Omg what terrific long leggy big eared pick for ear vibe 💖💖 thank you. I love those critters

Heehee! I'm soooo glad you liked my choice! They are one of my favorite animals. 💙

You deserve amazing ears like that! :3

I've been awfully distracted from conquer by writing on my abyss demon!sy bingyuan au. Have a snippet! Binghe and Shen Yuan reunite at Huan Hua.

---

His first reaction to seeing Shen Yuan at Huan Hua Palace was rage, thinly veiling fear.

Shen Yuan was the seduction he had fled from, finally catching back up to him. He was the blissful oasis, coming to distract him from his goals. He was the promise of comfort and belonging, hovering at the edge of everything happening to make Binghe lose sight of what was important.

There he was, bowing before the Old Palace Master, this unassuming, soft little man. There was no sign, now, of his dark mana that used to surround him at all times, no playful tendrils curling around Binghe's ankles, no extra mouths, eyes or sharp teeth.

He looked like a normal, harmless young cultivator and Binghe wondered how he had managed to gain control of his nature so quickly, when control seemed to be far away just a year and a half ago.

The only thing that didn't seem to have changed was how quickly Shen Yuan sensed his presence.

Black eyes found him under the cover of long eyelashes and Binghe hated how quickly his body sprung to attention in response, awareness coursing through him like crackling electricity.

He wondered if Shen Yuan knew how he commanded his body, even after all this time.

Sensing his distraction, the Old Palace Master followed Shen Yuan's glance until he saw Binghe standing at the entrance.

"Ah, Binghe," he called, intentionally informal, possessive indulgence in his eyes. He reached out, beckoning, and Binghe came closer until the Old Palace Master could put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

With close interest, Binghe watched as Shen Yuan's hand twitched at his side.

He got his first good look at the scene now. Shen Yuan was in simple cultivator's robes and there was a large, dead beast laid at the palace master's feet. A winged lioness. A rare catch, outside of the abyss, and a deadly one too. Many cultivators would naively go for the males, desiring their golden mane, and disregarding the infinitely more dangerous female lions. That Shen Yuan had not only managed to kill one but came out of the fight seemingly completely unharmed spoke of his power and competence.

And the Old Palace Master knew it.

Slowly, Binghe started to understand what was happening before him. Shen Yuan was trying to get into Huan Hua. He was trying to bait the Old Palace Master into keeping him here and, going by the greedy shine in the old man's eyes, it was working.

"Binghe," Shen Yuan said then, unexpectedly. "It's good to see you well."

He shook off his momentary surprise. Binghe wasn't sure why he had thought they would pretend not to know each other, but obviously Shen Yuan had had other plans.

Before he could reply, the Old Palace Master interjected. "Master Shen knows our Binghe?"

Shen Yuan's face grew a little stiff, but Binghe finally found his voice. "Shen Yuan. I didn't expect to see you here." There was a moment of silence before he added: "I'm glad to see you too."

Where had his eloquency gone? He felt like a bumbling youth, all talk and nothing behind it. He quickly turned to the Old Palace Master. "We met on my travels. Shen Yuan saved me from a situation that would have otherwise ended very badly for me. I owe him my life."

Maybe Shen Yuan hadn't been so sure of his welcome after all, going by the way his stiff expression was replaced by surprised pleasure. "Anyone would have done what I did."

Binghe felt the sudden, desperate urge to laugh.

"Well, any friend of Binghe's is a friend of Huan Hua," the Old Palace Master said. "Of course, Master Shen is welcome to stay for as long as it pleases him." He looked like he had just added two profitable, fat cows to his stables instead of inviting two wolves into his flock of sheep.

Shen Yuan bowed, his eyes flicking away from where the Old Palace Master still had his hand on Binghe's arm. "This one is grateful for the palace master's generosity."

"I will have a servant take care of your gift so that we can display the hide soon. Come, Shen Yuan, I'm sure we can find a room for you." He put his other hand on Shen Yuan's shoulder and pulled both of them to the door, deeper into the palace.

Hidden by the way they were walking ahead of the palace master, Shen Yuan turned his face to Binghe just the slightest bit. As soon as their eyes met, Shen Yuan's mouth curled up into a sly fox's smile.

The poor thing in the road, it's eyes still glistening 17k by @eruherdiriel

Hooves are not what wake Jon in the middle of the night, pulse racing and hands clammy with sweat. It’s fire. Orange and angry, eating away at houses and shops and shacks in his dream. Even now that he is awake, Jon can still taste burnt flesh on the back of his tongue. The wounds from his brother’s mutiny and Drogon’s gouge, frozen only hours ago, burn white. War leaves everyone broken, Jon perhaps most of all. Sansa finds even peacetime requires letting go.

the sky is big enough 15k @hopetorun

The war is over, except all the ways it isn't, and Sansa isn't alone, except for all the ways she is.

O Voyagers 28k WIP

Jon’s eyes are fixed on the floor at her feet. To a stranger it might look like respect, the proper deference shown to a queen, but Sansa knows better. If he wished to look at her, he would. He has not forgiven me, she thinks, her heart a stone in her chest. He likely never will.

daughters and queens bleed alone 4k

They crown Sansa with a rope of twisted steel, two wolves arching across her brow in a delicate embrace. No stags upon this crown—no branching antlers, no gleaming manes, no blooming hearts of southern roses. No fire, no blood, no graceful sweep of scales and wings, or the silver bite of dragon’s teeth. The Queen in the North stands before them, and Winter has come.

old wounds 2k by @jonsaslove

Jon left King's Landing and never returned. Sansa became Queen in the North and weathered the storm. When they see each other again, there is not much left to say.

stories to tell our children 1k by @jonsaslove

“You said that Old Nan used to tell you stories so scary you couldn’t sleep for a fortnight! That was a baby story!” Duncan nods, agreeing with his sister. Her father interrupts. “Well, Old Nan was a very good story teller. She could tell you a story about fairies and princesses and make it seem terrifying with just her voice and a menacing stare.” Or; Jon and Sansa tell their children bedtime stories.

Where the Shadow Ends 245k (I'm sure y'all have read this one, but it is THE post canon fic, so it must be mentioned!)

For years Sansa has ruled the North, wisely, justly, capably--and utterly alone. Everyone tells her she needs an heir; all she wants is a family. But after everything she’s suffered, there’s only one man she trusts won’t use her for her claim. Only one she trusts with her body. Unfortunately, she trusts him in no other way--especially not with her heart. For years Jon’s hidden in the far north, choosing solitude over the people he loves, choosing self-exile as punishment rather than atoning. But then Tormund tires of his moping and drags Jon back to Winterfell where guilt and consequences and a tempting offer await him. accompanying gifset by @thewindsofwolves

We Set Fire in the Snow 7k by @framboise-fics

Three days was long enough for moments of tenderness, for soft touches and gentle murmurs alongside the violence of their passions, but it was not long enough to burn this fire between them down to ashes, to put out the flames, he thinks ruefully, bitterly, achingly, as he rides out and looks back at her standing on the ramparts as he remembered her, her hair a curtain of fire, her body rigid like she has been sculpted from ice. He will take that fire back North, to warm him through frigid nights, he thinks; to burn inside of him so that he shall never find any peace; and let her feel the same, he thinks, let him not be alone in his agony. If he loved her he should surely wish her peace, so does he love her? Or is this how a wicked man loves, painfully, cruelly, selfishly? Is he her punishment just as she is his?

An Affair in Stages 13k by @justadram (not tagged post canon but works as one which is interesting as the first chapter was posted way back in 2013!)

It begins with a proposition, but where it will end neither of them knows.

Please Speak Well of Me 17k

A queen isn’t supposed to cry. So she’s learned to turn her tears to frost before they ever reach her cheeks. “Sansa,” Jon says to her, and the ice within shifts, weakens. Brackish water begins to leak through the cracks. She can barely remember how to speak, and it doesn’t come as much of a comfort that he seems to be fumbling as well. Over the foolish moons, Sansa had imagined that, if the time came that Jon ever returned, the mere sight of him would unwind the tangles of conflict inside of her. There would be something in his eyes, something she had forgotten about his face, something that would remind her what was real and what was not between the two of them.

breathe me in, taste my words 2k

Much to her surprise, marriage has only made Sansa less of a lady, not more. She doesn’t mind terribly, but maybe that’s because Jon doesn’t either.

Stone by Stone 8k

Finally, her words came in a rush. “But I seem to have built my own wall. Stone by stone, little by little, after each of them disappointed me, hurt me. And now that they are dead, I sometimes fear I may die behind my wall that no one can can walk thru.”

fire in exile 2k by @princemills

The thoughts of the others he’d lost were too unpleasant, and the thoughts of those who survived made him want to keel over like a babe, knowing he’d left them behind. It wasn’t really a choice, but it didn’t stop him from pondering his choices. From King in the North to bending the knee to Daenerys to stabbing her with a dagger beneath white ash borne from burning flesh, he’s never made the correct choice, and now he’ll burn in hell for it. Or, as Westeros deems hell: he’ll freeze his balls off at the wall, or Tormund will cut them off. Whichever comes first. - a quick study of jon and the choices he makes in exile.

watch me run right back to you 16k

Three times Jon and Sansa almost kiss…and three times they actually do.

come out of hiding (i'm right here beside you) 36k @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

AU after 8.05. After the death of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow chooses to live beyond the Wall, while Sansa Stark, the newly-crowned Queen in the North, marries a Dornish prince. Three years later, when Jon finally gathers the courage to return to Winterfell, he finds that while many things have changed, one hasn't: he's still in love with Sansa. (Featuring widow!Sansa, contrite!Jon, and a cute baby.)

Homecoming 31k @theoriginalsuki

Halfway to him, she broke composure; she flew at him, an arrow from a bow, and he opened to receive her, lifting her, clutching her to the soft, neglected animal of his body. Sansa has one request of Jon, and then he can leave her forever: help her to find a husband.

Gifsets: Jonsa and Their Three Children by @kingbuckley , Together We Build Our Empire by @aureliacamargo, Future Jonsa with Children by @amandapeetshusband, In Which They Live a Long and Happy Life Together by @baelerion, To See Him Once Again by @theirwinterfell, Maybe We'll Meet Again by @thatmansplayinggalaga

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS

Desmond as a maned wolf for the animal desmond asks?? With their long legs, they're so elegant looking!

(One of these days, I will tag all the Desmond turns to an animal ideas but today is not that day)

Oh my god. Look how elegant maned wolves look:

Those legs… dammnn.

Unfortunately, this does mean that Desmond would be eye-catching, especially if we take in consideration how they’re native to Argentina, Brazil, Bolivia, Peru, Paraguay, and Uruguay so… any timeline we put him in, he’s gonna catch people’s attention.

Unorganized Notes:

Altaïr would definitely try to keep him in Masyaf because he’s so eyecatching. Desmond starts making noises that sounds like he’s dying whenever Altaïr tries to leave him behind so he gets to come along but they make a compromise and Desmond needs to stay in the bureau. Desmond does use his long limbs to jump out of the bureau using the rooftop exit and guards who see him just freerunning on rooftops would swear they have seen a devil dog who can ‘fly’. Altaïr ignores all that rumors because he’d just get a headache if he admits Desmond has been leaving the bureau and the Rafiqs (and Malik) don’t bother to tell Altaïr what his ‘pet wolf’ has been up to because they know Altaïr knows.

Desmond would stay in Monteriggioni because Ezio asks him to protect his mother and sister. He likes to hunt birds and the servants in Monteriggioni knows that he’s requesting them to pluck the feathers whenever he brings his prey into the kitchen. They would give him a basket filled with the plucked and clean feathers that he would give to Maria in hopes of helping her. Everyone is wondering how Desmond knows about Maria’s ‘feather collection’ but they just try to reason that the wolf must have seen Ezio do it and is copying his ‘master’. Maria doesn’t miraculously get better but Desmond is sure he’s doing something good because Maria had started petting him whenever he brings a new basket of feathers. Plus... The kitchen staff always have fresh birds to serve.

Ratonhnhaké:ton definitely takes him with him but he always asks Desmond to stay in the forest if he’s going to cities. Desmond stays… for an hour then uses the rooftops to navigate the city where Ratonhnhaké:ton is. Ratonhnhaké:ton is never surprised and, really, Ratonhnhaké:ton is sure Desmond is more intelligent than most animals and treats him like they’re equals, much to the confusion (or derision) of others.

Guilty as Sin?

Thank you for this song, Taylor <3.

Read on ao3

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I dream of cracking locks

Throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks

Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox

I'm seeing visions, am I bad?

Or mad? Or wise?

The energy that permeated The Three Broomsticks on a Saturday night was one of students that had been cooped up all week. Hermione could barely hear Ginny’s voice through the noise, and even if she could, she probably would have struggled to pay attention. Of course, she was thankful for the invitation even though Hogsmeade weekends weren’t really her thing these days.

Ginny liked to talk about Quidditch and boys. Hermione loved Ginny, but conversations about Quidditch and boys grew tedious after some time. Not that Hermione never thought about Quidditch or boys — in fact, she spent most of her time trying not to. 

Hermione stared at the glass in front of her, the honey-like hue of its contents matched the dim light of the bar. She didn’t even like butterbeer that much, but it was something to do with her hands. She reached for the glass, and her fingers made an imprint in the condensation, sending shivers down her spine. Then, she brought it to her lips and took a swig. 

The smooth buttery flavor made her mouth water in a way the butterbeer itself couldn’t satisfy. 

Unsatisfying. Maybe that’s why she didn’t like butterbeer. It wasn’t quite enough. 

Hermione placed her drink back down on the table and turned back to Ginny, only to find she had stopped talking. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” said Ginny. 

Hermione frowned — it was no secret that she hadn’t been a perfect friend lately. Distracted was an understatement. Ever since Ron and Lavender had gotten together, nothing could cheer her up. Ginny was usually pretty understanding, but maybe her patience was finally running thin. “Sorry, my mind was just wandering.”

“Oh,” said Ginny. “No, I was just looking behind you.”

“Behind me?”

“Yeah.”

Hermione nodded. She didn’t need to look to know what Ginny was referring to. And yet, as if someone else was controlling her body, she swiveled in her chair to confirm. 

His bright red hair was unmistakable. It always was. That was usually one of the things Hermione loved about him, but not recently. She couldn’t not see him even if she didn’t want to. 

He sat at a table for two near the bar’s entrance, with Lavender across from him. She had clearly styled her hair — her curls looked fresh and sleek, unlike Hermione’s wild and untamed mane. Her face glowed underneath perfect makeup, and her feminine clothing revealed just enough to catch the eyes of men sitting at surrounding tables. But Ron’s eyes seemed glued to the butterbeer in front of him, not Lavender. 

Maybe Hermione’s optimistic side was just imagining that. 

“Sorry,” said Ginny. “I wouldn’t have suggested The Three Broomsticks if I knew they’d be here.”

“I know,” said Hermione. “It’s okay.”

She couldn’t avoid him forever. Not in person, and definitely not in her mind.

I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss, how I long for our trysts

Someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts

Only your actions talk

That boy had been living in Hermione mind for as long as she could remember, and especially since Lavender laid her paws on him. In fact, that had only made it worse.

It started in their fourth year, when Hermione wondered what would have happened if Ron had asked her to the ball, and not in a last-resort kind of way. As she danced with Victor and felt his hands grace her lower back, she imagined they were Ron’s. She hadn’t meant to, it just happened. She kept her eyes transfixed on Victor’s face, hoping that could erase Ron’s image from her mind, but later that night, when Krum led her out to the gardens, it was too dark to make out the color of his hair. So when he tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers, it might as well have been Ron. And of course, she closed her eyes, and let her stomach erupt with butterflies — just like it had every time Ron’s gaze had ever lingered on her for a moment too long.

The daydreams intensified in their fifth year. Prefect rounds became a test of her sanity, especially when she was paired with him. Exploring empty classrooms and wandering the dark corridors at night paved the way for fantasies. Every time they opened a door to find a broom closet, she imagined him pulling her in there, pushing her against the wall, his lips on hers, his hands roaming her waist and toying with the hem of her shirt. She wondered what it would feel like to be entangled with him, the heat of his body and breath a delicious contrast to the cold stone wall against her back. 

What if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind?

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze

Oh, what a way to die

The heat of the following summer was a blessing in disguise. As the sun beat down on the Burrow grounds, Hermione had the perfect excuse to wear her shortest shorts and sleeveless tops. She relished in Ron’s gaze on her thighs as they sat out in the grass. She noticed how his eyes grew wide when she stripped down to her bathing suit for a swim in the pond. He spent the entire summer with a glowing sunburn, but Hermione had a feeling that his face would have been crimson red either way. 

She spent those summer nights in the camp bed in Ginny’s room, wondering if she’d made a mark on Ron’s mind. She laid awake remembering how his hands trembled when he hugged her, the way he stood closer than usual, and the feeling of his arms as they wrapped around her bare waist when he pulled her off the dock and into the water with him. 

Then that split second underwater when their bodies made contact, and his arm stayed locked around her. It took everything she had to resist wrapping her legs around him, and sometimes she wished she hadn’t even tried.

Would he have responded positively? He might have slid his hands up her legs and pulled her tightly against him, before crashing his lips into hers when they resurfaced. She blushed thinking of the way his hips would have felt pressed against her, their mutual desire clear as day. 

During those nights at the Burrow, as Hermione’s hand wandered to the drawstring of her pajama bottoms, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was also lying in bed upstairs, wide awake, replaying the summer’s events in his mind. Maybe, like Hermione, the fact that he wasn’t alone in the room was the only reason his hand behaved, unmoving, leaving him to wonder what it would feel like to have her in bed with him.

It was entirely possible.

These fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath

Taking all of me, we've already done it in my head

If it's make-believe

Why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

It wasn’t until she was alone in her dorm one night that she let her mind wander even further. She’d had enough of the lingering glances and the pure torture of wandering the halls with him, resisting the temptation to touch him. Hermione could have exploded when Lavender waltzed into his life. How could she contain the years of built-up fantasies, now that everything she wished would happen could only play out in her head?

So she let it play out. When her roommates were out one night, and the lights were dark, she drew her four-poster curtains shut and cast a silencing charm. She imagined him lying there, under the covers, sidled up next to her with his clothes nowhere to be found. When her hand slipped into her own knickers, it could just as easily have been his. Why should she have to wonder how his fingers would caress her, how his tongue would pave a trail between her legs, or what it might feel like with him fully inside her? She deserved to know. 

And once she knew, a dam had been broken. It happened in the shower, in broom closets they’d discovered on prefect rounds, and in empty classrooms when persistent thoughts of Ron wouldn’t leave her alone during a study session. 

The Ron that lived in her mind — the one that was hers, not Lavender’s — did well with practice. It didn’t take long for him to learn her body, how to make her breath hitch and her eyes roll back in her head. The Ron of her fantasies knew how to elicit a gasp and a moan. He took pride in making her scream his name.

Somehow, she knew the real Ron probably would too.

My bedsheets are ablaze, I've screamed his name

Building up like waves crashing over my grave

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?

Hermione took another sip of her butterbeer, which effectively brought her back to reality, even if only for the moment. Her mouth watered, and whether that was from the taste of butterbeer or something else, Hermione didn’t know.

Ginny was still talking, having not noticed Hermione’s eyes glazing over as her mind transported her somewhere else. 

She risked a glance toward Ron’s table to see that he was still there, and his red hair sent a jolt of electricity through her body. How did he have that effect on her even after breaking her heart? It wasn’t fair. Hermione gulped down the remainder of her unsatisfying butterbeer, and the tingle in her spine strengthened.

There was really only one way to quell the heat that seeing him ignited, and even then, it wasn’t never quite enough. It had already happened in her dorm, the shower, a broom closet and an empty classroom… Why not add a bar bathroom to the list?

“I’ll be right back,” she announced to Ginny as she stood. “Bathroom.”

Ginny nodded and Hermione turned toward the back of the bar, shouldering her way through the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ron looking in her direction, but she didn’t dare risk eye contact to confirm it. He was on a date, and she didn’t want Lavender’s wrath. 

Maybe he still harbored the same thoughts she did. There was something between them before Lavender got in the way, she knew it. Those glances, extended hugs, intense eye contact… did he get butterflies the way she did? Did he think of her at night? And if he did, would seeing her across the bar remind him of what could have been?

Hermione pressed the door to the loo open and slipped through, her heart pounding at the possibility.

A girl could hope.

@SHOFARSOGOOD SORRY TUMBLR WOULDN'T LET ME REBLOG???

BUT

OH MY GOD YOU HAVE OPENED THE FLOODGATES HNNNGH

Okay, so you're in France in the 1760s. Specifically, you're a peasant in the Gevaudan province.

AND SOMETHING IS KILLING THE SHIT OUT OF EVERYBODY

It's described as being "like a wolf, yet not a wolf" and these people, they're shepherds, they see wolves ALL THE TIME, so if they say this thing WASN'T a wolf, I trust them. But the problem is, we don't know WHAT it was. Descriptions vary a LOT, probably owing to the people who saw it being terrified and trying to get away, combined with a typical "game of telephone" deal where the thing got changed each time someone told someone else about it, combined with people just lying and SAYING they'd said it, combined with the fact that if it was an exotic animal (more on that later) people just had no idea what they were looking at. But some fairly consistent traits are that it's BIG, it's got a long tail with a tuft, and it's a reddish color with a black-striped back and white underbelly.

Sounds like a tiger, right? That's a common theory. A lot of nobles kept zoos of exotic animals that peasants would never have seen before and have no reference for, so the fact it's a big furry predator on four legs was probably enough to make it "like a wolf but not a wolf" if it wasn't a bear (and we don't think it was a bear because people also knew what bears looked like) Some good candidates are a tiger for the aforementioned reasons, a lion (tufted tail, some drawings have a mane), and a hyena (wolf-like, has the bite force necessary for decapitation, as many of the corpses had the head removed from their bodies, another unusual feature)

So this thing just fucking runs around the countryside savaging peasants. And they can't do much about it because it's illegal for peasants to have guns. If you ever have to make an argument for the right to bear arms, bring up the Beast of Gevaudan, gurantee no one will see that coming!

Some peasants made do with what they had though. A group of boys managed to save their friend with, iirc, sharpened sticks, though they did not escape unscathed. One had his cheek basically TORN OFF, and as a result the king funded his education for the rest of his life, which was a big deal for a peasant boy who wouldn't ordinarily receive it. And a girl, Marie-Jeanne Valet, successfully fended it off with a homemade spear (she described the beast as a large dog) A statue still stands in her honor today.

Speaking of the King, the news about all this was reaching him. So he started sending out hunters and dragoons (a type of cavalry that would dismount to fight) to get the wolf. But, to no avail! They couldn't seem to kill it. And when they DID finally get a great big wolf, as well as a female wolf with unusually large pups that had traits not normally seen in wolves (ex: double dew claws, which some large dog breeds have, indicating wolfdog hybrids) the killings stopped for awhile. . .and then started again.

This became one of the first international news stories; other countries thought it was HILARIOUS that the King of France and all his men couldn't handle one little WOLF!

Eventually, it was brought down for good by a local hunter named Jean Chastel. Legend sprang up that the beast, which was said to be immune to ordinary bullets, had been felled by a bullet which had been made by melting down a medallion of the Virgin Mary. At the time, the fact it was killed by a holy icon was what was significant, as some people thought it was a werewolf and those were seen as creatures of the Devil at that time (rather than innocent people afflicted by a disease/curse as in modern media) but the fact the medallion was silver may be the source of the modern "silver bullet" myth which isn't from any real werewolf folklore and seems to be an invention of Hollywood.

The royal notary examined the animal after death and recorded in what is known as "The Marin Report" that "This animal which seemed to us to be a wolf; But extraordinary and very different by its figure and its proportions from the wolves that one sees in this country." and details a "monstrous head", unusual body proportions, aberrant morphological characteristics, and unusual fur colors. The report also includes the dental formula (number of molars, number of canines, etc) of the animal, which does seem to indicate a canid of some type. The report is preserved in The French National Archives.

So, this wasn't an unsubstantiated cryptid. It was pretty darn meticulously documented.

Unfortunately, photos didn't exist then, and by the time the corpse was taken to Versailles, it was so rotten and badly decayed that no one wanted anything to do with it, and it was in all likelihood dumped somewhere like garbage. I reckon everyone was just happy to be done with it.

While the beast was dead (or at the least, the attacks ceased) the speculation never has. Some people think it was just a big wolf or wolves, but like I said, I think these people knew what a wolf looked like. Other people think it was a wolfdog hybrid or family of such, which would account for the large size, unusual features, and lack of fear of humans. This, I think, is the most likely option. The escaped exotic animal is the next most likely imo; I remember that there's no records of. . .it was either of any such zoos themselves at the time or of no escapees, but like, if I was a noble and my tiger got out and it was eating people, I don't think I'd say anything.

Then there's more fringe theories. The werewolf thing, of course, but also the idea it was a conspiracy against the king, or some big political plot, often involving Chastel (the hunter who shot it) or his son, or that it was a serial killer dressed in animal skins, or a serial killer that had trained a dog to hunt with him as his method of killing. I...kind that pretty unlikely, just because I've never heard of a serial killer doing anything like that, like using an animal is just not 'intimate' in the way serial killers seem to like to be? But I'm no expert.

My PERSONAL favorite Unlikely Fringe Theory is that it was a mesonychid. See, some descriptions of the Beast claimed it had hooves. And while no modern carnivore has hooves, there is a prehistoric class of carnivores called mesonychids who are often described as "wolves with hooves" and whose appearance---monstrous head, longer tail---do match up pretty well with a lot of accounts.

Now, is it likely that a breeding population of huge prehistoric predators just...survived THAT long into the present and just NEVER got noticed by humans except this ONE time, and no other remains to indicate their survival have ever turned up? Yeah, no. But I really like the idea! That and the werewolf are my FAVORITE options, but in all likelihood it was a wolfdog(s) or escaped exotic.

PROMPT 114 BUT THE ITS THE READER WHO CAN SING NOT JOEL 🙏🙏

OMG Hi Bestie!

Thank you so much for this prompt (which was sent in by other folks too!) as it’s the PERFECT chance to introduce y’all to Bambi, the main character from the next fic I’m going to write, Yearling.

This fic is set post season 1 in Jackson and Bambi comes to town after spending years with raiders and, before that, years on her own surviving. Joel starts calling her Bambi the minute they meet - her wide eyes and skittish way of being reminding him of a baby deer. I’m sure we can all guess where this is going.

The drabble below isn’t canon but it is a good way to get a taste of Bambi and Joel and what’s to come in Yearling. I hope you like it!

Linger

You think you have privacy when you decide to sing for one of the horses. Turns out, that’s not the case.

Based on Prompt 114: “I didn’t know you could sing.”

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: none!

Length: 1.5K

The vet said the horse was going to be fine but still… it didn’t feel right to leave her overnight.

“Hey there, Cassiopeia,” you said, keeping your voice low and gentle. The horse whinnied at you from her place on the ground. You got down on her level, tucking your legs to the side, and gently trailed your fingers down her forehead. “How are we feeling, sweet girl?”

She huffed in response. You smiled sadly.

“I know, it hurts,” you said. “Gunshots are no fun. People are the fuckin’ worst.”

You looked around her side to the bandage at her flank. It was, all told, a pretty good spot for a horse to get shot.

But it was still getting fucking shot.

You felt extra protective over Cassiopeia. She was the first horse you’d helped bring into Jackson. She had been a wild, free thing when you’d brought her to the town after several horses had been lost to attacks by raiders. The patrol needed horses, you knew how to catch and break them. It made sense for you to bring them in.

The horses, at least, led a pretty plush life here most of the time. They had enough work to keep them occupied and entertained, a pen that let them stretch their legs and graze, comfortable and clean stalls. Not to mention enough food that there was no risk of them starving in the harsh Wyoming winter.

It helped you justify capturing them and breaking them. You were helping them have an easy way of living, once they came around to it. A way out from the threats of wolves and raiders.

It just came at the cost of a cage.

You’d been a caged animal once. You knew what it was to catch a glimpse of the world you knew existed from behind bars. Yes, the horses here were treated far better than you had been but a cage was a cage.

Cassiopeia shifted and huffed, laying her large head in your lap. She was a beautiful animal, her coat coal black with a white star mark on her forehead. That’s why you’d named her what you did. A bright star in the dark, a creature that was trapped in a place a more powerful being had placed her. Where you’d placed her. And she’d been shot for a job you’d trained her to do.

“You did so good, sweet girl,” you said, gently stroking her mane. She whinnied. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. “You got your rider back safe, helped him escape raiders. You deserve a good, long break. Recovery time and then some. I’ll swipe you some apples tomorrow, you’ve earned them.”

She seemed satisfied at that and shifted a bit again, settling her head against you. You leaned back against the stall wall and thought about her rider, the one she’d helped protect: Joel Miller, the surly man who’d brought you to Jackson to begin with.

You’d hardly had any contact with him in the months since. In fairness, you hardly had any contact with anyone if you could help it. Animals were way more your speed. You wanted as little to do with people as you could possibly manage and Joel seemed to feel the same.

But you did wonder about him.

He’d been so damn insistent on bringing you back to Jackson when he found you. Like he saw something in you that was worth trying to save. It didn’t make a lick of sense.

The horse shifted again and nudged your stomach with her head.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you looked down at her. “I thought we were done talking, I thought I was giving you a chance to rest young lady.”

She huffed and looked at you, raising her head a bit, insistent.

“Do you like it better when I’m talking?” You asked gently. She set her head back down. “Alright, I can keep talking then…”

Not that you were a stellar conversationalist.

But you could sing. It always calmed your horses before, them comforted by the sound of your voice and the rhythm of song.

No one around to hear how out of practice you must be, at least.

You tried to think of a song before you found something you actually remembered the lyrics of.

“If you, if you could return,” you sang it soft and lilting, slow enough that she could sink into it.

“Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

I'm sure I'm not being rude

But it's just your attitude

It's tearing me apart

It's ruining every day

I swore, I swore I would be true

And honey so did you

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

But I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

You got me wrapped around your finger

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?”

“I didn’t know you could sing.”

You about jumped out of your skin, Cassiopeia’s head flying up off your lap. You scrambled back into the corner of the stall, looking something you could use as a weapon as Joel came and leaned against the stall door frame. He crossed his arms, looking a little amused.

“Easy, Bambi,” he said. “Not gonna bite.”

“Scared the shit out of me,” you panted, adjusting on the floor of the stall again so Cassiopeia could lay her head on you once more.

“Sorry, wasn’t tryin’ to freak you out…”

“The fuck are you doing here?” You asked, still not ready to trust his word that he wasn’t here to hurt you.

“Wanted to check on her,” he said, nodding to the horse. “Hell of a mouthful you named her, by the way. Where the fuck does Cassiopeia come from?”

“It’s a constellation,” you said, going back to stroking the horse’s mane. He nodded slowly.

“Have to tell Ellie that,” he said. “She loves space…”

Joel hovered for a moment and then sat down against the stall wall across from you. You pressed back against the stall

“You play, too?” He asked. “You sure can sing like you know music…”

“Been a few years but,” you shrugged. “Yeah.”

He nodded.

“If you want, you can borrow my guitar,” he said. “Long as you bring it back.”

He looked you up and down and you tensed. He frowned.

“I’m really not gonna hurt you, Bambi,” he said. “You don’t gotta try n’ hide from me.”

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “You haven’t given me much reason to believe you yet.”

“Would I have gone through that much fuckin’ trouble to get you to Jackson if I wanted to hurt ya?” He asked, almost bemused.

“Yes.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he said. “Sides, we’re apparently gonna be patrol partners soon. Gonna have to get used to me.”

“Well on patrol I’ll have a gun,” you replied. “Good luck fuckin’ taking it from me on your own.”

“Not gonna hurt you there either, Bambi,” he said. “Surprised you know the Cranberries. Seemed like before your time…”

You frowned.

“I was an adult when the outbreak happened,” you said. “I had a job and shit and everything. That song was big when I was a teenager.”

“Sorry, I thought you were younger,” He said. “Know how to play it?“

“I could figure it out pretty quick,” you said. “I was only ever good at two things, music and horses. I’m outta practice but I could play it quick. I’m sure of it.”

You looked him over for a moment. His shaggy graying hair, his soft brown eyes. Part of you wanted to be next to him. But most of you was scared. Joel was a big man, you were still weak even after a few months in Jackson. He could do whatever he wanted to you if he got you in the right position. You didn’t trust him not to.

“You play then?” You asked. “Since you have a guitar.”

“I play,” he nodded. “Wanted to be a singer when I was a kid.”

You snorted.

“Sounds about right.”

You and Joel talked for hours. You didn’t really notice that it happened until the sun started to rise, Cassiopeia asleep on your lap. But it was the longest you’d talked to another person in years.

“I should get back,” Joel said, craning his neck to look at the sunrise. “Got shit to do this morning…. Well, now.”

“I should, too,” you agreed, getting up. “At least go and wash off the stall.”

“Thank you,” Joel said watching you for a moment before getting up himself. “For lookin’ after the horse. Didn’t expect anyone else l to care about her like I do.”

“She’s my baby,” you shrugged.

Joel nodded.

“Well, Bambi, it was nice gettin’ to know you a bit,” he said. “Sure we’ll end up talkin’ more on patrol soon.”

“Yeah,” you said, letting yourself stand a little closer to him than you normally would. “Sure we will.”

Things Lestat wanted to do, but didn't

In his own words.

I wanted to drop down in the snow, and yet I was walking away from the dead wolves toward the dying horse.

I wanted to take [Gabrielle's] hands, but I knew she'd never allow it.

I wanted to ask [Gabrielle] how she was, if her cough was very bad that day. But I couldn't broach the subject to her.

Nicki started playing again, telling me to dance and to forget everything. Yes, that's what it could make you do, I wanted to say. Is that a sin? How can it be evil?

I wanted to tell [Gabrielle] what she had given to me, how it was to hear the choir in Notre Dame, to push into the jam-packed cafes with Nicolas, talk with his old student cronies over English coffee, what it was like to get dressed up in Nicolas's fine clothes--he made me do it--and stand below the footlights at the Comedie-Francaise gazing up in adoration at the actors on the stage. But all I wrote in this letter was perhaps the very best of it, the address of the garret rooms we called our home in the Ile de la Cite...

I wanted to embrace everybody I saw in the streets.

I wanted to say God protect me, I wanted to say it with every particle of me but I couldn't say it

Love you, I wanted to say, Magnus, my unearthly master, ghastly thing that you are, love you, love you, this was what I had always so wanted, wanted, and could never have, this, and you've given it to me!

Yes I wanted so to touch [Nicolas]--his hands, his arms, his face. I wanted to feel his flesh with these new immortal fingers.

I wanted to tell [Roget] to leave with Nicki. But something was happening to me.

Stupid little details embedded themselves in my consciousness: nymphs playing on the painted ceiling, the high gilt door handles and the melted wax in brittle stalactites on the white candles that I wanted to break off and crumple in my hand.

I wanted to force [Gabrielle] away, but I would not do it

Something in me rebelled against the charm of it, [Gabrielle] standing so boldly in these new garments with all her hair still full over her shoulders looking more the lion's mane now than the lovely mass of women's tresses it had been moments before. Then I wanted to ravage her. I closed my eyes.

And so we stand in this dungeon crypt, I wanted to say, and we prepare to lie down on stone beds, with only rats to keep us company. But it's infinitely better than that, isn't it? It has its dark splendor, to walk the nightmare terrain forever.

I wanted to say Nicki sat by your bed when you were dying, does that mean nothing? But how sentimental, how mortal that sounded, how positively foolish.

"In time [Nicki] will forget about us..." I wanted to say "about our conversation."

"I don't think they've killed [Nicki], Lestat," [Gabrielle] said. Again I tried to speak. I wanted to ask, Why do you say that, but I couldn't.

What do you want of me, [Armand], I wanted to say again. How can there be this forgiveness when there was such rancor only a short while ago? Your coven destroyed. Horrors I don't want to imagine ... I wanted to say it all again. But I couldn't shape the words now any more than I could before.

I wanted to talk about Nicki. I wanted to ask [Gabrielle] what lay behind his silence, what could she divine? But the words dried up in my throat.

I wanted to be with [Armand], what he was, and all the things he had said were true. Yet it could never be as he wished it to be.

I wanted to ask Armand, wasn't it possible [that Marius was alive]? Marius must have been so very strong... But it seemed disrespectful of him to ask.

I think I wanted to say something mean to [Gabrielle after reading the news of Nicki's death], to wound her and drive her away. But when she came up beside me and walked with me, I didn't say anything. I merely gave the letter to her so that we didn't have to talk.

I wanted to say something about [Gabrielle] promising, about the agents in Rome, that she would write. I wanted to say... "Keep your promise," she said. And quite suddenly I knew this was our last moment. I knew it and I could do nothing to change it.

Slowly, [Marius] turned and came up to me and took my right hand. The blood had rushed to my face. I wanted to say something but I couldn't. I kept staring at [Akasha and Enkil].

There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask [Marius]. But more significant perhaps there were a thousand statements of his I wanted to reiterate, as if I had to say them aloud to grasp them. If I talked, I wouldn't make very good sense.

"Lestat, we should have no more than two or three nights," he said sadly. "Marius!" I whispered. I bit down on the words that wanted to spill out.

I wanted to call to [Armand], to tell him that it was a lie I'd spoken to him, that I did love him. I did. But it was my time to be at peace with all things. It was my time to starve and to go down into the earth finally, and maybe at least to dream the god's dreams. And how could I tell Armand about the god's dreams?

I wanted to put my arms around [Louis] again but I didn't.

I took a deep breath and looked away from [Louis], wishing I could say what I really wanted to say. That I loved him. But I couldn't do that. The feeling was too strong.

I wanted to throw my arms around [Gabrielle], to crush her with kisses, to press my heart against her heart and forget absolutely everything else. The hell with these idiot fledglings. But the Porsche almost went over again as she made the sharp right out of the gate and into the busy street.

Oh, please, my darling, my beautiful one, please! I wanted to say. But my eyes were closing! My lips wouldn't move. I was losing consciousness. The sun had risen above.

I wanted to say something in apology [to Akasha], but I was staring at her throat again, hungry for the blood.

"Akasha," I whispered. I was looking beyond the open terrace at the stars. I wanted to say something, something crucial that would sweep away all arguments; but the meaning escaped me.

"You see, I cannot be other than what I would be. This is what you waked with your singing; this is what I am!" I wanted to protest, to deny it; I wanted again to begin the argument that would divide us and hurt [Akasha]. But I couldn't find the words as I looked into her eyes.

[Akasha] opened her arms. I wanted to move away; I wanted to rail against her again, against her threats; but I didn't move as she came closer.

Marius stared at me. He waited for me to answer, to take my stand with him. I wanted to make arguments; to reach for the threads he'd given me and take it further. But my mind went blank.

I wanted to take Gabrielle into my arms. I wanted to say all the things I knew I should say--that it was over and we had survived it, and it was finished--but I couldn't.

There was so much I wanted to say to [Louis], to ask him. Yet I couldn't find the words really, or a way to begin. He had always had so many questions; and now he had his answers, more answers perhaps than he could ever have wanted; and what had this done to his soul? Stupidly I stared at him. How perfect he seemed to me as he stood there waiting with such kindness and such patience And then, like a fool, I came out with it. "Do you love me now?" I asked.

How tragic [David's] words! I wanted to say I was sorry, sorry for all of it. But it was too late now for that. And besides, I think he knew.

A little sadness came over me as I spoke these words [to David.] I wanted to say, if I cannot have you as my vampire companion, then let me know you as a mortal.

I wanted to say more--to tell [David] how much I loved him, that I'd sought shelter under his roof and he'd protected me and that I would never forget this, and that I would do anything he wished of me, anything at all. But it seemed pointless to say so. I don't know whether he would have believed it, or what the value would have been.

[Louis] knelt down and looked up at me, resting his hand lightly on my shoulder. Lovely intimacy, but I wasn't going to admit it. I remained composed in the chair.

[Louis] grew reflective again and very sad. It almost hurt me to look at him. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, but that would only have made him furious.

[Louis] couldn't bear to speak [Claudia's] name. I knew I could hurt him if I said it, like flinging a curse in his face. I wanted to say, You had a hand in it! You were there when I made her, and there when she lifted the knife!

The rooms were cozy and warm. I wanted to sink down into the clean bed, but I was too soiled for that, and insisted that I be allowed to bathe

I wanted to kiss [Gretchen] again, but I hadn't the strength.

I wanted to say more, how perfectly impossible it was to even consider [redemptions], but I was sliding away, into a dream.

I realized that [David's] hand was resting gently on my neck. I wanted to say something angry--Take your hand away, don't torment me--but I didn't speak.

I wanted to say something to [David]--something fine and important, and indicative of the deep love I felt. My heart seemed to be breaking with it suddenly, and I turned slowly to him, and laid my left hand upon his right, which held the rail.

I was so thrilled to feel the old physical lightness, the sense of dexterity and grace, that I wanted to start dancing. Indeed, it would be lovely to do a little tap dance up one side of the ship and down the other, snapping my fingers and singing songs all the while. But there was no time for all this.

"Think of India," I whispered. "Think of the mangrove forest, and when you were most happy..." I wanted to say more [to David], I wanted to say, no, not that, but I didn't know why!

I wanted to kiss her, she was beautiful again to me. But I dared not risk it. It wasn't only that I would have frightened her, it was that the desire to kill her was almost overpowering. Some fierce purely male instinct in me wanted to claim her now simply because I had claimed her in another way before. I was gone from the New World within hours

"Only you could have gone there," [Louis] said. "And come back." I wanted to say this wasn't true. But who else would have been fool enough to trust the Body Thief?

I suddenly realized that what I wanted to do most in the world was to turn to [Louis] and put my arms around him and weep on his shoulder as I'd never done. How shameful. How predictable! How insipid. And how sweet. I didn't do it.

[Louis] leant forward, closing the distance between us, and pressed his smooth silken lips against the side of my face. I meant to pull away, but he used all his strength to hold me still, and I allowed it, this cold, passionless kiss, and he was the one who finally drew back like a collection of shadows collapsing into one another, with only his hand still on my shoulder, as I sat with my eyes on the altar still.

I wanted to say something to [Claudia's memory] as I held the locket; I wanted to say something to the being she had been, and to my own weakness, and to the greedy wicked being in me who had once again triumphed. For I had. I had won. Yes, I wanted to say something so terribly much! And would that it were full of poetry, and deep meaning, and would ransom my greed and my evil, and my lusty little heart. For I was going to Rio, wasn't I, and with David, and with Louis, and a new era was beginning... Yes, say something--for the love of heaven and the love of Claudia--to darken it and show it for what it is! Dear God, to lance it and show the horror at the core. But I could not. What more is there to say, really? The tale is told.

I wanted to pick [Roger] up, tear open his wrist, drink anything that was left, but that was so ugly, and the truth was, I had no intention of touching him again!

I said nothing [to David]. I wanted to protest, but it was not an honest thing to do. I wanted to say that I would never, never treat humans like puppets. All I had done was watch Roger, damn it all, and Gretchen in the jungles. I had pulled no strings. Honesty had undone her and me together. But then [David] wasn't speaking of me with these words. He was talking about himself, the distance he felt now from the human.

I wanted to polish [Armand] with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was.

I wanted to give [Mona my blood]. But it wasn't the right way to go about things. She needed her appetite for the hunt. I was flustered suddenly.

I got clear of Rowan and Michael tonight rather than disturb them, rather than create doubts that would harm them. It was hard. I wanted to ask them questions. But I had to give it up.

For one moment I wanted to put my arm around [Mona] just to stake my claim. My fledgling now, my baby. Shameful.

Rowan remained turned to the side, as though away from all that she'd said, her eyes closed, her hands limp on the table. I wanted to enfold her in my arms. I did nothing.

Mona's heart was broken. ... I wanted to wrap Mona in my arms. But we had yet to enter the main body of the villa. And I could hear shouting now.

I wanted to move through the jungles. The jungles I had not searched, and they were thick. Only this was not the time.

I wanted to see [dead] Ashler's eyes. I wanted to know if that was possible, to lift the eyelid and see an eye. But I didn't want to speak, or to ask for anything.

The walls [of Rowan's conference room] were a cool lavender and there were wonderful paintings on them, paintings by expressionists, full of rich and throbbing color. I wanted to steal them for my flat.

I didn't need blood but I wanted it. I craved it unbearably at times. Especially on these walks. I dreamt of the prowl and of the murder. I dreamt of the soiled intimacy--the needle of my huger plunged into heated hatefulness. But I didn't have the stamina for it just now.

"This can't happen," I said. [Making Rowan a vampire] "Never have I wanted anything so much, but it can't happen. You know that it can't."

What I wanted to do now again, of course, was drain every drop of blood out of [Flannery's] precious, adorable, curvaceous, hot little body. But I settled for kissing her, snuggling up to her, and pressing my lips against her warm throat, listening to that thunder of blood in the artery.

I wanted to embrace [Sevraine]. The table stood between us. I had half a mind to crawl over it. Instead I squeezed her hands ever more tightly.

I sat there at the end of the table, one knee up, the other leg dangling over the edge, the ax still in my right hand, and contemplated whether or not I wanted to go on chopping up this creature [Rhoshamandes]--well, just a little so that Benedict might hear him scream. I couldn't quite make up my mind.

"I love you," I whispered. In a low intimate voice, [Louis] answered: "My heart is yours." I wanted to weep. But there was no time.

I wanted to protest, to say [to Amel] "How the Hell do you know?" but I had the strong sense that he did know and he was right.

I wanted innocent blood, not minds and hearts like sewers, but innocent blood. Well, I wasn't going to drink innocent blood. Not while preaching to so many others that they couldn't drink innocent blood. No. I could not.

I wanted to talk to Louis forever, share with Louis what had been happening to me, and Louis was attentive, appreciative. This meant the world to me. But I knew Thorne and Cyril would never have approached if there hadn't been a good reason.

I wanted to say [to Armand] we all love one another. We all have to love one another. If you and I and Louis don't love one another after all we've been through, well, then all our powers mean nothing, and our dreams mean nothing, and so we have to love one another. And maybe I did say this silently and he heard it, but I doubted it.

I looked up at Fareed, and then to Louis. "Well, you two will survive, whatever happens," I said. I wanted to weep with relief.

I had a lot more to say to [Kapetria] but I didn't know what it was. I wanted to say that Amel was silent, Amel wasn't urging me to come with her, and that alone was reason for me to delay. Then for the first time it occurred to me: what would I do when Amel did say go to her?

I wanted to say [to Rhoshamandes] Amel was flesh of our flesh and blood of our blood, but I said nothing. If you really want peace in any world you have to learn to say nothing.

Scent of blood, delicious blood inside [Amel]. There was so much I wanted to say that I said nothing.

There was a great deal I wanted to tell [Mitka] about Louis suddenly, Louis who was immersed in the novels of Tolstoy, and had myriad questions about them which no one cared to answer, and how much Louis would love him right off. But I came back to the moment.

I wanted to ask if the girl had known [Mitka planned to bring her into the Blood], but why cause him more misery?

I wanted to ask all sorts of questions and, first and foremost, why Amel and Kapetria were here, but as I was glad to see them and Marius began to speak at once, I listened to him.

I wanted to talk further, to tell [Pandora] of all my recent reflections, that we had to love one another, respect one another, stop using our own loathsome nature as blood drinkers to justify the cruel treatment of one another, that I was in love with the world just now, and yes, as Marius had told me, not allowing for our true nature perhaps, having to ignore it. And I wondered what Cyril and Thorne thought of all this, traveling with me every night, being at my side, rarely speaking except in the more practical way. But I merely kissed her, and was thankful with all my soul that she wasn't suffering over the loss of Arjun.

I heard [Barbara] fasten the steel shutters over the blowing snow. I wanted to rouse myself, say No, please let the soft snow drift into the room with its tiny flakes, its white flakes that melted as soon as they touched the carpet or the damask of the chair, or the velvet of the coverlet beneath me.

There was more I wanted to say on this question of a trial. The rebel didn't recognize our authority to put him on trial. But I couldn't think for the sickness.

Words, I wanted to say, words and words. But I didn't want to offend Gregory, not for the world.

I wanted to say, "But what if [Gabrielle] is still alive?" But I said nothing.

I wanted to show [Rose, Viktor, Benji and Sybelle] a face of comfort and reassurance, but I couldn't move or speak.

There was a sketch pad on [Armand's] small table in front of the couch, and I saw a striking face on the page that appeared to be emerging out of a dark charcoal cloud. It was such a vivid fragment that I wanted to say something about it, but I knew it was not the time.

[Armand] heard me out when I told him what he already knew of Rhoshamandes's death, and how Marius's vision of the constitution and laws would be put into practice. I explained that newcomers were arriving even as we spoke. I think what I wanted to say was that no matter what we'd lost we would persevere, and the Court had not only recovered from Rhosh's assault but it had taken on a new strength.

"That is one of Lestat's many charms, that for all his mischief and ready wit, he is self-effacing. He doesn't quite understand what is happening around him." But I do understand, I wanted to say, and suddenly there came that quickening, that deep threat of an insight so powerful it would carry me to recesses of my heart I'd never explored before, and most certainly take me out of this moment. And I didn't want to be taken out of it. 

Bonus IWTV (He's been at it from the very beginning): 'I wanted to talk to you so much. That night I came home to the Rue Royale I only wanted to talk to you!' 'What was it you wanted to tell me?' [Louis] asked. 'What was it you wanted to talk about?' [Lestat] only smiled, an insipid, near apologetic smile. And shook his head.

~

Lestat: I had to have [Louis], had to. Just the way I had to have everything I wanted; or had to do everything I'd ever wanted to do. That was the problem, and nothing [Akasha had] given me--not suffering, or power, or terror finally--had changed it one bit.

Also Lestat: I wanted to, but I didn't, 94 times

First Breath

Rise, Turel. Rise.

The great wind of renewed vitality flowed through tendons long dried, through meat nothing more taut remnant and organs filling with vitae. The first sensation was the taste. Divinity wreathed with a poison long waiting its strike. Dried lips opened, teeth regaining their sheen. Fangs extending and finally - with a wheeze of ancient dust - first breath.

Panic. Pain. Adrenaline. And finally, with a touch of a heaving chest, life.

Eyes regained their senses, blurred and burning as eyelids blinked and seeked. At first, there was darkness given by the flickering of sparse lights. Then a strong hand grasped him as he stumbled on weak legs. Breath became in haggard gasps, lungs had no function but to continue its human mimicry. A sundered heart reknitting itself and finally, pumping.

"M-More." His throat croaked.

He didn't see it, but he smelt it. The copper-smelling abundance of ambrosia so close. With a forced walk, his skeletal hands reached till he gripped the rim of the brazier. Face diving in, as much as his legs giving out. The liquid wrapping his skull as he drank.

And drank.

And drank.

His body regaining its volume. The haggard form of a long-dead man transforming with refilling muscles etched and defined. His pale skin tight. His skull regaining its long mane of straight ebony locks. Fingers gripping tighter and tighter. His mind was overwhelming with memories. The cries and woes of men and women. He can see them as fluttering passes on the edge of a rushing river. Sometimes, he could see a man. Tall and proud, clad in armour of ancient making. Among comrades of six. He can see homes burning. The crying and ends of so many.

And something so vengeful coming for him, reaching for him with bloody talons and the other -

A hand grabbed his hair and yanked him from his gluttonous consuming. "Now, now, Brother." A gentle voice hummed with amusement, "We can't have you drowning in your first grand taste."

The newborn panted, eyes opening with the burning glow of power filling his black veins filled and pulsing under his skin. His vision coming in full, seeing the blood-red stained ceiling depicting a great white-winged sigil and looking to the man that dared to pull him from the estacy of life consumed.

His jaw was tight and tongue licking behind his teeth. Jade-gold eyes piercing through the emphasis of his newborn power. Hands gripping the brazier but something told him that this young, grinning interloper was not his enemy. "W-Who are you?"

That question made the youthful man grin more with the hooding of jasmine eye, his hand moving to pet through his hair and clapped his back once. "I am Raziel, First of our Father and you-" With a affectionate, if overly arrogant, pat on his heaving chest in a thump of the restored muscle. 'Dearest brother are now his Second risen."

The Fledgling searched into those eyes and down into the brazier, almost all of the delicious, precious, sanguine gone. Now, it was feeding his body. He saw his face in the dark reflection; a stone-faced man. Stern of brow and structure. A quivering hand - not of fear or dismay, merely the constant rush of a unknown resurrection and great restorarion - whipped at the mess on his etched face. The blood rolling on his lips and his gnawing gullet demanded he licked it off.

He licked but no more than needed. Eyes closed as he panted into his hand, inhaling the scent, and when he opened his eyes again, there stood a figure.

A being that looked human but everything in his body - and soul - warned he was not that no more. The 'man' stood on the other side of the brazier, bare-chest with a scar running from under pectorals to near naval. Skin like the purest marble. His mane a billowy ivory. Eyes are keen and golden as wolves. Their eyes locked and there was a connection that held him in frozen submission.

"W-who...what am I?"

"You are mine." This stranger said. "You will be apart of a great plan. A great dynasty. I have chosen you, Turel. You of Six to bring this world to its rightful masters."

Turel took that in. His body burned. his mind reeled. "Masters?"

"You are a Vampire now, my son. I will guide you, but for now - drink." He said, gesturing down at the brazier as two cloaked figures walked from the light of the door behind him, carrying vases full and in reverent bows, poured more.

"Drink and fill your veins with the life-blood we are due. For there is work to be done and I will see my Chosen prepared for the nights to come. Raziel..." The strange Lord said, looking to the other. The youthful man pulled his gaze from the bounty of blood given, looking to their master with an almost puppy-like look of admiration and obedient attention.

"Ensure Turel cleaned and his attire done, I must prepare the rest of the night."

"As you wish, my Lord." Raziel purrs with a bow. The pale king didn't give an outward expression, only turning with the sway of his scarlet cloak and walked out. Leaving Turel in the hands of his temporary mentor, who looked down with that same little smile and hand upon his tilted head.

"Well, Little Brother. Drink, we have a lot to do soon."

The first night of many...

It is always important when out in the wilds to be wary of your surroundings. This may sound like a stupidly obvious statement, but you would be surprised at how many people have numerous blind spots whenever they trudge around outside. If you are like me and are out looking for cool creatures to see and study, keeping an open eye is crucial for spotting your target. This is combined with the fact that you should always be observant because being out here also means watching out for predators or possible threats. Certainly not every forest and field is filled with bloodthirsty beasts hungering for your flesh, but blind wandering around can stick you in bad scenarios if you are unlucky. Most creatures prefer to live their lives in peace, and would most likely just walk the other way if they spotted you. But if you so happened to ignorantly walk between them and their cubs, now we have trouble. Or if you stumble across a slumbering manticore and rudely awaken it with your presence. Not a good place to be. So be mindful of where you are walking and what is around you, and this includes looking UP! That is one of the major blind spots most people have, not bothering to look upwards as they walk. Sure, you want to keep your eyes on your roots so you don't trip, but one should give the occasional glance to the sky to make sure all is clear. We busy ourselves with the worries of coming across wolves or bears, all ground level threats, that we don't think that danger could be lurking overhead. This is one of the reasons why the species in this entry is rarely spotted, despite its large size. You tell someone that a giant black and blue haired cat is out there in the woods, and they would think it would be impossible to miss it. But folks do remain blind to it, which causes a real problem for them...

The feline I speak of is the otoroshi, a rather grotesque looking creature compared to its sleeker brethren. There is little lithe grace to be found in this species, with frog-like maws, hunched backs, bloated stomachs and a whole lot of black hair. Many would be surprised to learn that this is a cat, but folks that live around cypress swamps should not be too startled by this news. Indeed, the otoroshi is actually a close relative to the wompogo, which you should easily see from their features. Both possess this huge toothy maw and extendable stomach, signs that these felines like swallowing their prey whole. They both have large hooked claws that aid in both climbing and taking down prey. And when it comes to the hunt, these two love nothing more than hiding up in the trees and dropping down on those who wander below. The difference here is that the otoroshi does not live in cypress swamps, but in deciduous or coniferous forests. Any place that has big trees with hefty branches for them to lay on and wait for clueless prey, but honestly any high place will do. Some have been spotted on tall rocky outcroppings, while many will tell you that a roof or gate also serves the otoroshi's needs (but we will get more into that later). Like their swampy cousins, otoroshi are ambush predators, preferring to take down their prey in one fell swoop. Like I mentioned, they climb up trees and tall structures then lay in wait amongst the branches. Otoroshi have short blue fur, which you would imagine would make it hard for them to hide, but such color is easily hidden by their ridiculous ebony mane. From the tops of their heads, running down their back and all they way to their stubby tails grows a waterfall of long black hair. It starts off as a short crest when they are kittens, but then it begins to grow and never stops. In a few years, this dark mane practically shrouds their entire body, hiding their blue under fur and allowing them to blend into the shadows. Up high and nestled in branches, one would have a hard time spotting them, that is if the victim even bothers to look up. Otoroshi remain perfectly still when they hunt, using their large eyes and flared nostrils to keep track of possible prey. When food finally walks beneath them, they drop down with all their weight and claws, easily knocking prey to the ground. The attacks are quick and decisive, with the fate of the victim being decided within the first few seconds. If they were able to dodge most of the assault and remain on their feet, then they can run away with ease. Due to the shape of the bodies and the nature of their limbs, otoroshi are not designed for the chase. They are slow and sluggish, never able to run after a fleeing meal. So instead they rely on knocking victims off their feet, or flattening them beneath their large bodies. When their food is downed, they can lash out with hooked claws and grab hold. Once this happens, prey is doomed. What comes next is its huge jaws, lined with bony spikes and curved teeth. Prey is shoved into this great maw, which can unhinge to accommodate even larger meals, and then slowly swallowed into its expanding stomach. There its smothering gut and potent stomach acid will deal with the hefty morsel, who will pass from asphyxiation in this foul melting pot. When its prey is consumed, the otoroshi will sluggishly make its way to a tree and crawl back up into the branches. There it will lounge and digest, living a lazy life until its great meal is reduced to nothing and its gut rumbles with hunger once again. Though otoroshi live for those big belly-filling meals, it seems they will settle for small snacks if need be. Their diet involves large animals like deer, boar, bear and even human, but studies have found that they do eat a whole lot of birds. Not even big ones, mind you, little things like sparrows and doves. For a cat this size, it seems almost comical for them to be eating such tiny morsels! These birds are not taken down like their usual prey, instead the birds seem to land on them! While lounging or hunting, otoroshi remain a silent unmoving lump of hair. They look like a tangle of vegetation or just another shadow amongst the forest. In such a still state, birds are seen coming down to perch on them or the nearby branches, seemingly oblivious to the cat's presence. Some birds have even been seen pulling and tugging at the long dark hairs, perhaps thinking it could be good nesting material. When they land near an otoroshi, it will wait until their guard is dropped, then a clawed paw will lash out. Birds are crushed in its grip and then tossed into its maw. Why the otoroshi even bothers eating them is a question that has not been satisfactorily answered yet. Some think it is to stave off hunger while waiting for larger prey, but well-fed otoroshi have been seen picking off birds. Others think it is them trying to keep these birds from blowing the cover on their hiding spots, as a singing or foraging bird may cause possible prey to look up towards the noise. One less serious thought is that the otoroshi is a cat and what do cats do? Part of me thinks that perhaps these felines don't enjoy having their hair yanked by inquisitive sparrows, or getting a coating of droppings on their long locks.

While their mouths are filled with tiny hooked spikes, one should easily notice the pronounced canines that jut from their lips. Such large teeth would seem to be weapons against their food, a way to stab and gut victims who struggle. However, there doesn't seem to be any evidence that these teeth are used for hunting. Rather, it appears to be more for other otoroshi than prey. Both male and female otoroshi possess these tusks, so it isn't just the guys using them to fight over mates. Instead, it is believed that these large teeth help show age and health of each individual, allowing these cats to be able to eyeball possible competition. Prime hunting spots are fought after, but not everyone wants to deal with sharp claws and energy-wasting brawls. So we think they get around this by having tusks determine who is the victor in these squabbles, where younger cats can see an experienced veteran and know not to even bother trying to fight them for their turf. Some claim that these tusks are used to fight off predators, as it has been seen where attackers get gouged by these sharp teeth. However, close examination of these fights doesn't really show the otoroshi specifically using them to attack. Their movements and efforts do not suggest them wielding these teeth like weapons. Rather, we think these wounds are purely accidental, as the cat is really using its claws and huge maw to fight off attackers. When you are tangling with the huge jaws of an angry otoroshi, there is a high chance your struggle will cause you to stab yourself on these larger teeth.       As a big cat and an ambush predator, one could easily see them being a menace to the locals. Going about your day in the forest, when suddenly this gluttonous feline drops on your head and then swallows you whole. Not a fun time, but unfortunately one that has occurred numerous times. Otoroshi out in the wild are not too picky, any big animal will do for their belly. Humans (and even dryads) who don't pay attention to what hides above may trigger a cat to attack, and if they succeed in pinning you then you are going in the gut! So this is why it is important to watch your surroundings and be wary about going under overhanging branches or rocks. Folks around these regions have also used the mask trick to fool some otoroshi, where they think this second face means the human can see them. With such a dangerous reputation, you would think this species is reviled by all! However, it seems like they are not all despised. I brought up before that otoroshi like any high places, and that could include roofs and gates. This is because otoroshi have been acclimating themselves to the encroaching civilization and have found new places to hunt. Forest shrines have nice gates for them to perch on, and the sprawling temples roofs have plenty of room. Even if prey isn't plentiful, it proves a wonderful place to stretch out in the sun and digest. One reason it is thought that otoroshi moved into these areas is because they found humans to be the perfect deterrent. Human towns do a good job at keeping out other creatures and large predators, and they also don't climb onto their roofs all that often. So a female otoroshi may find these places great for having her kittens, as all other threats are kept at bay by the human presence. Younger cats may have taken to the gates as new places to hunt, spots that haven't been claimed by elders. At first, it sounds like these invading felines were hated and driven away, but the problem is that they kept coming back. Shooing them off or even hunting them proved difficult, as they had the high ground and also caused a whole lot of structural damage if a fight broke out. Legend says that one shrine gave up on scaring off the haunting cat and instead offered a sacrificial deer to it. They knew that these cats gorged on a single meal and then lasted on it for days, even weeks. If they could give it a fully belly, then it would have no reason to harm them until it was hungry again. This trick worked, as the otoroshi ate the bait and then climbed back onto the gate for a snooze. Days went by without incident, as the cat merely watched those who passed by with lazy amusement. When it started to look like it was hungry again, another meal was presented and accepted. After a while, the keepers of this shrine found that the otoroshi was much calmer around humans and seemed to patiently wait for its next meal. Even when they were late with feedings, it didn't attack any visitors, rather it just grumble and yowled as a signal that it wanted food. Once a meal was given, it was happy once again. As a bonus, it even ate the birds that landed on the gate, keeping it free from their droppings. This story is said to be the start of otoroshi "domestication," where several shrines and temples actually have them lounging about on their grounds. Folks of these areas see them as guardians and watchers, keeping their shrines safe from any evil spirits. Some claim that they can sniff out evil hearts or wicked intentions, and they will devour those foul souls who enter these sacred grounds. My counter to that is that vandals tend to make themselves quite loud and obvious, perhaps to the point of agitating one of these cats. Though they are accustomed to humans, that doesn't mean they won't fight back if given a reason to. These shrine otoroshi are given regular meals and offerings, which in turn keeps them peaceful and protective of their shrine. They stop associating humans as food but instead start seeing them as bringers of food. This is a neat little system that they have figured out, and I found it incredible when I visited my first shrine and saw a full grown otoroshi sprawled atop the gate. It is wonderful that they came to a peaceful coexistence, but I can't fully shake a part of me that sees trouble in it. I guess it is because some folks use the word "domestication" like these are just big house cats. I do not agree with this. An agreement has been made, that is for sure and a system has been set, but never would I say they have been domesticated. There are still parts of them that are instinctive and tied to their bestial nature, and I feel that having this romantic idea that they are adorable friendly pets can cause some problems. How many folk have tested their luck by trying to treat these creatures like house cats? When does the noise and constant presence of people start to grind their nerves? What happens if the agreement is not kept up by the humans? I personally wonder about these stories of otoroshi eating "wicked" people. Of the tales of a great cat dropping onto a nameless visitor and gobbling them, protecting their shrine from an "evil heart." Do these "guardians" actually pick out the bad souls or do the keepers of these shrines just claim them to be, so that the people cheer on what was actually a horrible accident? It isn't my place to say, but I will continue to wonder...       Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian -------------------------------------------------------

“Otoroshi”

Now lets follow up the last one with a Japanese Fearsome Critter! Gosh, they have some many of them they should really make a name for them!

Raised like a Phoenix - Chapter 3: Right There Where You Left It

Just like always, it was cold.

Li’Ella held the Lion Beast tight as they ran through the blinding white freeze. Past the long dead trees, past the ice cold hills. Past all the landmarks that acted more like tombstones now.

There was the Wolves' old campsite.

The Gorilla’s old forest.

The Raven’s junkyard.

The Crocodile swamps.

The Rhino’s quarry.

The Bear’s resting place.

The ruins of the Eagle’s library.

She memorized every landmark, every path, every stone knowing which turn to take, which paths were safest, and where hunters would reside. Sometimes a Hunter would spot her but not attack. Maybe they assumed her capture was pointless, they already took so much after all.

Maybe they’re just letting her have this.

She still remained careful. Avoiding all the Hunter’s own towns and keeping a weapon on her at all times.

As they passed the ruins of the Eagle Spire and as the sun began to set, the Lion Beast stopped.

“Do you wish to continue forward?” It roared softly.

They knew Li’Ella struggled with visiting the Lion Temple, witnessing the slaying of your entire tribe for a second time was no easy burden to bear. She hadn’t even really gone anywhere near the place. Not like she could. It was crawling with Hunters ever since that sabertooth ass took it over and declared it as his own castle. No doubt exploiting the chi that the collapsed mountain somehow still produced.

But today felt different.

It's been ten years since it all happened. Ten years since she lost them but she wanted to see it again. Maybe even take a memento from the Temple.

It’s not like anyone else will claim it in the village.

She patted the Legend Beast on the head. “Let's go.”

-

The two crouched in the forest near the Temple, watching as Mammoths, Vultures, and Ice Bears headed up the stairs of what they now dubbed The Saber Tooth City. Lights shined bright inside as music played for their own celebration. No doubt celebrating the anniversary of their victory.

Rage boiled in the lioness as she watched those who oppressed her people get all dolled up and enjoy some damn party. She wanted to burn each and everyone of them alive. Just like what they did to her tribe.

She softly growled in rage, eyes shooting daggers. She was so distracted with her emotions that she didn’t even notice the centerpiece that stood at the top of the steps as everyone cleared away.

Until the Lion Beast whined and nudged her side.

“Wha- what is…”

Li’Ella’s eyes now filled with shock when she saw it.

When she saw him.

Frozen like a statue.

Put up like nothing but a decoration.

Still wearing the fire wings.

His red mane is still as bright as ever, despite the burning blue that caged it.

“Laval…” she practically sobbed.

Was his body really here this whole time? And she was too full of grief and guilt to even bother finding it?

Perhaps the Legend Beast read her mind as he leaned closer to her, Li’Ella patting his mane.

“I… I… we have to bring him back…” She stood up. “He can’t be here… he should be with his people. His… family.” At least to be given a proper burial.

The Lion nodded. He didn’t need to be told twice.

The two scaled the Temple, seeing if there were any guards they had to avoid.

Aside from the two at the front of the stairs, none of the others should be two much trouble.

Li’Ella digs through her bag and pulls out some sleeping darts the gorilla tribe had developed. Pulling her hood over her head she quickly walked over two of the guards to get a closer shot.

“Hey! You-” They don’t even have the time to finish their sentence, as each guard gains one dart in their neck. As Li’Ella heads up the stairs, they pass out. The Lion Beast catches up to her as she reaches the top.

Beasts, it was worse up close.

The Lioness could barely look at her fellow tribemate. His face seemed to have been frozen in a permanent scream, as a lot of flesh and bones had been eaten away over time. He was even missing a whole arm! At the base of the Laval's stand, was a plaque:

Here Lies One of the Many Fools who dared to stand up against Sir Fangar of the Hunters.

Learn from his mistakes.

Li’Ella rolled her eyes.

She wanted to say a few words to him. Maybe an “I’m sorry” or something.

But they were currently standing in enemy territory and if they didn't act fast, they could end up dead.

“Okay… How are we…” She mumbled out loud, trying to think of a plan, while also quickly realized that this might be a bad idea. She dug through her bag trying to find more tools and pulled out the fire chi.

Maybe I can plug the chi and break him off of the floor, then we can carry him home. It would probably be better to carry a block of ice that they can melt later than a body with limbs that can fly around and stuff.

Unless the body was so frozen stiff it-

Stop thinking about it!

As Li’Ella was about to plug the chi into her harness, she caught a glimpse of the fire wings in the ice.

And that's when it happened.

Was it a stupid idea? Maybe.

Should she have thought it out? Perhaps. But she was running on anger, guilt, and grief. Besides, if the hunters can be revived with normal chi, who says fire chi can’t do the same…

So before even the Lion Beast can stop her, Li’Ella plugged the chi into Laval’s fire wings.

-

Cold…

Warm…

Bright…

Burning…

-

When she plugs in the chi, bright light explodes from where Laval stood frozen. Li’Ella closes her eyes, as she feels the Legend Beast move in front to protect her.

The light is so bright it almost burns her very fur as she attempts to shield herself. Then she hears it.

A roar.

His roar!

It worked!

When the light begins to die down, she hears rough coughing. Then a rasping voice (one she has not heard in forever) says, “Li’Ella…”

The sound brings tears to her eyes as she looks up, smiling as bright as the light that almost blinded her. The Lion Beast displays a grin of his own as they stare at him.

Laval of the Lions is standing in an outfit similar to the one she had seen him wear in pictures, before the fire chi gifted him a new one.

But instead of blue this one is more crimson with gold accents. His eyes burn bright orange, but the sclera of the eye is no longer white but pitch black. His scratches and wounds are all a deep dark purple and Laval is still missing an arm. The fire wing harness glows bright as if it had just been polished and not frozen for 10 years.

The three stared at each other in silence for what felt like hours.

Till Laval says, “Uh… did we win?”

The sound of approaching hunters answers his question, as Li’Ella takes his hand and they hop on the Lion Beast, who dashes down the stairs as fast as his four legs can.

“Uh. I’ll fill you in later.”

“Yeah. I think I missed a lot because- WHERE DID MY ARM GO?!”

Laval turned towards the crowd of Hunter’s, many entering their vehicles to chase after them.

“Did we really lose that bad? How long was I out? Where are the others? Are they okay?”

Shots fired as the Lion Beast ran deeper into the woods.

“Well… you all died.” Li’Ella began.

“WHAT!”

“But I brought you back! So, we can do the same for everyone else. Look, I'll explain when we get to the Outlands. It’s a lot. But you're here! And that's what matters.”

Li’Ella turned to see Laval’s face full of horror and confusion.

“What… Did you do?” He whispered.

Despite the situation, Li’Ella let out a small chuckle. She felt bad the moment it came out but she couldn’t help.

“Heh. Necormany I guess.”

Last chapter <- ⭐️-> Next Chapter

-

Fun fact! This whole series (especially this scene) was inspired by the book Undead Girl Gang by Lily Anderson, about a girl who revives her dead best friend and some popular girls to solve their murder.

It's a good book, check it out.

So somethings I think are funny

Monty isn't an alligator. He's a crocodile(you can tell by the shape of the head)

Roxy isn't a grey wolf since she has a mane, she looks closer to a grey aardwolf or a direwolf(I'm sure she'd find the latter more appealing)

Bears are apparently extinct in Security Breach(or pizza trucks. English is strange.) which kind of makes why Freddy doesn't actually look that much like a bear make more sense.

Jesters used to have much shorter pants(not even at the knee) so we were robbed of of the DCA in short shorts.

If we're going off of history technically Moon should be wearing a sleeping gown with the cap given it was both unisex and generally available. We were robbed of Moon in a cute dress and slippers.

Also Jesters were allowed to say whatever since no one took them seriously so they used dark humor, satire, and sex jokes. (WE WERE ROBBED OF SO MUCH.)

There are spiders that don't spin webs but do live in holes and jump out at their prey and pull them into their trap holes. Just saying.

Wolves hug each other. Bears do not. I think we all know who the real hugger should be and who it actually is.

You show Monty the "crocodiles vs gators" thing and essentially give the poor man an identity crisis.

(Also that's p much what Sun/Moon's personalities are like in the Royal!Reader/Jester!S-M AU. The second they realized they weren't performing solely for families/kids anymore 90% of their jokes flirting attempts became this post.)

10. THE AMAZON COVEN

ANIMALS THEN CRIED OUT IN THE WOODS. WHOEVER— OR WHATEVER— they were, they were racing to the Cullen. The birds chirped and their wings flapped. Their cries grew louder and louder until two figures fell from the trees and landed on their feet. The two women rose and stared at us with their scarlet red eyes.

Both women were dark-skinned and very long-bodied with wild dark hair, and wore nothing but animal skins. The woman standing on the right stood at five foot eleven inches with her black hair tied bloomed like a lion's mane; the other woman was taller than her by a foot. Her long black hair was tied in braids. She also had very long limbs, long fingers, and strong facial features. I was more scared of the tall woman. Their presence alone was enough to scare anyone: vampires, wolves and humans.

"Who are they?" Bella asked.

"I'm Zafrina," the tall woman introduced herself, her voice deep. She turned her head to the other woman and her right hand gestured to her. "And this is my sister, Senna."

The other woman, Senna, bowed her head.

"We've heard about the Volturi," Zafrina continued. "They're going against Carlisle about the child."

"Zafrina and Senna!" I heard Carlisle from behind and I turned around to see him, walking to them. "But where's Kachiri? I've never seen you three apart."

"Alice told us we needed to separate," Zafrina answered. "It's uncomfortable to be away from each other, but Alice assured us that you needed us here, while she very much needed Kachiri somewhere else. That's all she would tell us, except that there was a great hurry... ?"

Her statement trailed off into a question. I saw Bella gripping on Renesmee's hand and they (plus Edward and Jacob) walked to them. We watched Renesmee placed her hand on Zafrina's face and she smiled. The child showed the tall woman her memories. She looked over to Senna.

"She's not immortal," she said to her sister and Senna's face focused on the child.

They were every bit as taken with Renesmee as any of the other vampires, but I couldn't help worrying as I watched their swift, jerky movements so close beside her. Senna was always near Zafrina, never speaking, but it wasn't the same as Amun and Kebi. Kebi's manner seemed obedient; Senna and Zafrina were more like two limbs of one organism—Zafrina just happened to be the mouthpiece.

Then, I wondered about Alice and Jasper. Bella told me that they left the coven with only a note behind. I was told that Alice can see the future but whatever she saw might be the reason why she and her mate left.

The news about Alice was oddly comforting for Bella. Somewhat, she was on some forbidden quest of her own as she avoided whatever the Volturi had planned for the Cullens.

"Do any of them have powers?" I whispered.

"Zafrina does," Joseph said. "And it's probably the most offensive."

"What did you mean?"

"Visual projection."

Edward appeared to be thrilled when they arrived.

"She has a strong illusory talent," I heard Eleazar's calm voice and I looked at him. "She can make her target see any illusion she wants, or see nothing at all. Her range includes anyone in her eyesight."

"That would explain why Edward looked happy right now," I remarked.

Joseph chuckled. "Sure he is."

Bella held onto Edward's hand, searching around herself.

Zafrina's lips twitched into her hard version of a smile. A second later, Edward's eyes focused again, and he grinned back.

"Impressive," Edward commented.

Renesmee was fascinated with the conversation, and she reached out fearlessly toward Zafrina.

"Can I see?" she asked. "The pretty pictures?"

"What would you like to see?" Zafrina asked.

"What you showed Daddy."

Zafrina nodded, and we watched anxiously as Renesmee's eyes stared blankly into space. A second later, Renesmee's dazzling smile lit up her face.

"More," she commanded.

After that, it was hard to keep Renesmee away from Zafrina and her pretty pictures.

Then, I saw Bella looking blankly at the Amazon sisters. I walked to her and stood next to her.

"You okay, Bella?" I asked.

"I'm just..." Bella began to answer. "I'm a shield."

"What? Who told you this?"

"Eleazar did. Why didn't you tell me about your other powers?"

I sighed. "I don't know how you would react. I was more shocked when I discovered it."

"I'm more shocked about my shield. It explain how Edward can't read my thoughts. How the Volturi's powers are immune from it."

Then, I remembered my family's reaction when it was revealed that she knew about the Volturi, making me ponder on her survival. "How were you spared from them? How did you know them?"

"Edward went to Volterra when he thought I died," she explained. "He wanted to die so much that he asked them to kill him."

"What the hell?" I half-shouted. "That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"He loves me too much to live on without me. He planned to expose himself under the sun in front of the humans."

"That would them a reason to kill him," I concluded.

Bella nodded. "Luckily, Alice saw that vision before it happened and we got there before he could be outside. Then, Demetri, Felix and Jane led us to the Volturi and Aro discovered that he can't see my thoughts."

"And Jane can't harm you as well."

"Yes. If it wasn't for Alice's vision, I wouldn't be standing here talking to you."

I looked at her, curious. "What did she saw?"

"Me as a vampire."

"Alice knew you were going to be a vampire?"

Bella curled her lips. "The thing about Alice's vision is that it's... changeable, let's say. She can only see the outcome of someone's decision once it is made. It means the future can change all too quickly. If the decision is not firmly rooted, she can see several possible futures at the same time."

"So the future is based from someone's decision?" I enquired.

"And another thing," she pointed out. "She cannot see any future that involves Quileute shape-shifters or Renesmee."

My gold eyes widened. "What?"

"Carlisle theorised that due to the nature of the shape-shifters, who, in the split second it takes for them to phase, don't technically exist." Bella air-quoted the word 'exist'. "He also believes that there may be a link with the shape-shifters and Renesmee having 24 chromosome pairs."

"That seems unlikely," I replied.

"Well, Alice theorized that she cannot see Renesmee and the shape-shifters or anything connected to them because she has no experience as being one of them," Bella continued. "In other words, she sees vampires best because she is one, and can see humans okay because she used to be one."

"Okay, maybe Carlisle's theory seems reasonable," I answered and Bella chuckled. Then, I thought about something. I hadn't seen Alice or Jasper at all. I turned my head to my friend. "Where are they anyway? Alice and Jasper?"

"They're... gathering witnesses," Bella replied cautiously.

She bit her lip and rubbed her arms. She was hiding something that had something to do with them. And it may be impossible to get it out of her, knowing she has a shield to protect herself.

Then, a Scottish voice disturbed my thoughts.

"Violet!" Alana shouted, making our heads turned to her. "Have you met the Irish Coven yet?"

"No?" I replied.

"I have," Bella replied, managing to dodge the topic. "They seem nice."

"Aye," Alana agreed and then grabbed my hand. "You definitely need to meet them. See ya, lass."

I said my goodbye to Bella and and she said it back to me. As Alana and I travelled back to the house, I wondered what Bella was hiding about Alice and Jasper. What did she knew? What did they told her before she left? Did Alice see the future of the rest of us that would changed everything for better or worse?

Continue to 11. THE IRISH COVEN

Forgiven, Ch. 1

Summary: The Forbidden Arts allows one to take the form of a Great and Terrible Animal. One man is cursed to remain as this monster, and we follow his story as he struggles with maintaining his humanity and finding forgiveness for his past and future actions. And perhaps, this forgiveness can be found in an unexpected encounter with a woman.

-

He felt the heat of the fires, heard the crackling around him. He tasted the blood.

Her blood.

Her screams. It melts into a growing chorus of torment sounding around him.

All cut into silence with a grizzly crunch.

Damian opened his eyes, the young star-filled night greeting him from the cave mouth. His teeth were grinding together, feeling and tasting nothing between them. The sound of fire ravaging the land was replaced with that of water dripping from the stalactites into otherwise undisturbed puddles. The heat was gone, replaced by the cool breeze blowing in from the entrance.

A nightmare.

Yet another nightmare, where the only thing that remained of it was the smell of death and decay.

Exhaling sharply, dust clouds whipped up from his face and then from the rest of him as he pushed himself up from the ground. His eyes saw not hands supporting him, but wings. Bat-like wings, the membrane a deep iridescent violet on the ventral side and a shimmering jet black on the dorsal. The black matched the thick fur that coated his body, from the tip of his wolf-like snout to the end of his long lizard-like tail.

His red eyes narrowed, the slit pupils fully dilating in the darkness. Sitting up, he caught sight of his legs, feet like that of an eagle with wicked talons. His black fur went only to his ankles, giving way to bird-like scales colored like burnt umber.

This was going to be one of those nights, where the nightmares plagued him until he laid awake and stared at his own cursed body.

He glanced at a nearby puddle, an ear twitched at each drop falling from the ceiling into it. He hated seeing himself, seeing his reflection. He hated seeing his eyes glaring back at him, the fangs gleaming in the light. He hated the thick mane of fur around his neck, his pointed ears, his inhuman face!

The only things he still had that linked him to his true identity was a tuft of fur bearding his chin and a mere hair tie, haphazardly holding up a messy bun behind his head.

He missed his human face, can he even remember it? He had brown eyes? Yeah, that sounded right. Warm brown eyes, not this demonic red.

A demon, that's what he's become.

He glanced away from the puddle, to the book that laid on the cave floor. It has seen better days, its pages tattered like dried autumn leaves. But it still stayed strong, holding up against this less than ideal environment over the years.

He reached out a wing, and his thumb claw, -the only free claw he had to work with-, hooked onto the book before he pulled it closer.

No, he's no demon. If he was, he wouldn't be able to read this book. This book that kept his sanity intact, that kept him from falling into a never-ending pit of despair. Within its pages were the words of a kind god, a forgiving god. Everything he did, and will do in the future will be forgiven.

His ears perked up at the distant sound of howls and barks, causing him to look away from the bible towards the cave opening. Wolves? No, it was the hounds of hunters, he was sure. Paranoia? Perhaps. Either way, this can prove to be useful as a distraction from his restlessness.

He glanced at the book, then at the cave entrance. He wasn't even that hungry, he didn't need to go out there. He should keep his attention on the Lord's book, remind himself of his humanity. Not give in to bloodlust.

Not again.

The tip of his tail twitched, an outward sign of his indecision. He could feel the saliva in his jaws accumulating at the thoughts intruding his mind. The animalistic instincts were always plaguing him in this damned form, trying to pull him back into the past he's desperately trying to leave behind. He remembered his nightmares, but from a different mind-set:

The cruel satisfaction at feeling the power of his jaws, crunching through armor and bone so effortlessly.

The screams of terror, not for the fires, but for him made his heart race with excitement.

He was safe in here. Though hunters often came into these forests with the intent to kill him, they would never be able to find him. His lair laid nestled upon the sheer drop of a cliff face. Just ignore them and focus on what's important.

But the dark thoughts never left him. His teeth itched to sink themselves into flesh; it was like a craving too intense for him to ignore. Let him give his troubles to someone else so that he may be free for a few precious moments.

Dammit, he always did this, and every time he gave in to these dark temptations, he regretted it afterwards! But then he'd tell himself that everything would be alright; he'll be forgiven.

The echoes of barks sound once more, closer than the last.

Another exhale left him as he found himself abandoning the book where it laid. He stood fully, an imposing ten-foot frame, and made his way to the cave entrance.

He'll just take a look. If it was wolves, then he can relax and grab a bite to eat. But what if it were hunters?

Well, then, I'll just give them a little scare, he told himself as a twisted smirk grew on his snout, knowing damn well that he was lying to himself.

The sound of his wings opening was almost deafening to his ears, like one last plea to stay where he was. But he ignored it and pushed off the ground, flying down towards the thick forest below.

His ears were alert, as were all his other senses, as he soared above the tree-tops. Their leaves were sparse and dying, a sure sign of winter's dreaded approach, but allowing him a better view through the canopy. He saw through the trees a spot of light in the distance, and the way it flickered told him it was fire. As he drew ever closer, his ears would pick up a voice and the rustle of leaf litter.

His suspicions were confirmed. Yes, it was a man, a hunter. They're always hunting him, best he makes the first strike.

The short whiskers that adorned his snout allowed him to detect the direction the wind is blowing, and he made an effort to stay downwind of them. Although he was a powerful creature, he was not invulnerable. Beneath his fur, several scars were etched into his flesh, each earned from close calls with swords and arrows.

He's done this enough times to know, ambush is always his best strategy.

Landing high in the branches of a tree, he stayed close to the trunk to help hide his silhouette. Beneath him was a game trail, which the hunter seemed to be following. And there, he waited.

...

He shouldn't be doing this.

It's fine, came the inevitable justifications for these terrible impulses. They're intruding on his territory, no doubt with the intent to kill him. He should kill them first.

No, he came down from his safe lair specifically looking for trouble. He didn't have to do any of this!

But remember what these humans did to him, they have it coming. They have it ALL coming!

'These humans'? Why is he thinking like that as if he isn't a human?!

He WAS a human, and will never be human again. So damn them all!

He faltered, but his internal debate was put on hold when he caught sight of movement. From the bushes came a dog, an odd breed he's never seen used as a hunting partner before, one that looked more like a sheep than a dog. It was sniffing around the leaf litter, no doubt trying to pick up his scent to alert its master to his trail. A wide grin came to him, this beast could not have given him a better opportunity.

Whipping his head back, he let out a howl not unlike what a wolf would make. The dog looked up from the ground, ears perked but unable to pinpoint his location directly above it. It started letting out barks to call in its master.

He heard the shouts of the hunter responding with haste to his howl, and the light from the fire drew near until it illuminated the trail. More dogs like the first appeared, three of them in total, but he ignored them. The moment the hunter stepped foot upon the game trail, that's when Damian acted with unnatural swiftness.

With a bloodcurdling screech, he launched himself from his perch, branches and leaves exploding violently from his wings as he did. The dogs scattered and the hunter hardly had time to look up before his talons gripped onto his body, piercing through the cloth and leather of his attire.

The lantern was dropped to the ground, glass shattered and spilling its oil upon the ground, and the fire with it.

But he cared not for the flames, nor for the confused mongrels barking at him. He hardly felt the nips upon his tail and legs as the one of the braver creatures tried to coax him from its master.

A fruitless effort, as his focus was entirely on his prey, pinned beneath his weight. Any thought of "just scaring him" left his mind like the excuse it was. No, he quite enjoyed the hunt and reliving those memories...

The heat of the fire. The terror in those screams. The rage that overwhelmed him, reawakened with those memories.

Saliva filling his mouth, he gave no chance at retaliation and his open jaws lunge down to take the man's entire head into his maw. The satisfying sound of crunching graced his ears, the taste of warm blood flooding upon his tongue. There is hardly any resistance for his teeth, as shattered bone and grey matter provided a filling mouthful.

At that point, it would be a waste not to eat the rest.

It took a moment for his racing heart to calm, for the thrill to slowly subside. He became aware of the growing fire surrounding him, of the bloody mess at his feet. The dogs were long gone. He licked his lips, eyes scrutinizing his latest victim. Then his heart sank when the gravity of his actions settled in with a cruel realization.

This man had no weapons, only the stick of a shepherd used to ward off animals.

He killed again.

He ate an innocent man.

Again.

If his wife was here, if his daughter saw what he would become... .

'What he would become?' He was ALWAYS like this, this monstrous form just brought his evil nature up front and center instead of pushing it away for the sake of the women in his life. They were gone now, so might as well-

No! No matter how bad he was as a man, he never ATE people! He condemned his past self and was on the road to improvement before...

He buried his head into his wings, his thumb claws digging into his fur. He felt like he was on the verge of breaking, why does this keep happening? Why can't he break free of this cycle?

...

It's okay, all will be forgiven. He looked up at the sky, the smoke beginning to overtake it. He can still act to make this right, and his talons tightened on the body as he took to the air with powerful wingbeats. The rush of air fanned the flames, but the fire was not of his concern. He had something more important to take care of.

Flying low, he followed the scent trail this man left leading towards the village.

True, nothing can be done to save this man, but at least he can bring him back home. Yes, then the Lord will forgive him.

-

The unbeknownst widow was waiting for her husband to return from putting the sheep away for the night and finding a lost lamb. She was sick with worry, as there were tales of a monster living in those forests. Her husband however never believed such tales, attributing it to overactive minds twisting the facts after someone saw what was likely a large wolf or a bear.

But for his wife's comfort, he would bring his staff and their dogs. He wouldn't be gone long, as the lamb couldn't have wandered too far.

Each moment seemed drawn out and she would glance out the window into the darkness, looking for any sign of her husband's return. The sleepy village has already turned into their houses, and the only sound was the wind blowing through the trees. At least, it WAS the only sound.

An odd noise entered her ears. Then another, and another. It was rhythmic almost. Her brows furrowed and she turned her ear to the window, trying to understand what she was hearing. If she didn't know better, it sounded almost like the beating of wings drawing closer...

Her focus was rudely interrupted when there was loud bang at the door. It startled her and it took a moment for her to calm her heart. The sound of wings were fading, and pushed to the back of her mind as relief overcame her. Believing the thud at the door to be her beloved carrying a heavy load, likely the unruly lamb, she went to let him in and scold him for giving her such a fright.

However when she opened the door, she immediately smelled blood and saw the thick red liquid dripping down the front of the door, the pattern implying a heavy impact that likely caused the bang she heard. Her wide eyes then lowered to the ground to see the remains of a half-eaten human body.

His face was so mangled, that she was only able to recognize him as her husband from the torn clothing he wore. Her shaking hands met her mouth as her eyes began filling with tears.

Her agonized scream followed Damian as he flew back to his own home, and he dared not look back. He did all he could do and as he landed at the mouth of the cave, his eyes once more fixed onto the book that waited so patiently for him. He doesn't even spend any time cleaning himself up; no, with bloodied snout and talons, he just bee-lined straight to the book.

His wing-claws gripped it and he opened it to a page, any page, he didn't care. As long as he read it, he would be forgiven.

Though, it did not spare his sleep for the rest of that night, as it now included two new screams.

At the time I'm writing this, you just posted my recent request while I'm struggling with a damn headache and a runny nose.

What about Firmino being sick and Flaco taking care of him? No Ali this time (let's pretend he's somewhere else WITH VIRGIL 👀). That would be very nice. Maybe Flaco being very gentle and kind with my poor boy Bobby.

(can you make them peck at the end? Don't do that if you don't want to.) Beijos da sua brasileira

Hey, Ruby! Boy, what a win last night 😁 We needed that

Tags: @millythegoat, @moomin279 @rubybecker-rb2 @alissonbecksfan234

Of Broth and Text Messages

Firmino arose the day after the win against Wolves, looking forward to his day off. Even after a bad performance, Klopp always let the players have at least one day off to relax and recuperate—or, in the German’s grumbled, passive-aggressive FA-direceted vocabulary, “live like regular human beings”.

He tugged open his eye mask. Instinctively a hand flew up to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine bursting through the window. The sun always shone brightly through the bedroom windows in the morning, but usually Firmino wasn’t as bothered by it as he was today. But I usually wake up before the sun comes here…

Firmino rapidly sat upright, instantly regretting it. The rushed motion quickly made him realize how every inch of his head pounded and throbbed. Making sure to move his head more slowly this time, he checked the room for any of his teammates—only to find nobody there. Panicked, he grabbed the alarm clock and read it: 10:24 AM.

No wonder the room’s empty—I slept in! They must have all gone to breakfast without me. Firmino groaned, flopping back onto his pillow. He would get some breakfast later; not much, as he didn’t feel as hungry as usual. But first, he had to find some pain medication.

Trying to ignore the constant throbbing in his head, Firmino eased himself out of bed, searching his personal drawer for any pain medication. His search turned up empty as a wave of nausea hit him, forcing him to sit on the floor and ease himself against the hard bed frame. He didn’t have any energy, not even to climb back into bed or call for help.

The bright sunshine and clear skies, once so lovely, outside now mocked Firmino, who laid curled in a fetal position on the wooden floor. The room was quiet, nobody had passed by the bedroom yet and it seemed like nobody ever would. Hot tears stung at his eyes. His futile attempt to blink them back only made him feel even more pathetic.

*

Fabinho waved Elliott and Carvalho off as they left Kirkby for the day. Almost everybody was taking their day off as an opportunity to hang out with teammates or relax. They all loved Kirkby, but everybody agreed that some downtime away from the club was good for their individual and collective mental health.

Even Alisson, who didn’t like going out much, had plans for the day. He had managed to convince Van Dijk to “show him his impeccable fashion style”, as the goalkeeper had put it. Van Dijk had been so excited at the prospect, he’d dragged Alisson to his car before breakfast could even be served.

Fabinho, meanwhile, had plans of his own. He would take Firmino on a two-person fishing trip to Bickershaw Lake. He thought he remembered Mane having an issue with the place, but Fabinho hadn’t read anything negative about Bickershaw Lake online. He’d already dressed, packed the car and restocked the tack box and picnic basket. The only thing he needed now was for Firmino to wake up.

He frowned and checked his watch—10:32 AM. Firmino never slept past 10:30, not even after a late night game and party. Fabinho wished he could let Firmino sleep, but soon it would be midday and the sun would be too hot to fish. So Fabinho decided to wake Firmino himself.

"Bobby?" Fabinho opened the bedroom door. "Come on, you can't sleep the whole day."

He listened for an answer, but all he heard was a muffled whine. He peered into the room...only to find Firmino curled up on the floor in his pajamas.

Fabinho didn't waste any time asking questions. A strange instinct took control of his mind, hogging up the reins usually controlled by logic. The fact that the instinct screamed at him to pick up the smaller man and lay him in bed led Fabinho to assume that this was what an older brother's instinct felt like.

Wordlessly, Fabinho reached down to the floor and picked up Firmino. After shifting the weight in a way he felt secure about, he proceeded to carry Firmino to one of the single-person bedrooms they used when someone was infectiously sick.

Carrying Firmino offered Fabinho an opportunity to inspect him. Firmino's face felt warm all over even though he shivered in his sleep, and his face was hot and flushed. Upon further inspection, Fabinho noticed dried tear tracks on his cheekbones—a clear indicator that he'd cried himself to sleep.

Fabinho eased Firmino into bed, adjusting the pillows around his head. Firmino hadn't woken up at all during the walk to the bedroom, but he had stirred as Fabinho tucked him into bed.

Ay, coitadinho. Sick--and at such an important time as well. Fabinho pulled out his phone, scrolling through his Whatsapp. He considered calling Alisson for help, but then he thought better of it. Alisson rarely got a day off--and if he heard Firmino was sick, he would drop everything to return to Kirkby. Same with Klopp, so that ruled him out too. He needed somebody that wouldn’t completely freak out.

He got to the R section of his contacts, sighing as he didn’t find anybody. That’s when his finger landed on the first name on the S list. Sadio Mane.

Fabi: Sadio? Are you there?

Fabi: If you are, I need some advice. Bobby’s sick and I don’t know what’s wrong except that he has a fever and seems lethargic

Fabinho waited and waited for an answer. His phone didn’t buzz at all, though—so he set off on the task of making Firmino comfortable. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he did know that there was nothing a sweetened beverage couldn’t fix.

*

Fabinho pulled a face as he stirred chocolate syrup into Firmino’s favorite mug. Fabinho didn’t like chocolate very much, unlike Alisson and Firmino who could ingest surprising quantities of the stuff at a time. Firmino’s tastes in chocolate were particularly interesting, as he preferred whipped cream, green grapes and pumpkin spice on his hot chocolate.

He set the mug of hot chocolate onto the tray, which also had a bowl of broth in the middle. Firmino didn’t exactly like soup, but he did seem okay with broth, which would be easy to eat if he had a sore throat. Satisfied with his work, he picked up the tray and steeled himself for the walk back to the bedroom.

Halfway through, his phone buzzed, signaling that he’d received a message. Setting the tray on a nearby coffee table, Fabinho smiled upon reading that Mane had responded to him.

sm17: Oh no poor guy

sm17: With a fever and lethargy, it’s probably a common cold but you can never be too sure

sm17: Give him some safe fever medicine (preferably Tylenol)

Fabi: Yeah, not aspirin, we don’t want any complications

sm17: And make sure he gets plenty of rest and fluids. Call me if it gets more serious, okay? 

Fabi: Okay

sm17: Even if it doesn’t get more serious, stay in contact with me anyways. I miss you 🥺

Fabi: Moi ici 🥺 Hope you’re doing something fun today

sm17: Not exactly, Thomas dragged me and Manu to a steeplechase and he’s going crazy over the horses while Manu’s face is stuck in permanent death glare

Fabi: 🤣🤣🤣 Thomas sounds like a total nut

sm17: Yeah but I like him 😁

Fabi: I was going to take Bobby to Bickershaw Lake to fish

sm17: I strongly advise against that 😖 Trust me, I know what I’m talking about

Fabi: Why don’t you tell me what happened?

*

Fabinho spent the next hour chatting with Mane by Firmino’s bedside. He found the Tylenol in a cabinet inside the treatment room, locked away in a medicine cabinet, and placed the glass bottle on the bedside in advance. He was careful not to make any noise—the last thing he wanted to do was wake Firmino up from his sleep.

At long last, the Brazilian stirred. Slowly, slowly, his eyes flit open, dreamily unfocused until he found Fabinho.

“You came,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t believe it. “Fabi, you came.”

Firmino’s relieved yet surprised grin nearly broke Fabinho’s heart. “Are you kidding me? What makes you think I wouldn’t come?”

“I…I don’t know.” Firmino seemed genuinely confused as he eased himself into a sitting position. “I was in the bedroom and nobody was there. I was probably overthinking again.”

“Were you ever left alone when sick?” Fabinho lowered himself onto the side of the bed, absentmindedly stroking the other’s hand.

“I think so…when I was young, in Figuriense.” Firmino went straight for the mug. His tired eyes lit up slightly when he spotted all the details. “You remembered the green grapes, que doce.”

“There’s that smile!” Fabinho cheered. “How are you feeling?”

“Far better than before. The only problem is that my throat hurts and my headache didn’t go away, so…” Firmino winced, pointing to the open window. “Could you—”

“Oh, of course!” Fabinho closed the Venetian blinds with a single pull of a string, immediately returning to the bedside. “Feel like resting, or…do you wanna play checkers?”

Firmino smirked and rolled his eyes. “Fabi, you’re a million times better than me at checkers. Will you really kick a man when he’s down?”

“Clearly not! I’ll go easy on you today,” Fabinho reassured him, taking out the checkers set they kept in the room. “But when you get better, I am giving you checkers lessons.”

Firmino nodded from behind his whipped cream mustache. He’d demolished the hot chocolate, but the broth lay untouched. “I’m in…as long as we can have the hot chocolate.”

HIII . very important question that only u, resident freak and mike expert and also great friend, can answer for me. if u were to design a furry based on mike (so, of his character, not one he would make himself) what animal would it b ?

im very very torn between wolf (he is the pack leader and all that), some kind of dog but idk enough abt dog breeds to really know which he should b, possibly some kind of hound dog? like the really big ones w big floppy ears. the ones they use as guard dogs. OR somethijg really niche and weird like a maned wolf or fossa or smth.

all i really know is if i make him a dog its gotta b one w floppy ears bcuz that's Literally what his hair looks like. big fluffy floppy puppy ears. OH actually now that im thinking abt it smth like a great dane could also work? possibly??

if it influences ur opinion at all, im 98% sure im making will a bunny bcuz his fear response is freeze (like bunnies), his liddol teef of course, and he seems shy and skittish but can b Very sassy like a lot of rabbits. also i luv the idea of big scary guard dog mike standing somewhere being all moody and standoff-ish but as soon as he sees little fuzzy bunny will, his tail starts wagging. bcuz thats really cute. and also basically canon

(also if u have any other opinions on what any other st characters would b as furries i would luv to hear them !!! can b the main party or some of the teens or even adults, basically whoever u can think of)

mj, once again, you’re completely correct. if you’re leaning towards wolf, i would honestly go with the maned wolf because it has the lanky features we associate with mike and the big ears (WHICH THISE BEING HIS HAIR IS SO REAL!) but it definitely isn’t a weak creature. mike himself isn’t very bulky or muscular, but still an incredible opponent and strong. the maned wolf has two known predators; the puma and domestic dogs.

not to be insane but the domestic dogs… society… maned wolved are neither wolf nor fox, unlike domestic dogs which descended from wolves… he’s not a fox either though just like how he doesn’t Truly fit with what eddie expects of his hellfire members even though he tries to… but the dogs will eat him alive if he tries to be one of them so he only sees himself fitting amongst animals which will not outright harm him.. but maned wolved aren’t built for the same environment as most foxes…

ANYWAY maned wolf is a 10/10 choice

i went to look at my list of obscure animals to throw out another idea and i forgot i put manes wolf on there lol. if i had to suggest something else it’d be the devil’s flower mantis :)