from way above starting to float gently downwards swaying and dancing in the soft breeze until finally it lands in the clear lake water to be blown gently across as the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag.

The Kodoma seeing their Lord, head away and up the tree in trail of white until finally disappearing leaving the area empty of them.

It begins to walk, bringing down it’s cloven each-time onto the lake water causing golden ripples to spread outwards on the water until it finally comes up to Hannibal, looking down at him.

Black eyes seeming to show a multitude of a field of stars in them, while it soon bends its fine head down to touch it’s snout to the ragged shoulder wound allowing for golden ripple to spread outwards over it then pulls back, seeing the Curse mark from an Ancient Beast turned into a Daemon on the Hunter’s wrist whispering into the man’s mind:

You must find a way to heal that yourself, Lord Hannibal Lecter of the Dvaras Line.

Then finished with the task it has done of healing the ragged shoulder wound made by the fangs of Murasaki Kushina – Ancient Beast and Last of the Wolf Clan – tilts it’s head upwards to the canopy of ringed trees as it body starts to change.

 In the canopy of the ringed trees, little white Kodama begin to appear watching their Lord, who has now become the Spirit-Walker of Moon – who is also known as the Ravenstag when it is day – and slowly one by one their heads begin to click back and forth, while Spirit-Walker of the Moon starts to walk making the gentle breeze become a strong wind.

This moves the tops of the large swathes of the trees all around in the forest back and forth like waves going back and forth on the sea-shore, while the little white Kodoma move with the wind as Spirit-Walker begins its nightly vigil.

   You must find a way to heal that yourself, Lord Hannibal Lecter of the Dvaras Line.”

Weakly fluttering his eyes open, Hannibal hears that phrase that been whispered to him in the dream or had it been a dream echo until dissipating like it never existed as laughter – child-like – fills his ears, followed by a voice saying his name. “Hannebae.”  then finds himself hoarsely whispering the spirit's name "Mischa" 

 She giggles softly, her laughter soft and light. Just like it had been when she been alive, while he goes to get up only to wince heavily when his wounded shoulder protests making him place a hand to it. Only to feel where there had been a ragged wound is now healed flesh - like Murasaki Kushina had never sunk her fangs - then lays back down, while Mischa comes up to sit in front of him.

He tries to understand:

Why had the Spirit of the Forest - the Ravenstag - healed him in this way?

But why?

And for what purpose?

Soft, little hands cupping his cheeks makes him look at the spirit of his sister Mischa and smiling softly, rests his forehead against her's - like he used do when they were children then understand he was been given a chance to say goodbye to her.

As he hadn’t had when she had been murdered by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – and pulling back, strokes her cheek lightly with the back of his knuckles as her beautiful eyes inherited from their mother seem to sparkle with happiness at being allowed before she moves onto the Spirit World that she can say goodbye to him and Hannibal to her.

“Goodbye, sweet little Mischa.”

He whispers hearing her whispered reply of “Hannebae.” allowing for the tear that has formed to run down his cheek to plip onto the grass where her Spirit had been then lowering his hands down to his lap, senses his mare – Cersai – come up to from where she had been grazing.

Nudging his head lightly with her snout, making him bring his hand up to go and cup her cheek, when he stiffens at the sight of the mark on his wrist making him lower it to unlace his tunic sleeve seeing as he un-wraps the bandage that covers it – seeing the gold ferns with black flowers on them has spread more.

The Curse Mark came from an Ancient Boar God who due to iron bullet made by Mason’s Blacksmith Francis Dolerhyde – the man not knowing the weapons he made would be used to get rid of the Ancient Beasts in the Northern Lands – become a Plague Monster – a seething mass of hatred, rage and anger.

It had nearly destroyed the village he been staying in, before traveling to Baltimore, Maryland and knowing the cost of becoming permanently cursed if he allowed it to gore him in any way Hannibal had killed it – severing its life.

But it had managed to wound and curse by stabbing one of it’s tusks into his lower abdomen before he had done so, spreading the Curse it carried into his bloodstream and so creating within him The Chesapeake Ripper.

The Wise Woman of the village in the Western Land, who had experienced a vision of this event happening had told him he must leave before he affects the whole village by mindlessly slaughtering them in a bloodlust fury.

Leaving the village behind he had also left his betrothed-to-be Miriam Lass – the Village Chief’s daughter – and remembers how she was always curious and investigating into things she really shouldn’t have.

She had given him just before he left, both of her curved crystal daggers forcing him to not break his promise that if he found a cure he would return to her because she was his Betrothed.

The daggers were made from crystal mined from the caves near the Village in the Western Land – sharp and deadly, while glinting with many hues of dark purple, emerald and purple.

Deciding not to dwell on those memories, he lays back down feeling still drained of energy and sorting the bandage rolls his sleeve back down then just stares up at the canopy of the ringed trees, seeing the wispy white clouds spreading outwards in the light blue sky.

  Sunlight streams down through the canopies of the mixed trees, illuminating certain patches of ground as Will comes to the edge of large lake occupied by a large island with a Giant Sequoia.

He heads over to some moss-covered stones jutting out of the water gently bounding across them leaving only a light footprint in his wake.  It soon disappears as the moss springs back.

His Mate Hannibal is awake, resting on a moss-bed surrounded by wildflowers as Cersai – his dappled grey white mare is lying beside him on his left-hand side. Hannibal must have sensed him or heard him in some way, because the man rises slightly up on his elbows giving a smile – a weak one, but still a smile – then getting on his hands and knees, pads up to the man.

  Rising slightly up onto his elbows, Hannibal sits up instead when Will indicates the Scent-marking Ritual so tilting his head backwards exposes his neck to allow himself to be scent-mark it then when that is done, does the same to his young lover.

“Are you hungry?” I brought some food.” Will asks him – after they have affectionally nuzzled against each-other – reaching into a makeshift pouch-bag made from rabbit skins – dried and tanned in the sun – to bring out some dry-cured meat.

He watches place it in his own mouth, chewing it and placing his hands-on Hannibal’s shoulders leans towards him to feed him this way - the meat transferred by mouth to mouth, until he feels his strength slowly starting to return then notices Will has slid one hand down to place it on his abdomen.

"Will, what's wrong? Is your stomach hurting?" Hannibal asks, going to reach when a warning growl coming from Will's Wolf-sister makes him lower his hand and look over to her.

"Do not touch. Unless you are willing to submit by exposing your belly." She says, making him look to his young lover for confirmation if he should and Will silently nods to him.

Managing to move, he lays on his side to expose his belly like he has been asked and waits for Will to indicate to him he has passed the… test… tasked him with then his hand is taken hold of and placed on his young lover’s abdomen.

“Hannibal, I’m pregnant. I’ve conceived your child as it seems when we mated the Crescent moon was in the sky. It means for Wolves that it is Mating Season.” Will tells him, with tear-filled eyes filled with tears of happiness, joy and gladness they were having a family.

Will was bearing. His young lover with Wolf-blood in his veins was pregnant with his child or children and find himself trembling heavily because he knows he must tell Will also about the Curse-mark he bears.

“Will….” He begins to say, when Will’s three Wolf-brothers suddenly appear from the other side of the shoreline and after bounding across the stones, surround them as Hannibal sees they are looking over to the densest part of the shoreline.

Great hulking shadows move into the sunlight streaming down to reveal thousands of boars being led by one who could be a leader of some kind.

“Boars from the Western Lands.” One of Will’s Wolf-brother’s – Hiharo – says and asks a question, which even Hannibal can’t answer now. “Why have they come here?”

Had the Strange Plague reached the Western lands without his knowledge?

Hannibal feels concerned now at seeing the sight of Boars that knew roamed the forests of the Western lands and notices one is looking at him.

 “I am Will of the Murasaki Kushina Clan. Why have you come to here?”

Hannibal standing close to his young lover, who has introduced himself to the Boar Leader, who stands with a large herd of thousand strong Warrior Boars – whispering among themselves as why a Human was in the Northern Lands, home of the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag.

“I am Ouras, second-in-command of Lord Jakkoto’s Boar Clan.” The Boar – Ouras - replies, followed looking over to Hannibal and back to Will, asking the young man a question. “Why is a Human here than…in this forest?”

“Hannibal is my….Mate. He was badly wounded, so the Spirit of the Forest healed him” Will replies, causing Ouras to stare at him with widened eyes and turns his gaze back to Hannibal saying the next words in sneering tone, so his young lover can hear them.

“Then why didn’t the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – save the Queen of our Clan. Because your…..Mate….murdered her in cold blood without mercy.”

“HOW DARE YOU, PIG!!!!”

Hannibal hears his young lover’s Wolf-sister – Chiyoh – snarling with fangs bared, making him step in front of her and rolling his tunic sleeve down then unwraps the bandage to reveal to Ouras and everyone else – including Will – the Curse-mark.

“YOUR LYING!!!! THAT DID NOT HAPPEN TO OUR QUEEN!!!”

“OURAS, ENOUGH. SILENCE YOUR TONGUE THIS INSTANT!!!”

Everything goes still. All the Boars bowing their heads low as Ouras – now ashamed of his actions – does the same and pads back so not incur the wrath of the Great Boar God, last of his kind and one of the Ancient Beasts mentioned in Ancient times – the Lord Jakkoto.

The large Boar towers above all other Boars and a normal-sized Human, while coming up to Hannibal who soon notices Lord Jakkoto is blind in both eyes.

Placing his hand on the Boar’s snout, he stays still as Lord Jakkoto deeply inhales to read everything from the Curse-mark then satisfied the large Boar steps back from him, while Hannibal now waits.

“The…Human did not kill her Queen.” Lord Jakkoto says to his Clan-members, while Will comes over to Hannibal and wraps his arms around his waist then taking a deep breath, Hannibal begins to tell the story.

He tells of the Tribal Village in the Western Lands where he stayed during his travels, which had suddenly become attacked one by an Ancient Beasts who had become a Plague Beast – a seething mass of anger, rage and hate – and would have destroyed everything in it’s path of Hannibal hadn’t killed it.

It was only afterwards, he found out that it had been a female Boar Goddess affected by an Iron bullet used by King Mason’s men. The weapons he found out were used to kill Ancient Beasts.

“Lord Jakkoto, I am sorry for taking the life of your Mate and Queen of your Clan.” He apologises, hearing many of the Boars of the Clan start to cry heavily at the fact their Queen had succumbed to something they had heard only rumours about.

#Hannigram fan-fic #Studio Ghibli AU

[frighthouseofalighthouse]

All weird asks!! They're so good!

Sorry this is a bit late, babe! I wanted to wait til I had the opportunity to answer all these uninterrupted!

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

Coffee mugs! tbh I drink tea out of coffee mugs because who actually uses teacups? I mean my grandma has tons and I would use them, but the handles are so tiny and I am v clumsy so it scares me.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Chocolate bars!!! I’m too impatient for lollipops and plus they always get coated in saliva which just...drips down my chin since my mouth is already full.

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Bubblegum! I love cotton candy but I can only handle a bit at a time tbh. Also I haven’t had bubblegum in almost two years bc of braces and I miss it so much I can’t wait to have it again.

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Okay, so even though I’ve always been homeschooled, when I was in elementary school we did this program with a ton of other homeschoolers where you could take actual classes and stuff. My teachers always said I was quiet and focused and studious, and you could always count on me to be lecturing everyone else on the instructions if they hadn’t been paying attention. (does any of that surprise anyone?)

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? GLASS SODA BOTTLES. nothing beats soda that’s been bottled in glass rather than plastic. You ever had orange cream soda from a glass bottle????? SLAPS ASS MY DUDE.

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

Pastel/boho/preppy/goth, my dude. I have so many sides to my fashion and aesthetic.

7. earbuds or headphones?

EARBUDS BC HEADPHONES NEVER FIT OVER MY EARS RIGHT. BUT EARBUDS WITH SOFT TIPS BECAUSE MY EARS ARE TOO SMALL FOR THE PLASTIC ONES.

8. movies or tv shows?

Tv shows tbh because even though I can binge 4 eps of 45 minutes each per night, they’ll hold my attention a lot more than a movie. It’s weird.

9. favorite smell in the summer?

Thunderstorms/petrichor, also natural bogs. PEAT BOG SMELL FUCKING SLAPS.

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

None. I liked trampoline time back when we took gymnastics, if that counts. I also liked jump roping and Irish step dancing.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

Nothing lmao. I sleep til like noon and then I microwave something for lunch.

12. name of your favorite playlist?

My catchall playlist, Things I Love, my summer playlist, Summer Songs, my Gryffindor playlist, My Queen And Country playlist for writing, and my playlist for The Raven Cycle. (after I post this I’ll edit it and link them)

13. lanyard or key ring?

Keyring, a lanyard would like constantly detract from my outfit if that makes sense???

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Sour Patch Kids or Swedish Fish.

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

Between The Grapes Of Wrath, The Great Gatsby, The Handmaid’s Tale, and To Kill A Mockingbird!

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

Just fucking sprawled every which way.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

My grey converse if it’s comfortable out, my silver flip flops if it’s hot, and my fur-lined black combat boots if it’s cold.

18. ideal weather?

65-70 degrees, partly sunny, breezy, not humid.

19. sleeping position?

I need to sprawl to fall asleep, but once I’m asleep I curl up into a little ball.

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

Laptop and notebook ONLY IF I’m sure of myself, which isn’t often. But I do write dense, scribbled paragraphs on sermon note pages if something comes to me during church lmao.

21. obsession from childhood?

The American Revolution, weather, astronomy, and mysteries/ghost stories.

22. role model?

Idk tbh? Lately I’m just trying to define and live up to my own standards?

23. strange habits?

Pulling the collar of my shirt up to my mouth and sucking on it. Also being a perfectionist in my writing. I don’t do messy drafts. It’s all perfect by the time I write it, and I edit/spellcheck as I go.

24. favorite crystal?

Amethyst (my birthstone), bismuth, opal, and blue goldstone.

25. first song you remember hearing?

Other than nursery rhymes/kid’s songs, it was Light Up The Sky by The Afters, or California Dreamin’ by The Mamas And The Papas.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Find shade/a cool spot and read with a cold drink.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

ALSO READ. And snuggle with thick socks and a cup of tea and play DS games all day.

28. five songs to describe you?

My five faves atm -

I Am Here // Pink

The Pines // Roses and Revolutions

Soldier, Poet, King // The Oh Hellos

Traveler’s Song // Aviators

Hymn // Kesha

29. best way to bond with you?

Share my interests about politics, history, books, true crime, paranormal, tv shows, and also be kind and understanding when I don’t text for long periods bc I don’t feel up to talking.

30. places that you find sacred?

The woods on the hill behind my house. Dense, deeply green, secluded woods. Hedge mazes. Old and crumbling castles. Anywhere beneath a clear sky and a full moon. Your heart when you’ve come to terms with your fears and made peace with yourself. Anyplace with historical significance. Bookstores on an autumn/winter day. Libraries.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

A kickass plaid, bruh. Also my leather jacket - once I lose enough shoulder weight to fit in it again.

32. top five favorite vines?

Fre shavoc ado, the one where the dog eats the butterfly, the Lin-Manuel Miranda one where he’s brainstorming, “what the FUCK kind of weather is this, and the dad and son with the saxophone and the oven door.

33. most used phrase in your phone?

“oh mood”

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

“WOW! It’s NatureStone!”

35. average time you fall asleep?

Right now it’s 4-5 am because I suck.

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

I Can Haz Cheezburger, My mom used to look at the website with me when I was like 10.

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

They both have pros and cons. :/ Duffel bags are easier to carry but suitcases keep stuff from getting broken better.

38. lemonade or tea?

TEAAAAAAAAAAAA

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Lemon meringue pie!!! my stepdad made a really good one the other week.

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

Nothing, since I was homeschooled. Same weird shit that always happens at home. Our safe word for when I got overwhelmed in math was “quokka” and we’d stop and look at cute quokka pictures.

41. last person you texted?

My gf :)

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

Jacket pockets because things are not only hard to fit in girls’ pants pockets, but if you put a chapstick/lipstick in there it starts to melt :(

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

BETWEEN HOODIE AND CARDIGAN. SO VERSATILE. SO COMFY.

44. favorite scent for soap?

Irish Spring soap or the blue Dial bars smells better and cleaner than anything to me.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy. It can take me a bit to get into it, but once I do, I love it. I only do sci-fi if it has rebellion and isn’t heavy on the sci. And superhero movies are great but a lot of the tropes are meh. Fantasy has a lot more versatility if you ask me.

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Sweatpants/leggings and a soft, well worn tee.

47. favorite type of cheese?

Parmesan, white cheddar, or Muenster.

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Raspberry!

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

“do no harm but take no shit.”

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

A really poorly edited political ad on tv a couple years ago. There was weird jazz playing, flames in the background of an image of the Capitol Building, and then the top of the dome opened and this guy’s face was inside. It is the single funniest ad I have ever seen and I laughed for 10 minutes so hard I was like an inch away from passing out.

51. current stresses?

Passing my driving test next month, getting a job, figuring out if my math skills are okay enough to take the SAT or an equivalent test.

52. favorite font?

Baskerville or Georgia!

53. what is the current state of your hands?

My fingernails are short bc I picked them while reading earlier, my cuticles suck bc I pick at those two, and my pinky is obliterated and scabbed because of when I accidentally sliced through the nail with a razor while shaving the other day. So, not great, but I’m living.

54. what did you learn from your first job?

That kids can be really annoying but also really cute and hilarious if you can get them to calm down. And also that baby fingernails are surprisingly sharp.

55. favorite fairy tale?

The OG Princess and the Frog where it’s implied the prince and “faithful Henry,’ his carriage driver, fall in love and ride off together at the end. JACOB AND WILHELM GRIMM SAID GAY RIGHTS.

56. favorite tradition?

Every December, my mom and I drive around after dark at night and I play Pokemon and we rate everyone’s Christmas decorations based on tackiness.

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

So isolated I was as a preteen/early teenager, my self harm, and the internalized anger over my abusive relationship and PTSD.

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

Writing, puzzle solving, singing, and calligraphy.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“Benvoli-no.” (I recently remembered I used to say that a lot and I need to bring it back)

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Dark, fairy tale anime with a lot of secrets to uncover and some dark woods.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

TV show - “I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself.” - Doctor Who

Movie - “It’s not about deserve. It’s about what you believe. And I believe in love.” - Wonder Woman

Book - “If you never saw the stars, candles were enough.” - The Dream Thieves, by Maggie Stiefvater

62. seven characters you relate to?

Dean Winchester - Supernatural

Sam Winchester - Supernatural

Jack Kline Winchester - Supernatural

Charlie Bradbury - Supernatural

Gansey - The Raven Cycle

Blue Sargent - The Raven Cycle

Hermione Granger - Harry Potter

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Final Song // MO

Call Home // Heathers

I Am Here // Pink

Babylon // 5 Seconds of Summer

Shake It Off // Taylor Swift

64. favorite website from your childhood?

WEBKINZ AND THE OLD AMERICAN GIRL WEBSITE

65. any permanent scars?

Yes, I have several that remain from self harm, scars all over my left knee from being a clumsy child, and most of all a major scar down the center of my chest from heart surgery when I was a baby.

66. favorite flower(s)?

Rose, lavender, lilac, and dahlia.

67. good luck charms?

Not really???

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

Olives, mushrooms, radishes, cottage cheese, and ranch dressing are all foul.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

Martin Luther didn’t actually nail his 95 theses to the church door, he just kind of passed them around, which is a lot less dramatic tbh. Also light-up signs were first used in New York City in 1884.

70. left or right handed?

I’m left-handed!

71. least favorite pattern?

I think zebra stripes, leopard print, and houndstooth are super ugly.

72. worst subject?

Math for sure. Even science would be easier if it didn’t involve so much math.

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

Wendy’s fries and chocolate frosty!!!

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

I think a 7, usually. My pain tolerance is pretty high because of a) years of self harm, and b) due to my PTSD my muscles are constantly tense and in pain anyway.

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I was 4, and it had been loose but it fell out when I was trying to blow up an inflatable ball.

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

Fries or roasted potatoes that are charred and crunchy on the bottom. Chips are a close third.

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

Idk, my grandma’s the one with the green thumb mania lmao. But She keeps a lot of violets and arrowhead plants in the windowsills!

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

NEITHER I HATE BOTH COFFEE AND SUSHI IN ALL CIRCUMSTANCES.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

Never had a school ID, but my temporary license photo is actually pretty good right now!

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

I really like earth tones for myself.

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

THEY ARE THE SAME MF THING. Also I call them both, it just depends on what comes out of my mouth haha.

82. pc or console?

PC, I guess, though I don’t really game. I just watch my stepdad game.

83. writing or drawing?

WRITING. I cannot draw to save my life.

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Podcasts, talk radio is so annoying.

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Barbie, although I loved both.

85. fairy tales or mythology?

Mythology I guess??? Although again, I love both.

86. cookies or cupcakes?

COOKIESSSSS

87. your greatest fear?

Rejection, losing people I love, people secretly hating me. Also drowning, spiders, clowns, and guns.

88. your greatest wish?

To be a semi-successful author and work in a library/museum.

89. who would you put before everyone else?

My mom and my gf.

90. luckiest mistake?

Almost dropping a knife blade first on my foot but it landed between my toes.

91. boxes or bags?

um boxes I guess? I’m really good at fitting things in tetris style.

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

FAIRY LIGHTS AND DIM YELLOW LAMPS.

93. nicknames?

Ell, Alexander, Ellie, Little Lion, and Nerd.

94. favorite season?

FALL FALL FALL FALL

95. favorite app on your phone?

Tumblr or Spotify. Two apps I couldn’t live without.

96. desktop background?

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

About a half dozen. Mine, my mom’s, my stepdad’s, my grandparents’ home number, my grandpa’s, and my grandma’s.

98. favorite historical era?

Both the American Revolutionary period and the Victorian Era (esp in Britain)

THANK YOU LOVE THIS WAS SUPER FUN

#a series of essays anonymously published

[askdawnandvern]

A Lamb Among Wolves CH:2

Chapter Two: Culture Clash

"When talking about the history of the Great Northern wolves there were a great deal of elements I neglected to cover. Mostly I had set aside that section to purely discuss the history of the mammals in question, their rise to power and vilification when it came to sheep. I had made brief mentions of things such as 'packs', and spiritual visions but didn't delve into them in greater detail. This is because there was far to much to explain without dedicating a section to these subjects on their own. I felt that mixing the detailed explanation of cultural beliefs and practices of the Great Northern Wolves and their history would end up muddying them both. I also felt it would perhaps make these sections far too long. After all the bulk of this novel is supposed to be about myself and Vernon, and our relationship. But I felt it was important to educate those who choose to read this novel on the hardships that were set-upon us by virtue of the species we were born into. Without that preface, it would be difficult for an outsider to glean all the social and historical bindings  working against us. So let us begin by tackling just what a 'pack means when speaking in terms of the Great north Wolves."

"The ancient North Wolves social structure during it's hunting and gathering days were made up  something called a 'pack'. These packs usually consisted of family members. The leaders, which were known as Alphas, were usually the parents of the litter that would fill the other roles of the pack. Then there were the Betas, which were essentially the most dominant offspring of the pack just under the Alphas. They would assist the Alphas in protecting the pack and hunting parties. The wolves below the level of Beta were left un-classified. While the males still fought and hunted with the rest of the pack, they differed to the stronger siblings in choices made among the family. Once the pups were fully matured, they would leave to find a mate and make a pack of their own while the Betas usually remained to take over the pre-existing pack after the death of the Alphas."

"With evolution and the complications of culture came a shift in pack structure. Packs became more than just family clans, and extended to outside wolves who either 'tithed-in' to the pack, or had sworn allegiance to it for mutual benefits. The title of Alpha Male was given to the smartest and strongest wolf of the pack. The Alpha female was chosen much the same way, but more often than not they were the mate of the pack Alpha male. However in some circumstances the title was bestowed upon those the wolves saw as 'seers'. The Beta class now went to describe the right-hand mammal of the Alpha, his royal court and military strategists and generals. Below that fell the rest of the pack wolves, but it now extended to all the wolves in community the pack lead. This status was also extended to the few mammals who agreed to live under wolf rule, sheep included."

"Oddly enough the mammals that lived under wolf rule, whether it was before or after the death of the 'pack' and the founding of Greater and Lesser Norwulff were treated almost the same by the wolves as the wolves treated each-other. The only catch was that during the days of pack structure these mammals were in-eligible to rise to the ranks of Beta or Alpha. The sheep who lived under wolf control, regardless of the fact that they were prey lived much as they did before the wolves took over, and in most cases ended up having a better standard of living under the North Wolves. After the death of the pack, several even became part of the Düclaw royal council. These sheep who lived under the control of wolves are often referred to today as "The Shepherded Flocks". The term Shepherd being coined to describe sheep being lead by non-sheep."

"Today pack roles play no part in Norwulff's modern politics, and most wolves of Norwulff ancestry pay little attention to the old system. However the terms Alpha and Beta, and Omega which I will discuss later, are still used in pop-culture and part of modern wolf vernacular."

"Another element that helped shape the direction of North Wolf development was their spiritual beliefs. We touched briefly on the important roles played by those the North Wolves deigned as 'seers' in the short write-up on the history of the species, but never really went over them. As I mentioned the 'seers' were those thought to have a direct link to the gods and goddesses of the ancient wolves. In the case of the Düclaw's they spoke to the Goddess Freyja, who represented fertility, and the God Oldwyin, who represented glorious victory. These gods, among others ruled over a great hall where all of the greatest fallen wolf warriors came to rest. But the god believed to be responsible for those chosen as a 'seer' was the Great Lupa, or the goddess of the moon who was in effect the moon itself . The seers were believed to see the future, and their prayers were given priority to all others as their voice were the rare few that could reach the hallowed halls where the gods resided. But the nature of the visions were fickle, and so the wolves could not constantly rely on these seers to predict every victory, defeat, famine or otherwise."

"Those responsibilities fell to the Goddess Lupa, and by that I mean the moon. Ancient wolves knelt to the moon above all gods, and it remains one of the few icons that hold reverence among modern wolves. She was, and still is by some believed to be the soul of the first den mother, the origin of all wolves, who flies across the sky each night to watch over her children. The phases and colors of the moon ruled over the functions of Norwulff society and the choices made in regards to most heavy decisions. The lunar phases and seasons told the wolves when to plant, reap, mate, of good and bad omens, and even what the next season would bring. When the wolves went to war, a full moon over the battlefield was an assurance of blessings and victory. Wolves often howled to the moon specifically in a sort of prayer. These prayers could range from health, to wealth, a good hunt, finding a proper mate and so on."

"Which reminds me, I never went over 'howling', that trait so nearly unique to wolves that it has become somewhat of a joke today. Howling among the wolves of old was a form of emotional communication, and is largely practiced for the same reasons today. Wolves howl for a variety of reasons, to express joy, sorrow, fear, excitement, ecstasy, (Note to self, might want to remove 'ecstasy' from final draft.) and so forth. As Vernon himself told me, it's a left over trait from ancient wolves. The urge to howl is brought on by strong emotions, and is hard to suppress. When a howl is sounded, it is like a call of solidarity. And when other wolves hear it, those same urges drive them to respond. Most wolves can tell by the tone of a howl exactly what the emotion being expressed is, despite it sounding all the same to pretty much any other mammal. I also know from personal accounts that a distressed howl can often draw wolves to another's aide. (Thank you Wade.) Unfortunately, due to how easy it is to egg-on a howl by outside species, howling has become somewhat of an embarrassment to most wolves."

"Anyway, back on topic. Today, the lunar phases still play an important role in the descendant of the Norwulves today. When it comes to important deals, pacts and 'tithing' ceremonies wolves prefer to officiate them under the glow of the full moon in the belief it that unions and agreements formed under it would be blessed to succeed."

"Now, on to 'tithing', just what it is it? The closest equivalent I can make to what a tithing ceremony is to wolves, is what a marriage is to caprids. However unlike marriage, it involves neither rings nor a state official to perform."

The ancient form of ‘tithing’ was deeply ingrained in the pack culture of the Great North Wolves. The ceremony was the way in which not only two wolves were tied together as mates, but it had the dual effect of committing their consummate packs to one another. It was the way in which packs grew and expanded outside of conquest, and most members of the pack were heavily involved in the ceremony. The first step in seeking a tithing ritual was getting approval by the highest ranking member of each pack that were blood relatives of the wolves to be mated, usually the parents. With the approval of both parties’ parents the ritual is then performed.”        

           “The ceremony is limited to the blood relatives of each pack, which assemble at night preferably under the full moon. At the head of the ceremony stands to couple, flanked by the assenting blood relatives from each side. On the outskirts the rest of the pack watches as each of the approving pack leaders recite the ancient rite, which goes as follows.”

                       “We come here to witness the tithing of two souls. They shall be bound by their love, by their strength, by their joy and by their sorrows. The souls which inhabit these mammals will be forever connected, and even in death and beyond they shall always return to one another. With the permission of the pack Alphas, the rite shall commence.”      

“At that point, the two be tithed once again ask for approval from the pack heads, and with final approval the ceremony continues. This is where it gets a bit unconventional, and perhaps to you readers a bit savage. At this stage, the Alphas each produce a small dagger that is given to each of the tithing wolves. One makes a diagonal cut in the palm of their right paw, and the other the left while holding them over a collecting bowl. The cut is made deliberately deep enough to scar, but not enough to require stitching. Once a small sample of each of the wolf’s  blood is collected, they are mixed together. At that point the mammal are instructed to clasp each-other’s wounded paws together, allowing their fresh wounds to mesh together. Today, the bloodletting has been completely removed from the ceremony. Instead, the blades have been done away with. The mixed blood has been replaced with a special dye that is used to tattoo the palms of each wolf with representations of the moon. From there, regardless of method the following rite is spoken.”

“Through these wounds, through our blood, are souls are connected. For now and for always.”

           “The pair are then presented with the blood bowl, which they use to paint a half circle symbol on each-other’s foreheads. These symbols are meant to represent ‘The Great Lupa’ and the two halves of their souls making a whole. In modern blood free ceremonies, a powdered dye is used.”

           “It is then that each of the couple each recites the following.”

                       “The pact is sealed, and with it our packs become one. I pledge my eternal love and devotion to you (insert mates name). I swear to protect you, to…to…”

Dawn groaned. She had been over this several times with Vernon already, but couldn't remember the whole 'tithing' rite word for word. And of course now that the pair were on the subway the ewe couldn't easily get to the meticulous hand written notes that were crammed beneath mounds of clothing in their respective suitcases. Dawn let out a derisive sigh, slowly leaning back toward the adjacent seat. She continued to lean until she felt the back of her head gently press against what assumed was Vernon’s arm.

“Hmm…?” Came a mumbled reply, confirming Dawn had indeed leaned on the wolf she was aiming for.

“Oh, sorry Vernon, were you napping?” Dawn asked.

“Little bit.” Dawn turned to find the wolf starting to stretch, he raised an arm, bracing it with the other as he stretched out. His muzzle opening wide and his tongue curling as he let out a prolonged yawn.

“I honestly don’t know how you can nap on the subway.” Dawn chuckled. “I find it so noisy.”

The wolf awkwardly scratched his head, his ears cocking in different directions.

“I try to zero in on that hum it makes while it’s moving; it’s comforting in a way.” The wolf said groggily. “Our stop coming up?”

“No.” Dawn shook her head. “We’ve still got a few more stops before we hit Haymarket.” Dawn sighed, adjusting the tilt of her laptop screen for better visibility.

Vernon glanced out the window as the hum of subway whined down. It slowed to a stop as it came in at another station on the Rainforest line, The wolf watched the mammals disembark and board the train for a bit as if to affirm Dawn’s conclusion before turning back to her in mild confusion.

“So why’d you wake me? Gettin' lonely?” the wolf gave her a nudge and sly smirk.

Dawn returned his grin in equal earnest, fluttering her eyelashes at the wolf.

“Oh I’m always lonely if I don't have you to talk to Puppy.” She laughed as she pulled her laptop off the seat and onto her lap. Gingerly tapping her hoof against the screen she glanced back up at Vernon.

“I need help with the ‘tithing ceremony.’” Dawn said. “I’v-

“Oh-hoh-ho.” Vernon crossed his arms. “ Why Floofs, are you proposin' ?” Vernon grinned down at the ewe smugly.

Dawn felt heat flush to her cheeks in an instant. Turning her head away to hide the severity of her blush, she shielded the edge of her face from sight with a hoof.

“Veeeernon!” Dawn yelped, dragging out the length of his name with a whine.

“I accept!” Before Dawn could react the wolf abruptly scooped her into his arms, easing her computer back onto the seat as he did. She continued to hide her face, trying desperately to push away from the wolf’s chest.

“Hello Mrs. Hunter-Bellwether!” The wolf teased. Dawn could feel the wolf trying to work his muzzle under her chin. The wolf knew full well it was Dawn’s weak spot, and it drove her crazy every time he exploited it.

“Stop! Stoo-OOOP!” Dawn giggled, forcing the wolf’s maw back with her hooves. Vernon relented, allowing the sheep to regain her composure and finally face him.  Dawn adjusted her glasses, giving the wolf an irritable huff as she stared him down. In truth she had grown to love the way the wolf teased her, but it was even more fun to throw it right back at him.

“Stop making a scene Puppy, were in public.” Dawn put on her best serious voice. The ewe feigned a stern glance, narrowing her eyes at the wolf. She could see the wolf balk under her gaze, shrinking slightly as if he were a child being scolded by a parent. The wolf slowly lowered the lamb back into the dumpy brown subway seat next to him, drawing his paws back carefully. Dawn continued to stare daggers at him, doing her best to suppress the smirk desperately trying to fight to the surface. The forlorn wolf let out a slight whine before clearing his throat.

“I-I’m sorry Mutton Chop, I-I didn’t mean to emba-“

Dawn stopped the wolf with a playful push.

“You are such a dork!” She giggled.

Vernon’s demeanor immediately turned back around, the wolf beaming in response to the ruse.

“You little devil!” He chuckled.

“Hunter-Bellwether?” She gave the wolf a half lidded stare.

“What’s wrong with that?” The wolf shrugged, his gaze returning to the subway window as the cavalcade of jungle overgrowth sped by.

“I was looking forward to taking your last name.” The ewe pouted. Dawn crossed her arms, turning her attention to the partially vandalized seat in-front of her. “I was certainly looking forward to not having 'THAT' name following me around anymore.” The ewe stewed, wriggling herself further into her seat.

“Bellwether?” Vernon asked absentmindedly.

Dawn grunted dully in response.

“I like that name.” Vernon said, his voice laden with sincerity.

Dawn huffed again. "Well I don't."

The ewe gestured her hooves at the laptop. "On top of what I did, and what my Father and Grandfather did, all this looking into my family history made being a Bellwether feel even worse." Dawn closed the lid of the computer abruptly before throwing her head back and releasing a heavy sigh.

"Hey now, it's not like the Düclaw-Hunter's were shining beacons of perfection either Floof." The wolf shrugged. "I mean, we spent thousands of years as roaming conquerors. What did sheep do? Mostly farm, until we came along that is." The wolf grimaced slightly. "Then there was that whole trading with mammal-eaters thing."

"At least Leif was doing that to find a way to drive them out. Not that Archibald Bellwether cared to much about that little detail." Dawn began to count the fingers on her hoof. "Then there was King Declan and the war-"

Vernon gingerly grasped the ewe's hooves together. Dawn looked up in slight surprise as she met the wolf's gaze. Vernon smiled his usual reassuring smile, which always managed to work its way through even the thickest gloom the ewe could muster.

"Forget all that, what about you saving the city Darlin'? I'd say that's reason enough to be proud of your name."  The wolf gently shook her hooves pleadingly, as if trying to reason with her.

"I'd say I broke even at most." The lamb sighed. "I think I'd need another good disaster to save the city from to make everyone completely forget what I did in the first place."

Silence hung for a brief moment before Dawn had realized just how what she said could be interpreted. Now aware of how her simple dismissal made her sound, she quickly withdrew her hooves from the wolf. The ewe shook her head as she waived her hooves frantically in defense.

"I-I mean, that's not why I did w-what I did." The lamb assured. "I d-did It because it was the r-right thing to do! I me-ean...I erm, I, what I mean to-"

"Hey, hey!" Vernon cooed, gesturing for the ewe to calm herself. "I wasn't trying to get your hackles up Dawn, I know you didn't risk your life just to look good." The wolf sighed.

"If anything, you did it...well..." A slow smile swept across Vernon's muzzle as he continued to stare down at the ewe. Slowly the wolf brought an arm around her, pulling Dawn close to his side. Dawn knew what he was thinking, and the wolf was absolutely right. When it had come to the standoff with her Father, selfishly she hadn't thought of the city, or even Judy and Nick. The only one she was worried about saving was Vernon, even at the cost of her own life. A warm smile rose to match the wolf's as she stared back at him, before she found herself being slightly squeezed as Vernon pulled her into a hug. As the wolf released her, he returned to watching the window.

"Alright, alright I'm willin' to table the name discussion for now." Vernon said, a few weak chuckles escaping his lips before easing into a sigh.

The two fell silent as the sound of shuffling subway cars filled the absence of conversation. The ewe, relieved, opened her laptop again. She had almost forgotten exactly what she wanted to ask the wolf after his playful little distraction. Briefly skimming where she had come to a stop, Dawn prepared to bring it up again.

"So ab-"

"Still serious about marrying you though." The wolf didn't turn away from the window as a warm grin crept across his muzzle.

Dawn felt her blush return as she brought her hoof to her cheek.

"V-Vernon?" She stammered.

"That's the way sheep do it right? Marriage?"

Vernon was still leaning against the window, but his eyes flicked in her direction. Dawn could see the discomfort in the wolf's eyes. It was clear to Dawn that he was worried about the reply. Dawn choked out a weak chuckle as she felt her eyes well slightly.

"W-well I mean, y-yes that's." The ewe stuttered. "Most prey get 'married'."

"So...how do we do it?" Vernon's grin grew.

Dawn could barely breath. Was he actually popping the question in a roundabout way? Really? So soon? Dawn could feel her heart begin to beat faster.

"Y-you'd really want to marry me so soon? H-honestly?" The ewe whimpered. "I m-mean that's our whole lives P-puppy. What if it d-doesn't work out?" Dawn could feel the hot tears begin to trickle out of her eyes, and wiped them quickly in an effort to hide them. "I mean I c-can't give you pups. Y-you might want a she-wolf somed-"

Vernon placed a finger to Dawn's lips, shushing her.

"We can always adopt Honey Lamb." Vernon cooed. "I don't want some she-wolf, I told you before, you are the one Dawn." Dawn could see Vernon's eyes beginning to shimmer as his own tears rose.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Dawn wrapped her hooves around the wolf, squeezing as tightly as she could.

"O...OH PUPPY LOVE!" She cried into Vernon's side. The wolf pulled her onto his lap and returned the hug, burying his face into the wooly poof of her hair. "I want to m-marry you too." Dawn mumbled into his chest. As the two broke the hug, Dawn drew back and wiped her eyes to the best of her ability. Despite her attempts, she couldn't manage to stop the tears. Staring back up at the wolf she smiled broadly, her lips quivering as she tried to speak.

"Yes, I mean, it w-would be easy to g-get a partner-ship license. T-they're open to all mammals, it d-doesn't matter their species. " Dawn sniffled hard.

"W-what about a ceremony?" Vernon asked, swabbing his own teary eyes with a paw.

Dawn looked down, twiddling her fingers. She had always wanted to have a ceremonial wedding. Despite her horrid upbringing she had still found the time for the usual childhood fantasies that most of the other ewe's her age dreamt of. She could remember spending many nights lying on her bed, imaging herself in the prettiest white gown. Picturing a handsome ram declaring his everlasting love and whisking her away from her horrible home life. As she grew this daydream became more defined. She imagined it to be a small outdoor affair, among the beautiful wilderness of The North Meadowlands. Her few friends and maybe her Mother in attendance as she exchanged rings with her future husband, again a ruggedly handsome and kind ram. There was a part of her that still wanted all that, although her imaginary perfect groom had become much more canid in appearence since she last ruminated on those kind of dreams. But she was certain no caprid wedding official would ever condone such a union. Hell they barely allowed sheep and goats to marry off, so the chances of a sheep and a wolf seemed nothing short of impossible.

"W-well I'm sure M-mother would be more than on-board." Dawn smiled weakly at the hopeful wolf. He grinned broadly, and she could hear the rhythmic dull slap of the wolf's wagging tail hitting the seat. "B-but I can't see a licensed caprid marriage official being willing to perform the ceremony." The ewe sighed.

Vernon only grimaced briefly before the smile returned to his face.

"Wait, I'm pretty sure Gus has one of those official licenses." The wolf smirked.

Dawn was taken aback. "W-wait? R-really?" She covered her mouth with a hoof. "Why would Gus have a license to do that?"

The wolf rolled his eyes as he let out a chuckle. "Gus likes to spend his down time learning little things and picking up odd trades." Vernon began to count fingers. " He can play the ukulele, do magic tricks, speaks three languages, juggle, and is a licensed notary. I think there's more, but I can't remember 'em." Vernon shrugged. "Picks up that stuff online. They'll let anyone register I guess."

Dawn was beaming through her now silent tears.

"O-Oh Vernon!" The giddy ewe tapped her hooves together excitedly. "H-how wonderful! Y-yes. yes, let's start planning it out as we get back from the trip!"

The wolf's expression had shifted to one of pure adoration as he stared dumbly at the excited lamb.

"I love you so much right now Honey Lamb." The wolf cooed.

Dawn felt a familiar and overwhelming sensation overtake her, a desperate yearning for his lips to meet her own. She was no longer in control as she felt herself leaning in toward the wolf. As the gap was quickly closing Dawn managed to get out one last trembling sentence.

"I love you too Puppy Love." She cooed.

As their lips touched the ewe felt that familiar intoxicating warmth wash over her. It had the pleasance of a warm blanket on a cold and snowy evening, and sent tingles all over her. However she barely got anytime to truly lose herself in her warm, wolfy world before she was rudely drawn back by a loud and obnoxious voice.

"LOOK AT THESE FREAKS!" The voice snarled.

Dawn's broke the kiss abruptly, her attention snapping to the source of the sudden outburst. Seated across from the pair were a couple of wolves. A female red wolf eyed her disdainfully as her muzzle scrunched in distaste. She was on the tall side, and a bit husky. Her brown worn imitation hide jacket with various metal bits and chains adorning it, and her torn jeans told Dawn she was probably in her late teens. Next to her sat a male Dawn assumed to be her mate. He was a grey wolf, looking similar to Vernon, albeit a bit smaller and more wiry. He wore a black jacket with similar chains and buttons to his mate, as well as a similar pair of worn jeans. However, he looked both surprised and nervous. Dawn could see his phone still cradled in his paws, thumbs raised showing he had been pulled away from something by red wolf's sudden outburst. Dawn began to bite her hoof nervously, silently cursing herself. She had been too careless, she should have made sure the car had still been empty before kissing the wolf. The pair must have got on the previous stop.

"Hey dummy, that's not how you taste test a sheep!" The red wolf snickered. "You bite 'em in the neck first."

Dawn felt Vernon tighten his grip around the ewe. Looking back up at wolf, his expression was hard to read. He seemed calm, but Dawn could make out the traces of muscle flexing near his brow as if he was stifling a growl.

The red wolf eyed her mate in disbelief, giving the still seemingly confused and twitchy wolf a nudge.

"Hey Chaunce! We got a prey chaser over here!" the Red wolf laughed.

"O-oh is that so?" The other wolf grinned, but it seemed to falter slightly.

"What's wrong sheepdog? Not Alpha enough to keep a real wolf around!?" The red wolf returned to chiding Vernon, crossing her arms as she sneered.

"Maybe he's an O-omega Red." Chauncey snickered, giving the large female a nudge back.

Red leaned forward. Despite the distance the aisle kept between Dawn and the pair, she felt herself reflexively lean further back into Vernon. One of her hooves found traction as it twisted the fabric of his shirt. The wolf squinted hard, and Dawn followed the glance back up to Vernon's face. Vernon exchanged a sympathetic glance at Dawn, making a small grimace as he clearly noticed her distress.

"V-vernon I-I'm sorry." Dawn whimpered quietly. "I-"

"They'll tucker themselves out." Vernon replied in a hushed tone.

"NAW!" Dawn turned back to the red wolf as she leaned back into her original position, crossing her arms again.

"Omega's may be messed up, but I've never seen one macking on prey before. We'll have to invent a new category for that kind of freakshow!" The wolfess cackled loudly at her own joke.

"Yeah." Chauncey laughed, turning his attention back to his phone.

Red narrowed her eyes at the pair, causing Dawn to shudder slightly. "What are you? Norwulffish?" She spat. "What is it with Norwulff's and betraying every single thing it means to be a true wolf!?" Red gesticulated her paws at the pair wildly.

"You don't follow pack roles, you refuse to acknowledge the fact that wolves are a superior species!" She hissed. "A-and worst of all you guys let prey step all over you! We're predators for a reason! We're supposed to dominate these little pipsqueaks!" She stabbed a finger at the ewe, causing Dawn to retract further into Vernon's chest. Vernon hugged her tighter in response.

"C'mon big guy, where's she keeping your leash at?" She grinned smugly. " I'd love to know what an ugly little runt like her did to get you under her hoof!" She stabbed a finger at Dawn, almost snarling as her tirade continued.

Dawn felt Vernon shift the ewe back over to her seat despite her desperate desire to stay nestled in his embrace. Startled, she turned back to look at the wolf. His stoic demeanor had given way to an annoyed grimace. Vernon glanced back at Dawn briefly, giving her a reassuring smile and patting her hair before letting out a tired sigh.

"Ver-"

"Hey buddy, mind telling your mouthy Omega girlfriend to shut her trap. I'm getting tired of the constant stream of stank breath coming this way."

Dawn's jaw dropped in shock as the words left Vernon's muzzle. He hadn't even  dropped the kind smile he was still giving the ewe as he said it. Dawn quickly turned to find Red's eyes had gone wide in shock, and her mate had stopped toying with his phone. Chauncey looked somewhat nervous as Red quickly eyed him before turning back to Vernon.

"W-what did y-"

"You're one of those native wolves right?" Vernon said. "But Chauncey over there, he's a Norwulff."

Vernon leaned over Dawn toward the pair, and the ewe could see a smug grin creeping across his muzzle.

"What's a matter Darlin'? To much of a bitch for any self respecting native wolves to deal with your bullshit so they cast you out, right?" Vernon chuckled.

Dawn looked back at the red wolf, the fur around her face seeming to become redder as her muzzle twisted into a snarl.

"Y-YOU-!" The she-wolf sputtered, seemingly staggering to search for a reply. With the words failing to come she did the next best thing, turning and swatting her mate. The nervous looking wolf winced in response to the sudden abuse.

"ARE YOU GOING TO LET HIM SAY THAT TO ME CHAUNCEY!?" She hissed.

"Baby I-" The she-wolf slapped him again before giving him a push off the seat. The wolf stumbled to his feet, looking back at Red in disbelief.

"WELL GO ON!" She gestured at the pair. "STAND UP FOR YOUR MATE!"

Before Dawn could speak Vernon was on his feet, making his way to the aisle. The ewe quickly grasped at the back of his coat, causing him to turn back.

"V-VERNON DON'T!" She pleaded.

The wolf looked back at Dawn, wearing the same reassuring smile he had given her before.

"It'll be alright, I promise." Vernon turned back to her, leaning in and planting a kiss on her forehead. "I'll talk him down."

With that Vernon made his way over to Chauncey. Dawn leaned on the nearby armrest, clutching it tightly with both hooves in terror. The last thing she wanted was Vernon to have to square off with anyone and risk being hurt over some stupid and thoughtless remarks. For all she knew that wolf was carrying a knife or something worse, and she silently prayed that Vernon would succeed in talking the other wolf down.

With Vernon standing next to him, Dawn could easily see that Vernon was at least a foot taller than the younger wolf. That's not to say that the young wolf didn't look imposing in other ways. Chauncey's teeth were grit and his claws were out as Vernon loomed over him. Dawn couldn't make the words being said between the pair as they were far too hushed to perceive.

"Where's Judy when you need her?" She thought to herself.

Suddenly, the young wolf struck Vernon sending him to the floor in one swift motion. Dawn couldn't stop herself, quickly jumping over the seat and scrambling to his side as the wolf curled on the floor.

"TAKE THAT YOU FILTHY OMEGA MUTT!" The teen sneered.

"VERNON!" Dawn cried, trying to work through the wolf's paws to see the injury he was hiding. Vernon simply groaned in response. As the train lurched to a stop, Dawn quickly began to look around the car for any other nearby mammal. Someone to call over for some kind of assistance.

"OH THIS WAS SO STUPID, SO STUPID!" She cried, tears welling.

"C'mon babe, let's get off here. I don't want to ride with filth like this around." Chauncey spat. Dawn looked up to watch as Red quickly grasped his arm, beaming at the young male. Red gave the terrified ewe one final glowering stare before the duo made their way off the train and into the throngs of the Rainforest District. As the doors closed, and the train jerked back into motion, Dawn returned to attending the stricken wolf.

"VERNON, YOU SHOULDN'T H-"

The wolf finally allowed the ewe to pull his paws away, revealing a perfectly un-harmed Vernon. Dawn stared in disbelief as the wolf gave her a sly smirk.

"The kid gone?" Vernon asked.

"W-what?" Dawn stammered, her mouth agape as Vernon clambered back to his feet.

"What?" Vernon shrugged, returning to his original seat. "Told ya I'd be fine didn't I?" 

Dawn scrambled after him, grabbing one of his arms tightly as she eyed him.

"I-I-" She shook her head. "I don't understand."

The wolf gave her a smug smirk. "I talked him down."

"I SAW him hit you Puppy!" Dawn shook his arm.

"He didn't." Vernon shrugged.

Dawn was getting tired of the wolf's empty responses. Standing on her chair, she grabbed him by his face, pulling him so that she could stare right into his deep green eyes.

"Vernon." She said in a serious tone. "Tell me what happened back there."

The wolf's smile dropped slightly. Letting out a sigh he gently grasped Dawn's hooves and pulled them away from his face. Still clasping them tightly, he dragged Dawn back onto his lap. Once she was properly seated he settled into a more serious expression.

"The kid was in over his head." Vernon replied.

"What?" Dawn replied.

"Those native wolves are always more trouble then their worth when it comes to social situations." Vernon sighed. "I think they get so mouthy because they are insecure about their own relationships, but it always seems like they gotta butt into other mammals affairs."

The ewe still wasn't quite following what Vernon was saying, She was still struggling to understand why they weren't making their way to the nearest hospital right now.

"Vernon, please tell me-"

" He didn't want to fight me. But his mate would have probably left him if didn't stand up for her." Vernon grabbed the ewe's hooves again, this time more tenderly.

"So I told him I'd let him get one fake hit in, and go down like a ton of bricks. Then he gets off the train and leaves us alone. Everyone wins."

Dawn arched her eyebrows in confusion. "He faked it? B-but why?"

"Because I told him I didn't want to have to wipe the floor with a young pup." Vernon smirked. The wolf stretched again, letting out another prolonged yawn before continuing.

"I dated one of those North Mammalian Natives in high school." Vernon's muzzle twisted into a grimace. "Ya always gotta prove you're Alpha enough for 'em, always starting fights on your behalf. I wanted to cut the kid a break, but he needs to learn on his own that kind of relationship is poison."

Dawn shook her head in disbelief. It was all becoming clear, that's why Chauncey seemed so nervous when Red had started yelling at them in the first place. The wolf knew that the bluster had a good chance of making him pay for it, especially considering Vernon's size. Dawn found herself briefly wondering just how often the young wolf had to fight on Red's behalf before a more curious question rose to the forefront.

"You dated one?' Dawn asked timidly.

Vernon groaned in displeasure. "Yeah, unfortunately. At the tale end of my whole 'bad dog' phase."

Dawn twiddled her hooves, eyeing the wolf with interest.

"Y-you never told me about that." She mumbled.

"I don't really like reliving it." Vernon sighed. "Both that part of my life, and my time with that horrible, evil-" Vernon grit his teeth, his brow furrowing in anger. After a moment he shook his head, seemingly to shake off the negative feelings.

"Yeah, she was bad news." He mumbled. "I'll tell you all about it when we have to write about it Darlin', I promise." Vernon assured, leaning in to hug the ewe.

Dawn smiled, opening her arms and allowing the wolf to hug her tightly.

"I love you Vernon." She said sweetly.

"I love you too Dawn." He replied.

As Dawn lingered in the hug she allowed the relief to wash over her. The wolves were gone, Vernon was fine, and all was right with her world again. But at the same time the whole incident was beginning to tug at the fears she had so desperately tried suppress the night before. What if Vernon's family reacted to meeting her the same way those other wolves did? What if it was worse? Dawn could feel the familiar knot in her stomach began to reform.

#Zootopia #Assistant Mayor Bellwether #dawn bellwether #fanfiction #furry #wasted time #OC #wolf #drama #romance

[tigerrobot]

This one will leave you howling

Ritual magic is alive. Battle magic, like what I normally use, is more like a thing, a tool. A fireball or a lightning bolt or a burst of air, that's just taking things and shaping them, borrowing energy from the elemental planes and manifesting it in our world. Ritual magic can do anything from track someone down to raising the dead if you are so inclined.

Casting battle magic requires only words. In my case, they are in the form of runes tattooed onto my skin. This serves many purposes. If you write the words down on paper, infuse them with power when you do, you create a scroll. But paper is weak and will be destroyed by the release of the power. Others memorize the magic from books but, like paper, memory is thin. Once used, the memory is changed forever, your mind cannot recall it in exactly the same way, effectively destroying the spell. It was actually a wizard that put forward that very idea to psychology papers. Skin is more malleable, more durable. My tattoos can be re-used as often as I need to, provided my body can withstand the forces trying to escape.

When I cast a fire-bolt, it is the same every time. I could cast it at the same surface a thousand times and it would explode in the exactly same way each time. Ritual magic is never the same twice. Use the exact same focus, the same subject, the same kind of ritual, and during the ride it will be different. I say 'during the ride' because that is the easiest way to describe how it works. You ride a ritual. The better your handle on the spell, the easier it is to hold on. Some spells are just too big for 1 person and you need help staying on.

And then, some rituals are so delicate that any more than 1 person could cause minor fluctuations that would send the whole thing spinning out of control.

"So, Pen... Umm. I've got something to tell you and, at the same time, I need to ask for your help." Benny was looking at the ground, which was definitely out of the ordinary for a guy who was pretty popular. Benny was 6'1" at 16, funny, and probably the nicest guy you'd ever meet. He genuinely cared about other people and always went out of his way to make me feel welcome and included.

"Yeah, of course Benny, what's up?" I was worried for him immediately. This timidity was strange.

He looked up at me, a sheepish smile crossing his lips. "I like Amelia. Would you be able to help me ask her out?" I scoffed. Every guy in the school like Amelia. I swear, if I charged every guy who asked me to hook them up with her, I'd be able to retire by the time I left High School. I could only imagine how much worse it would get when we got to college.

I laughed and his smile faded. "Seriously, Benny, really? You are basically the most popular, out-going, and self-confident guy in school. You can ask her out yourself!" I shook my head. I didn't say it harshly or anything. I understood why everyone wanted Ames, aside from her being beautiful, she was smart, nice, and didn't take people's shit. That drew a lot of attention, like a flame. And, like a flame, most people couldn't stand close to it for long.

"But... She listens to you! And, if she tells you she's not interested then, like, it'll be easier for you to tell me, right?" This got me upset. This jackass was asking me to do all of the emotional labour of him asking out my best friend.

"Benny, get fucked." I laughed at him again and shook my head once more. "Man, you are a king to most of the school already. Nobody is going to think less of you if she shoots you down. Some advice? Just ask her out for a piece of pizza and ice cream. Then you can talk to her a little less publicly. Cool?"

He nodded, a little dejected, and shuffled away. I rolled my eyes. I had no idea why guys get all unsure and pathetic when they wanna ask a girl out. Being vulnerable isn't less 'manly' or anything like that. Surprise, most chicks like a guy who can be confident and vulnerable at the same time. I didn't realize this fact until the first time I asked a girl out when I was 16, about 8 months after this tale, but even when I was 15 I didn't understand the fear. There was a lot of other things to be afraid of.

I was leaning against my locker, waiting for Ames to get out of class and listening to my 90s play list, before Benny walked up to me. I slipped my headphones back on and closed my eyes. Another song and a half went by when Amelia shoulder checked me, lightly driving me into the locker. I grabbed her and spun, pinning her against the locker and stepped back.

"You might be the academic champion of the world, but you ain't got nothing on me." I smirked at her as I let my headphones drop back to hanging around my neck. I shouldn't have. She grabbed my arm and spun me back into the locker, I tried to resist but she had gotten stronger since starting jujitsu classes.

"Come on, you've got your magic thing, I've got everything else. That's what makes us a great team!" Then she booped my nose and pushed me out of the way so she could get into her locker. Sometimes she was just too damned cute.

"So, what's up tonight? And why weren't you in class?" She put her books away and then crossed her arms, looking at me with a critical gaze, one that would have made the headmasters of old proud.

"History? Yeah, no. If I have to sit through another class talking about how great Christopher Columbus was I might be physically ill. Why do we still use textbooks from the 80s?" We both laughed and then sighed in resignation of how bad it got sometimes. I didn't consider myself anywhere near the academic that Amelia was but even I had read a new history book or two. Part of learning magic was to learn where this power comes from. And that involved a lot of reading about the true history of the world. So history class was one place I couldn't really stand.

"As for tonight, Lance asked for my help with something. Wanna come along?" Lance was a friend who had started being nice to me to get closer to Amelia before realizing we actually had more stuff in common and became friends ourselves. I didn't begrudge Lance for it, everyone wanted to be friends with Amelia, though how I came off as more approachable I'll never know. People are weird.

"Yeah, sure, it's been awhile since we hung out. I'd like to see what they're up to." Lance was non-binary, preferring they and their. Some people gave them a hard time about it but, thanks to the internet, it was becoming easier for Lance to be themselves. Having friends who would call those people out when they were shitty to them helped too.

Ames grabbed the books she'd need for her evenings unnecessary homework and we walked out together. The bus ride home usually sucked but if we got to it early enough we could snag the back seats and then at least nobody threw shit at the back of my head. Today we got lucky and just chatted about various school stuff until we got to my place.

I'd agreed to meet with Lance after dinner. Dad made a giant salad for all of us and we headed over to Lance's parents' place after eating. The lights were out on the main floor but the back porch light was on so we went around and Lance let us in. Their parents were out of town for the week and it seemed like Lance didn't want to run up the electricity bill because none of the lights were on. They led us down to the basement and Amelia and I froze.

In the center of the floor was a giant ring, made with what looked like glitter. "Uh, Lance, buddy... What the hell?" I looked up at them and they immediately looked away from me.

"Yeah, so, um... I..." Lance seemed to be struggling to find the words. Lance was never uncomfortable around me but people being awkward around me seemed to be the norm today.

"Come on, spit it out. You know whatever it is, we got this." I tried to sound encouraging, Amelia nodded along with me and added her own "Yeah, we're friends, you can tell us."

"I need your help with controlling myself. It's a full moon tonight and it's hardest during a full moon." Now they looked up at us and I noticed the small change. Their nostrils were flared and their eyes had a slight yellow tinge to them. "That ring is made with silver shavings. I shouldn't be able to pass it if my research is right. I hope that'll give you time to do... well, what you do."

"Whoa..." I took a step toward them. "Lance, are you saying you're a werewolf?!" It came out a little more aggressive than I was hoping and Lance flinched.

"Yeah, Pen. Happened a couple months ago. My parents know and they helped me last month with it but we knew we needed a more permanent solution and then... I'm sorry, I told them about you." Lance looked away again.

I walked over to them and pulled their chin up, so that I could look them in the eyes. "Hey, we can talk about sharing my secrets another time. We've got something WAY more important to deal with right now. Get in the circle, it's getting dark."

I hadn't met a werewolf before, though part of my education had been learning about them. The silver circle probably wouldn't do much so I planned on using a sleep spell and then working from there. I knew I couldn't cure them, but I did know that 'weres' could learn to control the change, and even control themselves when in that form. I just had to reach Lance's personality and pull it up while their body was a wolf.

Mental rituals were probably my least favourite. It was almost impossible to plan for, since everyone thinks differently and you never knew what you were going to get when you dove in. Normally, I tried to control as many variables as I could, hence the tattoos so I was ready for any battle.

I sat down outside of the circle and started casting the sleep spell, pulling in the energy for it, wrapping Lance up in a soft, warm blanket of power. Amelia came and sat beside me. She put her head on my shoulder, lending me whatever of her strength I needed. Some people were served as conduits, some as vessels, and some as batteries. Amelia was one hell of a battery. She nearly doubled my own reserves of power and, while I didn't like borrowing it from her, it was always good to know it was there if I did need it.

At this point I was only half using my physical senses, I felt Lance change by the way it shifted the energy I had wrapped around them. That's when I released the power and the spell completed, gently pull them down into a slumber so deep, the massive wolf was practically snoring.

Now the fun would begin. Being in the same room as the wolf made it easy to connect to it's mind. No special focus or tie to it was needed to find the right pathways and I slipped right in.

As of now, Lance's mind was a mess. If I had waited a little longer it would be simpler, the mind of a wolf, but that would have made it much more difficult to dive in and find our Lance. Now, it was like trying to surf when you've never even stood up on a skateboard. Keeping my balance was nearly impossible and I was faintly aware of Amelia holding me upright. I let the remaining ties to my own mind slip away and got lost in the chaos of a half-wolf, half-human brain.

The first thing I needed to do would be to find a memory. With Lance's mind fractured like it was now, there would be two sets. If I could find a human memory, it could follow that thread to the rest of Lance's consciousness, or so I hoped. Images flashed by like photographs as I tumbled around. A stray thought slammed into me and sent me spinning. Images of running in the woods outside of town invaded my own thoughts as Lance's mind tried to assimilate me. When it realized I wasn't a memory to be filed away, it would start trying to reject me. The mind, human or animal, was an amazingly powerful thing and if it was already starting to hone in on me, it was time to get moving.

With Lance's wolf side only being a few months old, it limited the amount of memories I needed to trudge through before deeper memories surfaced. This was the biggest reason I hated being in someone else's head. Every memory Lance had formed swirled around me. Had I wanted to, I could have looked into how Lance perceived every interaction they and I had ever had. Fortunately, all I needed to do was pull these memories forward now, make Lance remember they were a person, not a wolf.

The best way to describe it is a mental lasso. I focused my mind on as many of Lance's memories as I could, trying not to commit them to my own memory but to simply let them exist in front of me. Then I pulled with all my strength back toward my own body. This was where things got dangerous. This is how you steal someone's thoughts. Essentially that was exactly what I was trying to do. When the mind splits like it does in a 'were', the 2 parts often become separate. That's why werewolves never remember what they did the next day, it wasn't actually them doing it. I needed to steal the memories from Lance's mind, give them to the wolf mind, and create a bridge between the two. You know, kid's stuff.

The wolf was gaining power and I could feel the mental connection I had beginning to weaken. The flip side of this, was, if the magic tether snapped or was broken, I could get lost in Lance's mind. While this wouldn't kill me, my body wouldn't have a mind left to control it. And I was certain Lance didn't want another permanent house guest in their head.

Lance's wolf mind became like a torrent, thoughts ripping at me like ice and hail in a storm. At first it merely stung. Then the thoughts hardened, becoming more aware of my intrusion. Instead of a passive defense against invaders, the wolf was now trying to expel me. I knew I was getting closer to the exit, the bomb of Lance's memories were still trailing behind me but not yet deep enough into the wolf mind to start the reaction. Plus, I still had to build the bridge between the 2.

I began folding power into the tether. It was the most important thing. Even if I couldn't merge the 2 minds, I needed to be able to get out. Lance would understand if I failed. I knew they'd be pissed if I got myself lost doing this. And mostly they'd be mad at themselves. An angry wolf could do some serious damage.

The thoughts, like steel, tore at my mental projection and I vaguely felt the damage it was doing to my physical body. The projection instinctively tapped the back of my right hand, where the rune for my shield spell normally was. But, in the mind of Wolf-Lance, that spell wouldn't work. It took a long time before I learn proper mental combat. Fear crept up my spine as I began thinking I was in over my head.

I dropped my hold on the bundle of memories I had been dragging along and chaos erupted. Instead of a slow, steady merging there was a tornado. At this point, there was nothing else I could do and, as I was battered and thrown about, I knew I had to get out. As though sensing this, a sharp memory sliced across the tether, the magic threatening to break down. I redoubled my effects but it wasn't enough as another attack against the tether caused it to sever. I watched as it slipped away from me, the other end retreating back through the portal that would lead me home.

Panic overtook me, and I pulled in every ounce of power I had. All I could think to do was close the distance, I couldn't let that portal close, I couldn't lost sight of it. I was always closest to fire, and that's what I envisioned. My projection burst into flame, every memory that touched it instantly disintegrated, and I flew into motion, racing toward the closing gateway. The thoughts and memories pulled away, which I would later realize was a good thing for more reasons than just my own safety. I hit my own body like a sack of bricks, snapping to consciousness roughly and falling over. Amelia was over me, crying my name, tears running down her cheeks.

When I was able to focus again, I noticed her fretting over me. When I looked down, the pain hit as my eyes saw the thousands of tiny cuts and the bloody mess of my shirt and jeans. I could already feel the wounds stitching themselves back together as my magic set about correcting the mistake my mind had made but this outfit was ruined. Amelia hugged me, muttering something about me being an idiot while hugging me tighter. It was then that I noticed the wolf in the circle had begun to change back into the form of Lance.

In an awkward moment, can confirm that the clothing does not go with the change, as Lance was left trying to cover themselves. I broke the circle and they grabbed some clothes from the nearby dryer, the ones they were wearing now shredded and all over the floor.

We discovered that a few memories were lost in my panicked flight. The first time Lance ever swam in the public pool, which was when they had first realized they loved water, was the most notable memory lost. Lance shrugged it off but it obviously hurt them.

During the next full moon, I stayed with them. They had to focus intensely at first to stop the change from coming on but it appeared the ritual was successful. After that came bringing on the change by decision. Then controlling the actions of the wolf. All in all, it took about 3 months before they were comfortable not being locked in the basement during a full moon but it was about 5 months before I had those 3 nights a month back to myself again. I was more than happy to help, especially knowing that I now had a bad-ass werewolf buddy to call on if I needed it.

#original fiction #female protagonist #pen's tales

[childrenofathoria-rp-blog]

◆Out Of Character Information◆

Name/Age: Raven, 24 Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Timezone:  EST Desired Character: Nita

◆Character Information◆ (1)  What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?:

 She/her - Bisexual

(2)  Any changes or comments? 

Nope!

(3) Why this character?

Of all the characters I’ve played, Nita would be the most human of them. She may be a werewolf, but she wasn’t always one and she’s no Angel or Demon. She doesn’t serve a higher purpose like they do, she lives for herself and Anshega. Her humanity is a very important factor and I’d love to play around with that aspect in situations that challenge her morals. She doesn’t seem to stand for a side of good or evil, but a very neutral zone exclusive to her own motives. It’s so refreshing since I rarely play characters with such a neutral aspect. Nita would have a lot of freedom to branch out and get involved in all sorts of situations since she travels so much.

(4) Interpret this character:

I pretty much plan on portraying her as someone who has a huge chip on their shoulder. I feel like, up until the early days of her trade, she had a pretty honest outlook on life. I wouldn’t call her naïve, but she definitely had a positive viewpoint of the world and her place in it. She would have just started up her business and Nita didn’t think twice at how her image or social status would affect work; she thought it wouldn’t make a difference. All it took was one guy who was pompous enough to show her how little she actually mattered. I don’t think she ever got over that, so she spends a lot more time than she should trying to prove that she’s good enough.

I headcanon that, for some reason or another, Nita’s parents were in some sort of danger. I imagine that her mother was a Ronin wolf and her father was the human. They stopped in a tavern one evening and left a note for the one of the cleaning women to find attached to Nita in her basket. Instead of casting her out to some orphanage, a young woman named Marie, the head cook in the tavern, decided to raise Nita as her own. It was through Marie that Nita learned her love of cooking and how she was taught to make spices. When she has some down time, Nita can be found in her home, making all sorts of meals from recipes she’s gathered from cooks all over the country.

Until Nita traveled to Hala, she had no idea of her lineage. I feel like she never questioned her urges around full moons and considered her enhanced strength and agility as being naturally fit. Leeds is a tough place, but considering her sort of innocent demeanor before her humiliation I doubt she’d been in enough situations to properly test those limits. So when Nita became a full werewolf, I think that she took to it pretty well. After her humiliation, I think she found a sense of security by becoming something superior. With a pack to guide her, she’d have finally felt at home and centered. Nita loves to hunt and run. Given her profession and tendency to travel, she’s honed her senses of scent and hearing.

I feel like Nita’s always been a killed fighter, even before her warrior training. Although, her warrior training would be a lot more extensive. Being trained in the manner wolves would be a lot different than the mundane style of fighting. Her largest setback at becoming a warrior, of course, is her temper. What Nita lacks most of all is discipline, so in the right situation, I can see her succumbing to blood lust easily. She had a tough time during her first full moons, but presently, she handles herself just fine.

I’m not quite sure on the adventures Nita’s going to get into just yet. But I’d like for her to get to a point, one day, where she might give up trading to be a warrior full time. Based on her connections, Farryn isn’t putting her full attention to Nita’s training. Instead of traveling, she could be training instead so she might have to pick one over the other. This could also lead her to seek training elsewhere, given her impatient nature. I’d also like to explore Nita finding out who her parents were. Although, that plot would be good for flashback threads. I’d also like to do a flashback of the massacre she caused as well. Also, given her temper and tendency to succumb to bloodlust, I’d like to get her into a situation where she screws up and has to bear the consequences.

Nita understands how important the relations between Anshega and the Crown are, but personally she doesn’t care for King Nathan. Although, I do think that she respects the way the monarchy enforces the law and the sense organization they bring. She doesn’t want anyone else unfairly suffer as she had. I also imagine that her stock is highly sought after by the King’s esteemed cooks. She’s pretty much only concerned with how much the crown is willing to pay her to support herself and Anshega. Since they’re her only family, the pack holds a special place in Nita’s heart. She doesn’t know what she’d do without them and doesn’t mind using her profits to support them.

◆ Interview Questions ◆ (1) Have you ever killed anyone after you murdered all those people who humiliated you?

“Only when I have to. But I’ll admit, after the incident, fighting was...difficult. I’d get flashes of that night. The chaos I caused, the blood on my hands. I felt stained — ruined and I let that fucker do that to me, let ‘em change me. I try not to be that monster I was, a thing that was neither bear or wolf. I stop at knocking ‘em senseless and if they get back up, then I make sure they don’t. Try to keep it swift, clean. I love to fight, but killing ain’t nothin’ to smile about.”

(2) Describe why you love the spice trade and how you learned to grow such a successful business?

“Everyone knows I love a good drink, but I love to eat too! I grew up workin’ in a tavern in Leeds, serving drinks and cookin’ in the kitchens. My boss could make the most delicious pot pies and her secret ingredients were spices. She used to make ‘em by hand and taught me to do the same. I didn’t think it was fair that only our customers should experience good food like that so I decided to start up my own business and spread that joy. At first, I started givin’ out samples, showed people that meats seasoned with peppers and coriander tastes a lot different than ones without. Soon enough, cooks all over town were offerin’ to pay for my spices. See, the trick to my success is that makin’ the stuff takes a lot of discipline and hard work. It might even be more tedious than farming, so people don’t want to do it. A lot of the plants I use are found all around the country. So unless you got the right soil, it wouldn’t be possible to grow half of the stuff I sell. Spices are rare and in high demand and as long as that factor remains, I’m always gonna bring in coin.”

◆Writing Sample:◆

Cold, gray eyes studied Nita from across the table. For a long moment that’s all the man did was stare at her. As if he were waiting for some illusion to fade, to make sure that what he was seeing held true. “Is there a problem, sir?” The trader asked, her expression puzzled. Before her, sat four small jars of cinnamon, saffron, turmeric, and vanilla. Nita thought it was wise to offer samples of her product. Her old boss, Marie, always said that if you gave them a taste, then they’d want more. The wealthy warlock before her hadn’t so much as sniffed any of the samples yet. “Is there somethin’ on my face? What are you starin’ at me like that for?” She offered him a nervous grin.

“What is the name of your company?” He asked.

“Ursa’s Spices, sir. Though I already told you th──”

He cut her off. “And how did you, a peasant, become the proprietor of this company?”

“I built it from the ground-up myself...Are you callin’ me a thief, sir?!” Nita’s temper flared, that wild, animalistic part of her rose to the surface. Marie always said that she lived up to her namesake. That there were times when she truly believed that Nita had been conceived by some beast or bear; her temper could be a force of nature.

“A filthy, bloody-cunted, thief is all you are!” He boomed. “You come here to my estate, dressed like a marauding wench, with your outlandish prices and cheap lies. I bet you stole those casks off some carriage. You could have at least come dressed like a proper merchant, perhaps this sales charade would’ve been believable!”

Nita stood so quickly that her chair toppled over. “I’m the farthest thing from a god damned thief! Fuck you!” She began to gather the samples and stuffed them into her knapsack. “I ain’t gonna stand here and be accused of being a criminal. There are plenty others out there willin’ to buy what you won’t and they’ll treat me like the businesswoman that I am.”

The brunette turned away and made for the exit, but the warlock’s mercenaries entered the room and blocked her path. She wouldn’t even be allowed to leave, he already condemned her without any valid proof but his own suspicions. He could have used magic to erect the truth, could have probably read her mind too, but the bastard was arrogant. Nita fought as hard as she could with a club, blade, tooth and nail but it wasn’t enough. Her workers had been apprehended as well, but they were released after being beaten. Nita, on the other hand, was kept by the warlock to be humiliated. He stripped her publicly, lashing her back with a leather strap before forcing her in a frilly dress. They styled her hair and chained her to a cross right outside his estate for all to see.

“This isn’t fair!” She cried out, her voice hoarse from screaming. Nita already did her crying and the fire in her dried her tears, leaving only simmering rage. “You can’t do this to me! Where’s my trial, where’s your proof?” She said for the thousandth time; the words had become a mantra, the only thing keeping her from breaking any further. “Why won’t you listen to me!” She screamed, her dread intensifying the moment she saw the branding iron being brought her way. “Get that thing away from me!” The warlock let it hover closely to her face, teased at pressing it to her breast, then finally mashed it against the back of her palm.

Nita didn’t have any more strength in her to cry out, the sound seemed to get caught in her throat before dying there. The silent wail wracked her frame as the heat bled into her, burning away her hope, leaving resentment in its place. The light in her eyes died and her head sunk in defeat; she’d been shattered completely. And even if she put herself back together somehow, Nita knew she would never be the same again.

#athoria accepted

[hannigramfanfic]

Hannibal Fanstory: “The Hunter and Child of the Lupin” Or “Kiss of a Lupin” or “Prince of Wolves - Vilku kunigaikstis

More Extra bits added 

PROLOGUE

There is a Tale told by old Storytellers when fires are lit, and everyone is settled for the night about a Hunter from a distant land and a feral child of the Lupin he met one heavy winter in the lands of the North – where the Spirit of the that Forest, the Ravenstag dwells – when given a task by the vile King Mason Verger to find the child and kill it, while bringing him the head of the creature from Ancient times.

It is said Mason came into power by overthrowing the previous King – Jack Crawford – and his Queen – Bella or Phyliss – and it is unknown what happened to those kind people, because you dear Travellers who come to sit by my fire to hear this Tale have yet to hear how it all began.

Our Tale first begins in the land of Wolf-trap, Virginia where due to unforeseen consequences a pregnant woman bearing a child within her womb leaves behind a place where she was born and raised as behind her in the far distance a great fire burns the woodland causing animals living in it to run alongside her horse as the flames black out the skies.

Choking out a multitude of stars that shine like path and leaving yet only one shining in the sky – a bright single star that would change the child’s life within her womb as the legacy of Wolftrap dissolved in ash and wind.

—————————

12 MONTHS LATER

Baltimore, Maryland – the former Kingdom of the Missing King Crawford

Despair.

Pestilence.

Starvation.

Depressed souls who head’s hang with the weight of oppression as Hannibal Lecter – Hunter, member of the Hunter’s Guild – and unknown to many in who he was in this country keeps the hood of his long cloak up as he walks through the muddy streets with his horse – Cersai – of Baltimore, Maryland remembering when it had been under King Crawford’s gentle rule.

The street had been vibrant hive of activity: festivals, market stalls bursting with the hustle and bustle of market stallers shouting their wares to people in the streets, while children ran about with windmills and kites.

That was gone: in place now due to Mason taking reign the colour and vibrancy had been drained to monochrome grey and inky black, while faces have become hardened like stone; children are weak and starving beg for scraps at what has now become Mason’s palace from the kitchens only to never get enough and adults have become suspicious of any stranger no matter where they came from.

Neighbour becomes pitted against neighbour, not trusting them at all for any help at all even when the Plague sickness comes and affects either both or one of them as Hannibal passes some Plague doctors standing near a Condemned house talking in whispers – like snakes slithering across each-other to keep warm – wearing the long white beaks like that of a crow or raven beak then turn their beaked gaze towards him.

Watching him walking up to King Verger’s castle, a grotesque building hewn from blood-red rock and spiked turrets where the remnants of people who displeased Mason Verger hang from indicating to all below if they disobeyed this was what would happen. Guards in armour patrolled the battlements.

Hearing the bellowing noise of large bull oxen’s and rumbling of a carriage makes him step out of the way with Cersai seeing in fact it is Slave Carriage bearing within poor, frightened souls bound in chains of iron and steel. Their heads hung down in dejection, while rags of cloth barely cover their modesty as it large wheels splash up the foul mud of that for centuries during Mason’s reign has had all manner of traffic go through it.

What makes his Inner Predator within Hannibal want to get rid of Mason if he weren’t controlled by the Hunter’s Code and Contract is the fact the prisoners that been in the Slave Carriage as it heads within the castle – were children. Some of them younger like his darling sister Mischa who been murdered in his homeland when he been only a child of 17 years of age by a rogue general who had overthrown his father – Lord Dvaras – had heard rumours about Mason having certain particular tastes and that was he liked young children – female or male even.

The three Plague Doctors, who have followed him he can sense are still watching him wondering why a foreign stranger has come to such a desolate bleak place where even the strange Plague, Hannibal had seen affecting people in other places he had travelled through and the grief it had brought countless families.

“Mister? Mister? Please any…. spare coins to spare?”

A small voice says, drawing him out of the haze he in and looking down sees it a group of orphaned urchins – their cheeks hollowed in by hunger; eyes bloodshot and bags under them; hair unkempt and unwashed as patchwork rags cover their modesty – and shakes his head at them, having his money pouch already stolen in another town he had passed through. Slapping down greedy hands when they reach for his crossbow on his back, plus dagger and sword hidden by his long cloak.

“Cease that. There not for children to play with. Understand me?” He chides them, making them resist what they are doing, and nod meekly followed by still staying close to him when suddenly a snide leering almost voice shouts at them “BEGONE YOU LITTLE VARMINTS!!! GET!! GO ON!!!” revealing to Hannibal’s displeasure another lacky of Mason’s – Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Captain of the Guards and downright leech-of-a-man – who kicks one the urchins out the way.

They met before, when the man had tried to join the Hunter’s Guild and now sneers at him even when Hannibal reaches into his saddle bag to pull out the Hunter’s Code and Contract – which all Hunter’s sweared to with a Blood oath – then spits heavily, managing to aim it close to Hannibal who just keeps a calm composure.

He couldn’t let the Inner Predator in him loose just yet.

It wasn’t the right……time for it.

————————————–

Now in the Household of the Verger Royal Family: there is Mason Verger, a vile man with no good soul in him causing more torment and ruining people lives than in actually helping them; there is his sister Lady Margot – a young woman of 35 years of age, who is also sadly one of those people that is tormented by her brother behind locked doors and wishes she could be free of him; while there is her Lady-in-waiting Alana Bloom – a simple country girl with strong heart and fierce loyalty to her mistress.

The servants are:  Peter Bernadone – a stable-lad who a cares for the horses for King Mason, though is strongly controlled by a sadistic Lord Clark Ingram; Francis Dolerhyde, the Blacksmith who fashions all the weapons and armour and stays with his adopted little blind girl of seven years of age Reba McClane – who’s father and mother are unknown as she was abandoned at early age and find by Francis as a baby among some bed of heather in the once fertile forests around Baltimore, Maryland; the scholar/ jesters of the Court are Brian Zeller, Beverly Katz and Jimmy Price who Mason uses when he puts on big parties to celebrate certain events and finally Lady Bedelia Du Maurier – rumoured to run the Brothel houses in the seediest parts of Baltimore, Maryland and is known as the Verger’s Tax Collector.

Hmm, yes?

Oh, you want to hear of what lies beyond this place.

Well that is…. the Northern land as far as the crow can fly to it or a horse can travel to it. Not that I’ve tried to travel there myself.

Tall mountain-scapes of tall-peaked mountains dusted with coatings of fine, crisp snow and swathes of large coniferous and deciduous trees that spread outwards to reach to them and waterfalls made from glaciers tumble downwards to form meandering rivers that spread across the strange land like arteries of a giant’s arm and gentle, bubbling streams or of becoming just deep pools of gleaming water that waterfalls just endlessly pour into them.

Autumn there brings a multi-hue of soft oranges, yellows, reds and lilacs and wildlife is ever abundant from all creatures great and small, while Ancient Text tells of how large Beast Gods roamed the forest and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – watched over all.

It is said the creature possesses the body of a stag, a coat of lustrous Raven’s feathers and a thicket of antler’s that are larger a normal stag’s antlers.

But that is only myth told from the Ancient Text as no-one has ever seen this creature described and yet, it is what Mason fears for some reason.

You ask me why?

It is believed because of Prophesy told to him by a mysterious cloaked figure wearing robes of sea bluish-green and holding a stuff, bearing the carving of Raven that is why. And hear is thus:

Neither Human or even a man

When the Crescent moon doth shine and become full

Turning crimson like spilled blood in the inky, black sky

Come will something that will tear and ravage you asunder

It will break your stone you surround yourself with

Bellow out it’s war cry like the horn of a Carnyx

And pierce you to the very throne you defiled

Beware the golden eyes in the night.

Now that I have started off this Tale, let’s us travel to another place – the Northern Land where we will shall find out what happened to the young man from the Wolftrap Legacy that many had believed had faded into the histories of time to be forgotten for eternity.

 PART 1

A multitude of stars shines brightly in the night-sky, while under the canopy of tall coniferous trees bearing on their fir branches white, undisturbed snow and on a perch of a half-destroyed old tree – that had been hit by lightning – sweeps off into the night on silent wings.

A ghostly white shadow among the inky blackness, while slowly golden eyes appear from the gloom as they step slowly into the moonlight now streaming through the canopy above – a pack of wolves, a family.

There is a difference – on the back of one of the Mother Alpha Wolf – last of the remaining Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – is a young man, gripping her fur mixed with silvery highlights.

While in front, keeping an eye out for dangers are his wolf-brother’s – three of them – and his Wolf-sister, who walks close by. Their names in Ancient are stated thus: Murasaki Kushina – the Alpha Mother, remaining Ancient Beast of the Wolf Clan; daughter Murasaki Chiyoh; and the three sons Murasaki Ashisaki, Keito and Hiharo.

They are Will’s family, after his mother Lady Cassia - Othelia who had given birth to him in this forest one heavy winter night soon afterwards weakened by hunger and trying to survive while grieving the loss of her husband – Lord Orilivano – who unknown to her at the time of when he been a small child had been bitten by rogue Wolf – so passing on the curse onto his only son – Will.

Will knows nothing of his heritage or even where he comes from. He believes his real mother is Murasaki Kushina and knows nothing of what the birthmark on his shoulder means.

“O’kaasan, where are we going?” He asks her in the language of the Wolves – that she had taught him, and she answers in her deep soft voice. “It’s a surprise, my dear little one.”

Will smiles at that. Being with his Wolf-mother, brothers and sisters he knows nothing of the Human beyond the forest he was born in and has not seen another human ever in his life.

His real mother unbeknownst to him is buried in wooden glade, where only the Spirit of the Forest – The Ravenstag – knows where. He remembers one autumn with the leaves spiralling and dancing down onto the forest floor he seen the beautiful creature with a lustrous coat of raven’s feathers ruffling gently in the breeze as it grazed with some deer then it was gone.

Chiyoh, who had gone off soon comes up beside and hands him a branch bearing some succulent edible berries from a winter food storage hole that been made last winter and taking it with one hand, scratches her behind her ear to thank her for it.

Keito – the second youngest of Murasaki Kushina’s Wolf cubs about the same age as Will – comes up, nipping her ear playfully soon making them both bound forwards in front of the others, making Will laugh happily at the sight in front of him.

If only he knew at the time in the Kingdom of Mason Verger, a Hunter would soon be arriving in the forest he lived in and would change his life forever.

  The mountain-passes that separate the Kingdom of Mason Verger from the Northern Forest, where the Ravenstag is to dwell is a Border pass patrolled by four guards – Tobias Budge, Matthew Brown, Abel Gideon and the reluctant Frederick Chilton – who control who goes through to the other side.

Coming up the carved path in the mountainside, while heavy rain falls down causing some parts of the cliff-face to become waterfalls of murky water that tumble down into the misty abyss below, he sees a Raven flying overhead – it’s beady gaze looking down at him – and continuing head up the path, soon sees a groove hollowed by years of intense weathering going over it until it finally hollowed out a pass.

During King Crawford’s reign with his kind permission people could come and go often escorted by himself and the Queen to show the beautiful land beyond the pass then it all changed when King Mason Verger took control and changed the rule so that only a handle of people he chose could enter the pass if they were acceptable and reliable in the tasks he gave them.

Slipping off the horse, he heads to stone-carved hut shaped like large dome to within, where Frederick Chilton – one of the four Border Pass Guards who rather be somewhere else – lifts his head up from making notes to see who has come in then takes the Sealed Pass signed by King Mason from Hannibal.

Hannibal lowering his hood of his long cloak, heads back over to his horse to check she is alright at the sametime the other three Border Pass guards appear, coming into the large stone-carved dome wearing hides of animals to disguise their scent from when they go through the pass and hunt in the land beyond it.

“Chilton, who is this Silver-fox of a foreigner?” One of them – Abel Gideon – a rude, boorish brute of man wishing like Chilton to be somewhere else – like for example the whorehouses of sin, greed and lust rumoured to be run by Lady Bedelia Du Maurier.

“A Hunter, dear Gideon. He has been given a Border Pass by King Verger to enter that accursed land.” Another man speaks – Tobias Budge, once a former member of the Hunter’s Guild until leaving for unknown reasons – who know considered Hunters like Hannibal to be just worthless scum in it for the money they would get from the job.

Hannibal notices the third Border Pass guard is a young man, with his hands crossed over his chest while leaning nonchantly against the stone-carved dome wall with one leg up on it watching him with certain look. He would have to keep an eye out on this one. Something about the gaze indicated a hidden personality the other three men didn’t know about and was something Hannibal had experience with

Having a hidden personality of his own.

  It is in the middle of the night, the rain has ceased outside until leaving only pools of water on the ground in some places as Hannibal silently leaves behind the four sleeping Border Pass Guards and heads quietly to the Pass, where for the moment he soon swears he sees ghostly figure of a child – looking almost like his darling sister Mischa – then getting up into the saddle of his horse, indicates with soft click of his tongue for it to start going through the pass.

It is eerily quiet, with the wind-weathered pass looking like it is leaning in towards any travellers who come into the Pass then finally he reaches the other side to come upon a sight that has been untouched ever since Mason’s reign: large swathes of coniferous and deciduous trees spreading outwards towards towering mountains that jut out like sharp ragged teeth in the clouds of mist that surround them.

A strange sense of calm descends on Hannibal. Never has he seen such a pristine, beautiful place where Humans who once remember King Crawford’s gentle rule now fear to tread in case they incur the wrath of the now King Mason.

Slowly he begins to descend the carved path leading to the very bottom of the valley where the Ancient Beasts were still rumoured to roam and the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – was said to dwell.

  “O’kaasan, what’s wrong?” Will asks, when Murasaki Kushina comes to halt at the large river – Kahaku – where glacial boulders covered in moss, lichen and tiny moths lay within the refreshing water that comes from the mountains in the far distance.

“Man!!!? We must leave!!!?” Come my children.” She replies to him, while Will finds himself gripping her fur more tightly and looks around at the trees that cover both sides of the large flowing river that goes through the forest and out towards the ocean.

Listening attentively, Will uses his special skill he had to block out all other noises and slips his eyes close to immerse himself fully. He soon hears a steady heartbeat coming from the “Man” as the strange creature his O’kaasan had called the strange creature.

He wondered:

Why had they come here to where he lived?

What purpose had brought them here?

Warning growls - bring him out of those internal questions - coming from his other siblings, making him shoot his eyes open seeing watching through some gaps of broken trees that have fallen into the large river at some point.

Until it managed to build a dam of sorts. The “Man” who soon moves from his watching point, gets up onto the broken branches and clambering over them begins to wade through the water towards them until stopping in the middle of the large river.

“Speak Human. You have come into our Forest with some purpose. Why?” Will hears his O’kaasan growling with her fangs bared in warning, while he slips off her back and keeps close to her.

Noticing how the strange “Man’s” maroon eyes stare at him – like they could stare deeply into his soul – and before he even is thinking he is front of them, while they stay still as he starts to pad around them.

Inhaling every mixture of scent coming from the strange “Man” - all unrecognisable and unidentifiable – then bringing his hands up to their shoulders, pushes the strange creature to kneel on both knees so their eye-level.

  Hannibal now kneeling on both his knees in the water of the large river, stays still when the young man – no doubt in his mind the remaining heir of the Wolftrap Legacy – leans close to his cheek inhaling deeply with curiosity at what is he to them.

He knows if he makes a wrong move, four wolves and a one of them an Ancient Beast described in Ancient Texts saying to have existed in this forest, could easily tear him to a bloodied mess.

Keeping his hands still by resting them on his lap, Hannibal doesn’t even flinch when a moist, warm tongue licks his ear to test his reaction and moves to the other – almost like the young man is starting to scent-mark him – then pulls back slightly giving him a look that means he must reciprocate.

Leaning close to the young man’s ear, he brings out his tongue to lick softly – wishing deep also he could take hold of the young man, but he doesn’t – and when finishes scent-marking the other in the way he been indicated then goes back to staying still to feel his cheeks grabbed hold of.

This forces him to tilt his head backwards, where soon sharp teeth or fangs – he can’t tell just yet – bite into his skin – not tearing but marking – drawing some blood as the action of it makes him gasp breathlessly.

Feeling his eyes flutter close, his hands come nearly up to take hold of the young man when a twig snapping underfoot breaks the gentle peace and calm and lowering his head after feeling he is suddenly his now alone sees the young man and the Wolves have left.

Another presence though makes him turn his face to look down the large river, seeing a sight he would never forget even until his and the young man’s tale had faded into history.

A lustrous coat made of Raven’s feathers, gleaming in the soft moonlight from above and antlers that seem to Hannibal’s mind extend to the very heavens then it tilts it’s head backwards bellowing heavily. It’s breath rising like fine mist into the cold, night air.

PART 2

After finding a large hollow of a giant tree that has managed over years of growing in cliff-face until it’s large roots within have hollowed out some form of cave, Hannibal now sits up against one of large roots, twisted slightly as the tree which had been growing searched for water and nutrients.

On the cave wall are Ancient Markings of Forebearers who once in Ancient Times had lived in the forest with harmony with the Ancient Beasts illuminated by the makeshift fire he has made, while on makeshift some meat – rabbit – is being slowly roasted on a makeshift spit made from twigs.

He is calmly sketching with some charcoal a drawing of the young man with the wolves he had met – paying attention to the soft details of the youthful face and soft kissable lips – into an old drawing paper sketchpad and smiles softly when he senses a presence entering the cave.

Hannibal knows who it is and finishing off the final touches, gently closes the sketchpad to place it to one side then reaching forwards turns the makeshift spit so the meat is thoroughly cooked hearing the young man pad up to him.

Lowering his hands to his lap, after doing that task he turns slightly to face the young man with sea bluish-green eyes – deep pools of that colour that remind him of clear pools of water with sunlight filtering down from canopy of trees to shine down on them – curious and intrigued in what will happen next.

The young man still on his hands and knees, while wearing a lace white tunic of sorts and black breeches – which must have been stolen to make what he wears now – reaches for one of Hannibal’s hands. Taking hold of it, while he forgets how to breathe at the feel of tempting kissable lips brush against his wrist’s pulse followed by hint of fangs.

“Something wrong, my Love?”  He asks, before he can correct himself because they’re not Lovers and yet, he couldn’t deny the attraction he was starting to develop for this feral Wolf-Child with curly-brown locks and something else within him he just couldn’t explain what.

“No, just the way you look at me.” The young man replies to him, lifting his head with his eyes closed at first, while stilling holding Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal finds himself stroking the young man’s delicate cheekbone with feather light touches.

This makes the young man flutter his eyes open, revealing those beautiful eyes when he goes to move his hand away to sort the makeshift spit, so the meat doesn’t burn scorching him with such heat from that look, Hannibal can feel himself slowly becoming aroused then composes himself only just, asks the question.

“How do I look to you?” making the young man smile at him, replying with “As if you were deciding whether or not to eat me. Not that I’m adverse to the idea.” then goes back to nuzzling Hannibal’s wrist as Hannibal starts to feel conflicted by what has been said to him.

It was true, he had a darker side to after tortured in his own homeland by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – who overthrown his father and in front of his very young eyes at 17 years of age had taken his little baby sister away, while Gruta’s men took great relish and pleasure in violating his body again and again until he been forced to accept he would starve if he did not eat the food they gave him.

Then to his ultimate horror happened to him, they brought him food and due to his weakened state Hannibal had eaten it then afterwards had discovered the food had been his own sister – slaughtered for meat.

Anger had risen in him, while he soon killed the men who had murdered his sister and as the years went by when he travelled to the land King Mason owned after overthrowing King Crawford in the shadows of alleyways and underground caverns he was given another name “The Chesapeake Ripper” - based on the mythological monster the Wendigo from Ancient Texts who ate the flesh of man.

Coming out of the harsh, cold memory he locks it away in the oubliettes of his Mind Palace and slips his hand away to check the meat on the makeshift spit – finding it is ready to eat – then taking it off the holder, rips some of the meat off and holds it out to the young man.

Sea bluish-green eyes flick to the meat and to him than back to the meat, while Hannibal sighs softly and states. “It’s not poisoned. See.” tearing the meat piece in two then eating it to show to the young man it is only rabbit meat with some wild rosemary he found growing near the cave sprinkled on top.

The young man leans upwards though taking the other half of the meat from his fingers and placing it in his mouth soon presses his lips against Hannibal’s causing him to stiffen slightly then fully relaxing, opens his mouth as the meat is soon shared between them through their mouth’s.

He finds himself starting to breathe heavily through both his nostrils, changing position each time when a warm, moist tongue laps against his and starts to entwine as they keep on eating the rabbit meat between themselves then before he is even thinking of what he is doing, Hannibal has soon pinned the feral Wolf-child to the cave floor on his blanket – he had laid out from his traveling kit - and yet, keeps his hands either side of the young man’s head.

Both are breathing heavily, while he can feel soft hands start to unlace his clothes and pulls back heavily only to soon arch slightly with a breathless hitched gasp when feels the young man leans up to bite one of his nipples through the fabric of his crème-white tunic at the sametime twisting the other nipple, so it rises and peaks under those ministrations.

His hands begin to scar into the cave floor slightly as he un-arches his back and leans over the young man still gasping breathlessly as between his thighs in the confines of breeches, Hannibal can feel the tightening pressure indicating he is slowly becoming aroused and needs to release it one way or another then moves his head back down to kiss the young man again, needing to distract himself from it.

A hand clawing down his shoulder – sharp and lethal feeling to his skin – causes him to groan heavily in machoistic pleasure as it draws some blood in the process, while a sly soft hand soon slips between his thighs to cup him through his breeches heavily and starts to unlace him teasingly slow it makes move his lips away to pant heavily in the young man’s ear.

“If…. you don’t hurry. I won’t last much longer.”

“Don’t worry….I plan to extend this for very long indeed, Hunter.”

“Not….haaa….You wee minx!!!?….not Hunter, but Hannibal.”

“Hannibal….….hmm…then evidently I should tell you mine.”

“Yes…. ahhh!!…Oh, there, you wee minx!!!”

“Will, my name is Will.”

Hannibal wonders how long he can last, while Will now slips downwards, and he find himself flinging his head backwards crying out heavily when he finds himself swallowed down into moist, hot mouth then slipping his hands downwards grips the young man’s head to hold it closer to his groin, watching the sleek curly brown head start to bob back and forth between his thighs.

His mouth agape, he finds himself fisting his hands into the blanket for support as slick, slurp noises and breathless moans, gasps, pants and whimpers fill the cave then he tenses heavily, heart pounding heavily against ribcage feeling himself cup the young man’s cheek to stroke it as the sinful moist, hot mouth swallows down his release.

Soon Hannibal falls backwards to land slightly on the tree root and his travelling pack then whimpers from overstimulation when he is forced to experience another orgasm, while the young man has managed to slip his clothes off fully leaving him only in his crème-white tunic and lace breeches wide open to fully expose him.

“Enough…. Will…Enough!!!……I…want you!!” He gasps out, chest heaving heavily with laboured gasps making the young man raise his head, some remnants of Hannibal’s seed still on his lips and crawls up to him to look at him.

“You want….me?”

“Is that so much to ask of you?”

“No…..I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you…..as my….Mate.”

“No……I want you as well, Hannibal. I want you……as my….Mate.”

Those words echo and re-echo in Hannibal’s mind, while hands begin to peel of clothes until both are free of them as maroon eyes soon look downwards at a beautiful unblemished and un-marked body then the young man rolls into his back, getting up onto his hands and knees.

Dipping his spine in such a way, it shows the perfect curve of it and willing his heart to stop thudding against his ribcage gets over Will to fully mount him at the sametime slipping his hands down the young man’s sides to grip his hips then bends his head down to gently kiss the nape of his soon-to-be-lover.

Inhaling the natural scent of him, making Will turn to nuzzle his nose against his affectionally and stroking his cheek with one hand whispering to him. “Did you just smell me?” as Hannibal, finds himself reaching into his traveling pack to get out the glass bottle of oil – which will just have to do for what was going to happen next.

“Difficult to avoid, Myilamis, when you tempt me so much with your beautiful eyes, lips and body.” He replies in husky whisper, uncorking the bottle of healing oil with one hand and thoroughly coating his fingers in it.

“Hurry……I want you, Hannibal.” Will whimpers, making Hannibal snarl slightly, biting down on the young man’s nape for his impatience hearing it cause a breathless moan as those fine hips push back into his groin and slipping hand down with fingers coated in the oil, cups between those fine cheeks.

He rubs his oil-coated fingers over the puckered entrance, hearing the soft breathless moans coming from the young man as he starts to spread the oil on it then slips a finger within into tight, warm insides.

Hearing Will soon give a pleasured cry and arch against him slightly, followed by the young man turning his flushed face to look at Hannibal with mouth agape in breathless pants and gasps over his shoulder.

“Please……Hannibal?”

Kissing Will’s nape, he coats himself enough with the oil and leaning over his soon-to-be-lover or Mate has he been called pushes his hips forwards until finally become fully sheathed within tight, warm insides as he trembles heavily over Will, feeling himself arching slightly when inner muscles choose to clench around his cock in such a way it is exquisite.

“Will…. if you squeeze me like that, I’ll……cum before we even mated properly.” Hannibal pants out, feeling Will relax his inner muscles around him and yet, only start to undulate his hips back and forth into his – the urge to Mate becoming strong.

Breathless moans, harsh pants and gasps followed by skin slapping against skin fills the cave, while the scent of Mating rises into the air then a guttural cry, followed by gasping of “Oh…god!!!…. Will!!!.” and finally silence as both succumb to what they just experienced together.

PART 3

The dawn chorus of birds singing makes Will gently curled up against his now Mate’s or Hannibal’s warm, muscular with the blanket over both their bodies, flutter his eyes open only to shoot them open as he suddenly realises what he has done and panicking heavily, wriggles free out of the older man’s grip.

“Myilamis, what’s wrong?” Hannibal asks him, reaching out for him as he flinches away from it, moving back on his and knees at the sametime a shadow covers the cave entrance to reveal the sight of his Wolf-mother – Murasaki Kushina – who flicks her gaze over to Hannibal, who he can see is now kneeling with his head bowed low.

Blondish hair falling in front of his bowed head, which nearly touches the cave floor, and something is said to his Mate. But he doesn’t understand what is said, so just watches as Hannibal reaches for his strange clothes to slip back on.

  “SILENCE, HUMAN!!!”

Hannibal standing in front of Murasaki Kushina – the Wolf Goddess, last of the Ancient Beasts of the Wolf Clan – as she rests on top of a large boulder that juts out from large precipe carved strangely in the shape of a wolf, with it’s mouth bared open, while waterfall falls out of the mouth to tumble down into the abyss below knows he shouldn’t have angered her.

But he had to tell her at some point that Will is going to figure out he is Human of sorts and he came from the land on the other side of Border Pass, while she was not his actual Mother.

“I apologise, Murasaki Kushina-san. But you must understand King Mason wishes me to rid you of the son you have raised as though he was your own and give him the head of the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – because he believes it can cure whatever is affecting the people of his what are not his lands.”  Hannibal apologises to her, remembering when he had seen the beautiful creature at night looking straight at him.

Like it could see deep into his soul. And maybe it could see deep into his soul – see the deep secret he was keeping hidden from other humans around him, about the mark on his arm shaped as golden ferns with black flowers growing on them that if people saw it they would think he had the strange Plague that was spreading through the land of King Mason.

“You must leave, Human. If you came back here to this land, I will rip of your head. Do you understand?” She snarls at him, causing him to lift his head up to stare into those eyes of her’s and finds himself replying. “And leave Will behind. He is Human and Heir of the Wolf-trap Legacy.” Then shouts the rest of the words at her, feeling the anger rising in him.

“HOW LONG DO YOU THINK YOU KEEP HIM LIKE THIS!!! EYES UNCLOUDED FROM WHAT IS STARTING TO HAPPEN!!!”

“ENOUGH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I HAVE DONE TO PROTECT HIM!!! HIS MOTHER DIED GIVING BIRTH TO HIM AND IF I LEFT HIM HE WOULD HAVE DIED HIMSELF AS A BABE!!!!”

A snarl escapes from Murasaki Kushina, bearing her fangs with dripping saliva and getting up from her perch, jumps down to lunge towards him biting straight down into his shoulder with them – going through muscle and bone.

Blood soon spurts upwards into the air, covering the ground with crimson petals as Hannibal feels himself being pushed backwards to the edge of carved precipe. This forces him to brace his feet apart and place his hands on her muzzle trying to make her see some sense of reason when he suddenly feels he is right at the edge of the precipe of the carved stone wolf’s snout.

“O’KAASAN!!!? NO!!!!?

A shout – Will shouting – makes Murasaki Kushina immediately still in nearly pushing Hannibal off the edge, while he feels himself soon being turned and flung heavily down the jutted precipe causing the blood from his shoulder to smear down the stone.

Covering it slightly in gleaming path of crimson, while he rolls down the arched stone-carved neck of the stone Wolf coming to the bottom where he finds himself hitting a tree branch that had fallen over at some point – a long time ago – with a sickening thud.

He goes to get up, seeing Will has gotten in front of him on his hands and knees looking different from before – his hands have become sharp claws and fangs have unsheathed – and hearing snarling coming from his Lover.

Murasaki Kushina, her muzzle still covered in his own blood looks between them both – to her own adopted son and to Hannibal – making him lower his head slightly, wishing it hadn’t been in this kind of way as she says to him. “What have you done!!!!?”

She pads close, only for Will to get in front of him as the young man’s voice starts to come out in warning snarls for her to back off and hackles raised, while sea bluish-green eyes have become like swirling tempest then something glinting out of the corner of his eye, makes Hannibal try and get up - even though he is deeply wounded.

He watches the iron bullet - that come from a rifle – in slow motion impact into her shoulder, shattering it to an explosion of bone, muscle and blood making Murasaki Kushina stumble backwards only slightly as he manages to hold Will back for his own safety then a loud bang echoes in the air around them, one Hannibal recognises as a fire-cannon – lit by a piece of charcoal causing a reaction to allow the iron ball to explode out towards whoever the weapon had been pointed at.

It slams into the Wolf-Goddess with such force, her large body falls off the precipe of the stone-carved wolf into the raging white-frothed waters of the waterfall that tumbles out of the open mouth down into the rising mist that comes up from the abyss.

Will manages to wriggle out of his grasp, rushing over to edge to look down at the sametime Hannibal – who had taken his crossbow with him, when Murasaki Kushina had asked to talk to him – sensing the person hiding in the foliage of the bushes and trees, kneels up bringing it up then quickly fires an iron arrow to where he can see the hidden Hunter hiding.

It causes a cry to become half-choked one, when it hits and blood spurts up slightly to land on the ground illuminated slightly to indicate he got whoever they had been then immediately drops it when the pain in his shredded wound reminds him he must get to his traveling pack – where healing herbs where in it.

At the sametime, he suddenly hears Will emit a blood-curdling howl – head tilted backwards to expose his throat – of such pure grief, pain and anguish it penetrates deeply into Hannibal’s soul.

Emotions he had locked away after Mischa’s death to become released from the confines of the oubliettes he put them in and allows for single solitary tear to run down his cheek then because of the blood-loss he is experiencing, he feels himself falling to one side with a muffled thump.

His breathing starts to come in laboured gasps, while Will who is still in his Wolf-like state comes over to him starting to nudge him to try make him keep his eyes open as he hears his Lover whining heavily – not able to speak – at him.

“It’s alright, Will. I want…leave…. you……It’s alright….”

Hannibal manages to say, before darkness sweeps in like raven’s wings and covers his vision as he sinks into unconscious state.

  In the centre of the forest, where the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – dwells, is a large island with giant sequoia growing on it as the roots of the large tree reach beneath the earth and into the lake, while it is the island that Will now leads Hannibal’s horse – Cersai – with Hannibal on her bare back, until they finally both reach it.

Reaching up with his hands, Will pulls Hannibal off her bare back into the water pulling his Mate over to soft bed of moss, where wildflowers – rare and unknown to any Human eye – grow then sunlight soon filters down from through the large gap of the ring of trees to shine down on the three figures – a horse, a young man with Wolf-blood running through his veins and Hunter who was now his Mate and had captured his heart.

  Blackness like ink from inkwell surrounds Hannibal Lecter as the man lays calmly on the bed of moss, surrounded by wildflowers as little Kodoma start to appear curious and intrigued by him then sit around him – some on the moss-covered rocks and others on the roots of the Great Sequoia.

A tinkling noise echoes in the air, followed by leaf from way above starting to float gently downwards swaying and dancing in the soft breeze until finally it lands in the clear lake water to be blown gently across as the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag.

The Kodoma seeing their Lord, head away and up the tree in trail of white until finally disappearing leaving the area empty of them.

It begins to walk, bringing down it’s cloven each-time onto the lake water causing golden ripples to spread outwards on the water until it finally comes up to Hannibal, looking down at him.

Black eyes seeming to show a multitude of a field of stars in them, while it soon bends its fine head down to touch it’s snout to the ragged shoulder wound allowing for golden ripple to spread outwards over it then pulls back, seeing the Curse mark from an Ancient Beast turned into a Daemon on the Hunter’s wrist whispering into the man’s mind:

You must find a way to heal that yourself, Lord Hannibal Lecter of the Dvaras Line.

Then finished with the task it has done of healing the ragged shoulder wound made by the fangs of Murasaki Kushina – Ancient Beast and Last of the Wolf Clan – tilts it’s head upwards to the canopy of ringed trees as it body starts to change.

In the canopy of the ringed trees, little white Kodama begin to appear watching their Lord, who has now become the Spirit-Walker of Moon – who is also known as the Ravenstag when it is day – and slowly one by one their heads begin to click back and forth, while Spirit-Walker of the Moon starts to walk making the gentle breeze become a strong wind.

This moves the tops of the large swathes of the trees all around in the forest back and forth like waves going back and forth on the sea-shore, while the little white Kodoma move with the wind as Spirit-Walker begins its nightly vigil.

   You must find a way to heal that yourself, Lord Hannibal Lecter of the Dvaras Line.”

Weakly fluttering his eyes open, Hannibal hears that phrase that been whispered to him in the dream or had it been a dream echo until dissipating like it never existed as laughter – child-like – fills his ears, followed by a voice saying his name. “Hannebae.”  then finds himself hoarsely whispering the spirit’s name “Mischa" 

 She giggles softly, her laughter soft and light. Just like it had been when she been alive, while he goes to get up only to wince heavily when his wounded shoulder protests making him place a hand to it. Only to feel where there had been a ragged wound is now healed flesh - like Murasaki Kushina had never sunk her fangs - then lays back down, while Mischa comes up to sit in front of him.

He tries to understand:

Why had the Spirit of the Forest - the Ravenstag - healed him in this way?

But why?

And for what purpose?

Soft, little hands cupping his cheeks makes him look at the spirit of his sister Mischa and smiling softly, rests his forehead against her’s - like he used do when they were children then understand he was been given a chance to say goodbye to her.

As he hadn’t had when she had been murdered by the rogue General – Vladimir Grutas – and pulling back, strokes her cheek lightly with the back of his knuckles as her beautiful eyes inherited from their mother seem to sparkle with happiness at being allowed before she moves onto the Spirit World that she can say goodbye to him and Hannibal to her.

“Goodbye, sweet little Mischa.”

He whispers hearing her whispered reply of “Hannebae.” allowing for the tear that has formed to run down his cheek to plip onto the grass where her Spirit had been then lowering his hands down to his lap, senses his mare – Cersai – come up to from where she had been grazing.

Nudging his head lightly with her snout, making him bring his hand up to go and cup her cheek, when he stiffens at the sight of the mark on his wrist making him lower it to unlace his tunic sleeve seeing as he un-wraps the bandage that covers it – seeing the gold ferns with black flowers on them has spread more.

The Curse Mark came from an Ancient Boar God who due to iron bullet made by Mason’s Blacksmith Francis Dolerhyde – the man not knowing the weapons he made would be used to get rid of the Ancient Beasts in the Northern Lands – become a Plague Monster – a seething mass of hatred, rage and anger.

It had nearly destroyed the village he been staying in, before traveling to Baltimore, Maryland and knowing the cost of becoming permanently cursed if he allowed it to gore him in any way Hannibal had killed it – severing its life.

But it had managed to wound and curse by stabbing one of it’s tusks into his lower abdomen before he had done so, spreading the Curse it carried into his bloodstream and so creating within him The Chesapeake Ripper.

The Wise Woman of the village in the Western Land, who had experienced a vision of this event happening had told him he must leave before he affects the whole village by mindlessly slaughtering them in a bloodlust fury.

Leaving the village behind he had also left his betrothed-to-be Miriam Lass – the Village Chief’s daughter – and remembers how she was always curious and investigating into things she really shouldn’t have.

She had given him just before he left, both of her curved crystal daggers forcing him to not break his promise that if he found a cure he would return to her because she was his Betrothed.

The daggers were made from crystal mined from the caves near the Village in the Western Land – sharp and deadly, while glinting with many hues of dark purple, emerald and purple.

Deciding not to dwell on those memories, he lays back down feeling still drained of energy and sorting the bandage rolls his sleeve back down then just stares up at the canopy of the ringed trees, seeing the wispy white clouds spreading outwards in the light blue sky.

  Sunlight streams down through the canopies of the mixed trees, illuminating certain patches of ground as Will comes to the edge of large lake occupied by a large island with a Giant Sequoia.

He heads over to some moss-covered stones jutting out of the water gently bounding across them leaving only a light footprint in his wake.  It soon disappears as the moss springs back.

His Mate Hannibal is awake, resting on a moss-bed surrounded by wildflowers as Cersai – his dappled grey white mare is lying beside him on his left-hand side. Hannibal must have sensed him or heard him in some way, because the man rises slightly up on his elbows giving a smile – a weak one, but still a smile – then getting on his hands and knees, pads up to the man.

  Rising slightly up onto his elbows, Hannibal sits up instead when Will indicates the Scent-marking Ritual so tilting his head backwards exposes his neck to allow himself to be scent-mark it then when that is done, does the same to his young lover.

“Are you hungry?” I brought some food.” Will asks him – after they have affectionally nuzzled against each-other – reaching into a makeshift pouch-bag made from rabbit skins – dried and tanned in the sun – to bring out some dry-cured meat.

He watches place it in his own mouth, chewing it and placing his hands-on Hannibal’s shoulders leans towards him to feed him this way - the meat transferred by mouth to mouth, until he feels his strength slowly starting to return then notices Will has slid one hand down to place it on his abdomen.

"Will, what’s wrong? Is your stomach hurting?” Hannibal asks, going to reach when a warning growl coming from Will’s Wolf-sister makes him lower his hand and look over to her.

“Do not touch. Unless you are willing to submit by exposing your belly.” She says, making him look to his young lover for confirmation if he should and Will silently nods to him.

Managing to move, he lays on his side to expose his belly like he has been asked and waits for Will to indicate to him he has passed the… test… tasked him with then his hand is taken hold of and placed on his young lover’s abdomen.

“Hannibal, I’m pregnant. I’ve conceived your child as it seems when we mated the Crescent moon was in the sky. It means for Wolves that it is Mating Season.” Will tells him, with tear-filled eyes filled with tears of happiness, joy and gladness they were having a family.

Will was bearing. His young lover with Wolf-blood in his veins was pregnant with his child or children and find himself trembling heavily because he knows he must tell Will also about the Curse-mark he bears.

“Will….” He begins to say, when Will’s three Wolf-brothers suddenly appear from the other side of the shoreline and after bounding across the stones, surround them as Hannibal sees they are looking over to the densest part of the shoreline.

Great hulking shadows move into the sunlight streaming down to reveal thousands of boars being led by one who could be a leader of some kind.

“Boars from the Western Lands.” One of Will’s Wolf-brother’s – Hiharo – says and asks a question, which even Hannibal can’t answer now. “Why have they come here?”

Had the Strange Plague reached the Western lands without his knowledge?

Hannibal feels concerned now at seeing the sight of Boars that knew roamed the forests of the Western lands and notices one is looking at him.

“I am Will of the Murasaki Kushina Clan. Why have you come to here?”

Hannibal standing close to his young lover, who has introduced himself to the Boar Leader, who stands with a large herd of thousand strong Warrior Boars – whispering among themselves as why a Human wasin the Northern Lands, home of the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag.

“I am Ouras, second-in-command of Lord Jakkoto’s Boar Clan.” The Boar – Ouras - replies, followed looking over to Hannibal and back to Will, asking the young man a question. “Why is a Human here than…in this forest?”

“Hannibal is my….Mate. He was badly wounded, so the Spirit of the Forest healed him” Will replies, causing Ouras to stare at him with widened eyes and turns his gaze back to Hannibal saying the next words in sneering tone, so his young lover can hear them.

“Then why didn’t the Spirit of the Forest – the Ravenstag – save the Queen of our Clan. Because your…..Mate….murdered her in cold blood without mercy.”

“HOW DARE YOU, PIG!!!!”

Hannibal hears his young lover’s Wolf-sister – Chiyoh – snarling with fangs bared, making him step in front of her and rolling his tunic sleeve down then unwraps the bandage to reveal to Ouras and everyone else – including Will – the Curse-mark.

“YOUR LYING!!!! THAT DID NOT HAPPEN TO OUR QUEEN!!!”

“OURAS, ENOUGH. SILENCE YOUR TONGUE THIS INSTANT!!!”

Everything goes still. All the Boars bowing their heads low as Ouras – now ashamed of his actions – does the same and pads back so not incur the wrath of the Great Boar God, last of his kind and one of the Ancient Beasts mentioned in Ancient times – the Lord Jakkoto.

#hannigram #hannibal nbc #will graham x hannibal lecter #fanfic #fanfiction #submission